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De Cock and the Consulting Detective

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"De Cock with C O C K."

John had to fight very hard to keep a straight face. Sherlock, of course, was already investigating the body lying on the ground in front of him.

"Doctor John Watson and that's Sherlock Holmes," John said, looking wearily at the second man, dressed in a leather jacket and who looked ready to arrest them on the spot.

"My name is Vledder and I would like to know what you are doing here?" the man said, his hand on his gun.

"We stumbled on it," John said resigned, aware of how ridicules it sounded.

"Stumbled?" De Cock asked, keeping his face neutral.

"Yes, we're just on holiday and ..." But before he could finish Sherlock interrupted.

"Somebody must have a truly poor sense of humour putting the two of you together." Sherlock had spoken without looking up from the body. All three looked at him, two with dawning realisation, one with resignation at the rudeness of his friend.

"That joke is very old," Vledder said. Sherlock threw an amused look at him and stood up straight.

"The knife was thrown, but it was an accident. They dumped the body here in panic because they didn't want it found in the illegal weed plantation he was running." The two men looked ready to arrest Sherlock on the spot.

"Also he died 12 hours ago, when we were somewhere above the North Sea." At those words Sherlock pulled out a piece of paper that John recognized as their e-ticket, and trusted it into De Cock's hand before stalking away. John ran after him after a moment of stunned silence.

"Hé stop we're not finished here," Vledder called out after them.

"You'll find everything you need in that building." Sherlock pointed to a window above a sex shop. "Text me if you have any questions." He turned a corner, an amused smirk on his face at the thought of De Cock with C O C K and Dick Vledder.