Chapter 1: I: A Study in pink: Sharing
Here we are, John H. Watson returned back from a war, empty-handed except for having a handgun. An army doctor decided to live in London, after a war got him nothing, but was misfortune and disaster - had just ended. And a soldier who had just survived his injuries, finally found his feet walking in a land which is his country.
A week later, after getting the suitable medical attention and some advice from a psychotherapist, he set up himself a blog. What to write on a blog? He absolutely had no idea. His first published post was 'nothing' as a title of an empty page. He then published two other pointless posts, one of them was titled with 'pointless' and the other was titled with 'How?'. One week after making the blog, he found himself writing a third message, which was especially written for his therapist, Ella. He was telling her and admitting that the blog thing will not help him getting better. But, he did not still in the same status even for one more day though. So, who saved John? Could it be the great detective with the funny hat?
While walking without a single guide in several streets of London, he found himself walking in a path of a public park with a walking cane. He was limping, or we should say, he used to limp to fool himself. But, again, who cut out his faked limp?
"John." A young, fat man with a childish look, stood up of his seat, shouting but not aloud and holding a computer case and a transparent folder. "John Watson."
After hearing his last name, he finally and simply looked behind. The young man yelled again "Stamford, Mike Stamford. Remember?"
John agreed and walked along with Mike to take two big sized cups of coffee. Then, they returned to the same chair from before and began a quick, light chat, which had ended with visiting Barts hospital.
No one was ill nor got harmed, they went where they went to find a good flatmate.
"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221 B, Baker street."
John met his flatmate to converse a little, but the expected flatmate started to show off like he ever did, and that exactly what made John likes him. The mysterious flatmate said the last phrase and began by that, a remarkable and unique start for their own remarkable and unique dailies and adventures.
The next morning, they were at the living room, having another chat in order to know some new things about the other new flatmate. "'The science of deduction'" said the army doctor, "is it your website? You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb." John recalled and then said in belief, widening his eyes, "You're a private detective!"
Sherlock interrupted John's feelings of greatness and confidence at his last words, saying "A consulting detective."
Mrs. Martha Louise Hudson, the landlady, came in and ended their session rescuingly and bravely, to stop a sured coming danger. "I don't think that you'll be needing two bedrooms. But I prepared them in case... Greg, a friend of yours, Sherlock, is coming upstairs."
Not another microsecond and Greg was already standing in front of the flat's door. "We've never met, have we? Who is this, Sherlock."
"He's my gay."
"What?!" said John and Greg, unsured of what they had just heard.
"He's my... Umm... SAY! could you say that again?" Sherlock returned the patience of the people who were in the living room, and asked awkwardly "please!"
"'WHO IS HE?'"
"He's with me." Sherlock said and walked toward the window, looking at the cops on the ground and completing, "That was the exact question indeed! Lestrade, you didn't come here to check up on me, You clearly came to consult me."
"There has been another suicide, but she left a note this time."
"Rache?"
"Yes, R-A-C-H-E."
Sherlock stood up immediately, putting on his coat and scarf, saying "You can go, Gavin, I'll be right behind... "
Greg left the flat without discussing what Sherlock had just confidently called him with.
"You're a doctor, actually an army doctor."
John moved off his face of the newspaper and stared at Sherlock who was standing right beside the opened door. "Yes."
"Any good?"
"Very good."
"You've seen a lot of injuries then. Wanna see some more?"
"Oh god, yes!" said the doctor, who was standing up of his armchair using a walking cane. "But you didn't tell me what 'rache' was?"
"A German word for revenge." Sherlock said in a questioning accent, "... or maybe not. "
"No, I mean, how could you possibly know about these letters? The police themselves didn't know about the incident out of thirty minutes ago."
"Body language."
"Sorry, what?"
"Didn't you hear about 'body language'?" Sherlock was saying while raising up his right hand to take a taxi, "That's how I knew it!"
"But Sherlock, it's for feelings!"
"Then every movement that means an emotion might be pointing to a letter, right?"
John and Sherlock were taking their seats in the car and remaining in silence for a few minutes, when the cabbie interrupted that by parking his car and giving them the permission to go.
The two flatmates finally entered the crime scene after walking through people, which meeting them was more likely to an endless nightmare for Sherlock. Sherlock was making fun of the sergeants all along by showing off even in such unsuitable places. If he was not the famous detective he would be killed or lying in a prison now.
"Well?"
"What am I doing here?" replied John, very confused.
"Examining the corpse" Sherlock suggested, "and helping me make a point"
"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent"
"Yeah, well, this is more fun."
"'Fun?' There is a woman lying dead."
"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper."
That was how their first game started. It was their first case and their first lost one. But it ended up with having dinner in a Chinese restaurant. However, they were sitting face to face, alone and talking on their own, but all of a sudden, John changed the whole subject by saying, "When you were saying to the inspector that it was the exact question, what did you really mean?
"That he asked the right question." Sherlock answered John, with an honest, pure voice. "If you heard what I said first, you can see the connection."
"And what you said first is... Something I can't remember." mattered the doctor, nervously and puzzled.
"Good for you!" Sherlock answered, keeping calmness and trying not to drop any tear. "There is a secret, which I hide it from my big brother, but not of my flirting flatmate."
"Flirting!" said the doctor, stressing the 'F' and clearing his throat, "I am not flirting with you! But you still can share the secret to your FLATMATE."
His curiosity could successfully defeat his ego. And his military calmness dropped off once he heard that he is about to receive a secret that is only could be shared to him. Sherlock got upset though, but he answered him faithfully, "John... "
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