fandomhigh | The Science of Deduction, Friday

Class was once again held in the danger shop today, but it was a different scene. Gone was the woman in pink and the worn down room from last week.

Instead, there was an unmoving man sitting at the table. It was as if the scene was paused for closer examination.

"Last week you looked at the crime, today you look at the criminal behind it," Sherlock said, taking a seat across from the frozen man.

Ah, yes. Because John really needed to relive this one. (Part of him did. It had been exhilarating. Still...) He darted a quick smile at the audience from where he was still standing, upright. "And thank you for introducing me, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed, settling back in his seat again. "My colleague, John Watson, class. I assume many of you have already found his blog."

"Yes." John flashed what he hoped was a second, warmer smile at everyone watching; it came off slightly awkward. Then he turned his attention back to Sherlock. "So the cabbie."

The class better enjoy it. John was the friendly, personable one of the pair. "Yes, the cab driver. He used his profession to hunt lure victims into his cab in order to take them to a private location in order to force them to murder themselves. Rather ingenious, I must admit."

"And terrifying for the victims," John filled in, because he knew Sherlock wouldn't. He was a little crap at being the 'kind, personable one', but he was as close as they were going to get around Sherlock. Alas. "The same murderer almost got to Sherlock," he said, glancing at the man. "He put forward two pills, one deadly, one not. The victim had to choose which is which."

Sherlock smiled in a way that was hardly kind or personable. "I played his game and now it's your turn. Discuss which pill you would take and why."

John didn't add anything to that, though any would-be deducers might be able to glean something out of the way he was rubbing his temple.

Or not. Still, it seemed hardly sporting to offer them 'or wait until your friend shoots the killer' as an option.

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"You've spoken to Sherlock," John surmised from that. "All good things, I hope."

At least you could rely on John to be unfailingly polite?

"Mostly that you write a 'blog'," the word still felt awkward on his lips, unfamiliar as it was, "about your cases together. And I'm to ask you whether he really does have enemies, as he says he does."

"He would certainly say so," John said, after a long beat. "He doesn't tend to have... friends, per se. But normal people don't have enemies. Not... that way he likes to think he does."

"...Is he really 'normal people', though?" William had to ask, eyebrow raised.

"I think the answer to that question, is... ah, inconclusive," John said, darting his eyes towards Sherlock again. "But the people he calls his enemies aren't what you'd expect."

"I told him the only people I ever figured for having enemies were either fictional or politicians," William admitted. "Seeing as how he's neither..." he trailed off. "How does a doctor of medicine come to be working with a detective?" he asked. "Are you a pathologist?"

John made a vague noise. He felt a little uncomfortable giving in too much to speculations about Sherlock's nature, honestly. "No," he said, shaking it off. "I specialise in emergency medicine. In the field." Army.

"A military man, then?" William asked. "I've never had the chance to meet anyone from the militia back home," he commented. Funnily enough, an orphanage run by Irish Catholics hadn't much fondness for the organisation.

"Yes," John replied. He didn't have the fuzziest idea how to answer the other part, so he just shrugged and said, "I met Sherlock when I was looking for a flat share I could afford on my pension."

"Ah, so you becoming a colleague of his was a matter of proximity, then?" he could certainly see how that could happen. Mr. Holmes had a certain... energy... about him that tended to sweep people along for the ride (or put them off entirely, but William himself was rather firmly in that first category).

"You could say that," said John, who was wondering if, maybe, that's where the line of inquiry could end--

--but this lad reminded him far too much of Sherlock. Far too much. "I went in to look at the flat," he added, "and wound up in the middle of this."

He nodded at the cabbie.

The Science of Deduction, Friday - 9/17

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