Sherlock, Grab the Salt

Your Favorite Sociopath

       "Sherlock, you can't just barge into their flat and demand to know who they are!" John Watson yelled.

       "Why not?" Sherlock snapped, a frown on his face. "My first assumption when I saw them from the window was that they were clients. The fact that they are instead moved in downstairs is unexpected."

       "Because it's bloody common decency Sherlock!" The doctor replied, refusing to even acknowledge the second part of Sherlock's statement. They had had too many arguments already about how Sherlock handled things when he had made the wrong deduction. "Tell you what, why don't we invite them over for dinner tomorrow, and you deduce all you want about them then. Deal?" Sherlock huffed and sat in his chair angrily, shutting his eyes. John knew that Sherlock had entered his mind palace and wouldn't hear anything else that John said. Deciding that it was the closest thing to an agreement he would get, and honestly not caring anymore what Sherlock preferred, John stomped his way downstairs to flat 221C. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and knocked on the door, prepared to meet the newcomers. When the door opened a long minute later, John had to raise his gaze a foot or two to meet the eyes of the man in front of him. His long hair was unkempt and he was blinking sleep out of his eyes as he took John in.

       "Erm, hello." John said, slightly uncomfortable now. "My name is John Watson. My flatmate and I live in the flat above you and..."

       "My brother." The man said tiredly.

       "Right." John nodded, "Well we would like to invite you to dinner at our flat tomorrow night." The man seemed to wake up completely at this and he smiled brightly.

       "That would be great! I'm Sam, and my brother's name is Dean. He's asleep right now, but I'm sure he'll be glad to go."

       "Perfect." John responded amiably. "Would six work for you?" Sam nodded and smiled.

       "It was nice to meet you, and I look forward to meeting your roommate."

       "Likewise." John replied, and the two men shook hands before John started back to his own flat. When he entered, the first thing he noticed was that Sherlock had moved. His chair was empty and there were clanking noises coming from the kitchen. Sherlock popped his head out, his safety goggles perched on top of his curls.

       "I assume they agreed to the dinner?" He asked. John nodded, and the consulting detective smiled or grimaced, John could hardly tell, before returning to the kitchen. John, not bothering to hope that Sherlock would participate in any more conversation, retired to his room for the night.