A study in friendship-Johnlock

A flat, a cuppa, and a note.

Sherlock woke up the next morning in a small, dinghy room, in a cheap hotel off the Thames. He rubbed his eyes groggily, and sat up, stretching. He stood up suddenly, crossed to the window in one big stride, and ripped back the curtain. He was surprised to see that nobody was there. Absolutely nobody. He sighed, disappointed. It was boring, living here, where no one came to him with cases except... What was his name? Graham. Graham Lestrade. Conscious that he was standing at a window level with the street, wearing nothing but boxer shorts, he dropped the curtain, and turned back to the room. Bed, messy, with white, crinkled sheets, 2 pillows. Tiny washstand, with 1 blue toothbrush, one tube of cheap toothpaste, and one hairbrush. Table, on which his most important possessions: a few shirts, a pair of trousers, his scarf, his coat, his laptop and his violin, lay. The rest of his possessions were in boxes, or in their new house.
He quickly dressed, washed, packed his things into a tiny case, and left the room, leaving it empty, and unlocked. He paid at the foyer, and left the hotel. After crossing the street to purchase a strong, black coffee, he realised he still had 45 minutes to wait. He walked through the park, sipping his coffee, and thinking. This new flatmate person. John. He seemed nice enough. Smart. Used to dangerous work. He suspected he would probably agree to help him in his cases. As long as... Sherlock paused, thinking hard. What was it Mycroft said? "Make people feel they have a choice." He would ask John, and let him decide. Yes, that would work. I mean, they could hardly share a house if they hated each other, right? He got to the pavement, tossed his empty cup into the bin, and hailed a taxi. In the taxi, on the way to 221B, he started thinking about that new case. The serial suicides. Interesting one. He hoped it was a serial killer. They were fun.
'221B, mate.'
'Thanks'
He climbed out after paying, and saw John, already standing outside the door.
'Mr Holmes-'
'Sherlock, please.' He wasn't sure why he said that, but surely if they were sharing a house they should be on first name terms, that was a thing people did, wasn't it?
They entered the house, and climbed the stairs to the apartment. He paused at the top, waiting for John to catch up, then stepped inside.
'This is nice. Very nice indeed.'
'Yes, I thought so too. So I moved in.'
'Once we get all this rubbish cleared- oh' John looked embarrassed. 'This is all your stuff?'
'Well, I can straighten things out, a bit' said Sherlock, rustling some papers in the hope John wouldn't see his cheeks going slightly pink with embarrassment. He cursed himself. Why was he feeling these... Strange emotions? Human things? He never blushed. Never. So why now?
'There's another room, upstairs, if you'll be needing two bedrooms' said Mrs Hudson, the landlady.
John looked confused, then embarrassed. 'Well-of course we'll be needing two bedrooms.'
Mrs Hudson looked disappointed and surprised. 'Oh don't worry love, we've all sorts round here! Mrs Turner's next door got married once.'
Sherlock turned, hoping the pink colour had left his cheeks.
'What about these suicides, then Sherlock? Thought they'd be right up your street.' Mrs Hudson was looking at the newspaper.
'What exactly is up your street?' John looked confused. It was a permanent state of being, Sherlock decided. He opened his mouth to explain, then stopped. Better to show him, when he got a chance.
Suddenly, his chance came. A police car rushed into the street, sirens screaming. He heard it pull up, the door open, and heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. 'There's been a fourth' he muttered.
'I'm sorry?'
'A fourth. There's been another suicide but this ones different, or they wouldn't be coming to get me.'
Lestrade opened the door.
'What's new?'
'There's been another one. But she left a note.' Lestrade didn't even bother asking how he knew. 'Will you come?
'Not in a police car, I'll be right behind. Who's on forensics?'
'Anderson.'
He made a face. That idiot. 'Anderson won't work with me.' And I won't work with Anderson, he thought.
Lestrade shrugged and left the room.
'I need an assistant.' He said. He picked up his coat, which he didn't remember removing, from the armchair.
'John. Make a cup of tea. Get comfy. Make yourself at home.' He left the room.
John sat down in the chair opposite Sherlock's. 'Tea?' He asked Mrs Hudson, who had been standing behind his chair for the last 5 minutes. 'Just this once. Not your house keeper.'
'Couple of biscuits too, if you've got them.'
'NOT your house keeper!'
Suddenly, Sherlock burst through the door.
'John. You were an army doctor. Seen lots of gore, violent deaths?'
He nodded.
'Lots of trouble too, I bet.'
'Enough to last a lifetime.' Said John, firmly.
'Want to see some more?'
John didn't hesitate. 'Oh God, yes.'
Sherlock grinned, and they left the flat.
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That's it for now, guys! Will post another chapter very soon. Byeeee!