An Improbable Man: the Scarlet Ribbon part 4

Sherlock looked to Lestrade, handed him the purse and told him "Get it done for prints." 

Lestrade nodded and soon Joanne and Sherlock were hastily departing the scene of the crime. Sherlock ducked past Fiona and called a cab for Joanne and he. One pulled over and he climbed in with Joanne closing the door behind her as she, too, climbed inside the cab.

The engine of the cab grumbled and the wheels turned; driving away.

Sherlock sat back in silence and stared into the distance. He seemed far away and deep in thought. Joanne almost thought he looked worried but from what she knew of him so far she couldn’t be sure that he was.

After a moment or two he pulled his iPhone from his pocket, stared at it for a minute and put it away again.

"What are you thinking?" Joanne asked.

"Nothing that needs to concern you, Watson." Sherlock replied. For all the bluntness in his voice their seemed to be a sharp retort alongside it.

"If we're going to be living together then we need to be able to talk to each other." Joanne added with raised eyebrows.

Sherlock looked at her, narrowing his eyes for a moment, before begrudgingly speaking "If there is a budding serial killer out there and he wanted us to find that ribbon, like the police with the other body, why did he throw the handbag away?"

"It's a good question." Joanne nodded "But it could just be him… being clever, or something."

"That's an interesting deduction." Sherlock acknowledged.

"Speaking of deduction" Joanne began, the question had been buzzing around her mind like a firefly, "How did you figure all that out. Not just at the crime scene but about me."

"Well I basically explained it." Sherlock began "I told you what I saw that indicated your military career. I observed. I see things that normal people don't. Someone might look at you and see an attractive young woman or perhaps someone that had been on holiday, probably judging your tan, but they wouldn't see what I saw about the tan. Not above the wrists or below the neck line and they wouldn't see the scar on your hand and they certainly wouldn’t have been able to figure what implement the scar came from."

"You speak about yourself as if you're separated from everyone else." Joanne indicated.

"Oh, absolutely." Sherlock chuckled. The cab suddenly halted. Joanne looked out of the window and quickly realised they'd arrived at 221b Baker Street. She climbed out of the cab while Sherlock paid the cab driver and they then proceeded to the house as the car drove away.

Sherlock pulled a set of house keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. The two of them walked into the hall inside to find a large variety of suitcases at their feet. Barely acknowledging it's existence Sherlock steppe dover it and walked into the living room.

Guess my stuffs here, Joanne thought to herself. After she closed the door behind her she grabbed her stuff and walked towards the stairs.  A second later she doubled back and stuck her head around the corner of the living room doorway.

"Where's my bedroom?" she asked as Sherlock pulled of his coat and chucked it onto the sofa.

"First door at the top of the stairs." Sherlock replied. His voice was cold and as he took a seat at the sofa he pressed his hands against each other, as if he were praying, and began to look out of the window and onto the street outside.

Seeing little chance of a conversation Joanne walked towards the staircase and began to ascend upwards. The stairs creaked horribly beneath her feet and as she reached the top of the stairs she noticed there was a door facing the top of the stairs.

The floor she was on was more of an L-shaped landing and a second set of stairs ascended upwards at the end.

Joanne walked towards the door, dragging her bags behind her, and pushed the door open. It was wooden and scratched. She stepped through into her new room.

It was a large rectangular room made up of the same peeling wallpaper and ugly wooden floor. The wall facing the door had three large windows embedded in it's centre that sent light flooding into the room. There was a large double bed in the top left corner of the room and the entre right wall was a large, empty bookcase. A wardrobe sat against the back wall of the room.

Joanne walked into the room and a horrible though rushed through her head as she dropped the bags to the ground. This decrepit, empty, lifeless room was her new home. Joanne opened one of her bags and pulled out a quilt, pillows and sheets for her new bed and quietly walked over to it.

Not long after Joanne was back downstairs, walking into the living room where Sherlock still sat on the sofa however his overcoat had vanished.

Joanne quietly approached him and took a seat next to him. She opened her mouth to speak but Sherlock harshly shushed her. Obeying her orders Joanne fell into silence.

However, soon after silence fell Sherlock spoke "I've been thinking." he said.

"I'm guessing it doesn't concern me, Holmes?" Joanne said sarcastically.

"No, no this time it does." Sherlock said. "There was something I noticed about that prostitute. Despite the smell of her rotting corpse her hair smelt of a certain shampoo. It was mint based and very recognisable. Likewise the perfume she was wearing was also expensive. That might have been enough to go on but there was more for me to use. Her high heels were very expensive indeed. Worth a couple of thousand pounds in fact."
 

"And…" Joanne prompted.

"This all points to the fact that she was a high end prostitute!" Sherlock added "So why did she only have £50 in her purse? I don't think the killer put the purse in the bin. I think someone else went through the purse, took some money but left some. Why would he leave some? Maybe he was disturbed or maybe he just didn't notice it. Nevertheless money was taken!"

"Well maybe you should talk to Lestrade." Joanne suggested "Meanwhile I'm going to bed."

Joanne stood up and walked out of the living room just as Sherlock took his iPhone out of his pocket. Joanne trudged up the stairs and went into her bedroom, approached her bed and climbed in. As she pulled the covers over her she realised that light form outside was still flooding through the window and she realised she'd have to go and buy herself some curtains.

Regardless soon her eyes were betraying her and as she slowly began to drift off darkness drifted in.

Joanne's eyes opened with a snap when she awoke the next morning. She quickly checked the watch she'd left on the floor by her bed and realised she'd woken up late. She got out of bed, grabbing her walking stick and using it to help her up, and made for the door. As she pushed it open she emerged onto the landing and suddenly realised that there was something important stopping her from getting dressed. She didn’t know where the bathroom was.

there were three doors other than hers and she hadn't the slightest idea which one led to the bathroom.

Joanne considered looking for herself but something held her back from wandering about the house. Perhaps it was her own sense of being uncomfortable un her new surroundings or maybe the fact the doors were scratched and old like something out of her nightmares. She considered calling to Sherlock and her mouth was open and just as she was changing her mind the name escaped her lips; "Sherlock…"

But his strong voice brushed hers to the side and he shouted from upstairs "Door nearest your bedroom."

Joanne looked to the door Sherlock had indicated. It was sandwiched next to the corner where the two parts of the L shaped landing met and she cautiously approached it. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The bathroom wasn't very large. It was a thin rectangular room with a shower cubicle taking up the width of the end of the room. To the left of the door was a toilet and near that, somewhere in between the toilet and the shower, was a sink. The floor was made up of surprisingly clean white tiles and the walls were christened with blue tiles of varying shades. A large, round mirror hung above the sink and was slightly cracked near the edge and near the shower cubicle, which was separated form the room by sullen plastic sliding doors, was a towel rack with a single, crisp, white towel hanging off it.

Joanne locked the bathroom door behind her, with a brass lock that had hopefully seen better days, and approached the shower. She took of her clothes and chucked them in a heap near the doors and stepped inside. Joanne had to stand with her walking stick but nevertheless she turned the hot tap on the shower and warm water began to calmly jet from the nozzle and onto Joanne's body. She felt relieved to be in the grasp of the water as steam began to come to life within the bathroom. She directed her gaze upwards and let the water jet onto her face.

For several; long warm moments, as the water slowly twined through her hair, it was just Joanne and the gushing warmth of the water. And it was bliss.

However, Joanne's bliss was interrupted when there was a knock on the door and Sherlock called through "Are you going to be long in there?"

Joanne looked to the door and even considered ignoring him but she relented, turned off the shower and shouted back "I'm getting out now!".

Joanne grabbed a towel, wrapped it round her, grabbed her clothes and walked towards the bathroom door. She unlocked it and opened it to find Sherlock stood there wearing nothing but a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms. Joanne hadn't noticed before but as she looked at Sherlock now she realised he had the slightest bit of muscle on his body and she could see a tattoo of a dragon of his lower chest.

"Thank you." he smiled and the two of them switched places; Joanne walking out of the bathroom and Sherlock walking in.

Suddenly Joanne spun and grabbed the bathroom door so Sherlock couldn't close it "Just so you know I've got to be somewhere this morning until 12 so I'll be back later. By the way what time is it?"

"It's 10 past 10." Sherlock replied and Joanne nodded with a smile "I'll try my best not to take any drugs in your absence."

Joanne chuckled briefly and headed for her room to get dressed…

About 20 minutes later Joanne reappeared from her room wearing a pair of jeans and a blouse. She'd repaired her hair to it's natural state and had pulled on a pair of brown leather boots. She held her walking stick in one hand and had her handbag slung over her adjacent arm. She hobbled down the stairs, calling goodbye to Sherlock, and walked out of the door an into the outside world.

The sun was shooting down from the sky in a torrent of warmth and shinned against the bonnet of the black cab that Joanne hailed. She climbed in, told the driver to take her to Bedford Street. After a silent journey through the streets of London in which Joanne caught glimpses of peoples lives the cab arrived outside a tall brown building with an arched doorway and ornate windows. Joanne arched out of the cab and paid the driver before walking over to the building. 

She walked through the door and into the room within. It was brightly lit with a round receptionists desk made of a beach wood and glass near the entrance and the smell of spilt coffee on the ruffled blue carpet. The walls were white and the ceiling was made of black and white tiles. Near the desk was a doorway embedded in the wall with a hall beyond it.

Joanne approached the desk, where a female receptionist who couldn't have been older than 20 waited, and told her "Joanne Watson here to see Doctor Melnick."

The receptionist briefly looked at the screen of the laptop that sat before her before looking up and saying "Oh… I'm guessing you didn't get the email."

"What email?" Joanne asked.

 "Doctor Melnick left rather unexpectedly… He's been replaced." the receptionist explained "Your new doctor is Professor Janelle Marston. Would you rather reschedule the appointment?"

Joanne new what she thought "No. I want to see her."

"Very well." the receptionist replied hesitantly "She's taken Doctor Melnicks room at the end of the hall." the receptionist indicated the doorway.

Joanne nodded her thanks and walked through the doorway and down to the end of the hall. The hall itself was darker than the reception area with a wooden floor of oak that had been well varnished and doors on either side with various names painted on them.

Joanne soon reached the door at the end of the hall. It was made of the same beach as the desk in the reception and had a hazy glass window embedded on it with it's former users name emblazoned on it: Dr. Melnick Professional Therapist.

To Be Continued