III: The Blind Banker: The Disappointing Show

  On the twenty-second of March, or to be clear, less than two months after completing their first adventure, each one of them was Sitting in his own and adored armchair.

  "Have I told you that I was a doctor?" said the retired army doctor while coughing heavily. "That fog, whatever it is, is going to kill us both."

  "You didn't tell me."

  "What?" said the army doctor, confused and a little bit shocked.

  "You didn't tell me that you were an army doctor." repeated the detective.

  "But you knew it!" yelled John, anxiously and much more angrily, as if there was a big virtual circle of darkness, surrounding him.

  Sherlock grabbed his cigarette and mashed it on the ashtray, saying: "I didn't know it." The detective stood up, jumped over the table like a well trained monkey and walked until he reached the window. He opened that window and stood before it, saying "As ever, John, you see but do not observe. To you, the world remains an impenetrable mystery, whereas to me it is an open book. Hard logic versus romantic whimsy... You do not own all the time, you'll miss the job interview."

  Sherlock turned back to take his violin and as he moved his face, it turned pale and white as a sheet like the dead. He saw his friend, Mr. Skull, back on its place and surrounded by fire and high flames. When the detective was having his second and toughest emotional time, John came with a can full of water and simply put it upside down on the skull. "Again, what are you saying?"

  "You'll miss your interview." Sherlock resumed, "the job interview! "

  "No, I won't miss it. I've got at least one hour and a half, and it won't be a problem for me if I spent it listening to more of your magical tricks." John sat back on his seat, preparing for Sherlock's show of deductions and looking at his watch.

  "If you insist... But... "

  "But what?"

  "In five minutes you will say that it is all so absurdly simple."

  "No I won't. I promise"

  I was sitting with Mrs. Marie Turner, having tea together, as we often do, but I could hear them arguing loudly. I borrowed her computer again to see if they wrote up anything about their latest adventure, and I found it as I suspected. 'A Study In Pink' was its heading. There were five more posts that were published before it: 'Drinks', 'Serial sucides', 'A strange meeting', 'My new flatmate' and 'Secret code', which was just an unfortunate, unuseful, ignored advertisement of Sherlock's website. I ignored them as well and moved to the last one, the one that I might be a character of it.

  I was kind of shocked once I ended reading it. They had never mentioned me in with any name. Not the house keeper, nor the landlady, they did not do even by my name! And at the same time, I was delighted, pleased and happy that I got someone who is completely like me. I love investigations, I love detectives and detective stories. Honestly, I once thought that I am going to be a private detective when I grow up! As I was born with that deep love of being a detective, I simply found myself appreciating and encouraging his gift that he was born with - of making deductions. I commented:

''This is exciting. I am writing this on Mrs. Turner's computer. One of her lodgers is trying to get me to join Facebook but I have told him I don't want to poke people. I am writing this to you from next door.'

  Marie Turner 07 February 15:08'

  I felt like I should not have praised them as Dr. Watson replied to me, rudely and arrogantly:

''Ha! Thanks. Mrs. H. Don't suppose you could bring some biscuits back with you?'

John Watson 07 February 15:09'

   I calmed down myself, like I usually do. I responded politely and respectfully with my usual phrase, 'I am your landlady, not your housekeeper.'

  I returned her laptop, and when I was using it, I hardly heard their voices, but I had recognized Sherlock saying, "it's your clothes."

  "What is wrong with my clothes?" John was yelling at Sherlock, asking him for an explanation.

  "Nothing at this particular moment. You are perfectly dressed, and I can see that you've put on a tie. The question is, obviously, 'why?'. You usually wear jumpers and you usually do not put ties even if you were wearing a shirt. So it must be for an important matter that you meet many people at it. It can't be for an invitation to a party, because you're an alone man, recently arrived home. Neither can be for a funeral, because your suit isn't black. Here comes the job interview; 'Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth'."

  I believe that John's face turned upset and the disappointment marks appeared plainly as it could leave his flatmate, Sherlock, feeling all the blame and guilt. "Problem?"

  "Is that it? Is that how you knew that I am going to A BLOODY JOB INTERVIEW?" Shouted the doctor.

  "Simple, isn't it?" Sherlock smirked, "very simple."

  "Or do you know? I lied to you. I have more than three hours free on my own. I am going to the mall, wanna get you something?"

  "Cigarettes." Sherlock responded quickly, "One packet".

  John did not reply. He ignored Sherlock and directly moved towards the door. Sherlock, and for the first time, learned to use, and rather indeed, used some polite words. He realised that there was something wrong with his last words, and in order to correct it, he, and in a very short duration of time, said the magical word, 'please', before losing his only chance.

  I cannot say that John accepted or refused. But John did not look annoyed at the time he climbed the way downstairs.

  But something very weird happened thereafter. A man with some strange clothes entered the building. He was armed with a sword. I did not think a lot about that since all mental people and psycho murderers come to their place as if it was the last refuge. I allowed him and showed him the way upstairs to their flat. And two hours later, when I went upstairs to check up on Sherlock, to see what kept the client far too long, I could not find anybody apart of sherlock at the living room, but I found on my furniture, some scratches that cannot be caused of any stuff but a sharp sword. I pretended to be looking for something in the kitchen then I left, that was when I saw the angry John coming in.

  They had a short argument. And when it ended, John exit the flat and then the building again. From his appearance, I further deduced that he came looking for some cash and left having a card.

  First of all, he clearly went to the mall, but he returned with nothing. It would be explained as if he did not find what he wanted to buy, but it would not as he left the flat again in less then quarter an hour. Then, the only and the most logical purpose of it was: his credit card had expired, or less possibly, the money he brought could not be enough.

  When John was walking through beside me, his eyes were not focusing on his pocket at all, considering the fact that when he was walking out of the flat, to exit the building, almost all his attention was concentrated on his pocket. That can be explained if he put a card of his, so he returned; to take it cash. He did not have the cash at the end, because if he did, he would not treat it as an important property, so he had a card. All of those exact facts, can only suggest what I have deduced.

  An hour later or less, John arrived, holding some plastic bags full of canned beans and other unidentified items for whom watchs from my spot. "Don't worry about me, I can manage." He said it automatically, mostly unnoticed as the grumpy detective never cares. 

  Whether before or after, Sherlock received an e-mail from an old colleague of his, Sebastian Wilkes. It actually was a request to work on a case of an incident had happened in his bank. John and Sherlock went to the bank, made some investigations and discovered some murders while breaking in random houses on some illegal tasks; was all I knew someday of what really happened in that awful morning.