An Improbable Man: the Scarlet Ribbon part 2

For several long, torturous moments of silence Sherlock Holmes stared at Joanne. His eyes were fixed on her. It was as if she was being scanned by some sort of meticulous computer.

"Did your father tell me about you?" Joanne began slowly her voice was thin and tinged with an English accent "Or did he…"

"No, no." Sherlock hastily replied "He told me. You're moving in then. Here to keep an eye on me. Is that how it works?"

"Sort of." Joanne confirmed.

"Where's your stuff then?" Sherlock asked. His voice was deep and strong and commanding. He carried a distinctly English accent.  "If you were moving in you'd have stuff!"

"Your fathers sending it over for me." Joanne replied.

Sherlock ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth briefly before turning away and exclaiming "You'd better come in then."

Joanne watched as Sherlock disappeared back inside the doorway. After a moment of bemused thought Joanne stepped through the doorway and closed the front door behind her.

She had entered into a small hall with a dirty wooden floor and ugly wallpaper on the walls that were peeling in the corners. Not far from the doorway was a staircase and next to that staircase was a small wooden door. On the wall to the left of Jo was a doorway that led into the living room which was just as bad as the hallway.

It was a large, hexagonal room with the same dirty wooden floor as the hall. The wall adjacent to the wall with the front door in the hall had a large, rectangular window in it and was coated in the same ugly, peeling wallpaper as the rest of what Jo had seen of the house. On second wall to the left of the window was an unlit, unused fireplace and sat in the middle of the room was a brown, leather sofa and a small, wooden table. The wall at the back of the room had a large double doorway in its place that led into a would-be dining room. It would be the dining room but wasn't because that room was empty with the same dirty floor and ugly walls.

Sherlock was now sitting grumpily on the sofa with his arms crossed and staring into through the window and onto the street.

Joanne observed the emptiness and overall unlived in feel of the house. There seemed to be an inhuman coldness to the place.

"Did you just move in?" Joanne asked.

For a moment Sherlock looked out of the window still before slowly turning his head to Joanne and speaking "Sort of."

He leapt up and strode towards Joanne "You forget I've just been released from rehab and father, the bitter old bugger, has kept all my stuff. He then let me move in here one of his oldest properties and gave me only the basics. I'm still waiting on my computer, TV and my DVD collection of HOUSE!"

Jo opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Bemusement crept up on her again like a spider and soon it was latching onto her. The only thing she managed to say was "You watch House?"

A childish grin came to Sherlock face "Only to make fun of  it."

Sherlock indicated the sofa and said to Joanne "Take a seat."

Joanne did as she was ordered and sat down on the sofa. She could have sworn that, as she did, Sherlock's eyes narrowed and seemed to trace her up and down. After a moment he sat down next to her and an ominous silence became a void in the room.

After a moment Joanne broke the silence in an attempt to get to know Sherlock better "So would you like me to tell you something about myself?"

"Nope." Sherlock replied harshly "I already know all I need to. How about I tell you a little something about yourself."

Joanne opened her mouth to speak, her mind frantically questioning what he could tell her about herself, but Sherlock cut across her.

"You're a former soldier who fought in Afghanistan but was sent home after being shot in the leg" Sherlock began and he tapped Joanne's walking stick "Hence that. I'm leaning towards army doctor because of your hands."

"My… my hands?" Joanne asked.

"Yeah" Sherlock added "Left one actually. You've got a scar on it. Most people would think it to be a kitchen knife, maybe a minor accident while making a sandwich, but the scar where the knife cut is too fine and better fits the description of a scalpel."
 

Joanne turned over her hand and looked at the scar on it "Then how do you know I was in the army?"

"It's pretty obvious." Sherlock continued "Look at how you were standing. To attention as if you'd have to do that often and when you were standing you seemed to ignore the leg like it vanished. But that wasn't enough so I asked you to sit down. How are you sitting. Straight back, hands on knees. And look at how you hold your walking stick: between your legs and tightly. Like a weapon. Specifically how you held your weapon when you were, for example, I dunno travelling on a truck."

"Why Afghanistan?" Joanne queried.

"Your tan. Not above the wrists and not below the neck line." Sherlock finished.

Joanne  knew Sherlock was right of course. She'd been abroad; specifically Afghanistan where she served as an army doctor and when she'd been working on a patient her hand had slipped and she'd sliced the other open with a scalpel.

"Wow…" Joanne said "How… the hell… did you do that?"

Sherlock's childish grin returned "It's good isn't it."

"Look…" Joanne began, trying to brush the matter aside for the time being. "We need to sort out how we're going to do this. I'm sure your father told you that I would be performing drugs tests on you but we need to find you a job."

"Ah!" Sherlock exclaimed "Already got one."

"Really." Joanne smiled "Doing what?"

Sherlock was ready to speak, mouth open and everything, when something in his pocket vibrated. From it he pulled an iPhone 5 with a text displayed on the screen. Sherlock briefly read it before turning to Joanne. "This actually" and he passed his phone to Joanne who took a look at the text displayed on the screen.

Murder.

Chiltern Car Park.

Come now.

L

Joanne looked at Sherlock quizzically "You're becoming a murderer?"

"No, no!" Sherlock exclaimed, standing up from his seat, "I plan on doing quite the opposite. I'm going to solve them! And various other crimes too!"

Without warning Sherlock stood up abruptly and ran back into the hallway. Joanne slowly stood up, grabbing her walking stick, and followed Sherlock slowly into the hallway.  As she walked through he was emerging from the door next to the stairs wearing an air force blue great coat completed with silver, RAF buttons and shoulder lapels. It fell to just below his knees and was left opened. Joanne caught a brief glimpse of an unbuttoned grey blazer over Sherlock's Black Sabbath T-Shirt.

"Right!" he smiled "You coming?"

"Where… to the car park?" Joanne stuttered.

"Well yes. Aren't you meant to watch me 24/7?"

"Yes…"

"Then come on!" Sherlock exclaimed and he walked to the front door, hastily opened it and walked onto the street outside.  Joanne slowly followed him, her bad leg impeding the strength and agility she had possessed whilst fighting abroad.

To Joanne's utter surprise when they arrived on the street outside there was a black cab waiting for them. Sherlock was already climbing into it when Joanne closed the door behind her. Sherlock poked his head out of the door and called for Joanne to hurry, which she did, and within a few moments they were in the cab with the doors closed; locking in the warmth. The engine of the taxi revved, complained briefly, and a moment later they were heading away from 221b Baker Street.

There was a brief moment of silence before Joanne spoke.

"Why solving crimes?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock replied, countering her question with his own.

"Why did you decide to solve crimes for your new job?" Joanne elaborated "Or did you solve crimes before your drug problem?"

"Yes I did." Sherlock added "I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. The idea is that when someone needs a crime solved they can bring it to me. I'll decide whether it deserves my time and if it does I solve it."

"And the police can ask you for help?"

"Yes." Sherlock explained "get's around the loophole of 'private detective'. The police don't have to pay me because I don't charge."

"How many cases have you consulted on?" Joanne asked.

"A few." Sherlock smiled "Do you remember that case a few years ago? The fire in that café that turned out to be an insurance scam?"

"Yeah that was in the papers." Joanne replied as the cab bucked over a bump in the road.

"I solve that."

"I didn't see your name in the article." Joanne added.

"The police are quick to take the credit." Sherlock replied "Make's no difference to me. As long as I know they're solved I'm happy."

"That's very…" Joanne began but she couldn't d find the right word. She thought for a long moment; looking about in her brain to see if she could snag anything. Soon it came to her "Noble."

"Thank you." Sherlock smiled.

The cab turned around a street corner where the shops were sparse and far between. Very few people walked the streets and those that did looked either lost or drunk. The sun hung high in the sky yet a strange chill seemed to be ebbing through the air. On the corner of the street was a large, tall building with ramps leading inwards that were covered by police tape. Various police cars lingered about the place and the cab driver took the vehicle as close as he could. Sherlock passed his payment to the driver and he and Joanne got out, their feet touching the cobbled street.

Sherlock's eyes drifted to a female police officer, who Joanne did not fail to admit was fairly good looking, and his face fell.

She was a tall woman and her unattractive, fluorescent police uniform did little to mask her beauty. She had long brown hair with piercing blue eyes and full lips. Her skin was fair and she had a thin figure.

Sherlock tried to edge away form her as he walked towards the crime scene but she noticed him instantly. As if she could miss the coat.

"Hello Sherlock." she smiled, her voice a little on edge, "how are you?"

"Fine." Sherlock replied and there seemed to be a touch of ice in his already cold voice.

"Here to investigate a crime?" She asked.

"No I'm here to make tea and biscuits." Sherlock said. It was difficult to find the sarcasm in his voice. It was like looking for a grain of sand in a snowy blizzard.

"Course…" she frowned "Have you reconsidered my offer?"

"Well I've certainly thought about it." Sherlock said.

"And?"

"Err…" Sherlock began "No. Now do me a favour and tell him I'm on my way."

"Sure…" the woman frowned "I'll tell him. The floor beneath the top."

"Thank you." Sherlock replied and he and Joanne walked past the officer and into the empty car park. It mostly consisted of concrete and litter and puddles of urine.

Sherlock lead Joanne to the next floor and while she struggled to keep up with his great strides she pushed herself as best she could. Finally she released the question that had been skipping about her head "Who was she?"

"An… ex…" Sherlock began.

"Girlfriend?" Joanne finished; half a question half an answer.

"I was thinking more…" Sherlock corrected "Shag."

"You… you mean." Joanne began, slightly shocked, as they reached the next floor "You and her…"

"Yes. I'm not proud… " Sherlock finished abruptly "I think she has a… thing for me."

"How do you figure that one out?" Joanne asked.

"She asked me to marry her."

"What's her name?"

"Fiona." Sherlock replied as they crossed another empty floor and ascended to the next "Now can we please get on with this."

"Ok." Joanne agreed "Remember we have a drugs test to do later."

Sherlock merely nodded as they ascended to the next floor: the scene of the crime.

Joanne's eyes widened in shock…

To be continued.