Dwindle

Chapter Three

The next morning, Sherlock woke up to voices outside his room. He rubbed his aching neck as he stood up from his place on the floor. He pulled on a clean pair of jeans and slowly creaked the door open.

Outside, he heard John and another man talking in hushed voices.

".....I'll just show him around a bit." The unfamiliar voice said.

"Yes. I don't have a class until this afternoon, but I would rather not show that little-" John was interrupted by his companion clearing his throat.

"Good morning Sherlock." He called from the kitchen.

Sherlock trudged into the room from where he had been previously eavesdropping. Sitting down at the small breakfast table, he ignored the man's greeting.

"I'm Greg Lestrade." The man said, holding out his hand. He was a handsome man who looked to be in his thirties. His hair was grey, and he had a sturdy build, like someone who worked out a lot.

Sherlock ignored the outstretched hand so Greg awkwardly took it back. He smiled again, "I am head of security here at Widdleton and will be giving you a tour this morning." His voice was cheerful and kind.
Sherlock looked up.

"Tell my brother that I am perfectly capable of finding my own way."

"He said you'd say that." Greg grinned, "He also said that I was to make you go anyway. It'll be fun!" He tried to reassure the moping 20 year old.

"Fun my arse." Sherlock mumbled.

After a lot of complaints, Greg was finally able to get Sherlock to come with him. As they stepped outside, Greg began tying to engage the younger man into a conversation, "So, Sherlock, what do you like to do?"

No answer.

"Do you like sports?"

Silence.

"I hear you're brilliant at chemistry...."

Still nothing.

He sighed, "Fine. We'll do me first. Is there anything you want to know about me? Feel free to ask away."

He wasn't expecting Sherlock to actually respond to this, but he did, "I don't need to ask anything."

"Really?" Greg asked, eyebrows raised. "How do you know anything about me?"

"I don't know." He stated, "I observe."

"Alright then, Sherlock. What do you observe?"

Sherlock examined the older man.

"You are currently in a relationship, you don't like your natural hair color, you had a beard, one that you were very fond of, but shaved it off. You workout often, you enjoy writing, and you like football." He took a breath, "Did I miss anything?"

Greg didn't know how to react, but managed a meek, "How....?"

"You are in your early to mid thirties. You dye your hair grey, possibly because you want to be more respected, more likely because you are under the delusion that it makes you better looking. You are not currently married, but you are seeing someone. A relationship that developed pretty recently." At this, Sherlock smirked, "You shaved yesterday for the first time in several weeks, so you have someone to impress. You've occupied this job for long enough that you no longer need to prove yourself, so someone of interest it is. How do I know you shaved? You missed a spot." Greg rubbed his face self-consciously as Sherlock continued, "You work out regularly, most likely because your job as head office security demands it, but again, it could also be to impress a certain someone. Now to hobbies." Sherlock's voice droned on, "You enjoy writing and playing football. I know you write because there is an ink stain on the side of your left hand where you rub over the freshly laid pen ink, this also tells me you are left handed. How did I know you play football?" He grinned at Greg's wide eyes, "You seem like the type. Did I miss anything?" Greg Lestrade was . dumbfounded.

Greg's mouth opened slightly, as if to say something, but nothing came out. After a minute, his face slowly broke into a smile, "Mycroft warned me about you. Still, it took me by surprise." He lightly patted Sherlock on the back, chuckling quietly, "I can see why your brother thinks so highly of you."

At this, Sherlock scowled, "My brother doesn't think 'highly' of me." He scoffed, "Nor I him for that matter."

"Alright, alright." Greg held his hands up in mock surrender, "Of course he doesn't."

They walked on in silence, the only disruption being an occasional tidbit of information from Greg and the occasional sigh from Sherlock.

This is how their morning was spent, and neither were at all sorry when it was over.