"Sorry, but civilians aren't allowed on the crime scene," the young woman says, a somewhat convincing fake smile on her lips. Donovan, probably, based on your friend's observations. She has shoulder-length frizzy hair, and a chocolat-au-lait complexion, and is fairly beautiful even though your friend described her as a blumbering fool and a whore (well not exactly, but actions spoke louder than words, so...).

"But I'm not here to see the crime scene, I need to talk to someone," you reply, offering a blinding smile in hopes that it convinces her to let you through that blasted yellow tape standing in the way of your goal.

Obviously, it doesn't work. She gives another one of her fake smiles and you already know the answer before she even opens her mouth.

"Sorry, but..."

You cut her off. "Fine, I understand," you say dejectedly. What a drag, though, you really need to talk to him... A new idea crosses your mind. "If can't go to him, would it be possible to call for him to come instead, then?" you wonder, perking up.

Possibly-Donovan's expression causes your enthusiasm to wane, and you let a frustrated frown mar your features as she answers.

"Sorry, but as there is an investigation going on, it would be unwise to interrupt our team's work for such trivial matters."

You easily detect the barb hidden in her words and decide to be the better person by not pointing out her numerous shortcomings – obvious to you due to your inside source – in retaliation. You can't resist a slightly mocking comment, though. "You are right, of course," you admit with a falsely apologetic expression on your face as you mentally shift through all the information about the team you've managed to glean from your friend's diatribes. A sly smile comes over your face, and you quickly replace it with a disgruntled expression before Donovan catches a glimpse of then make a show of crossing your arms and letting out a dejected sigh, before you grumble loudly enough for her to hear.

"And I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, too…" you start off, whining. "Blasted genius thinks he knows everything…" You turn around and take a few slow steps away. Hook, line…

"Wait, who was it you wanted to see again? Maybe he isn't needed on the scene right now."

And sinker! Your friend's assessment of her personality was spot on, as usual: any mention of putting the resident genius into place, and she suddenly seems much more agreeable to letting you in.

You turn around with a hopeful smile plastered on your face instead of the triumphant one you'd like to arbour.

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."