Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Reichenbach Fall- Four

Chapter Four

Third POV

Sherlock stood in the gents toilets at the Old Bailey, washing his hands. "Crown versus Moriarty, please proceed to Court Ten." A speaker announces. As he turns off the taps, a woman standing behind him wearing a deerstalker hat stares at him in awestruck amazement. Her bag falls to the ground in attention. "You're him."

Sherlock glances to see that she's also wearing an 'I heart Sherlock' badge on her jacket. "Wrong toilet." He dismisses. "I'm a big fan." Sherlock turns towards her. "Evidently." He snivelled. "I read your cases; Follow them all." She takes a step closer, gazing at him adoringly. "Sign my shirt, would you?" Not breaking eye contact, she peels open her jacket revealing a low cut blouse. She rings out a pen holding it out to him.

"There are two types of fans." Sherlock concludes. "Oh?"

" 'Catch me before I kill again.' Type A..."

"And what's Type B?" Sherlock grows closer to her. " 'Your bedroom's just a taxi ride away.' " The woman grins, flirtatiously. Eyes still drawn to Sherlock. "Guess which one I am." She responds.

Sherlock runs his eyes up and down her body, he begins his thought deduction: PRESSURE MARKS, POCKET, INK.

"Neither." He remarked. "Really?"

"No. You're not a fan at all." He looks towards the indentations on her skin just below 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 looks away. "And there's a smudge of ink on your wrist; And a bulge in your left jacket pocket." They both look down to her pocket from which is protruding the edge of a dictaphone, which has a red light shining on it showing that it's recording. "Bit of a giveaway."

"The smudge is deliberate, to see if I'm as good as they say I am." He lifts her hand and sniffs the ink on her wrist. "Oil-based, used in newspaper print, but drawn on with an index finger; Your finger. Journalist. Unlikely you'd get your hands dirty at the press. You put that there to test me."

"Wow, I'm liking you!" She remarked. "You mean I'd make a great feature: 'Sherlock Holmes, the man beneath the hat.' "

"Kitty..." She pulls the deerstalker of. "Riley. Pleased to meet you." She offers her hand but get not physically reply. Sherlock breaths out. "No. I'm just saving you the trouble of asking. No, I won't give you an interview; No, I don't want the money." Pulling past her, he heads towards the door. She chases him just in time to slam the door close and lock it. "You and Michelle Phillips friends or is benefits involved? Is John included too. Can I put you down for a 'no' there, as well?"

Kitty steps forward into Sherlock's personal space. He breathes out, angrily whilst she continues: "There's all sorts of gossip in the press about you. Sooner or later you're gonna need someone on your side..."

Reaching into her pocket, she holds up her business card and then tucks it into his breast pocket "Someone to set the record straight."

"And you think you're the girl for that job, do you?" He smiles rather sarcastically. "I'm smart, and you can trust me, totally."

"Smart, okay: investigative journalist. Good. Well, look at me and tell me what you see." She stares at him blankly, overwhelmed by the way Sherlock is swaying gently in front of her. "If you're that skilful, you don't need an interview. You can just read what you need." Kitty looks to him awkwardly and no longer continues to meet his eyes. "No? Okay, my turn."

He paces around her, looking to her as prey whilst he quick fires known deductions. "I look at you and I see someone who's still waiting for their first big scoop so that their editor will notice them. You're wearing an expensive skirt but it's been re-hemmed twice; Only posh skirt you've got. And your nails: you can't afford to do them that often. I see someone who's hungry. I don't see smart, and I definitely don't see trustworthy, but I'll give you a quote if you like just three little words."

He reached down and takes the dictaphone from her pocket, holding it up to his mouth as she steps closer hopefully. "You. Repel. Me." With that he turns, elegantly and leaves the bathroom.