I Still Remeber John Watson's Daughter

Chapter 30 Court

Chapter 30 Court

As I was getting dressed for the trial Sherlock came into my room with the deer stalker that the police force had bought for him. "Is this some sort of hat? Why has it got flaps and two fronts?"

"It is a hat, it's called a deer stalker, the flaps come down over your ears to keep them warm," I replied. "For the two fronts, I don't know, I didn't design it."

"Is it a death Frisbee? How do you stalk deer with a hat?" he asked throwing the hat at me and it flew just like a Frisbee and I caught it laughing.

"Hunters wear it Sherlock. The hat itself has nothing to do with the hunting process of killing the animal." I pulled my combat boots on with my pants suit, leaving my hair down that now fell past my butt. I threw his hat back at him, "let's get this over with." I already knew what was likely to happen. Moriarty was where he wanted to be. That could be the only reason he had let us catch him. He had to have already bought the jury; rumor was he wasn't going to mount a defense. There was more than enough evidence for him to fry, so that had to be the reason.

Once we were all ready John, Sherlock, and I all got a taxi to the court house that was already surrounded by press and John was trying to get Sherlock to agree to be more like a normal person. Sherlock of course said nothing the whole ride. Before we had to part ways I grabbed Sherlock's arm, stopping him from leaving. "Try not to show off to much. You don't have to correct everybody. I don't want you near him," I said knowing that if he was held in contempt of court they would put them in the same cage.

"I'll try Bella, no promises," Sherlock replied before going into the bathroom and a female reporter followed. I chuckled at her attempt to get his attention and followed.

"You're him," she said.

"Wrong toilet," Sherlock answered drying his hands.

"Who did you expect him to be, the Prime Minster?" I asked. She jumped and turned around.

"I'm a big fan," she said.

"Clearly," Sherlock and I spoke at the same time.

"I follow all of your cases. Sign my shirt would you?" she asked moving her coat aside and holding pen, revealing a low cut blouse. The way she looked at him said she was a little more than a fan. Sherlock proceeded to tell her about the two types of fans, 1. catch me before I kill again 2. I want you in my bed. He told her she was neither.

"No. You're not a fan at all," I said looking at the indentations on her right wrist. "Those marks on your forearm: edge of a desk. You've been typing in a hurry, probably. Pressure on; facing a deadline."

"That all?" she asked looking away from Sherlock and to me.

"And there's a smudge of ink on your wrist; and a bulge in your left jacket pocket," I said looking down at her pocket as she did which had a Dictaphone with a red light on showing that it was recording sticking out.

"Bit of a giveaway," she said. I rolled my eyes.

"The smudge is deliberate, to see if I'm as good as they say I am," Sherlock said lifting her hand and sniffing the ink on her wrist. "Hmm. Oil based, used in newspaper print, but drawn on with an index finger; your finger."

"Hmm!" she said clearly interested.

"He's mine little girl," I growled.

"Journalist. Unlikely you'd get your hands dirty at the press. You put that there to test me."

"Wow, I'm liking you!" she said. I growled at her again stepping between her and Sherlock. Court was starting soon, we needed to end this dance.

"You mean I'd make a great feature: "Sherlock Holmes—the man beneath the hat."