Glyphs and Grammars (Sherlock, Lestrade/Casual)

Sherlock Holmes stepped from the crowded lift with quite almost a sigh of relief. He never was one for elevators (the stairs had been equally as busy, if not even more so), and was so thoroughly thankful that he didn't have to spend another minute in it.

The reason for Holmes actually being there, in the American Museum of Natural History, was quite an odd one. Obviously not an unfamiliar situation, however. Since moving to New York, strange things had occurred extremely occasionally, and Sherlock had attempted to be there for almost every one of them. In fact, so many odd cases had seemed to take place at the same time, that he had begun to even start to note down the fine details of any crime scene he visited, when there, for future reference. Even his largely analytical mind struggled to remember the precise facts of every case at once. In fact he usually chose to forget most of the useless ones. Or at least not selectively remember them.

Oh, how he felt like a journalist, as he flipped to the first page of a small notebook, and pulled a pen from one of many pockets. And, as he was quite obviously not a part of the police (who were not unusually swarming the area, tampering with all potentially useful evidence like the hopeless people they were), must have looked like one too. Which was really a terrible thing.

It didn't take long to find what was originally intended to be a mummy exhibit - after all, just following the crowds of uniformed officials was enough - and was striding toward the bodies in no time. Perhaps it would be strange, for a detective to approach a such a scene with no less than an expression of almost-glee on his face (Sherlock would never be so openly blithe, of course), but during the time he had spent in the city, the police forces of New York must have at least grown accustomed to it.

Finally drawing to a halt near to the lifeless corpses of the university professors (Holmes obviously felt no need to inform anyone of his arrival, as he was probably expected to be there), Sherlock crouched down, and set immediately to work. He didn't even notice - or perhaps he did, but just chose not to acknowledge - the unfamiliar face. Instead, he swiftly inspected the deceased, even cast a few sweeping glances about the scene, and managed to fill the entire notebook within only a few minutes. Though not wanting to leave sentences unfinished, Sherlock simply began to write on his right arm, almost covering the entire surface with his oddly elegant, yet scrawly handwriting.
When finished, he rocked back on his heels, before straightening to stand, and staring down at the corpses with a distasteful sniff.

As he gazed around the room once more (his eyes barely pausing at the sight of the new detective), Sherlock replaced both the pen and notebook to a pocket. The man was quite obviously all set to commence a rant, displaying his current theories, until something rather unusual caught his attention.
In an Ancient Egyptian exhibit, an ordinary piece of papyrus paper would certainly not stand out. Even the great detective himself would almost think nothing of it, what with the many others scattered around the room. But, as luck would have it, a certain, trademark letter was just the sort of clue he was searching for. A specific 'M'.

Plucking the paper from where it had been possibly accidentally knocked to the floor, Sherlock was rather overjoyed to find that it was a note. Well, as overjoyed as a detective can be when discovering one's greatest nemesis was a the heart of the latest crime.
It really wasn't very unpredictable, though, considering the man's reputation.

Holmes' eyebrows knitted together as he stared at the note in his hands. Little less than half of it was simple, and extremely easy for Sherlock to understand. Or at least easy enough for him to realize that the recently written content of the notebook (and his arm) was most certainly useless.
His cheeriness extinguished almost immediately, as this realisation occurred.

Of course it was him.
And it was yet another reason for the detective's hatred to significantly increase.

He didn't detest the man for solely his crimes, per se, but the way he acted toward them. If it weren't for 'M''s immoral ways, Holmes would have a fair amount less to do with his time than he already did.
But, no, it was the attitude that irritated Sherlock.

And, of course, the fact that the man still had no definite evidence to prove his theories.
Evidence. There was plenty of evidence! All that was needed was not a mindless moron for the detective to present it to.

"Do you understand hieroglyphics?" Sherlock asked the new DI, as if in an attempt to avert his mind from his internal ponderings.

Stepping into the Akeley Hall of African Mammals, she quickly moved to stand next the large elephant that stood in the center of the room and whirled around to look up towards the large doorway on the third floor that opened onto the balcony area of the hall. Ken had been right. There were numerous uniformed police moving back and forth across the entrance, drawing quite a few stares from curious onlookers who had come to the museum today.

Jiao whirled around again and ran through the remainder of the hall to the doorway on the other side of it. A quick run through the Akeley Gallery, then the African People exhibit, and she would emerge right between the Birds of the World and the Stout Hall of Asian People exhibits where one side of the vast corridor held a flight of stairs and on the other side, a lesser known elevator was partially hidden due to an alcove. Both options would take her right up to gallery three on the third floor where the Egyptian exhibit had been set up.

Sure that the police would be watching the stairway as suggested by the police tape they had used to restrict access to it, she opted to take the elevator which she found to be empty as was very common due to its location. As soon as she had emerged on the third floor, Jiao very carefully looked out of the alcove and saw a flurry of uniforms and activity. ~:This has to be big:~ She thought to herself as she stood watching for a moment.

Since no one seemed to be paying much attention to her side of the room, she wondered if she'd be able to get a little closer. And just as she was about to move back into the alcove, biting her lower lip as she was trying to figure out a way into the thick of things so that she would be able to glean a few ideas for future plots for her stories, an opportunity presented itself "Do you understand hieroglyphics?"

Well, she wasn't doing a History minor at NYU for fun... well, yes, actually it was for fun, but that was besides the point. She did actually learn a few things too, and since Egyptian history was a particular favourite, she had picked up quite a bit on the subject both in class and during her own further studies. She didn't need another invitation and quickly ducking under the police tape as she stepped out of the alcove, Jiao moved towards the two men who were now conversing "Hieroglyphs are awesome! I thought everyone knew how to read them these days?"

Jiao kept her hands tightly clasped behind her, not wanting to be accused of messing up a crime scene by absentmindedly touching something as she moved to stand next to the taller of the two men who held the typically cream-coloured page which told her it was made of papyrus. She smiled briefly to the one gentleman who seemed to be a little flustered and about ready to lose his temper, before speaking again to the man that she was standing next to, "Do you need help with that?"

Her eyes moved quickly towards the page, eager to see what was written on it. Perhaps, if she pretended that the flustered man's words of "You are not allowed to be here." didn't apply to her either, then maybe she might be able to stay a little longer too.

It was very hard for Lestrade not to snap the pen that the other man was clicking continuously. From the now more than agitated D.I.’s standpoint, Lestrade thought that he’d asked some perfectly reasonable questions. Perhaps a bit over-harsh, but he was police man! He was allowed things like that, wasn't he? Lestrade’s annoyance grew when the pale man began to ignore him. “Ah- hey!”

He then noticed another girl, who’d also appeared to have come in without invitation. ‘This is just not my day,’ Lestrade internally moaned. The woman was, in short, tall, pretty and also not allowed to be here.

“I am allowed to be here because I’m Sherlock Holmes.” It took a moment before Lestrade realized that the man was talking to him again. ’Inconsistent prat.’ “You really should already know me by now. She, however, isn't." Lestrade frowned, trying to recall ever being told about a ‘Sherlock Holmes’ before, but he drew a complete blank. He watched, now more confused than angry, as the man – Apparently oddly named Sherlock – pointed at the woman in what Lestrade thought a very strange and over-exaggerated manner. "But it turns out she can decipher this note. Which, at the current moment, makes her far much more important than you,” Sherlock said sarchastically, before once again going back to completely ignoring Lestrade.

Lestrade had hit clients before. God knows he’d hit lots of suspects. But he had never in his life hit someone who appeared to have absolutely nothing to do with a case because of a case. He was pretty sure he might break this record right about now. “Sir, may I ask why exactly you are allowed to be here?” Lestrade asked breathily. He was ignoring the girl’s presence for now – at least she wasn’t doing what appeared to be Sherlock's very best to bug the hell out of him – and would deal with her later when this strange, absolutely aggravating man was gone.

As Sherlock had raised his hand to point down at her as he said, "She, however, isn't.", Jiao had frowned and moved slightly back, as if not being pointed at directly would mean that he hadn't just talked about her. His next words placated her, however, "Which, at the current moment, makes her far much more important than you.", and she smiled a little smugly.

As he held out the papyrus to her, Jiao was just about to take it when she remembered about the possibility of her own fingerprints ending up on the page. She pulled back her hand and reached into her satchel for her wrap, unfolded it and then used the edge to protect her hand as she reached for the page again. In the mean time, Sherlock and the detective seemed to be having a battle of wills judging by the way that they looked at each other while they spoke.

Jiao took hold of the page and gave it a slight tug to free it from Sherlock's grasp. She then turned from the two and did a brief scan of the area. Her gaze fell on the two covered bodies and she shuddered slightly before looking on. She moved towards a low bench not too far away from them, but in the opposite direction of the bodies. Sitting down, she placed her satchel on the seat on one side of her and the papyrus page on the other.

Bundling the wrap back into her satchel, she drew out her notebook and pen. Flipping it open to a random page, she scribbled down 'Sherlok Holms' before turning it a few more pages to a clean page. Since he thought himself so important, she was sure that she would find something out about him online and she wanted a reminder for later.

Jiao looked at the page, noting first the part written normally, and wondered who 'M' might be before she turned her attention back to the hieroglyphs "Hmm..." ~:Not too difficult at least, but I'll have to double check it later:~ She started to copy the images into her notebook.