Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Lying Detective- Ten

Chapter Ten

Third POV

Mary opens the front door of the therapist's house and John stands aside while Sherlock rubs one of his wrists walking through. "That woman's out of control. I asked for a cup of tea!" Stopping halfway down the hall, he picks up a glass vase, takes out the flowers and heads further down the hall. "How did you get him in the boot?" Mary giggles slightly to John's question. "The boys from the café."

"They dropped me. Twice." Sherlock grumbles under his breath. "And d'you know why they dropped you, dear?" Mrs Hudson rubs her hand on his shoulder briefly. Sherlock dumps the flowers onto the breakfast bar. "Because they know you." She finishes.

Sherlock takes another drink from the vase, grimaces and then gestures towards the therapist standing in the consultation room with a phone to her ear. "Who's this one?"

"Sherlock, how high are you?"

"No John, it's: 'hi, how are you?" He then points at the therapist. "Is this a new person? I'm against new people." Sherlock aims the last sentence to the therapist

"Excuse me for a moment." The therapist lowers the phone. Sherlock, now holding the vase in both hands, takes another long drink from it. "She's our therapist." Mary answers. "Awesome! Do you do block bookings?"

In the hall, John points out of the open front door to the Aston. "Whose car is that?"

"That's my car."

"How can that be your car?!"

"Oh, for God's sake! I'm the widow of a drug dealer, I own property in central London..." Martha exasperates.

In the consultation room, Sherlock stands with  his back to the chair. He looks round at it and drops heavily onto it, grimacing. "How are you?" Mary questions dubiously. Sherlock takes another drink from the vase. "And for the last bloody time, John, I'm not your housekeeper." Mary sighs to Sherlock's action whilst Mrs Hudson walks in.

The therapist holds out the phone to John: "I'm so sorry. I answered your phone. You were busy. I think you'll want to take it." John takes it and holds it to his ear as he walks back into the hall. "Uh, yes, hello?"

Elsewhere, Culverton Smith is sat at a table while a make-up artist brushes flesh-coloured powder onto his cheeks. "Is this Doctor John Watson?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Culverton Smith. You've probably heard of me."

"Uh, well, yes."

Sherlock holds up the vase, which is now almost empty. "Mary, get me a fresh glass of water. This one's filthy." She raises her eyebrow pointedly at him. "Please." He finishes.

"I mean, I'm aware of this morning's developments."

Sighing, Sherlock leans forward and holds out the vase to Mary, who takes it.

"Yes. I'm sure he was being... Hilarious. Sorry, did you say all still meeting?"

"You, Mrs Watson, me and Mr Holmes. I've sent a car; Should be outside. Mr Holmes gave me an address."

"Well, he couldn't have given you this one. It's..." The doorbell rings. John turns and walks to the front door and opens it. "When you're ready." Frowning, John looks to the kerb where a black stretch limousine is parked in front of the Aston Martin. He looks at the man again and gives him a tiny nod. The man turns away and John closes the door, grimacing. He lifts the phone to his ear and heads down the hall. "When did Sherlock give you this address?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Two weeks?"

"Yes. Two weeks." Smith confirms. Lowering the phone, he walks to the kitchen. "How did you know where to find me?"