Читать книгу The Case of the Misplaced Models - Tessa Barding - Страница 7

I noticed I was gaping and closed my mouth.

‘I had no idea you two know each other,’ Tony said. ‘Well, that will make things a lot easier, won’t it?’

‘We don’t really know each other,’ I replied. ‘He showed up this morning at the practice, I patched him up and that’s about it.’

‘Oh, Sherlock, what have you done now?’ Tony looked dismayed. ‘You didn’t tell me you had an accident. What happened?’

So Sherlock Holmes was his real name after all. I could have sworn he’d made it up.

‘Nothing to worry about. All good. Dr Watson has done a very fine job indeed.’

He grinned at me. ‘I believe proper introductions are in order now that we’re considering a flat-share. I’m Sherlock Holmes, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr Watson.’

He held out his hand like a good little boy and I took it, half expecting him to bow, given that he seemed on his best behaviour.

‘John Watson.’

He didn’t bow, merely nodded his head, and his eyes scanned me from head to toe, making me feel like an insect under a microscope. Apparently I wasn’t found lacking because he nodded again and let go of my hand.

‘Shall we?’

‘Shall we what?’ I asked.

‘Look at the flat?’

‘Oh. Yes. Of course.’ I turned around to where Mrs Hudson was standing, the look of disapproval still lingering on her face. ‘Do you have time to give us a tour or should we look around ourselves?’

She checked her wristwatch. ‘I guess a quick tour would be in order.’

Sherlock flashed her the same winning smile he had bestowed on Jen this morning. ‘Thank you very much. I promise we will not delay you, and you will make your dinner appointment in time.’

‘My…how did you know I had a dinner appointment?’ She narrowed her eyes.

‘Your make-up is immaculate and hasn’t settled into creases yet which tells me you’ve either just applied it or thoroughly touched it up. Your shoes and nylons are dry and clean despite the fact that it’s rained all afternoon. Just look at Dr Watson’s trouser legs, for example.’

I looked down. There were splashes all over my trousers which was hardly surprising. I had come here by bike, after all.

Sherlock rattled off a few more things about jewellery, how the faint rustle of her nylons indicated she had just put them on, her choice of perfume, and the way she had done up her hair until Mrs Hudson raised her hands in protest.

‘Thank you, that’s quite enough, Mr Holmes. With your permission, I should like to show you the flat now.’

And it was a nice flat, too. The living room was partially furnished with two comfortable looking armchairs and a set of bookshelves. It had a fireplace, and images of sitting by a cosy fire, reading or relaxing, danced through my mind. I liked the idea.

A nice kitchen with enough room to put a table into, and the bathroom had a claw foot bathtub with a shower head. I preferred taking a shower over bubble baths anytime but the claw foot model did have a certain charm. The rather improvised shower head construction needed to go, though. I would change that to something sturdier and add a shower curtain, too.

Two bedrooms, one across from the living room with a built-in wardrobe, and the second one could be reached via some chicken ladder-like construction that I didn’t like at all.

‘I’ll take the upstairs bedroom,’ Sherlock said when we reached the living room again. ‘It’ll be no good for your knee, and I’ll have access to the roof.’

I shot a glance at Mrs Hudson, hoping she had missed the last remark. She was busy exchanging pleasantries with Tony and, from what I overheard, he was doing his best to smooth her still-ruffled feathers. Bless him and his soft heart. He couldn’t bear people to be unhappy around him.

‘How do you know about my knee?’ I asked Sherlock, wondering what had given me away.

‘You favoured your left leg when you climbed down,’ he said and added, as if on second thought, ‘And I caught your remark about an old war injury before you came upstairs.’

‘I see. Thank you. But the room is smaller than the other one.’

Sherlock shrugged. ‘It’s big enough for a bed, a lamp and a small wardrobe. Mind letting me use a third of yours? Wardrobe, I mean?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I don’t have an awful lot of clothes.’

Mrs Hudson turned around. ‘Well? What do you think?’

‘I like it,’ I said. ‘It’s a very nice flat. Would you consider renting it to the two of us?’

She didn’t reply right away, pursed her lips and gave Sherlock a long, thoughtful stare. After a moment, she sighed. ‘Very well. Here’s what I will need of you.’

She produced two sheets of paper from the slim briefcase she had tucked under her arm and handed them to us. I glanced over mine. Proof of identity, employment status, credit records, references…the usual. Sherlock folded his copy and put it into his inside pocket without looking at it.

‘My brother will be in touch,’ he said, as if that explained all. ‘I play the violin. Is that going to be a problem?’

‘No,’ Mrs Hudson replied. ‘This is an old house with thick walls. Any pets?’

I cleared my throat. ‘I have two guinea pigs.’

Two sets of eyes bore into me. Tony hastily covered his mouth to hide his grin.

‘Guinea pigs?’ Mrs Hudson sounded incredulous. ‘Well, I suppose they’re in a cage, yes?’

‘They are,’ I assured her. I usually let them run free in my apartment when I was at home but didn’t think she needed to know that. They weren’t vermin, didn’t carry diseases and didn’t particularly care about cables and wallpaper. ‘My nieces left them in my care when they moved to New Zealand.’

Her face softened a little. ‘I understand. That was very nice of you. They shouldn’t cause any problems.’

‘None at all,’ I said in a firm voice.

We said our goodbyes and promised Mrs Hudson we would provide the requested documents by the end of the week, and she in return promised to let us have her decision shortly. Sherlock took his leave and Tony and I made for the pub.

‘So,’ Tony said after a while. ‘Do you think you’ll get along with him?’

‘I can’t see why not. He seems an all right bloke. But I get what you meant about him being eccentric. That thing of his, you know, throwing facts about yourself into your face, that may take a while getting used to, but I think he’s a good one.’

And sexy as hell, I thought. God, I liked how he moved, and he sure knew how to wear his trousers. He had the kind of lean, angular build that looked bony at first glance, but as I’d seen him half out of his clothes this morning I knew better.

A thought occurred to me. ‘I didn’t tell him I’m gay.’

Tony shrugged a shoulder. ‘Sherlock doesn’t label,’ he said. ‘To be honest, I don’t even know which team he’s on. Why, do you fancy him?’

‘He’s not bad,’ I said evasively. ‘But that’s not why I said it. Should I mention it when we sign the lease? If we get the flat, that is.’

‘I don’t think he cares. If he doesn’t already know.’

‘How so?’

‘That thing of his, as you called it? You haven’t seen half of it. He can tell by the way your shoes are tied what song you heard last and whether you prefer cornflakes or toast for breakfast.’

‘You have got to be kidding me.’

‘Oh no, I’m not,’ Tony replied earnestly. ‘He’s probably deduced you’re gay the second he laid his eyes on you, quite possibly this morning at the practice, and I wouldn’t bet against him already knowing about your guinea pigs when you walked into the room.’

I snorted but Tony nodded solemnly. ‘You’ll see.’

‘Ah well,’ I said. ‘It can’t be that bad. What will you have, Stamfs? I’m buying the first round.’

Two weeks later we signed the lease, and my life with Sherlock Holmes began.