The Reality That Doesn't Exist

(( Haha bloody hell, nice link. No jumping required this time. ))


"John's my new flatmate," Sherlock muttered, watching Lestrade carefully. He was definitely flirting with her. Or at least trying to. God, is that all people were interested in these days?

"Are we ready?" He asked, a little impatiently. He was rather eager to see the body.

((I know, right... I found that thanks to Google, soooo sexy... I MEAN- )) I was a little taken back. Am I? His new flatmate? I hadn't quite decided yet, but yet here he was. So, he must be jumping onto the idea. But ready for WHAT I wondered? What exactly was I in for? I didn't even think about that...

((Yeah, I've seen that pic too, very sexy. Somebody had pinned it as a young Sgt. Lestrade under cover in the drugs squad, but he doesn't look more than 16 there.))

John? Did she just call herself John? Greg wondered if his ears were failing him. If not, then, well, she could call herself what she wanted, it was none of his business. Reinforces the Lesbian thing though...Ah, well. "Right, body's up there, front bedroom. Go take a look."

"Excellent," Sherlock clasped his hands together with barely concealed delight, over excited at the thought of seeing the body.

He practically raced up the stairs and burst through the door in a rush of energy, instantly calming and remaining still for a minute or so once inside, slowly taking everything in.

Greg watched Sherlock dash away and shook his head in exasperation. "Come on, Dr Watson. He's always like this, it's almost indecent." He stood back and extended a hand to the woman beside him. "After you."

((I am soo sorry, I've been under the weather. Ooh, yay flirty time!!!))
I smiled at him, he DID seem to have more manners than Sherlock. I was beginning to like him more. "Well. Thank you, Inspector. That's very kind. I'm glad to see some people still have manners here." I said warmly, took his hand, and went up the stairs.

I'd watched the way Sherlock had gone and tracked it. Sure enough, he was in the room. I hadn't even gotten in the room yet but... I saw...a body. Oh god. The inspector had mentioned it was up there, but actually seeing it... It'd been a while for me, seeing people dead. And here a while later, A WOMAN lying dead. It shouldn't have got to me but it did.

I froze. Closed my eyes, inhaled. Gripped Lestrade's hand tighter.

Sherlock barely glanced up as the other two came up the stairs, too engrossed in staring at the dead woman. When he did look at them, he gave a quick double take. Why the hell were they holding hands? He frowned. God...had Lestrade really moved in that quickly? Was that how it worked these days?

Giving a little scowl, he brought out his magnifier and snapped it open, crouching down beside the woman and beginning to examine her hair, face, hands, coat, everything about her, deducing fact after fact, his small smile broadening as he put the pieces together in his mind.

As the blood supply to his hand took a nosedive, Lestrade was forced to notice the tension in the woman's body as she stood beside him. He glanced at her and saw...what? She was a doctor, wasn't she? Okay...some other issue then. In response, he gripped a little tighter himself, trying to convey strength and support. If she needed it, he doubted very much that the big git would offer. Hmm, maybe in with a chance here then.

"You okay? Do you need a moment...?" Greg asked gently.

((Lol, Sherlock "Why THE HELL were they holding hands." makes me laugh sooo much)) I pulled myself together, this was NOT the time to start losing it. After all, I'd seen people die in the war. People I knew, my friends. I then noticed that Lestrade gripped back, offering support. "No I don't need a moment, I'm fine. But thanks for asking. That's very considerate of you." I said then lightly smiled again. I loosened my grip, ready to go. "Sorry about the sudden freezing and all, I er... It's been a while for me."

Then I nervously bit my lip, wondering how to pick things up, alleviate the awkwardness. "So, what do you do when you're not investigating a crime?" I asked.

Sherlock was entirely focused on what he was doing, concentrating, his mind - his mind rudely interupted by...they were talking! Lestrade and John were talking to each other.

"Will you two shut up!" He snapped, standing up and glaring at them. "I'm trying to think here."

Greg shrugged and the corner of his mouth tugged up in a small smile. "He's always like that. Sorry, Sherlock. Just sharing meaningless pleasantries with your new colleague." Greg let go John's hand and held his own up in a gesture designed to placate. "We'll be quiet." He glanced at John. "Won't we, doctor?" He winked, conspiratorially.

((Oooh, someone got angry. Lol. You're just jealous. Don't try to deny it. Even if it's been a day since you met me, you're still jealous. Besides, how are Lestrade and I supposed to flirt if you want us to be quiet? With our eyes or something?)) I snickered a little, trying to keep myself in line. Then I said "Oh, of course we will." winking back, slightly flirting. "Inspector." In a very low whisper I said "Bit of a smeghead, isn't he?" After that, though I did keep quiet. Watching him get back to work. It was like a dance, with various steps and the way he went around, the extreme preciseness.

Sherlock cleared his throat impatiently, already bored with the other two and their annoying flirtatious behaviour towards each other.

"Dr Watson," he muttered, nodding her towards the body. "Your medical opinion please."

That surprised me quite a lot. "What? ME? You...want ME to give my medical opinion of the body?" I asked trying to make sure I wasn't making things up or what exactly he was saying.

"Feel free," Greg said. "Anything you can tell us, doctor." He stood back to watch.

I felt flustered and nervous and put on the spot. I cautiously moved closer to the actual body. Oh... I'd look like an idiot next to him. He was...amazing, god knows what he'd have to say about this.

No. I was a Army medical doctor with a extensive resume and extremely qualified, one of the best in the war. And I was going to show him. Then I carefully knelt down because of my leg and my other injuries. Began examining the critical points.

And I picked up a lot. Then, I carefully positioned myself more comfortably. ((okay decision time, do I actually make her seem to know what's going on or do the BBC John thing where John's just kind of like "it could be this or this based on this."???)) .

((as far as i'm concerned you could make John as good as he should have been in the series. As an army trauma surgeon she would know how the woman died. Remember this is HER area, not Sherlock's. Why don't you have her impress him here? Imho you should go for it. It would make Lestrade even more interested...))

(( Yeah, I agree. It always kind of annoyed me in the series the way John was a bit meh in his deductions at that point...))


Sherlock waited until John had got herself into place, then crouched down on the opposite side of the body, his face etched with concentration and staring at her intently, eager and intrigued to see what she had to say.

It was always useful to hear a more detailed medical opinion. Whilst he had a proficient background in chemistry and a general knowledge of causes of death due to his past work on crime scenes, he was by no means a specialist and wasn't afraid of turning to one when he needed extra data.

((Yeah, I mean a female John would KNOW the suitcase was pink. Otherwise, she would be really really stupid. Okay. Hold onto your Tardis, boys. You're in for it.)) "A drug, definitely." I said finally. "But no overdose. Look. Here and here you have signs of convulsion. Her muscles indicate that she'd been having contractions. She's got some strange coloring around her lips. Not just a drug, then. Poison. All the signs show her respiratory system was paralyzed. And this morning, Mrs. Hudson was talking about the suicides; you said there'd been a fourth. Then the inspector came in. For that reason. This is another suicide, use of the same poison as the papers said the last 3 people did."

"Now. Everything put together, the paralysis; convulsion; contractions; the fact that her death only took a finite amount and happened very quickly, it'd have to be some form of strychnine." Then I stood up, quite proud of myself. ((Just so you know, I totally did research for the drug/poison according to the details provided by the canon Study in Scarlet.))

As John began to speak, Sherlock rocked back on his heels, staring at her in a mixture of amazement and admiration.

Not only had she managed to put two and two together, making some small deductions of her own by successfully stating the victim was one of the suicides, she'd also provided him with a new piece of information, her opinion as to the type of poison used.

"That's..." He searched for a word to express his gratitude and pleasure without sounding too sentimental, wanting to appear casual. "...very good, John, thank you."

He stood up straight and fiddled with his collar.

I was a bit taken back, didn't know quite what to say. And yet, I had difficulty believing that I'd done that good, Sherlock had probably gotten EVERYTHING and I was just restating only a small portion of that. "Well, err. Wasn't THAT good, just doing my job." I said. "I mean, I won't be anywhere near what you said in the cab, that was just... Incredible."

((Okay, are we going to have something trigger Sherlock's deductions about the woman and all or is he just going to go for it randomly? I mean I kind of thought that for some reason, he decides to show off for her and then he's like "why the hell am I doing this???"))

(( Lestrade normally asks him if he's got anything, prompting the usual spiel in which I'll mention the intriguing nature of the note as well...and we could have Anderson being annoying of course ))

"That's nasty stuff," Greg said. "Can take victims hours to die. So, Sherlock, what do you have for me, now Doctor Watson has done her stuff?"

Sherlock straightened up his shoulders, ready for his big moment to show off. He was just about to open his mouth to speak when -

"She's German," came an annoying whingy voice from the doorway. He looked over to see Anderson standing there seeming proud with himself. "Rache." He pointed at the single word note that the victim had scratched onto the floor. "German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something - "

Sherlock crossed the room and swiftly slammed the door in Anderson's face. "Yes, thank you for your input," he muttered, then quickly added to the others, "she's not German." He took out his phone to check some facts. "She is from out of town though. Intending to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far so obvious."

"Now, the note..." He went back over to the body and crouched down beside it, having another good look as he gave a few seconds for the first piece of information he had given them to sink in.

"Cardiff?" Greg was surprised. "What...How did you make that jump? Sorry, sorry," he said at Sherlock's glare. "Do go on."