Cuts

Chapter 4

Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.

Here is the next part of A Study in Pink

I own nothing, except Calliah

"Taxi!" Sherlock yells. A taxt pulls up alongside and Sherlock gets in. I stand in the door way.

"I'm not going." I say and start backing up. I bump into John. "S-Sorry."

"Calliah. Get into this taxi right now." Sherlock says.

"I would just do it. Saves time." John says softly.

I roll my eyes and get in. John follows in and Sherlock gives the driver the address. Sherlock gets out his phone and plays with it. I cross my arms and look forward. "I hate you." I tell him. He nods and keeps playing with his phone. John keeps looking at us, but mostly Sherlock. After a while Sherlock puts down his phone. "Okay, you've got questions."

"Yeah, where are we going?" John asks.

"Crime scene." I say. John and Sherlock look at me questionably. "What? It is obvious." I don't look at them.

"Okay… Who are you? What do you do?" John asks.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asks and smiles.

"I'd say private detective…" John says slowly and hesitantly.

"But?" Sherlock says to continue him on.

"…but the police don't go to private detectives." John finishes.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." Sherlock says proud. I laugh. Sherlock looks at me. "What?"

"A consulting detective." I laugh again. "Only one in the world. I invented the job." I mock him. "You are so arrogant."

"Well at least I like myself." He says and crosses his arms. I roll my eyes.

"So what does a consulting detective do?" John says slowly, trying to get rid of the tension.

"When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." Sherlock says.

"The police don't consult amateurs." John says.

Sherlock throws him a look and I start laughing. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised." Sherlock says.

"Yes, how did you know?" John asks. I look up at Sherlock. I was wondering how he knew all the things he did.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock says and looks at me. "You were easy. Your clothes gave away that you have given up on yourself. You wear baggy clothes and didn't care about the spot on your outfit yesterday. I know about your sister from Molly. That isn't cheating, that is listening." He finishes and turns to the front.

"You said I had a therapist." John says slowly.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother." Sherlock says.

"Hmmm?" John asks.

Sherlock holds out his hand. "Your phone." John gives his phone to him. "It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." Sherlock turns the phone over and looks at it. "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."