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221B Bakers Street, London, England
Juggling a sack of groceries and a disposable cup from Tea n’ Biscuits, the café near the clinic where he was currently working part time, John pulled out his keys. He attempted to unlock the front door to the building, only to find it not locked in the first place. John walked in frowning, slightly. That’s a bit unusual. Shaking his head and ignoring the unlocked front door, he made sure to lock the door behind him. John climbed the stairs to 221B, glad to be home. John, with his keys still out, wondered if he should bother trying them, again. He sighed as the flat door was also unlocked. John walked in to see his flat-mate and partner, sprawled out half naked on the couch, his dressing gown fanned out around him just like his coat tended to do on windy days. “Sherlock,” his flat mate looked up and then flopped his arm dramatically over his face. “So I take it Lestrade hasn’t come by with any cases,” it wasn’t really a question, since John could plainly see Sherlock was wallowing in his ‘boredom’ pose.
“You’ll never guess what happened to me today. Well, actually you might, but I’ll tell you anyway.” Trying not to laugh at the absurdity of his flat mate, John raised his voice to be sure Sherlock could hear him, as he made his way into the other room. I’m kind of surprised he’s not whining at me already. Usually he starts straight away with the, “I’m bored! John, I’m bored!” He was excited to make dinner and tried not to show it in his voice as he spoke, “I met a nice young woman at the café near the clinic today, an American.” John walked into the kitchen to put away the groceries which he’d gotten on his way home. “She was trying to exchange her currency for pounds, but the clerk was being a git. He tried to cheat her and wouldn’t give her the right amount of money. She was really nice and kept trying to explain that his math for the exchange rate was wrong. I felt sorry for her.”
Sherlock sighed making a disgusted face, Great another girlfriend in the making. Just what we needed more idiotic sentiments and distractions. Sherlock didn’t want to hear anymore, so he said decisively, trying to cut to the end of the story, having already seen right through John’s attempt to hide his happiness, “So you bought her drink and flirted with her shamelessly.”
John laughed, “Well, yes and no. I did buy her drink, but I didn’t flirt with her.”
Sherlock rose up, sitting, so that he could observe John more closely, an eyebrow raised at John’s comment. He focused harder, trying to take in more as John moved about the kitchen. He’s not lying. He’s such a bad liar! I can tell he means what he’s saying. Sherlock frowned as he thought, Where was I wrong? John always flirts with pretty women. Why is there always something?!
Sherlock’s confusion quickly abated as John continued, “Although, we did get to chatting. She wanted to thank me for getting McFinis to give her money back and throw in a cuppa for his bad behavior.”
Sherlock suppressed a smile as he thought, I wasn’t wrong. Sherlock flopped backward again. John just doesn’t realize he was flirting with her. Sherlock was nowhere near as oblivious as his flat mate seemed to be when it came to the obvious signs of sexual interest. If he realized just how many women, and men for that matter, wanted him, his social life would be far more active than it is currently; blog and clinic notwithstanding. Sherlock mentally groaned, He isn’t as oblivious as most, but if he ever figures out that there are much better prospects for whom and what he wants in life . . . who want him in return, he will leave. Sometimes is a very good thing he is as blind to the facts as he is, even though it irritates me. I don’t think I could stand him with an actually decent woman. I might have to be nice to her. Sherlock suppressed the shudder that threatened as he steepled his fingers, contemplating the probabilities of John actually finding a woman worthy of him. He only half listened to what John was saying, but took it in, nonetheless. He never really could ignore John, No matter how repetitious what the man was saying happened to be.
“She’s visiting her sister who’s doing a study abroad stint at university.” John elaborated with the information Ari had texted. John smiled at the fact he had been texting all afternoon like a teenager. Well, when I wasn’t with patients. “She’s going to be here for a ‘bout four months. She’s trying to take advantage of the time she has here to set up an internship for next year or the year after.”
Sherlock huffed, trying not to be frustrated at John, on top of being bored, “Does ‘she’ have a name?”
John smiled at Sherlock’s tone. Well, at least he asked a question instead of ignoring me. Putting up the last of the groceries, John made sure to leave out what he needed for dinner. He walked to the doorway, leaning against it as he answered, “Arianna.”
Sherlock said, flatly, “Arianna?” Greek and Italian origin, meaning, most holy, silver, pure, or chaste. How droll.
John nodded, knowing Sherlock could see him from his reclined position, “Yes.”
“What kind of name is that?”
John laughed shortly, knowing Sherlock wasn’t nearly as bored as he seemed, “Hers.”
Sherlock made a face, “Does Arianna have a last name? Or did you forget to bother to ask it?”
John walked back into the common area, smirking at the figure, “Preston. Arianna Preston.”
Preston, of Old English origin, meaning spiritual place, priest's town, the priest's village or from Preston, a city in Lancashire, on the Ribble River. Sherlock’s brain processes this in under a second, most holy spiritual place? Could her parents not come up with something more original? Sherlock sighed as if put upon, “And? You’re telling me this for a reason. Spit it out already.”
John just looked fondly down at the detective for several seconds before answering. Oh this is going to be interesting. John knew Sherlock could read him, but that he was a bit annoyed from being without a case for almost three days. I hope it doesn’t piss him off too much. Anticipating the reaction he knew was sure to come, John nearly bit his tongue to try not to smile, “I invited her, her sister and her sister’s boyfriend over for dinner. Tonight.”
Sherlock sat bolt upright, for once completely surprised, “What?” John now had his full attention, Sherlock’s mind raced. Taking in his flat mate in much more detail than he previously had, he noted things he’d attributed to just the flirting John had done with the woman. Sherlock noted the dilated eyes, John’s attempt to suppress his smile, the bounce he’d had in his step when he’d entered the flat, even though he’d entered with a slight frown on his face. Sherlock replayed what John had said about the girl and he almost groaned aloud. Sherlock had no wish to deal with a complete stranger invading his space. It’s annoying enough when Lestrade comes over or when clients just show up. At least Lestrade usually has an interesting case for me to work on. For once Sherlock could not deduce why John would do such a thing. Yes, he’s recently been dumped, but he’d just had a date last week with what’s her name. With a small mental shrug, Sherlock realized he’d already deleted the woman’s name as being irrelevant. He did not want to state the obvious questions of “Why?” because it should be obvious to him, but for some reason, he couldn’t fathom the answer. After a few seconds he said, “You did this for a reason”
John smiled patiently at Sherlock, and began to explain his reasoning, even though he was sure the man had already worked them out. “Well, from the way she described,” John was interrupted, as his cell phone received an incoming text message. Who could that be? Ari said she wouldn’t text until they were on their way. Pulling his cell from his pocket, John smiled at the name, which made Sherlock frown, unhappily. John’s visage became concerned as he read the message. Oh no! That’s not good! John looked back to Sherlock, “Well, it looks like they’re not coming.” John sighed, surprisingly disappointed, “the sister’s boyfriend, Ryan, apparently had to go to hospital. Some form of allergic reaction from cross contaminated university food.” John nodded as he received a second message that had more details, “Ah, yes. She told me about his allergy.” John looked up again, “He has a severe peanut allergy.” John frowned down at his phone, “That’s not good.”
Sherlock watched as John texted Arianna back, noting the sadness on his face and not liking it one bit. He seems rather attached for just having met the girl. Mollified that his space wouldn’t be invaded by complete strangers, but not wanting John to mop because his plans had been abruptly canceled, Sherlock surprised himself by saying awkwardly, “Maybe she could still come?”
John looked up, a slightly confused expression on his face, “Zebina?”
Sherlock frowned at the strange name, Zebina? One who is gifted? Sherlock’s mind made the connection almost instantly. Ah, the sister. Sherlock shook his head, “No, I meant Arianna.”
John seemed to finally process what Sherlock had said, “Oh, well, maybe.” He shrugged, “I don’t know,” but before he could say anything else, he received another message. John checked his phone again and this time his smile was back. He looked up, his face almost shining, “She said her sister wants her to come and not be stuck at hospital bored out of her mind.”
Sherlock agreed with Zebina, being stuck in hospital was indeed boring and something he tried to avoid as much as possible. Unless it is to visit the morgue, that he considered a lot of fun. Sherlock’s mind began to race as fragments of ideas coalesced into thoughts and finally formed into a plan. He almost smiled as he realized he had something to relieve the boredom besides dealing with strange people and another one of John’s possible girlfriends . . . while at the same time protecting his flat mate. Granted it will most likely only be a momentary diversion, but anything is better than nothing at this point.
John turned and went straight back into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I’m going to start cooking. You need to get some clothes on. She’ll be here in about an hour.”
All Sherlock needed now was more data to enact his plan. He went into his room to get clothes on, as John had asked, but not for the same reasons John wanted him to put them on. His brain did its usual mental acrobatics as he mentally brought up a list of hospitals and universities in the area, compared them, and compiled the data as he threw off his robe. He called out from his bedroom, “What university did she say her sister attends?”
“I believe she said, King’s College.” John paused, “Although, it might have been UCL for Zebina and King’s College for Ryan. Why?”
“No reason,” Sherlock called back as his mind threw up the most likely places the young man would be, “What do they study?”
He heard John’s laugh and paused to listen, “You probably won’t like what she’s studying.” Sherlock could hear the laughter in his voice, “Ari’s studying Anthropology and Art. Both things you either don’t like or think are boring and useless.” Sherlock shrugged, agreeing with John’s assessment of his opinion of the girl’s choice of study. “I think she said Ryan is going to the Dental Institute.” Sherlock’s brain worked the over twenty possibilities down to two hospitals, King's College Hospital or Dulwich Hospital if they were eating near or on campus. “Her sister is a multi-major. I think Ari said Psychology and Business, but I’m not sure.” Sherlock nodded, dropping Dulwich as a possibility. He thought about asking more questions, but decided not to, incase John chose that moment to consider why he seemed to be interested. Sherlock quickly finished dressing and opened his laptop. A quick internet search gave him the hospital’s number and he put it into his phone.
Sherlock decided he’d play nice for some reason. Don’t really want a fight and I don’t want him to follow me when I leave. That would be problematic. Sherlock sighed, knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. Why must people be so tedious? Sherlock made sure to sound concerned as he asked, “Is the boyfriend going to be okay?” He was glad John couldn’t see him as he rolled his eyes, Arianna’s sister wouldn’t send her on a date with a stranger if her boyfriend were in immediate peril. People just don’t seem to work that way. He knew he had to say the drivel that was going to escape his mouth, to illicit the response he needed for the final clue. He tried to sound something other than bored as he said, “Anaphylaxis can kill if it isn’t treated quickly enough.” Sherlock walked out of his room in time to see John texting on his phone, You should know that, being a doctor. He tried not to be annoyed as John seeming to not hear his attempt at being concerned. Sherlock didn’t try to be silent as he walked up behind him, “John?”
John almost jumped at the sound of Sherlock’s voice so close. Turning with wide eyes, he lowered his phone and answered quickly. A shy, embarrassed smile and slight blush graced his face, “Oh, no. She said that they were able to get him to hospital fast enough, since they were just at King's College Hall for lunch. They took him straight to Accident and Emergency. She said that he should be fine, but they want to keep him until his breathing settles down and the laryngeal and bronchial spasms subside.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrow, “She used laryngeal correctly?”
John smiled wider, “Yeah, though she spelled it incorrectly. She put an ‘i’ instead of a ‘y’.” Sherlock had to admit, even if it was only to himself, Anyone who could actually speak coherently of medical terminology, however misspelled, and isn’t actually in the medical field, is better than most of John’s former dating prospects.
John frowned slightly, surprised, “You got dressed.”
Sherlock looked at him for mere moments, until he could no longer keep his sarcasm to himself, “Wonderful observation, John. Are there any other obvious things you would like to state?”
John shook his head, laughing slightly, and went back to the meal he was preparing. Slightly miffed that he hadn’t gotten a reaction, Sherlock turned and grabbed his coat and scarf, “I have to do run an errand.”
John half turned, not sure he’d heard correctly, “What?” Without a backward glance, Sherlock swept out of the flat, “Sherlock, wait!” John called louder, hoping the git could hear him, “Where’re you going?” But Sherlock was already out the door, leaving a dumbfounded John staring over his shoulder at a now empty flat, “What was that about?” John sighed, having gotten used to his flat mate’s eccentricities, but worried he’d upset him by inviting what amounted to a total stranger home. John knew Sherlock had enemies. Anyone who worked with the police and solved crimes the way Sherlock did, especially the way Sherlock did, would have enemies. Some are even on the force. John thought about Sgt. Donovan, Anderson, and a few others. He thought about how they treated the consulting detective and it made him frown. Sighing to himself, he shook his head. Sherlock can be a complete idiot and right dick, but he’s a good man. I wish they could see that. He is strange, but he’s no freak . . . even if he laughs at crime scenes and murder makes him act like a kid at Christmas. John had to smile then as a mental image of Sherlock happily bouncing around like a five year old, as he went over a crime scene of a particularly nasty triple murder, ran through John’s head. Another thought occurred to him as he started getting dinner ready, Could Ari be one of those enemies? Maybe a plant or a pawn to be used against us both? John shook his head, dismissing the idea as absurd. John laughed at the idea. Yeah, right. I don’t think they’d use a bright, sweet, young American girl as a way to get at Sherlock. And why would they try to go through me? I’m just his flat mate.
John mused to himself, his smile fading faintly, “Whom I date doesn’t affect Sherlock.” John stopped as what he’d just said penetrated his brain, “Oh. I guess this could be considered a date, now.” He blinked slowly several times as his brain processed the fact that he was happy he’d get to spend more time alone with Arianna. John smiled, “She is a lot younger, but there’s just something about her. . .” John shook his head and went back to preparing dinner. Maybe Sherlock was just giving me privacy. John burst out laughing then, “Yeah, right; like he’d ever understand personal privacy for anyone but himself.”
John frowned as a thought occurred to him, “He wouldn’t go to hospital just to . . .” John stopped himself there, closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. No, he wouldn’t. John took several deep breaths. Would he? John sighed, knowing full well, that Sherlock would and could go to a university hospital just to check to see if Ari was lying. Oh, heavens. I hope he just went to St. Barts or had to get something for an experiment. A part of him wanted to warn Arianna that Sherlock might show up at hospital, but a larger part stopped him from messaging her, just in case it was a trap for the consulting detective. Gah! Am I that paranoid? I think I’m starting to think like Sherlock. John sighed, remembering a quote he’d once read in Catch-22 by Joseph Heller that had always stuck with him, “Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you.” Yeah, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you and working with Sherlock, they probably are . . . in some way, somehow. John smiled to himself. It pays to be paranoid in this line of work. It keeps you alive, just like on the front. Realizing that there wasn’t anything he could really do, John set his mind back to the task at hand. I have a meal to prepare. With that thought, he got down to work.
King’s College Hospital, Denmark Hill, London, England
Sherlock had used his phone to hack into the hospital’s database, utilizing a backdoor into the system he’d noted the previous year on a case just before he’d met John. Slightly surprised it still existed; he made a mental note to inform the IT department of their vulnerability, after he’d gotten what he needed.
He wasn’t surprised to see that there were several ‘Ryan’s’ listed on the patient roster. Only one had anaphylaxis as the reason for admittance listed on his chart. Sherlock went into the file and read, “Ryan Gessup had been admitted about fifty minutes ago with severe anaphylaxis.” Well, if this is the correct boy than she wasn’t lying, but I have to be sure. Sherlock read everything the medical file had on the patient and then closed the application. He had the taxi drop him off on the opposite side of the Accident and Emergency entrance.
Sherlock didn’t want to appear too obvious as he entered through the side entrance. He walked in behind a nurse who was returning after a smoke break, through the door which was meant only for faculty and staff. What lax security. Pathetic! Sherlock observed everything around him as he took a less than direct route to the Accident and Emergency department. He’d memorized which room Ryan Gessup was in and the layout of the entire department, but he didn’t want to bother impersonating a doctor. I should be able to find out everything I need to know from the sister/girlfriend.
Sherlock was sure the nursing staff would recognize that he didn’t work or teach here. Sherlock had found that nurses, especially Emergency nurses, tended to be much sharper than the average person. No use in going to jail, if I can avoid it. Pretending to be someone with a patient, Sherlock headed for a vantage point where he could observe the only area in the Emergency department where there were refreshments. A small little dead end, side corridor was the designated food and beverage area. It was where horrible, hospital coffee could be had, along with several vending machines.
Zebina walked out of the hospital room, glad that Ryan had finally settled down enough for her to go get a drink. And have a break from his hysterics. He never does well when this happens and he really does make a bad patient. I guess the old saying about doctors making the worst patients is true. I guess his choice of profession is telling that way. Zebina shook her head. A part of her sincerely wished she could even remotely enjoy, or at least stand the taste of, alcohol so that she might be able to relax after such a trying day, which wasn't over yet. That isn’t over by far.
She sighed, not sure what to make of what Ari had told her about her day and the man she'd met at Tea n' Biscuits. Zebina knew one of the clerks could be a jerk, but hadn't had the misfortune in having to deal with him. Yet, being the key phrase in that.
She made a mental note to report him to the owner next time she was in. She’d met the owner several times. He was an older gentleman that she had pegged as a widower. She’d noted he liked to flirt with younger women, but was overall a sweet, harmless old man. She doubted he would appreciate his employees treating his customers in that fashion, let alone a young woman. He’ll probably take care of the situation, if someone else tells him first, but I’ll make sure he knows about it, either way.
Zebina turned a corner into a small side hallway where she'd noted, when they came in earlier, the vending machines and coffee area happened to be. She smiled at the odd choices the vending machines had available. She knew Ari would love to know what the different types of drinks were and made another mental note to tell her sister about them when she got home.
Zebina frowned then, her mind going back to their conversation at lunch. Ari had been very excited when she related the whole tale about the doctor who'd saved her from embarrassment. She smiled at her sister's enthusiasm, but then frowned slightly as the next thought came unbidden. She was clearly infatuated with the man. It had surprised Zebina that he had, in fact, invited the three of them over for a homemade meal. It'd made Zebina think better of him, even though she'd never met him.
Zebina turned from the vending machines, not wanting any soda, iced coffee, tea, or snack foods. I really just need some coffee. I need to stay awake and alert if I’m going to have to deal with Ryan and any more nurses and doctors. Zebina looked at the coffee station and smiled. Some things are the same no matter where you go. She stepped up to the station and took one of the small Styrofoam cups out of the dispenser. She poured powder creamer into the cup and then added several packets of sugar. Her mind wandered back to Ryan as the thoughts of doctors and allergies ran through her mind. She sighed, half wondering if Ryan had intentionally gone near the peanuts just to avoid the whole situation. She wanted to think better of him, but she was beginning to have doubts about him. She did not like how jealous he'd become of Ari or how he'd already started to treat her. If he continues, he will not like the results. Zebina frowned, knowing she would drop him like a hot rock. No one treats my sister badly and gets away with it. Zebina pulled out a coffee straw to use to stir her coffee and put it into the small cup. She picked up the pot of caffeinated liquid as she wondered about Ari’s description of John’s roommate came to mind. Her mind played Ari’s verbal sketch of him in her head and she was mildly intrigued. I may have to meet him, just to figure out what all the fuss is about.
Zebina's musings were interrupted by a tall, lanky man in very dressy clothes, as he approached the drink area. Zebina nodded to the man, acknowledging the fact that he was headed straight for the coffee station, where she stood. Zebina poured the coffee into her cup, put the pot back and moved out of his way, taking refuge against the empty wall that ended the hallway in a cul-de-sac. She stirred her cup as she watched him pull out a small cup of his own. Zebina tried not to be noticed as she noticed things about him. She was only marginally surprised when he asked, "Is it as horrid as most hospital coffee tends to be?"
Zebina looked up, having leaned back against the wall almost immediately. She smiled, shrugging as she answered, "Don't know. This is my first cup."
He nodded, accepting her response, "Friend or family?"
Zebina raised an eyebrow, not used to such abruptness from many people, except her own family, "A bit of both," was her reply. Zebina began to take more note of the dark haired man, categorizing and observing as he poured his own cup of coffee and added sugar. Taller than average, lean, well dressed, expensively dressed, neat in appearance, but with a slightly haphazard way about it that could be intentional, no jewelry, no visible tattoos, mop of unkempt hair, long fingers, slightly twitchy-possible addict or former addict. Piercing, intelligent, clear eyes, no redness, no outward appearance or tells of drug use. Anxious? Too much caffeine? No, that’s not it. Zebina looked closer, picking up even more details as she sharpened her focus, letting her mind kick into a higher gear. She took a sip of her coffee and tried not to make a face. Yep, just about as bad as hospital coffee in the states. Her mind started to put things together with some surprising results. Interesting, she thought. Hmmm . . . need more data. "You?"
Zebina stirred her coffee again, hoping there was more sugar or creamer on the bottom to make it taste a bit better. She was a bit lucky as a clump of creamer floated to the surface. She mixed it in as best she could as the man shrugged, "Friend."
Zebina leaned more against the wall, tilting her head up, observing his movements and the man himself. Lie, but not quite. Huh! She slowly sipped the dreadful coffee. She had a hunch and decided to play it, "No family, then?”
He looked up, slightly surprised, "Why do you say that?"
Zebina shrugged, going for nonchalance, since there was something definitely off about this man, "Most people would call it a hunch or instinct." I wouldn’t, but that’s what other people call it. Zebina watched him as she said this. He’s not here with a patient. He is too keen to be just another patient's friend, too observant. He would be more anxious, annoyed, or something. There was something else, as well. A visiting doctor? Zebina disregarded that idea. He wouldn’t be in this department if he were. She raised an eyebrow, "Or would I be more accurate to say, that you’re estranged from what family you do have?"
He nodded, not sure how to reply, "Yes." His smile was a bit forced, but his reply was genuine and almost appreciative, "You are surprisingly sharp."
Zebina shrugged, knowing how rare it was to find someone who wasn’t immediately put off by her comments, "I just see things most people don't." It’s one of the reasons she’d encouraged Ari to go over to the doctor’s flat for dinner. Well, and I researched him on Ryan’s phone while she was in the bathroom. Zebina smiled, she’s still not used to the increase in certain technologies and I’m very glad she’s oblivious at times like that. Others, she needs to know that people can verify whatever she’s told them with just a few minutes on any newer model cell. I hope the one I got her gets more use than her last one.
"You're a student. You should change your major to Criminology. The world needs more people like you in that field."
I think it’s about time to test my theory. Zebina sighed, showing real emotion here by rolling her eyes, "That's too boring . . . And imminently corrupt.” She waved her hand as if waving off an annoying fly, watching the man the entire time, “Can you imagine having your hands tied and not being able to arrest someone who you knew was guilty of a crime?" She watched as a twitch of his shoulder and a flicker on his face gave him away, "Ah, so you do know what it’s like." She watched him stiffen and smiled, "You're also not used to having someone read you." She acted as if the thought had just struck her, putting surprise and question in her voice, "Are you the roommate?" The man seemed to straighten, as if caught. Zebina tried not to sound too smug as she said, "Oh ho! You're the doctor's roommate!” Zebina pretended not to remember his name, tilting her head to look at him as she said, “Sherly or something." She watched his face flicker for a moment as he decided whether to continue the charade or admit who he was.
He seemed to make a decision and said shortly, through slightly pursed lips and slightly grinding teeth, "Sherlock. Not Sherly.” He took a breath, as if trying to suppress a bit of anger. His jaw seemed to unclench on his next breath as he said, “My name is Sherlock Holmes."
Zebina nodded, accepting the correction, but then frowned a second later, "Why are you here? Ari left a few minutes ago to go meet at your place for dinner." Zebina stopped speaking, narrowing her eye's as a new thought did occur to her, “Are you checking up on my sister?” Her voice lowered and became quiet, “My sister is not a liar." Sherlock seemed to see something in her that not many people noticed. She saw the minuet shift of Sherlock’s neck as he realized that she could possibly be dangerous if he threatened her sister. It hadn’t been a big look of surprise, but it had been just enough for Zebina to catch. She watched him watching her closely. She said the next to see if he were paying attention or just perceptive, “If anything she’s one of the most honest people on the planet.”
Sherlock gave her a one-sided smile, some of his charm and real personality leaking through his mask, “Bet it gets her into trouble.”
Zebina seemed to loosen up a bit, letting her eyes relax as she watched the man in front of her. She nodding slowly, wearily and admitted, “Yes, it does.” She suppressed a smile as memories clicked through her mind like a slide show on speed. Memories of her sister getting into and out of trouble with her lack of tact, complete honestly, and innocent candor. “Quiet frequently, actually.”
Sherlock leaned against the coffee counter and observed Zebina. Sherlock took a sip of his coffee and did make a face, “Dreadful, per the usual.” They studied each other for several seconds, “Does she often fall for the first person who shows a modicum of interest?”
Zebina’s left eyebrow rose, “Do you often sabotage your roommate’s dates?”
Sherlock smirked, “So she doesn’t know what she wants in life.”
Zebina smirked right back, “So you’ve been in love with him for a while.”
Sherlock’s eyebrow twitched, “Longest relationship lasted less than three, maybe four months.”
Zebina’s lips twitched, “Never had a relationship before him . . . nor friendship, I’d say.”
Zebina took a sip of her coffee as Sherlock said, “Grew up lower middle class, maybe even poor, but with at least one well educated parent, most likely a teacher or professor.”
Sherlock grimaced as he sipped his coffee as Zebina retorted, “Grew up a rich kid, silver spoon in your mouth, having everything money could buy, but never the things you needed.”
Sherlock frowned, “When are you going to cut the cord to let her fend for herself?”
Zebina’s eyebrows rose, “How long have you been running from yourself?”
Sherlock watched as he threw one more question at her, “How many men have you left because of her?”
Zebina’s smirk only deepened, “How many women have you driven away from him?”
Sherlock smiled suddenly, “I do believe this will be fun.”
Zebina almost laughed, her forehead scrunching as she smiled in return, “I do believe you have a slightly twisted idea of fun.”
Sherlock laughed suddenly, “Most people would agree with you.”
Zebina shrugged with one shoulder and smiled genuinely, “I’m not most people.” She gave the consulting detective a little knowing smile, “I do believe my sister did not know what she was getting herself into when she asked your ‘flat mate’ out on a date.”
Sherlock nodded, “I do believe you’re correct.”
Zebina smiled wider, laughter filling her words, “I do believe you’re correct. I think this will be very interesting.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket, checked the time, and waved it, “Time flies.”
Sherlock nodded, raising his cup of coffee to her in a salute as she walked past him, “We’ll meet again.”
He heard her soft laughter, “Oh certainly. We’ll see how you hold up between the two of us.”
Sherlock wondered at the meaning behind her words as he dumped out the horrendous coffee in the small sink, dropped the cup in a convenient bin, and walked out of the hospital feeling as if he’d been given a present. He was smiling and almost bouncing as he flagged down a cab. He was now intensively interested in meeting John’s date and specifically learning more about her sister. Zebina, one who is gifted, she certainly may be. He’d never met a person, an individual, who had excited him in the way the Work did . . . and she did . . . excite him. “Oh, this will be fun!”