(ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL, Thrid Person Still: )

 Sherlock had brought the trainers to a lab and was putting on a pair of latex gloves as he looked closely at them. Alice stood next to him, not wanting to get in his way and examined the other shoe in much of the same manner as he. He picked them up, examined the laces carefully and peered at the shoes from all directions, then dug out mud from the treads in the soles and put it into a dish. Putting the shoes down again, he looked at them thoughtfully.

 Later, he was sitting at a bench looking into a microscope as, beside him; a computer screen showed that a scanner of some sort was running tests. Alice watched the computer screen, bored because Sherlock wouldn’t let her help. John was wandering up and down on the other side of the bench.

“So, who d’you suppose it was?” He asked. A mobile trilled a text alert.

“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed absently, not reacting to the alert.

“The woman on the phone – the crying woman.” John clarified.

“Oh, she doesn’t matter. She’s just a hostage. No lead there.” Sherlock said, waving the subject off.

“For g*d’s sake, I wasn’t thinking about leads.” John said, exasperated. Alice looked carefully from John to Sherlock, glaring a bit at the detective.

“You’re not going to be much use to her.” Sherlock informed. He glanced across to the scanner as it continued throwing up “NO MATCH” results, then looked back into the microscope.

“Are-are they trying to trace it, trace the call?” John stammered.

“The bomber’s too smart for that.” Sherlock said. The same mobile as before trilled another text alert. Alice glanced at Sherlock’s pocket.

“Pass me my phone.” Sherlock commanded John, who looked around the room.

“Where is it?” He asked. Alice looked down, hiding a smile and not interrupting to see if John would do as Sherlock said.

“Jacket.” He said. John straightened up slowly, his entire body going rigid in disbelief and his eyes broadcasting the message “I am going to kill him.” Turning to his right, he marched stiffly around the table, slammed one hand onto Sherlock’s shoulder and roughly pulled his jacket open with the other as he started to rummage in his inside pocket. Alice looked away, trying desperately to not laugh.

“Careful.” Sherlock said angrily, not looking up. John just about held onto his temper and pulled the mobile out and looked at it.

“Text from your brother.” John said dryly. Alice perked up a bit.

“Delete it.” Sherlock commanded.

“Delete it?” John asked.

“Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it.” Sherlock said. John looked at the message again, which read:

“RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS
Any progress on Andrew
West’s death?
Mycroft”

 “Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He’s texted you eight times. Must be important.” John argued. Sherlock raised his head in exasperation.

“Then why didn’t he cancel his dental appointment?” Alice said before he could. Sherlock gave her a surprised look.

“His what?”John sighed tiredly, turning to look at Alice.

“Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story.” She said, even though she was a bit interested in the case Mycroft had presented.

 “The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?” Sherlock concluded. He looked back into the microscope again. John switched the phone off.

“Try and remember there’s a woman here who might die.” John sighed.

“What for?” Sherlock asked, looking up at his friend. “This hospital’s full of people dying, Doctor. Why don’t you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?” He snipped. John looked away in disbelief. Unmoved, Sherlock looked back into the microscope. Alice gave him a dirty look, but the computer flashed a result.

 “Sherlock.” She said, making annoyance clear in her tone.

“Ah!” Sherlock said, delighted. He looked across to the screen which is flashing “SEARCH COMPLETE”. At the same moment Molly Hooper came in the door.

“Any luck?” She asked kindly.

“Oh, yes!” Sherlock said triumphantly. As Molly came over to look at the screen, a man in his thirties, wearing slacks and a T-shirt, came in the door and then stopped apologetically.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t...” He started. Alice glanced up at him, then back down, mildly disgusted.

“Jim! Hi!” Molly exclaimed. Jim made as if to leave the room but Molly stopped him. “Come in! Come in!” She invited. Sherlock looked over at her briefly, running his eyes down her body and apparently making an instant deduction, then looked back into the microscope. Molly made introductions as Jim closed the door and walked over to her.

“Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes.” She said happily.

“Ah!” Jim exclaimed, clearly interested in Sherlock more than any other person in the room. John turned towards them, and Molly looked at him blankly. Alice looked up at Molly from her seat next to Sherlock and accidentally glared.

“And, uh ... sorry.” Molly said apologetically.

“John Watson. Hi.” John said, still upset at Sherlock.

“Hi.” Jim said, but his eyes were locked on Sherlock’s back as he gazed at him admiringly. He spoke in a casual London accent.

“So you’re Sherlock Holmes. Molly’s told me all about you. You on one of your cases?” Jim asked, walking closer to Sherlock and forcing John to step out of his way. Alice scowled, not only at what he did to John, but the fact that his hand was on the back of her chair and brushing against her back. She raised her hand slightly and bitterly said,

 “Alice. If anyone cares…”  No one did, so she folded her arms angrily. Sherlock quickly gave her an apologetic look. Jim suddenly noticed her then. He gave her a slight wave of his hand but quickly turned his attention back to Sherlock.

“Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That’s how we met. Office romance.” Molly said, staring at Sherlock as well. Alice sighed quietly. Molly and Jim giggled. Sherlock glanced briefly round at Jim before returning to look into the microscope.

“Gay.” Sherlock said. A smile appeared on Alice’s face and she looked down. Molly’s smile faded.

“Sorry, what?”  She asked, sounding upset. Sherlock raised his head as he realized what he’d just done.

“Nothing.” He smiled round falsely at Jim. “Um, hey.” He said, wanting nothing more for him to be gone.

“Hey.” Jim said, admiringly. Alice was disgusted and had to turn away. John smiled at her. Lowering his hand, Jim knocked a metal dish off the edge of the table and scrambled to pick it up. Alice rolled her eyes. “Sorry! Sorry!” Jim giggled nervously. John turned away, face-palming, as Sherlock looked in irritation while Jim put the dish back on the table and then scratched his arm as he wandered back towards Molly. “Well, I’d better be off. I’ll see you at the Fox, ’bout six-ish?” He said.

“Yeah!” Molly said happily. Jim stopped beside her, putting a hand on her back, and looked back towards Sherlock.

“’Bye.” He said.

“’Bye.” Molly replied, realizing Sherlock was right.

“It was nice to meet you.” Jim said to Sherlock. Sherlock ignored him as Jim gazed at him wistfully. John broke the embarrassing silence.

“You too.” Jim blinked at him, looking awkward, then turned and left the room. Molly waited until the door closed then turned to Sherlock.

“What d’you mean, gay? We’re together.” Molly demanded.

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You’ve put on three pounds since I last saw you.” Sherlock answered, looking up at her.

“Two and a half.” She argued.

“Nuh, three.” Sherlock insisted. Alice glared at him angrily. He looked at her innocently. Alice reached up to smack his head but he grabbed her wrist and lowered her arm again, looking back into the mircoscope. She pulled her arm away from him and folded them.

“Sherlock...” John warned.

“He’s not gay. Why d’you have to spoil...? He’s not.” Molly argued angrily.

“With that level of personal grooming?” Sherlock snorted.

“Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair.” John said, defending Molly.

“You wash your hair. There’s a difference. No-no – tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber’s eyes. Then there’s his underwear.” Sherlock listed.

“His underwear?” Molly asked, angrily bewildered.

“Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand.” Alice said quietly. Sherlock reached for the metal dish.

“That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here...” He showed her the card that Jim left under the dish. “...and I’d say you’d better break it off now and save yourself the pain.” He added. Molly stared at him for a moment, then turned and ran out of the room. Sherlock looked surprised at her reaction. Alice gaped at his surprise.

“Charming. Well done.” John said sarcastically. “And you coming in wasn’t helpful either.” He added, glaring at Alice.

“Just saving her time. Isn’t that kinder?” Sherlock asked innocently

“’Kinder’? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn’t kind.” John said angrily. Looking fed up with the conversation, Sherlock put Jim’s card down and then reached across Alice and moved one of the trainers on the desk closer to John.

“Go on, then.” He said, glancing at Alice.

“Mmm?” John hummed, not wanting Sherlock to go off subject but not wanting to talk about it himself either.

“You know what I do. Off you go.” Sherlock commanded. Alice gave an apologetic look at the doctor.  Sherlock sat back and folded his arms expectantly. John made incoherent negative noises and looked at his watch.

“No.” He said, pursing his lips. Alice sighed and crossed her feet on the table in front of her just to annoy Sherlock; she had decided she had been too cooperative with him.

“Go on.” Sherlock insisted, sending a nasty look at Alice’s legs.

“I’m not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate...” John was cut off.

“An outside eye, a second opinion. It’s very useful to me.” Sherlock argued.

“Ask Alice.” John said, tilting his head toward the female.

“She’ll just give me my own deductions. I want a different opinion.” He said, on the verge of whining. John turned back to Sherlock and the two of them glared at each other for several seconds. Eventually John nodded unhappily. “Fine.” He said bitterly. Clearing his throat, he picked up the shoe and looked at it and its partner lying on the table.

“I dunno – they’re just a pair of shoes… Trainers.” He immediately corrects himself.

“Good.” Sherlock said, looking away and picking up his mobile as John continued.

“Umm ... they’re in good nick. I’d say they were pretty new ... except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while.” John continued. Sherlock, who had started to look frustrated when John said they were new, breathed out a silent sigh of relief that his friend isn’t that stupid. Alice chuckled, making it clear to John that it wasn’t at him. “Uh, they’re very eighties – probably one of those retro designs.” He said, turning the shoes over.

“You’re on sparkling form. What else?” Alice said for Sherlock.

“Well, they’re quite big, so a man’s.” John reasoned.

“But...?” Sherlock hinted. John looked at the inside as well as the outside and corrected,

 “But there’s traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don’t write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid.”

“Excellent. What else?” Sherlock said, looking at him proudly. Alice was beaming at him as well.

“Uh...” He looked again at the shoe he’s holding, then put it down.  “...that’s it.” He said.

“That’s it?” Sherlock checked. John nodded.

“How did I do?” He asked, trying to hide eagerness.

“Well, John; really well.” Alice congratulated.

“Yes, well. I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know...” Sherlock said, lifting his hand and slowly and rotating his wrist to turn his palm up, his expression full of sarcasm. Alice face-palmed at Sherlock and sighed. John looked at the two, not sure why he was expecting better. With a look of frustration, he picked up the trainer and gave it to Alice, who gave it to Sherlock. Sherlock looked at it closely as he went into deduction mode.

“The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discolored. Changed the laces three ... no, four times.” Sherlock began. Alice looked at John, halfway listening to Sherlock. John put his hands on the desk and lowered his head in despair. “Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old.” Sherlock continued.

“Twenty years?” John asked, straightening up.

“They’re not retro – they’re original.” Sherlock said, showing the other two an image on his mobile. “Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine.”

“But there’s still mud on them. They look new.” John said.

“Someone’s kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it’s from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it.” Sherlock looked at the trainers thoughtfully.

“How do you know?” John asked.

“Pollen. Clear as a map reference to him.” Alice said, nodding towards the computer screen. Two dots were flashing on a map of Britain, one around the borders of East and West Sussex and the other to the south-east of London.

“South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind.” Sherlock said.

“So what happened to him?” John asked, interested.

“Something bad.” Sherlock looked up at John.

“He loved those shoes, remember. He’d never leave them filthy. Wouldn’t leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets...” Sherlock trailed off, staring ahead of himself. “Oh.” He said softly. John looked across the lab, trying to see what his friend was looking at.

“What?” He asked.

“Carl Powers.” Alice said softly, realizing the same moment Sherlock had.

Okay, sorry this one is sooooooo long! I couldn't find a good mid-point to put a new chapter :/ Anyway, please comment!!