(I’m terrible at writing Sally - I’m so sorry!!)
“Alright, freak?” sneered Sally.
“Hey, don’t call him that!” frowned the small man standing behind Sherlock. Sally raised an eyebrow.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
“My half-brother.” Sherlock swept past her, deciding not to comment on her suspicious aroma and damaged knees.
“Good to meet you.” Sally said cautiously. The man stepped forward, shaking her hand.
“Captain Martin Crieff.” he smiled. “You can call me Martin. Or Captain. Or even Marty.” he cringed. “Just call me Captain. MARTIN! Call me Martin.”
“My name is Sally Donovan. Call me Sally.” she smiled.
“Great to meet you, Sally. But, uh, why did you call my brother a freak?”
“Because he is one.” she laughed. “I suppose that makes you a half-freak.”
“I suppose it does.” he chuckled.
“Seventeen wounds on the body. Obviously the work of a psychopath. I assume that Mycroft can help you find him.” Sherlock droned. This was an uninteresting case – but what was that over there?
“Martin?” shouted Sherlock. The ginger tore himself away from the flustered black-haired woman, wiping his mouth in his sleeve.
“Sorry!” he mumbled. Sally sat on the hood of the police car, smirking at Sherlock’s expression.
“Martin, get away from that… woman.” Sherlock spat the word ‘woman’ as if she was a disgrace to the gender. Lestrade was doubled over laughing, and Anderson was looking on in horror.
“Sorry Sherlock.” Martin bit his lip. “I assure you that it won’t happen again.”
Ten minutes and an awkward silence later, Sherlock and Martin arrived back at Baker Street.
“I said I was sorry.” the Captain sighed. “I’m just really unlucky, and when a woman even appears to like me, I…” Martin trailed off.
“Can you just control your libido for one day, until I can talk to Mycroft?” Sherlock sighed. “It’s not my fault Carolyn kicked you out of MJN.”
“It wasn’t my fault that Douglas took us on an unscheduled flight to Las Vegas…” Martin said under his breath.