She found him as described by the station security chief, sitting in a corner of the observation lounge, on the slightly raised deck. He was turned away from the massive windows that looked out onto deep space, concentrating on reading something on the screen in front of him.

"He'll be sitting somewhere he can get a good view of the rest of the people there, although he won't look like he's watching them," Gregson had said.

She watched him for a moment, comparing the person she was seeing to the pictures she'd been sent. A little scruffier, perhaps, and not stuffed into a perfectly tailored suit, but undoubtedly the same man.

He suddenly looked up and stared directly at her.

Joan walked over and seated herself across from him. "My name is Joan Watson," she began. "I'm sorry to disturb you here; you weren't responding to my meeting invitation. Your father--"

He glanced at her impatiently. "My father hired a counsellor to accompany me through my recovery. Yes, I know. I knew you'd come find me so there was no need to respond to your invitation. Sherlock Holmes." He held out a hand, and she shook it gingerly.

"We're going to be living together for the next two months."

"Fortunately there are two bedrooms in the quarters my father requisitioned for me," said Holmes. "You'll be pleased to get out of T'Vei's I'm sure. Vulcans have no idea how to run a hotel."

She blinked, but decided to let it slide. "I'm also to going to be accompanying you to your work, and throughout the day."

He gave her another impatient look. "Please don't bore me with things I already know, doctor."

"I'm not a doctor," she said quickly.

"But you used to be. So how are you finding the station, doctor? Bit of a change from Starfleet, isn't it? Staying in one place?

"How did you know I was--"

"Your hands say you were a doctor. Everything else about you says you were with Starfleet. And we're in the observation lounge, but you haven't once looked out the window at the stars, therefore, you've seen it a lot. You were on a ship, and for reasons that I'm sure will become clear to me shortly, you quit and became a counsellor."

Joan swallowed and held back on the memories that threatened to come to the forefront. "Right on all counts," she admitted. "But we're not here to talk about me. What brings you to the station, Mr Holmes?"

"I was bored," he said simply. "And boredom is a dangerous state for one of my talents, as I'm sure you will appreciate."

"But why here?"

"This is the busiest station in this quadrant. It has a high transient population, but a similarly high resident population, and a correspondingly high crime rate. And I have a friend in the chief of security here, who... ah. That's him contacting me now." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I don't have a job, Ms Watson, so you'll have to be satisfied with accompanying me to my hobby."

She got to her feet as he did. "And what is your hobby, Mr Holmes?"

He smiled, a look of glee that was just the tiniest bit unsettling. "Crime."

END