Seduction and Deduction

She was really toying with fate by being here. Her lunch break was at its tail end and she was still two blocks away from the office. Her boss was a vicious bastard; if she was late she would be fired, or worse. There were certain secrets which really couldn't be allowed to come to light, and he would make her beg. She was too proud, too stubborn to let that happen again. But Janine never could resist a mystery. There was always a chance that a snatch of gossip could be spun into an outrageous story. Which was why found herself in a dingy backstreet City pub, perched precariously upon an uneven barstool whilst she fiddled with her phone.

She was looking over a text which she had received the night before from an unknown number. Janine knew that she was probably chancing her safety by doing as it instructed, but she had mace in her handbag and more curiosity than she knew what to do with. She read the message again, quietly wondering why it had been sent to her.

Janine; if you want to find out something interesting, head to the East India Arms at 1PM tomorrow. Don't be late.

There wasn't any hint of who it was from. At first she had suspected that it was spam, possibly from one of those crappy porn hotlines, but then after a second read she had realised that the message was too specific to her. Whoever had sent it had used deliberately cryptic wording, in full knowledge that Janine would turn up. Her usual sources were smart enough not to use any phone that she couldn't confirm the security of, and she hadn't been approached by anyone new. Janine sipped at her Bacardi and coke, thinking. It could have been Mary; she was always upgrading her mobile for no apparent reason and it wouldn't be the first time that she had forgot to mention that she had a new number. Janine hadn't seen her in an absolute age, not that she blamed Mary for wanting to break in a husband as lovely as John Watson instead. He was perfect for her fellow receptionist in a homely sort of way, although Janine didn't imagine that the sex was very inventive. Janine preferred her men a little more adventurous than Mary did.

There was a commotion as someone stumbled through the pub's double doors, startling her back to the present. The few other patrons littered around the pub glared at the newcomer as he dusted off his long coat and examined his dark hair in a pane of stained glass. Janine noted that there was something familiar about him; a theory confirmed when he turned so that the light fell tactfully upon his sharp features. The man acknowledged her presence at the bar with a smouldering half-smirk before returning his attention to his messy locks. Why on earth would he show up here? The chances of any acquaintance of Janine's hanging around this specific part of London were minimal, which was why she had initially thought the location to be so promising. Perhaps her unknown number had turned up dead, or something. She wasn't going to let this slide, and tried to corner the guy before he could make a dash for the Gents.

'Fancy seeing you here, Mr Holmes! What brings you to this shithole?' Janine called out to him after she had taken a few hurried steps, ignoring an indignant glare from the barman. The nosy old bugger shouldn't have been listening in anyway. Her target froze, looking for all the world like he had been caught in the act of doing something completely Machiavellian, but was still undeniably nonchalant about it. Janine straightened her skirt before using his pause to close the gap.

'Call me Sherlock, Janine. After being forced into matching formal attire for the sake of one couple's happiness, I believe that we are entitled to address each other on a first name basis.'

'Fine.' She replied, idly perusing his tailored inside leg as she teased. In spite of his reputation for being difficult company, Janine couldn't deny that she found Sherlock attractive on some level. 'What brings you to this shithole, Sherl?'

Sherlock twitched petulantly at Janine's blatant irreverence towards his forename. She had found a pet peeve, Janine guessed, and filed it away for later in case she should ever need to use it. That was the thing about the media; it was always the little details which gave you the upper hand.

'I could ask you the same.'

'I'm meeting some friends for a drink.'

'No.'

'Excuse me?'

'I said no. You wouldn't dare to meet with "friends" in an establishment as dilapidated as this.'

'Well, maybe I like it. Maybe I think it's quaint.' She sipped her drink, feeling mildly defensive.

'You really don't.' Sherlock was actually laughing at her. 'Judging by your jewellery, you prefer to socialise in the ear-splitting and translucent bars of the West End. And then there is your choice of clothing; aside from the fairly obvious end-of-line business-wear, the heel on your shoes is too high to be comfortable, yet too low to be showy. Ergo, this is work-related and you are waiting for your next big money-spinning tattler to arrive.'

Janine wondered if he always looked this smug after telling people what they already knew about themselves. Between this and the wedding, in which he had told Janine that she was ugly before apologising by finding her a one-night stand and preventing a murder, it was looking pretty certain that he did.

'In fairness my source could be a friend. I haven't met them yet. Besides, how did you know what my job is?'

'It is as plain as day.' Sherlock deadpanned, as if he had been counting down the seconds until Janine would ask. She would have responded sooner, but had taken some time out to marvel at his cheekbones before her mouth got the message.

'Fire away then, Mr Holmes; tell me what I already know. A girl can't afford to be too transparent and you're clearly completely gagging for it.' She emphasised the last four words, hoping that Sherlock would notice her subtext. There was no indication that he had. Clever guys rarely picked up on that sort of thing; much less notice the likes of Janine. It had been a very long shot anyway, given who he was.

'A person's opacity is never the problem; I would have worked it out even if you did not insist upon wearing your personality as armour.' Sherlock stated flatly, their eyes locking as Janine heard him snatch the sharpest of breaths. 'You are clearly an office worker judging by the indents present on the inside of your wrists; a result of several hours' worth of typing reports with little or no breaks. Returning to your clothing, your skirt has been deliberately shortened and the bustline of the blouse is far too tight. Most companies would object to such things but the fact that the outfit is more than three months old indicates that you are still employed and in an industry in which it is difficult to progress without abusing the power of creativity. This leaves one of two trades, with your lipstick ruling out the financial sector; the inappropriately named shade of Subtle Siren reflects your outspoken personality and desire for excitement. The media, then. Your immaculate attention to detail in matching your necklace with your handbag tells me that you trained as a journalist yet now work front-of-house as a Personal Assistant or receptionist. You lack the harassed frown lines of a general receptionist and the obsessively coiffured hair alludes to frequent contact with the board of directors; a personal assistant to one of the top table. Your posture and use of colloquialisms are extremely suggestive of ambition, which leads me to conclude that you belong to one of two powerhouses. Magnussen or Murdoch?'

'Murdoch wishes that I worked for him.' Janine snorted in amused awe, imagining the mogul's disgust at her choosing Magnussen. If choice was what you could call it. Remembering that she had abandoned her handbag, Janine beckoned Sherlock to follow her to the bar; he took to her silent request with unprecedented grace. 'I leak the juicy stuff to The Sun every time my pay packet falls short.'

'A dangerous game if there ever was one, although I don't believe that your employer suspects.'

'What do you care? And from what I've heard, you'd be a hypocrite if you did.' Janine pointed out. She saw Sherlock give an almost imperceptible shrug, conceding. 'Anyway, if you're going to show off, it's your turn to tell me why you're here.'

'I am working. The Met called me in to provide answers as to a particularly gruesome triple homicide. Lestrade has finally started to admit what I had long ago concluded; that his department's detective skills are almost non-existent.'

'Really?' Suicide was more common than murder in this part of the city, or so Janine had heard from the chatter in the office. 'Care to share some of the details? I'm guessing that you've already solved it.'

'Of course, but given that we have established your incredibly opportunistic nature; you can have precisely three details. The police do tend to whinge when the tabloids compromise their precious evidence.'

'Go on then.' It was annoying that Sherlock knew Janine so well, having only met her twice. With any other man, it would have meant that they could have skipped the chat up lines and jumped straight to the main event. Trust her to have picked one who seemed so highly strung.

'A banker was found dead in the company of twin prostitutes in the basement of Canary Wharf. A certain appendage of his had been messily hacked off.'

By Sherlock's manly wince, Janine could guess which "appendage" he was referring to.

'Ouch. Was it a statement killing?'

'Possibly. If a man leaves his home within the next half hour, then we have our perpetrator. Hence I am waiting him out in here.'

'And the stumbling through the front door?'

'I told the cabbie that his wife was cheating on him. My dramatic entrance was entirely his doing.'

'Oh, right. Do you want a drink or something then?'

'No. I'm working; substances slow me down.'

'Fair enough; more for me. Although it looks weird that you've wandered into a pub without ordering anything.'

Janine ordered herself another drink whilst Sherlock sat in silence, apparently studying her. Unfortunately this meant that when he finally did speak, he broached a subject which Janine had been hoping to avoid entirely.

'I am sorry that the sex was disappointing. I had hoped that you would get more enjoyment out of our mutual sci-fi and comic geek.'

Well that was just fabulous; he could read her sex life. Her post-reception catch hadn't technically been catastrophically disappointing, just a little too eager to last as long as Janine would have liked. At least it was only Sherlock who knew and not everyone else. After all, he'd picked him. Janine had been talking to a mousy woman at the wedding who had described Sherlock Holmes as being as brilliant as he was harsh; which was very. She couldn't remember the woman's name, only that she had uttered the statement with a kind of timid reverence and turned up to the reception with the "meat-dagger" bloke. Talking to Sherlock now, Janine felt that the woman had had more than a bit of a point. He had been blunt, but she wasn't going to question how he knew that it hadn't been the greatest shag of her life.

'Well, you would know, wouldn't you?' She replied sarcastically, holding up her hand to silence him before he could announce the explicit details to the rest of the bar. Janine didn't want the detective to tell everyone that it was so crap that she had been thinking about someone else by the end. Moreover, she didn't want Sherlock to guess exactly who she had orgasmed to. 'Thanks for picking him, by the way.'

'I apologise, although in fairness I was a little preoccupied at the time. Potential homicide at my best friend's wedding, and such.'

'Fine; I forgive you. Besides, I kind of enjoyed the tail end of your dysfunctional little speech once I'd worked out what was really going on.'

'You knew? Then why didn't you say something?' He was gazing at her with something like astonishment, as if he couldn't fathom another human being having even five percent of his brainpower. Janine had known that Sholto was going to get got as soon as Sherlock had mentioned something about confidentiality agreements.

'The world can't be dealing with a PA who's got more than a few brain cells, Sherl. Imagine what my boss could do with that little fact.' She laughed, brushing off both her intelligence and the dangers of crossing her employer.

'I have been told that brainy is indeed the new sexy. Let some of that intelligence out and others might start worshipping at your feet.'

Wait, was that a come-on? It couldn't have been.

'What, like they do for you?'

'John broke my nose and Lestrade locked me in a cell the last time I drew their attention to it. It was a particularly tedious Tuesday.' Sherlock paused, seemingly hesitant as he leaned towards her and dropped to a stage-whisper. 'I may have failed, but this may be because I am not a marginally attractive mid-thirties female.'

'Marginally attractive? Jesus, you're such a charmer, Sherlock!'

'I may have phrased that last part incorrectly. Sentiment has always been a difficult subject.' Sherlock brushed a strand of hair away from Janine's nose, his index finger ghosting across her skin. 'Perhaps this will clarify my meaning.'

And then he kissed her. It was soft, cautious; as if Sherlock was silently asking for her permission and oh boy, did he have it. Janine still felt incredibly confused but, after a few hormones were kicked about and a million tiny impulses finally reached the right nerve endings, she began to kiss back. Sherlock must have realised that she was enjoying it, because it evolved into something else entirely. Not quite seductive; not quite reverent. Janine's hands snaked beneath his expensive jacket, and she drew him closer. They settled upon the warm small of his back, remaining there even after he broke for air. Janine gazed up at Sherlock, happily puzzled at both the lack of snogging and the fact that it had happened in the first place.

'Aside from the general sense of "wow";' And it really was a bit of a knockout feeling. Janine realised that she should probably loosen her grip on his waist. She couldn't have him thinking that she was too easy. 'how did you know that I wouldn't kick you in the balls and tell you to piss off?'

'I am used to noticing signs of attraction in women; you have displayed several of these during the course of our short conversation. I felt that my chances were considerably good.'

'Well you don't have to be so bloody smug about it!' Janine pouted playfully. If anything, she was the one who should have been complacent, but the fact that she had just locked lips with Sherlock Holmes hadn't sunk in far enough for that just yet. 'Anyway, I thought you didn't, well, go in for this sort of thing?'

'A substantial misconception. Don't believe everything which you read in the papers.'

Janine sniggered, remembering why she was here in the first place. 'Amen to that.'

The atmosphere between them descended into a lull and, for her part, it was because Janine was busy replaying and fantasising over what had just happened. Her hand was subconsciously trailing towards the top of Sherlock's thigh, cheekily hoping that he would take the hint. The moment was only mildly spoilt when Sherlock gently lifted her arm away.

'I have to go. My rat will be coming out of his den in precisely eight minutes and fifty-three seconds.' He stood up, sliding off the stool towards her. They were close enough that they were sharing the same air.

'I should probably go too. My source hasn't turned up and I'm supposed to be back up on the top floor in five.' Janine mirrored the action, brushing against him as she turned to reach for her handbag. 'But that was, um, nice.'

'I should hope so.' Sherlock smirked back at her.

For a moment, it looked as though he was going to kiss her again. Instead, he side-stepped away from the bar, silently gesturing that she should lead the way to the exit. Janine obeyed, still slightly in awe of this surprising improvement to her lunch break and subtly appraising Sherlock's suave form from over her shoulder. He followed at a respectable distance, probably in full acknowledgement that she was giving him the once-over. Janine waited for him once she was outside, the wind lashing at her face. The quiet between them was masked by the whirr of nearby traffic. Personally, she was trying to prolong the moment before the two of them were forced to go their separate ways. Sherlock just seemed agitated and sheepish, eventually breaking the silence with a peck on Janine's cheek.

'Text me, Janine. I would really enjoy that.'

His demeanour was the perfect combination of boyish discomfort and unconventional manly charm. It didn't fit the rest of London's impression of him but, what with the long coat fanning as he turned away from her, it was quite attractive.

'I'm going to need your number.' Janine called after him, watching Sherlock accelerate into a sprint as he headed into the nearest alley. His hasty reply echoed in her ears.

'You already have it.'

Janine smiled as she looked down at her phone, turning it over in her hand as the realisation dawned upon her. That mysterious text was still flashing up on the display. Oh, Sherlock Holmes was a devious bastard. He would definitely be hearing from her sometime soon.

You can thank AISH1996 for the publishing of this particular fic – any single review containing three requests for more Sherlock/Janine over on "Bees" is enough to make me reshuffle my writing priorities! This is a multichapter story, as demanded. I plan to update every two weeks due to having to intersperse it with another new Sherlock story I'm working on and the inconvenience of real life. The first chapter is just the warm-up and the second is currently a work in progress, but whether any more appear online is entirely dependent on what people think. Reviews are adored. :) MC. xx