A Study In Living With Sherlock Holmes 2/22
Author's Note: A continuation of the first day of living with Sherlock.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Do not sue.
Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes
Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama
Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, PTSD, and other subjects that will pop up.
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.
Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.
Chapter 2 Word Count: 2,019
**********************
Date: January 31st, Day Number One Continued
Time: 3:30 pm
**********************
It didn't take long to sort out the situation with the bedsit once John and Sherlock arrived. Of course John was not surprised Sherlock did not help with the packing. He had entered John's bedsit, looked around for all of fifteen seconds and then declared "Dull. Let me know when you're done," and walked out.
John figured Sherlock didn't go very far. He imagines the man can keep himself occupied deducing things about the other people that come and go from this building.
As he is packing his clothes, he catches sight of his calender. And looks down to see that his next meeting with his therapist is tomorrow.
John sighs, and wonders if he can just cancel all his meetings, or... if he might continue to need them. Either way, he has something to talk about, Sherlock, when he sees her.
John packs his laptop in his other suitcase, properly protected, and grabs what ever else he can that he doesn't want to leave behind, as it'll save him from spending money he doesn't have. He picks the lighter suitcase up with his left arm, and has no trouble with the other suitcase.
He sets them down, and turns to shut off the light and close the door. He pauses however as he looks around the non personal, empty like room.
This is his last chance.
Tell Sherlock he changed his mind.
Unpack everything.
And stay.
Dull. Boring. Where nothing will ever happen to him.
His limp would definitely return.
And he would never have anything to write about.
And he wouldn't have to navigate literal possible minefields with a eccentric and mad flatmate.
Just continue living a dull life.
I don't think so.
John turns the light off, and shuts the door, the feeling of one chapter in his life closing.
"Ready, then?"
John looks down the hall to see Sherlock walking towards him.
"Ready," John bends to pick up his suitcases, and joins Sherlock. "Have any fun?"
"Five alcoholics, three gamblers, a junkie live on the floor below you. An adulterer, a couple university students, a pathological liar, and a recently divorced man live on what is formerly your level."
John's curiosity gets the best of him. "How did you know that?"
"Which part?"
"The last two," John supplies.
"I spoke to Bridget Passer for just two minutes. In those two minutes she told me she was a former rock star, now a private detective who just finished solving a breath taking case where she was nearly killed three times and she just got out of the hospital with the latest attempt. Not to mention she is also wealthy. Considering there are no bruises on her skin from what she detailed of the last attempt, and her eyes are constantly shifting, plus the tell of her curling her hair around her finger, and the effort that each lie passes over her lips, plus the monitoring bracelet on her ankle, I doubt very much anything she said was the truth, although in her mind it certainly was."
It took John a minute for his head to catch up to Sherlock's words. He speaks so fast sometimes it's hard to keep up. He wonders if that's how the Detective Inspector feels sometimes. Every time Sherlock ran through his deductions during the case, he was talking a mile a minute, as if he couldn't contain the words. If he speaks like that, what must it be like in his head?
"And the divorced man?"
"Lines on his ring finger where his wedding ring used to be, looking quite stressed, and when I looked over his shoulder while he was going through his phone contacts, he deleted one name, a woman's name with two last names- hence her maiden name and her married name, which she had hyphenated. Divorce is recent too."
"Could be a widow," John comments as they stop by the lift.
Sherlock smiles. "Sentiment, John. If he was a widow, he would still have his wedding ring on, and he would not be deleting her from his contacts. Remember, sentiment. Like your mobile."
John flashes back to the conversation in the cab on the way to Lauriston Gardens, Sherlock telling him how he knew what he knew.
"Marriage in trouble, then - six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it - he left her."
"So he left her then?"
Another smile. "Yes. If she left him, he would still be wearing the ring and keeping her information. But since he left her, he must also have some financial troubles, since he's staying at a bedsit."
The lift opens on the lobby floor, and John remembers he has to talk to management, most likely pay a termination fee... "I have to take care of--"
"Already handled," Sherlock says abruptly.
"Wait- what?"
"Already handled. John have you woken up yet? You seemed to have no trouble following me yesterday, much better than most I might add."
At first the comment stings, but John forces it back, realizing that Sherlock was not insulting.. well sort of. He was just stating fact. But he was doing it in his own way. He pushes the sting away, knowing it was useless to feel that way.
"How has it been handled?" John asks as he follows Sherlock outside.
"Does it matter? It's been handled. All you have to do is pay the termination fee by the end of February and it will all be resolved. So one less task in your way, taking up your time to move in. Come on then, lets get a taxi, I doubt very much you want to carry those suitcases for long."
The taxi that Sherlock somehow manages to make appear, even though John swore he didn't see one at all, stops and the cabbie helps John with his suitcases as Sherlock gets in. A couple minutes after John gets in, he gives the address to the cabbie and they are once more off.
"I was right," John murmurs, feeling a bit dazed now. "So was Mrs Hudson."
"About what?"
"Being around you is not going to be boring."
Sherlock chuckles, and looks up from his mobile, a genuine smile, like the one during their giggling fit after they chased the cabbie the other night, appears. "True. I have to say though, and this is rare mind you, you surprise me."
John raises an eyebrow. "I do?"
"Oh yes, and as I said, people do not generally surprise me. Oh now and then I'm off one one thing, like with your sister, but in general I'm not surprised."
"So how have I surprised you?"
"You didn't gloat that I was wrong about the gender of Harry."
John shrugs. "You saw the name Harry. Not Harriet. Easy assumption to make."
"Assumptions are dangerous to make."
"In some cases," John agrees. "Any other way I surprise you?"
"You didn't tell me to piss off after our conversation in the cab."
Ah. Yes. Where Sherlock laid out so many facts about John that he had observed from a brief meeting with him at St Barts. Laid bare about his sister's drinking habits, the fact that he has a therapist and a psychosematic limp... Truth be told, John was conflicted at what he was feeling at the time. Annoyed, upset, he was... but for some reason it didn't bother him after it sunk in. And truth be told it was brilliant. Even if he did feel a bit stripped at the time.
"Nor did you attempt to punch me, or end all contact with me. Plus, you willingly went with me to a crime scene, something ninety nine percent of the world that are not police would do."
And John had complimented him twice during his deductions about Jennifer Wilson. He could tell then he surprised Sherlock. The first time, when Sherlock looked at him surprised before Lestrade took his attention. Then:
"That's fantastic."
"You know you do that out loud?"
"Sorry, I'll shut up."
"No.. that's fine."
Sherlock even sounded surprised and pleased. Admittedly, it was easier to like Sherlock's deductions, easier to admire how the man's mind worked, when it wasn't focused on him and on someone else.
"Plus add onto the fact that I ended up leaving you behind at said crime scene when I was looking for the pink case, ended up getting abducted by my brother, and still came to the flat when I texted you. Logically, most people would forget they ever knew me by the time they finished speaking with Mycroft."
All right, John could see that. If the prior things hadn't put them off, Mycroft Holmes would. And John only been in the man's presence for... what five minutes maybe? A little more, no more than ten he thinks.
"Then you willingly sent a text to a murderer, even though I sensed you wanted to hit me a couple times--"
"I did," John admits,
Sherlock smiles. "And you continued to ruminate with me, making suggestions while I was thinking out loud--"
"Because Mrs Hudson took your skull," John interjected.
"Then went to Angelo's with me, and willingly got into a foot chase. Of course we all know what happened after that."
Yes, yes we do. A 'drugs bust', a revelation, Sherlock getting into a cab driven by a killer, Sherlock about to swallow that damn pill and John killing the cabbie, killing to save the life of a genius madman.
"And yet you are still willing to move in with me. Most people would say you are the insane one."
"Well I am seeing a therapist."
Sherlock chuckles, and oddly enough it sounds rough, like the two times he heard Sherlock laughing last night. The man obviously never laughed much.
"As I said, you surprised me."
"That's hard for you to admit isn't it?"
Another smile, this one a bit tight. "But I am."
"How much do you have in your storage?"
"Not a lot. About a dozen boxes. Won't take me long to unpack them either. Hopefully it'll fit in my soon to be bedroom."
"The upstairs bedroom is the larger one, so it should."
John blinks, and Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"I would have expected you to take the larger bedroom."
"Hmm, really? Well, I didn't see the need for it. I don't sleep much, and when I do I tend to fall asleep on the sofa."
"How much sleep do you get?"
"No idea. While working a case? None, as I stated while we ate dim sum. When not working a case? Oh... a couple hours here or there."
The doctor in John winces. "That's not good. Nor your eating habits."
"Oh dear."
"What?"
"Looks like I have a flatmate that's going to harrangue me about my sleeping and eating habits."
"You should take better care of yourself, since you're the world's only consulting detective." John wishes he could take back the words the moment he says them, knowing he's sounding like a nag.
"I take care of myself just fine, Doctor Watson," Sherlock drawls, but there's an underlying sentence there.
Don't push.
John wisely doesn't push.
"So do you really play the violin?"
"Yes. It was either learn to play an instrument or take up a sport," The disdain in the man's voice clearly shows John what Sherlock thinks of that. "Mycroft and I wisely took up learning an instrument."
John wonders what sort of instrument Mycroft plays.
"Any good?"
Sherlock's gaze meets his and smirks. "Very good."
Those two words makes John remember that brief conversation he and Sherlock had, before Sherlock asked him if he wanted to see some more trouble.
"You're a doctor. An army doctor."
"Yes."
"Any good?"
"Very good."
NEXT CHAPTER
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Do not sue.
Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes
Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama
Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, PTSD, and other subjects that will pop up.
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.
Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride.
Chapter 2 Word Count: 2,019
**********************
Date: January 31st, Day Number One Continued
Time: 3:30 pm
**********************
It didn't take long to sort out the situation with the bedsit once John and Sherlock arrived. Of course John was not surprised Sherlock did not help with the packing. He had entered John's bedsit, looked around for all of fifteen seconds and then declared "Dull. Let me know when you're done," and walked out.
John figured Sherlock didn't go very far. He imagines the man can keep himself occupied deducing things about the other people that come and go from this building.
As he is packing his clothes, he catches sight of his calender. And looks down to see that his next meeting with his therapist is tomorrow.
John sighs, and wonders if he can just cancel all his meetings, or... if he might continue to need them. Either way, he has something to talk about, Sherlock, when he sees her.
John packs his laptop in his other suitcase, properly protected, and grabs what ever else he can that he doesn't want to leave behind, as it'll save him from spending money he doesn't have. He picks the lighter suitcase up with his left arm, and has no trouble with the other suitcase.
He sets them down, and turns to shut off the light and close the door. He pauses however as he looks around the non personal, empty like room.
This is his last chance.
Tell Sherlock he changed his mind.
Unpack everything.
And stay.
Dull. Boring. Where nothing will ever happen to him.
His limp would definitely return.
And he would never have anything to write about.
And he wouldn't have to navigate literal possible minefields with a eccentric and mad flatmate.
Just continue living a dull life.
I don't think so.
John turns the light off, and shuts the door, the feeling of one chapter in his life closing.
"Ready, then?"
John looks down the hall to see Sherlock walking towards him.
"Ready," John bends to pick up his suitcases, and joins Sherlock. "Have any fun?"
"Five alcoholics, three gamblers, a junkie live on the floor below you. An adulterer, a couple university students, a pathological liar, and a recently divorced man live on what is formerly your level."
John's curiosity gets the best of him. "How did you know that?"
"Which part?"
"The last two," John supplies.
"I spoke to Bridget Passer for just two minutes. In those two minutes she told me she was a former rock star, now a private detective who just finished solving a breath taking case where she was nearly killed three times and she just got out of the hospital with the latest attempt. Not to mention she is also wealthy. Considering there are no bruises on her skin from what she detailed of the last attempt, and her eyes are constantly shifting, plus the tell of her curling her hair around her finger, and the effort that each lie passes over her lips, plus the monitoring bracelet on her ankle, I doubt very much anything she said was the truth, although in her mind it certainly was."
It took John a minute for his head to catch up to Sherlock's words. He speaks so fast sometimes it's hard to keep up. He wonders if that's how the Detective Inspector feels sometimes. Every time Sherlock ran through his deductions during the case, he was talking a mile a minute, as if he couldn't contain the words. If he speaks like that, what must it be like in his head?
"And the divorced man?"
"Lines on his ring finger where his wedding ring used to be, looking quite stressed, and when I looked over his shoulder while he was going through his phone contacts, he deleted one name, a woman's name with two last names- hence her maiden name and her married name, which she had hyphenated. Divorce is recent too."
"Could be a widow," John comments as they stop by the lift.
Sherlock smiles. "Sentiment, John. If he was a widow, he would still have his wedding ring on, and he would not be deleting her from his contacts. Remember, sentiment. Like your mobile."
John flashes back to the conversation in the cab on the way to Lauriston Gardens, Sherlock telling him how he knew what he knew.
"Marriage in trouble, then - six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it - he left her."
"So he left her then?"
Another smile. "Yes. If she left him, he would still be wearing the ring and keeping her information. But since he left her, he must also have some financial troubles, since he's staying at a bedsit."
The lift opens on the lobby floor, and John remembers he has to talk to management, most likely pay a termination fee... "I have to take care of--"
"Already handled," Sherlock says abruptly.
"Wait- what?"
"Already handled. John have you woken up yet? You seemed to have no trouble following me yesterday, much better than most I might add."
At first the comment stings, but John forces it back, realizing that Sherlock was not insulting.. well sort of. He was just stating fact. But he was doing it in his own way. He pushes the sting away, knowing it was useless to feel that way.
"How has it been handled?" John asks as he follows Sherlock outside.
"Does it matter? It's been handled. All you have to do is pay the termination fee by the end of February and it will all be resolved. So one less task in your way, taking up your time to move in. Come on then, lets get a taxi, I doubt very much you want to carry those suitcases for long."
The taxi that Sherlock somehow manages to make appear, even though John swore he didn't see one at all, stops and the cabbie helps John with his suitcases as Sherlock gets in. A couple minutes after John gets in, he gives the address to the cabbie and they are once more off.
"I was right," John murmurs, feeling a bit dazed now. "So was Mrs Hudson."
"About what?"
"Being around you is not going to be boring."
Sherlock chuckles, and looks up from his mobile, a genuine smile, like the one during their giggling fit after they chased the cabbie the other night, appears. "True. I have to say though, and this is rare mind you, you surprise me."
John raises an eyebrow. "I do?"
"Oh yes, and as I said, people do not generally surprise me. Oh now and then I'm off one one thing, like with your sister, but in general I'm not surprised."
"So how have I surprised you?"
"You didn't gloat that I was wrong about the gender of Harry."
John shrugs. "You saw the name Harry. Not Harriet. Easy assumption to make."
"Assumptions are dangerous to make."
"In some cases," John agrees. "Any other way I surprise you?"
"You didn't tell me to piss off after our conversation in the cab."
Ah. Yes. Where Sherlock laid out so many facts about John that he had observed from a brief meeting with him at St Barts. Laid bare about his sister's drinking habits, the fact that he has a therapist and a psychosematic limp... Truth be told, John was conflicted at what he was feeling at the time. Annoyed, upset, he was... but for some reason it didn't bother him after it sunk in. And truth be told it was brilliant. Even if he did feel a bit stripped at the time.
"Nor did you attempt to punch me, or end all contact with me. Plus, you willingly went with me to a crime scene, something ninety nine percent of the world that are not police would do."
And John had complimented him twice during his deductions about Jennifer Wilson. He could tell then he surprised Sherlock. The first time, when Sherlock looked at him surprised before Lestrade took his attention. Then:
"That's fantastic."
"You know you do that out loud?"
"Sorry, I'll shut up."
"No.. that's fine."
Sherlock even sounded surprised and pleased. Admittedly, it was easier to like Sherlock's deductions, easier to admire how the man's mind worked, when it wasn't focused on him and on someone else.
"Plus add onto the fact that I ended up leaving you behind at said crime scene when I was looking for the pink case, ended up getting abducted by my brother, and still came to the flat when I texted you. Logically, most people would forget they ever knew me by the time they finished speaking with Mycroft."
All right, John could see that. If the prior things hadn't put them off, Mycroft Holmes would. And John only been in the man's presence for... what five minutes maybe? A little more, no more than ten he thinks.
"Then you willingly sent a text to a murderer, even though I sensed you wanted to hit me a couple times--"
"I did," John admits,
Sherlock smiles. "And you continued to ruminate with me, making suggestions while I was thinking out loud--"
"Because Mrs Hudson took your skull," John interjected.
"Then went to Angelo's with me, and willingly got into a foot chase. Of course we all know what happened after that."
Yes, yes we do. A 'drugs bust', a revelation, Sherlock getting into a cab driven by a killer, Sherlock about to swallow that damn pill and John killing the cabbie, killing to save the life of a genius madman.
"And yet you are still willing to move in with me. Most people would say you are the insane one."
"Well I am seeing a therapist."
Sherlock chuckles, and oddly enough it sounds rough, like the two times he heard Sherlock laughing last night. The man obviously never laughed much.
"As I said, you surprised me."
"That's hard for you to admit isn't it?"
Another smile, this one a bit tight. "But I am."
"How much do you have in your storage?"
"Not a lot. About a dozen boxes. Won't take me long to unpack them either. Hopefully it'll fit in my soon to be bedroom."
"The upstairs bedroom is the larger one, so it should."
John blinks, and Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"I would have expected you to take the larger bedroom."
"Hmm, really? Well, I didn't see the need for it. I don't sleep much, and when I do I tend to fall asleep on the sofa."
"How much sleep do you get?"
"No idea. While working a case? None, as I stated while we ate dim sum. When not working a case? Oh... a couple hours here or there."
The doctor in John winces. "That's not good. Nor your eating habits."
"Oh dear."
"What?"
"Looks like I have a flatmate that's going to harrangue me about my sleeping and eating habits."
"You should take better care of yourself, since you're the world's only consulting detective." John wishes he could take back the words the moment he says them, knowing he's sounding like a nag.
"I take care of myself just fine, Doctor Watson," Sherlock drawls, but there's an underlying sentence there.
Don't push.
John wisely doesn't push.
"So do you really play the violin?"
"Yes. It was either learn to play an instrument or take up a sport," The disdain in the man's voice clearly shows John what Sherlock thinks of that. "Mycroft and I wisely took up learning an instrument."
John wonders what sort of instrument Mycroft plays.
"Any good?"
Sherlock's gaze meets his and smirks. "Very good."
Those two words makes John remember that brief conversation he and Sherlock had, before Sherlock asked him if he wanted to see some more trouble.
"You're a doctor. An army doctor."
"Yes."
"Any good?"
"Very good."
NEXT CHAPTER