One
Introductions

"Something's amiss, John."

"Really, Sherlock? That is a surprise." John Watson didn't even bother to look up from his newspaper as he sat comfortably in the only chair in the flat which wasn't covered in a pile of papers or some odd object, or worse – both.

"Something is definitely amiss."

John gave up and folded the newspaper before placing it precariously on the stack of files next to him. "What?"

Sherlock was pacing the length of the room, his usual look of concentration firmly set on his face. John wondered whether he was even really asking for his opinion. He was probably just voicing his thoughts aloud, and having John there meant that at least he wasn't talking to the skull on the mantelpiece, which, no matter how loudly Sherlock spoke, was resolutely not going to talk back.

"It's too neat," was Sherlock's helpful response. John reached for his newspaper again. This conversation was going nowhere. "Look."

John only just managed to catch the mobile that had been thrown towards him. He turned it around to see what was troubling Sherlock this time. The screen was frozen on an online news article. He read the first few lines.

"The Sabrina Western story? There's nothing neat about that." He looked up at a still pacing Sherlock.

"Don't you see, John?"

John scanned the article again, having already read a lengthy feature on the matter in his own paper. Nothing new stood out at him. No new facts made it appear to be anything other than an open and shut case. A messy case, yes, but still an open and shut one.

He turned back to Sherlock, ready to find out what Sherlock had seen that he had missed, but faltered when he saw that Sherlock had already grabbed his coat and scarf and was heading towards the door.

"What? Sherlock?" he called but his only response was the sound of the front door opening and shutting. He sat there for a second, debating what to do. Finally he reached a conclusion. "Oh, sod it."

He stood, swept up his jacket, and hurried to catch up with his flatmate.

I peered down at the list in front of me.

The new interns were bound to have made some sort of mistake. They always did.

I nibbled on the tip on my pen lid as I double-checked the reference numbers on the page, my reading glasses perched securely on the end of my nose.

And there it was.

The Jain arch was most definitely not catalogued as IS.2-1977. I had been examining that item this morning. I rifled through the folder on the desk, searching for the right number. I skilfully found it and jotted it down next to the correct title. IM54&55-1916. That sounded more like it.

I was just continuing with my inspection when the chunky old landline phone on my desk began ringing shrilly. I sighed, put down my pen, and answered it.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Hunt, there's someone on the line wanting to talk to you," spoke the voice I recognised vaguely as one of the admin personnel, "He says he's a detective."

The personnel sounded rather curious about this, as if they thought this detective wanted to arrest me over the phone or something. I admitted to myself that, while it was strange to have a detective call you up at your work place when your mobile was on, it was not something that needed a song and dance.

"Put them through." I heard a high electronic tone while the personnel connected the lines. When it stopped I spoke up, "This is Dr. Melanie Hunt."

"Err…" It was a man's voice that came forth, sounding rather taken aback. "Good afternoon. My name's DI Lestrade. I'm from New Scotland Yard."

"Oh, hi, what can I do for you?" I asked as I continued to scan the list in my hands.

"A colleague recommended I talk to you about an object involved in a case I'm currently working on. It's probably nothing, but I was wondering if it would be possible for you to come down and take a look at it?"

"Sure." I answered, not really thinking anything of it. "What time do you want me there?"

"As soon as possible, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. I can be there in…" I checked my watch, "… an hour."

"Great. I'll let the front desk know we're expecting you."

"Yep. See you then."

It had been a while since I had last stepped foot inside New Scotland Yard. To be honest, I had only ever been inside twice before, but it was still a while ago. Those times were when some ancient Sanskrit manuscripts had turned up on the black market and the detective in charge had rightly chosen to get an expert in. Apparently the fact that I was the first person who agreed to help then now made me the resident consultant. This new case was probably something similar. Hopefully resulting in another new piece for the museum.

I was led through the maze of desks in the light office by a pretty female officer who hadn't bothered to introduce herself towards a separated office at the back of the room. I noticed the frosted words on the glass door announcing this to be Lestrade's workspace before the officer swiftly knocked and opened the door. She held it open and I stepped inside.

There were three men in the room. One was standing by the window staring out. He appeared to be a slightly older man with hair that was beginning to grey. The second man was sitting in one of the chairs facing the desk, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, with short hair and a friendly face. The last was sitting behind the desk, his fingers crossed in front of him and a focused expression in his eyes. I assumed this was Lestrade. But if that was the case, why wasn't he wearing a suit like the man at the window?

Two of the men turned to face me when I entered. The one by the window approached.

"Dr. Hunt, I take it? We spoke on the phone."

I blinked but took the hand he outstretched to me. Well, that explained why the man behind the desk wasn't wearing a suit. "Nice to meet you, but you can call me Melanie."

He turned back to the other men in the room. The one behind the desk still hadn't raised his gaze, but he decided to speak up all the same. "I have already told you that this is unnecessary."

Well, that was nice of him.

Lestrade continued as if he hadn't said anything. "This is Dr. Melanie Hunt, Head of Early South Asian Artefacts at the Victoria & Albert Museum."

The friendly-faced man stood and held out a hand, which I took and shook.

"Dr. John Watson." He introduced himself. I returned his smile before turning to the last man in the room, expecting a similar greeting.

He said nothing.

John sighed. "He's Sherlock Holmes."

"Hi?" I offered with a small wave. Sherlock just stared into space. I decided it was time to move on. "So, what's this object you have then?"

I turned back to Lestrade. He nodded and walked over to his desk, from whose bottom drawer he retrieved a large black box. I stepped up to it as he unlocked the box and lifted the lid. I peered down at what was inside.

I looked up at Lestrade and nodded towards the artefact inside, "Do you mind if I?"

"Go ahead."

After stretching on a pair of white rubber gloves and putting on my reading glasses I carefully lifted the heavy object out of its container. I held it up and began examining it from different angles.

Sherlock had apparently had enough of the silent game and chose to kindly inform us of his thoughts. Or show off. "It is an extremely early sandstone depiction of Ganesh probably from the fifth century. It is an extremely valuable commodity and it is therefore curious as to why it was found in the possession of our body. Ah!"

He suddenly stood, a look of realisation on his face as he began making his way towards the door. I narrowed my eyes and peered at the object.

"No, actually."

"Yes." Sherlock contradicted me almost automatically. He pulled open the door. "John, come. The game is on."

I cocked my head to the side, trying to make out some of the finer details. "No. It's a fake."

Sherlock stopped mid-way through the door. John didn't bother finishing getting up. Lestrade just looked surprised.

Almost instantly Sherlock was beside my side. "A fake?" he asked hurriedly.

"Yes," I told him. "A very good one, mind. They've only sculpted two arms, see, which is only apparent in very early images. It's now approaching on sacrilegious to only give Ganesh two arms. And I expect the stone is period too, the aging is done exceptionally. I probably wouldn't have noticed it was a fake if the forger hadn't made a crucial error."

"That being?" John asked.

"His tusk's broken."

"Of course." Sherlock muttered beside me.

"So? Maybe it could have chipped off or something?" Lestrade pointed out.

"No, it's been sculpted that way – he's holding the broken tusk in his left hand. Modern depictions of Ganesh always incorporate a broken tusk. It signifies how the god made a sacrifice in order to write the Mahabharata, and also the importance of the created world as opposed to the non-manifest world represented by the unbroken tusk. But this isn't seen in early images. The stories of the broken tusk were added later. He should be holding a bowl of sweets."

Lestrade was now staring at the broken tusk I was pointing out to him. "But if it's a fake-"

"Yes!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed. Everyone looked at him. He was smiling. "Oh, it's so simple."

"Is it?" John asked.

But it was too late; Sherlock was already striding through the door into the main office space.

John stood quickly and smiled at me. "It was nice meeting you, Melanie."

"Same." I said, still extremely confused by the whole situation. John jogged out after Sherlock, who by now was on the other side of the office and disappearing down the stairway. I turned slowly back to Lestrade. He didn't seem too bothered by the Sherlock's unusual (to say the least) behaviour.

I started putting the fake statue back into its box.

"Right, well, I guess if yo-" I paused. Something had just hit me. A huge, monumental thing. Like a seven tonne truck. "Wait. Did he say body?"

Review? Should I continue with this or not?