But here he was, at twenty six, sitting in a coffee shop in the middle of Lima, destined to become what people had dubbed a 'Lima loser'. It wasn't like he wasn't trying to get a job- the economy was just not what it used to be, and there was no chance of his dreams coming true anymore.

He'd applied for New York Academy for The Dramatic Arts(NYADA for short) back before graduation, but due to his lack of extracurricular activities, he failed to get a place. He was too late now. Almost all of the successful applicants were under twenty, and it was almost impossible for anyone older to get in. And anyway, he'd not only sent away an application for NYADA, but also for a couple of colleges in the Lima area to get his teaching degree. He'd finished his studies, but founding a job was proving almost impossible for him.

...

"Mercedes?" He groaned, taking a sip of his coffee and stating, "I've not paid the rent for like the last four times, and I don't have the money. I'm losing my apartment today, obviously."

"Can't come stay with me sorry..." she sighed gently, truly sympathetic for her friend. "Sam's still..."

"Is he not any better?"

"Worse... Sorry Kurt, but a change in his routine right now might just... yeah."

"Well I don't know anybody else that I could stay with. Is there nobody you know that I could flat-share with? I mean... who'd want to be flatmates with me?"

"You know? You're the second person that's said that to me today."

...

Do you ever start thinking about life and how you see things, and think 'do other people see things this way too?'. For example, if you look at something green, do you ever wonder if other people see it as something different to how you see it?

It was a question Blaine Anderson had asked himself quite regularly, but of course he knew the answer. He knew he was different. He knew he saw things in another way. He knew his thought processes were much more complicated. But to him? That was a good thing. It earned him his living. There was a prospect of success for the future. He liked it.

Sure, it wasn't pleasant when the irritating little policewoman Ms. Berry hissed the word 'freak' at him every time he'd been invited to a case she also happened to be working on.

"Who invited 'Freak'?" she spat at him one time, almost laughing. "We can handle this case ourselves! We do not need psychopaths like him running around a crime scene."

"I'm not a psychopath." Blaine calmly stated.

"You should have called for his brother Puckerman!" she smiled over to the chief in charge.

As he sat in his flat, which was otherwise unoccupied apart from the housekeeper Mrs Hudson, he contemplated over whether he really was the 'freak' everyone seemed to deem his as. Like usual, he referenced to the map inside of his mind to work it out.

No friends. Not one. Minor acquaintances. None of any significance. None of them he cares about. None of them care about him. Distanced relationship with family. Never see father. Rarely see mother. Brother's better off not mentioned. Different...

"Blaine?" It was Mercedes at the door, who was friend of Mrs Hudson's, and therefore knew him too.

"I hear three sets of footsteps. Who else is with you, Mercedes, other than Mrs Hudson?" he smirked, not once moving from his seat to turn and look.

"A friend."

He finally tilted his head to see who the third person was, taking in his entire appearance in case he met him again in future. His facial features were delicate, and his smooth cheek bones, porcelain skin tone and lips that looked as if they'd been carefully painted on by the most talented of artists. He vaguely resembled Peter Pan or Pinocchio or one of those Disney characters(trivial information wasn't particularly important in Blaine's mind), in the sense that it was as if he'd been perfectly crafted, resulting in the kind of perfection that couldn't occur in human life- but somehow it had.

"And he's here because...?" Blaine questioned, his eyes still fixated on Kurt. "He's got a suitcase with him. Can't be going anywhere abroad as the airport's been shut. Suitcase is too big- as if it's containing all of his belongings- so can't be going somewhere overnight. You've come with Mercedes here, which means she's after something, as that's the only reason she ever comes round. Clothes and suitcase both expensive, but from old fashion lines. Let me guess... Financial issues. Couldn't pay rent I reckon. I'd mentioned to Mercedes about how I kind of wanted a flat mate, so she's found me one."

"Wait what?" Kurt laughed, realising that he was the one Mercedes had been talking about. "That's brilliant."

"I'd explain why we're here... but you just guessed." Mercedes sighed. "So... Can he stay here?"

"I didn't guess, Mercedes. I deduced. And yes. Yes he can."

"I'm Kurt." He smiled, holding his hand out politely for Blaine to shake. "Kurt Hummel."

"Blaine Anderson."

"So... How did you... do that?"

"Do what?"

"Find out all that?"

"Science of deduction. It's quite simple really."

"If you're you." Mrs Hudson remarked.

"It's not my fault you lot don't observe. I'm bored. Mercedes? How's Sam?"

"Worse. I mean... I completely get why he's so down about it all... I mean... his dad's just been murdered. I just didn't think... he'd be... so..."

"You're being rather vague about it all Mercedes. What's actually wrong with him?"

"He's just... His mind's messed up." And she'd left, leaving Kurt with this complete stranger who could tell him the events of his day just by looking at him and realising he was holding a suitcase.

...

"Richard Evans. Found dead in his apartment on Friday at three in the afternoon by son Sam Evans. Had recently been told he had only months to live by doctors." The person in charge of the case, Noah Puckerman, began. "Confirmed murder. Not related to any other cases in the news, and unlikely to be related to future cases too."

A selection of rings filled the meeting as all of them received the same text.

Wrong!- BA.

...

"Where are you going?" Kurt looked up as Blaine pulled a navy coat around his shoulders, flicking his collar up in a fashion that would make him look like a douche if he wasn't so innocent looking.

"In case you haven't deduced... Which I doubt you have, because in the hour I've known you, you haven't particularly sparked as observant..." Blaine sighed in a tone that would otherwise make him sound pretentious- but because he was Blaine... "I'm a detective. Well it's not like... an official thing, but the police come to me when they can't solve something sometimes, or when it's a difficult case to begin with... or if I've become involved in the investigation."

"So..."

"But Rachel Berry, who always seems to be involved, refuses to work with me."

"And that's a problem because?"

"I like an assistant. A side-kick if you prefer that kind of wording. You? Up for it?"

"Isn't that like...illegal? Letting random people on crime scenes?"

"They let just about anyone on crime scenes these days. Especially if you're someone of decent profession. Tell me... doctor? Ex-army? Teacher? Anyway, with financial issues I doubt it. If they let me in, they'll let you in no problem.

"Unemployed actually. It's impossible to find a job these days. I have my teaching qualifications, but can't find a job."

"So you've got a whole load of time then? So are you coming or what?"

"Of course I am." And with that, the two stepped outside of the building- 156 McKinley Street- ready to face the task ahead of them.