So Tim’s pretty new to the whole detective business. He’s only been one officially for—what, a few hours? Still, there’s got to be something he’s missing, because both his dad and Pikachu just go quiet , freeze in their tracks, the instant he turns the doorknob.
Dad puts a finger to his lips, shakes his head. Pikachu just stares back. Yeah, there’s definitely something he’s missing here, because both of them look like Stantler caught in headlights. Slowly, deliberately, Pikachu leaps down from his position on Tim’s shoulder, looks to Harry.
“Door’s unlocked, kid,” the actual detective here whispers, looks at him meaningfully.
It takes him a good few seconds to get it. When they’d left that morning to go get him registered at the precinct, Tim had headed out first with Pikachu, waiting for his dad to finish locking up.
Before everything had gone sideways, before his mom had died and before his dad had moved for work, his dad had always been pretty absent-minded. Always, except for one thing: locking up. He never, ever forgot to lock up.
Somehow, Tim doubts that’s changed.
“Someone’s in there?” He asks, lowering his voice to match. He gets a nod. “Who? I thought we—”
“Detective lesson number one,” Dad says softly. “Good detectives always have enemies. Some are just more of a pain in the rear than others. Tim, stay behind me, I need you to get help if things go south. Pikachu, be ready.”
Dad pushes open the door. Pikachu scampers in surprisingly quietly. For his part, Tim suddenly understands all too well how a Pikachu could hold his own against a Charizard trained for combat. This isn’t the first time this has happened. And, probably, won’t be the last.
On the bright side, it beats selling insurance policies in a town where everyone and their mom is already covered. And so, Tim holds his breath and goes in too, nearly runs into his dad from behind.
It takes him a much, much shorter time to figure out why they’ve stopped in their tracks this time.
“Pika-pika,” Pikachu says cheerfully, sits back on his haunches.
Greetings to you too, Mewtwo says wearily, levitating about a foot above the couch. Although I would rather the circumstances of our meeting were different this time.
It’s then, and only then, that Tim realizes Mewtwo’s favoring his left side. He’s got an arm pressed against it, a little too tightly to be an accident, and as he watches something dark drips onto the couch.
“Is that blood ?” Tim blurts out, earning an exasperated look from Mewtwo.
What do you think.
“I’ve got some medical supplies in the kitchen somewhere,” Harry says quietly. “Although this is a first.”
Tell me about it.