If You Love Me, Get Clean

Chapter One

2012

I loved you so hard for a time
I've tried to ration it out all my life
How are you lookin' at me like a stranger?
Don't know what to say, two people can change
Now, to makе sense of half of a decadе
'Cause you know everything that could kill me
And you know every inch of my body

Alice hauls her bag over her shoulder as John collects her suitcase from the boot. "Are you sure your flatmate doesn't mind me staying?"

"How many times are you going to ask that? He'll be fine." He says, snapping the boot closed.

She huffs, thanking the cab driver as she shuts the door. "What exactly did he say when you asked?"

John shrugs, taking the holdall from her arm, ignoring her protest. "Grunted at me, but that was more than I was expecting to get, he's a bit... look, I should probably explain a few things about him," he pulls his keys from his pocket, turning to her with a bit of a grimace on his face. "He... He's an odd bloke, but he's a good one, even if he doesn't act like it most of the time."

Alice whines, shoulders slouching. "Bloody hell. He's not a dickhead, is he? I don't want to be touched up while making toast–"

"No, no, nothing like that. I think that's the very last thing he'll do, believe me," John chuckles. "He's... I don't know how to explain him. You'll probably understand within about ten minutes of his company."

"Way to make a girl nervous."

He unlocks the front door, gesturing her in. "It'll be fine. Once he's used to you."

"Filling me with confidence."

"Go on up," John takes the suitcase handle, ready to haul it up the stairs. "He was on a case this morning, so might not even notice you."

Alice narrows her eyes. "I think I'd rather you go first, thanks."

She's only been told a handful of things about this flatmate of John's. He works with the met, but not a police officer, he often keeps the flat in a state of untidy order, and now she's being told he's... odd. She doesn't even know his name.

Maybe this is what she gets for panicking last minute. She had a flat of her own lined up but it fell through a week before she was due to travel into London. She called John in a frantic rush, just needing somewhere to stay until she got on her feet, but she didn't realise at the time he was sharing with someone else.

She was starting to regret the decision.

"Right," John smiles as he nudges the door open and leads the way into the flat, dropping her bags to the side. "I'll make tea then show you to the spare room–"

"Where the hell have you been? I asked for a pen ages ago."

Alice freezes in the doorway. She knows that voice. She would never forget that voice.

John sighs, stepping aside so Alice can enter the room. "Well, this is Sherlock."

The man at the desk snaps his head up from whatever he was studying on the laptop, his eyes widening. He shoots out of his chair so fast it falls backwards, clattering against the wooden floor. His body language changes so rapidly it's almost comical. Almost.

The crease that forms between his brows is so familiar Alice has a sudden dread that she might actually cry at the sight of it. She never thought she'd it again. He looks the same as he did seven years ago, except a bit bulkier, healthier. She's glad.

Her heart is pounding in her chest as she holds his gaze, watching his mouth bobbing up and down as he searches for something to say. "William."