Ah, a new idea! I love those! Any of my fellow fangirls/fanboys...Eat pie, shut up and stop thinking, get touched by an angel, hop in the TARDIS, and see how you like this! :)
Chapter One: Always Like That
Disclaimer:
Me: I own BBC!
Moriarty: No you don't!
Me: Fine. *sulks*
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Watson walked through the doors of the Lab. Inside were microscopes, plant samples, specimens, needles and all sort of other oddments. But what really caught his attention was the man staring into one of the specimen liquids as if to find the meaning of life within.
“Not much like my day.”John said, looking around.
The strange man looked up. Tall, tousled black hair, pale sea-green eyes, fair skin and a black suit, he looked professionally bored. Like he was looking down at an ant bed and wondering why they did half the tiresome things they did.
“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.” He said. He had a clear, somewhat deep voice; he sounded as bored as he looked.
“What’s wrong with the landline?” Mike asked.
“I prefer to text,” he shrugged.
“Sorry,” Mike answered somewhat sarcastically; “mine’s in my coat.”
The man rolled his eyes and looked Watson up and down. Then he resumed his work as an awkward silence took place.
Finally John broke it. “Here,” he tossed him his phone. “Use this.”
The man looked at him oddly. “Oh. Um, thank you.”
He took the phone and began typing. After a moment of silence, he suddenly asked,
“Afghanistan or Iraq?”
“Sorry?” John asked.
“Which was it: Afghanistan or Iraq?” the man repeated.
“Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you-“
He was cut off by a woman with mousey brown hair and a white lab coat coming in and the man saying pleasantly, “Ah, Molly! Coffee, thank you. What happened to the lipstick?”
The woman looked slightly embarrassed, and John got the feeling that she wasn’t exactly a strong willed kind of girl. “It…it wasn’t working for me.” She tried with a weak smile.
“Really? I thought it was an improvement. Your mouth’s too…small now.” The man said matter-of-factly.
“Okay.” She said quietly, as she went out.
The man took a sip of coffee and turned towards John. “How do you feel about the violin?”
“Pardon?”
“I play the violin when I’m thinking; sometimes I don’t talk for days on end…potential flat mates should know the worst about each other.”
“You told him about me?” John asked in confusion.
“Not a word.” Mike answered with a shrug.
“Then who said anything about flat mates?” John was really confused now.
“I did.” The man responded with a smile. “I told Mike here this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for, and here you are, just after lunch with an old friend just returned home from the war.”
“Yes, how DID you know about Afghanistan?” John wondered.
But the man either didn’t hear him or chose to avoid the subject. “I found us a nice little place in central London, together we should be able to afford it. We’ll meet there tomorrow at 7:00 p.m., I have to run; I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”
“Is that it?” John asked.
“Is that what?”
“We’ve only just met, I don’t know where we’re meeting; I don’t even know your name.”
“Problem?” the man asked as if he was talking to a perverse child.
John smiled, somewhat annoyed.
“I don’t know a thing about you, and now we’re going to look at a flat.”
“I know you’re a veteran recently return from Iran, you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help, possibly because you don’t approve of him. And I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly, I’m afraid. That’s…enough to be going on, I think.”
As he went to leave, he stopped by the door and added, “The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221 B Baker Street.” Then he clicked his tongue like calling a horse, and ran out, leaving John staring in puzzled silence. Then he turned to Mike, who shrugged with an affable smile. “Yeah…he’s always like that.”
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