A Study in Pink (Sherlock Holmes X OC)

THREE- The Crime Scene

For most of the taxi ride, the three of them sat in silence. Sherlock sat at the left side of the car, Anita in the middle, and John sat to the right. Anita had her head pressed back against her headrest, just waiting to get to the crime scene. She wasn't very patient and hated waiting. Though both Anita and Sherlock couldn't ignore John's constant glances at them. Finally, Sherlock lowered his phone.

"Okay, you've got questions," Sherlock acknowledged, leaning forward slightly to look around Anita. John leaned forward a little bit on his side as well.

"Yeah, where are we going?" John asked. Anita could answer this question, so she did.

"Crime scene. Next?" Anita couldn't stop the small smirk crossing her lips. She still kept her head leaned back but was now paying attention to what was happening.

"Who are you two?" John started, but then another question came to his head and he looked over at Sherlock.

"And what do you do?"

"What do you think?" Sherlock liked to make people work for information about him. Anita learned that the hard way. It took her two years and hacking into the British Government to find out Sherlock's full name.

"I'd say private detective..." John answered, playing along with Sherlock's game.

"But?" Anita mentioned, leaning forward to become a part of the conversation. She just wanted to nudge John along in the right direction.

"But the police don't go to private detectives. Or even work with them," John answered, glancing between both Sherlock and Anita. 

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job," Sherlock answered smuggly. Anita rolled her eyes at him in a joking manner. He loved to brag about the fact that created the job.

"What does that mean?" John replied.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which I hate to say is always, they consult him," Anita answered for Sherlock. She really did hate how often the police were bad at their jobs. Without Sherlock, London would be overflowing with serial killers. Though she would never tell him that.

"But the police don't consult amateurs," John noted. Anita nodded, proving that John was correct about that.

"When I met you for the first time, yesterday, I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You seemed surprised," Sherlock mentioned, looking over at John in a sort of challenging kind of way.

"Yes, how did you know that?" John questioned, actually curious as to how 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 wrist. 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 circumstance of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan- Afghanistan or Iraq," Sherlock deducted, though to Anita it felt like a rant, but that's because his brain moves too fast for Anita.

"You said I had a therapist," John noted. Anita's eyebrows furrowed at this. That was what he felt needed noting? Oh well.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp- of course you've got a therapist," Anita answered, she didn't even need Sherlocks help to figure that out. John nodded, realizing how much sense that made. Sherlock looked at Anita, signaling for her to take over. Anita smiled at this then turned to John.

"Then there's your brother." John looked over at Anita confused. He didn't think she was like Sherlock. Anita smiled but continued on. She held her hand out, silently asking for his phone. John pulled it out of his pocket and put it in her hand. Anita didn't open it to send a text like Sherlock had the day before, instead she flipped it around in her hand.