Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Six Thatchers- Four

Chapter Four

"As ever, Watson, you see but you do not observe." Sherlock stood in his camel dressing gown, facing the fire. "To you, the world remains an impenetrable mystery whereas, to me, it is an open book. Hard logic versus romantic whimsy. That is your choice. You fail to connect actions to their consequences. Now, for the last time..." He bends down and picks up a jingling baby's rattle. "If you want to keep the rattle..." Rosie sat perched in her fathers chair, gurgling. "Do not throw the rattle, hm?" Presenting the rattle to her, he smirks in accomplishment before she positively throws it at his face.

Across the room, Mary lays on the sofa fast asleep with one foot up on John's lap as he sits at the other end with his hand on her leg, also asleep. Rosie rears her head back and then sneezes. "Bless you, baba." I murmur whilst scrolling through my phone.

The next day

John walks in to see Sherlock sitting in his chair and I in the kitchen. "Afternoon, Michelle."

"Hiya, Johnny." I call out. "Hey."

"Afternoon. He says you've got a good one, Greg."

"Oh yeah." I walk through perching myself on Sherlock's lap. "It was David Welsborough's fiftieth birthday." Sherlock steeples his fingers underneath his chin. "A week later..."

"Yeah?"

"Something really weird happens." Sherlock and I share a cynical smile. "Drunk driver, he's totally smashed, the cops are chasing him and he turns into the drive of the Welsborough house to try and get away. Unfortunately..." I close my eyes to maximise and envision the scene. "The drunk guy survived; they managed to pull him out, but when they put the fire out and examined the parked car..."

"Whose body?" John questions. "Charlie Welsborough, the son."

"What?"

"The son who was in Tibet. DNA all checks out. The night of the party, the car's empty, then a week later the dead boy's found at the wheel." Sherlock's chuckle vibrates delightedly. "Yeah, I thought it'd tickle you."

"Have you got a lab report?" I question. Greg reaches for his briefcase at his side and now puts it on his lap and takes out some folders. "Yeah, Charlie Welsborough's the son of a Cabinet minister so I'm under a lot of pressure to get results."

"Who cares about that? Tell me about the seats."

"The seats?"

"Yes. The car seats." I further Sherlock's statement. John takes the sheet of paper which Greg is offering him. I hold out my hand out, whilst Greg gives me the folder and together, Sherlock and I look into the contents. "Made of vinyl... Two different types of vinyl present." He gazes to me thoughtfully. "Was it his own car?"

"Yeah. Not flash, he was a student."

"Well, that's suggestive." I reason. "Why?"

"Vinyl's cheaper than leather, is it not?"

"Er, yeah, right."

"There's something else."

"Yes?" Sherlock and I chime towards John. "According to this, Charlie Welsborough had already been dead for a week." Sherlock stares at John with a delighted smile forming on his face. "What?"

"The body in the car, dead for a week."

"Oh, this is a good one. Is it my birthday? You want help?"

"Yes, please."

"One condition."

"Okay."

"Take all the credit." John raises his head. "It gets boring if we just solve them all."

"Yeah, you say that, but then John blogs about it and you get all the credit anyway." John laughs, then gives the medical report back to Greg while looking at Sherlock. "Yeah, he's got a point."

"Which makes me look like some kind of prima donna who insists on getting credit for something he didn't do."

"Oh, I think you've hit a sore spot, Sherlock." Sherlock looks startled and shakes his head at John as if he doesn't understand. "Like I'm some kind of credit junkie."

"Definitely a sore spot." I smile towards John. "So you take all the glory, thanks..."

"Okay."

"Thanks all the same. Look, just solve the bloody thing, will you? It's driving me nuts."

"Anything you say, Giles." We all share a look. "Just kidding." As Greg starts packing away his paperwork, Sherlock turns and mouths to John and I: "What is it?"

"Greg."

"What?"

"Greg, darling." I spoke gently. "Oh." Sherlock nods his head to himself. Greg looks suspiciously across to John and I. "It's obvious, though, isn't it, what happened?"

"John, you amaze me. You know what happened?" I question, surprised. "Not a clue. It's just you or Sherlock normally say that at this point."

"Mm. Well, then..." I jump up, wiping my trouser legs down. "I have a theory, a prediction if you will, of what may of happened but I need to analyse further."

"Already?" John questions. "Oh yes. I seem to be on the ball lately." I flick my hand in the air dismissively. Sherlock smiles before exchanging his gown for a blazer. The buttons on his white shirt scream in anguish as the shirt stretches across his chest. Focus! I scold to myself. "Let's help you solve your little problem, Greg."

"You hear that?"

"I know!" I laugh out. "So how's it going then, fatherhood?" Lestrade makes small talk whilst walking down the stairs. "Oh, good, great! Yeah, amazing."

"Getting any sleep?"

"Christ, no."

"You're at the beck and call of a screaming, demanding baby, woken up at all hours to obey his every whim. Must feel very different." He aims to Sherlock and I. John lowers his head to try and hide his smile and follows Greg down the stairs. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Yes, well, you know how it is. All you do is clean up their mess, pat them on the head."

"Are you two having a little joke?" Sherlock questions, for once having no clue on what's going on. "Never a word of thanks. Can't even tell people's faces apart." I laugh to John's statement. "This is a joke, isn't it?" Sherlock mumbles. "Then it's all, 'Ooh, aren't you clever? You're so, so clever'!"

"Is it about me?"

"I think he needs winding."

"You know, I think that really might be it." John agrees. "No, don't get it."