Crazy Little Thing Called Death

[3] The Boys Apartment

Chapter 3: The Boys Apartment

"I don't have all day." He called after her, tossing barely a backwards glance over his shoulder as he swung open a door and disappeared inside. The door hadn't yet closed, so she dodged through it, running up a flight of stairs and catching up with Sherlock.

The stairs were dark, but clean, and they twisted, going up at least two floors before coming to a landing.

"Sherlock dear!" An older woman's voice spoke, and Alia squinted through the dark to see who it was. The lady had grey hair, pinned in a bun on the top of her head, and was wearing a flowery dress that gave her the appearance of a friendly granny.

"Ah, you brought home a lovely young lady!" The older lady squealed in excitement, clapping her hands together in front of her stomach.

Sherlock sighed. "She's working with us on our next case." His long fingers slid the key into the lock, and turned it. The lock clicked open.

The lady smiled and winked at her, "Of course you are." She clasped her hands to her chest. "Should I tell John to stay out then?"

Sherlock looked confused. "Why? We need him in here." He sighed, shoving the key back into his pocket.

The land lady smiled to herself and nodded. "Alright, if that's the way you want it." She turned to Alia and winked knowingly, "Have fun dear, they're both very excellent men".

Alia felt her face flush red, before it started to dissipate. Sherlock sighed, pushing open the door and stepping inside; Alia followed him, her face still scarlet.

"You're blushing." He stated when he closed the door, Watson was talking to the land-lady outside it, and Alia could hear Watson's voice rising several octaves at what ever the land lady was saying.

Alia shook her head vigorously. "Just the fresh air," She told him, lying smoothly.

Sherlock glanced at her, eyebrow raised before taking off his jacket and throwing it on a chair. "Of course." He said, but Alia could tell that he knew that she was lying.

He threw himself down on the couch, crossing his arms over his face. "So. Move nearby."

Alia was confused, she squinted her eyes at him. "How do you know that I don't live nearby?" Her eyebrow danced on her forehead.

He didn't even glance up. "You don't mean that as a question."

"You're right." Then she smiled, "You're very observant, it was the way I glanced at all the street-signs when we were driving, wasn't it? It showed that I'm unfamiliar with the area."

Sherlock sat up suddenly and looked at her. "Very perceptive." He told her, jumping to his feet. He stared and walked around her. "Maybe you are smarter then I thought." He walked around her, scanning her with his eyes.

Alia felt embarrassed, and more then a little awkward under his gaze. Suddenly the door flew open, and the blushing, sputtering Watson stepped in. He slammed the door behind him.

"Did you hear her?" He sputtered, pulling off his jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door. "She –was!"

"Stop spluttering," Sherlock told him, breaking away his gaze from Alia She heaved a sigh of relief when he looked away.

"We have work to do." He announced, throwing himself down onto the worn out, brown couch. The couch wasn't just a shade of brown. It was a mixture of mustard and tan, tweed material. It was one of the ugliest couches that Bristol had ever seen.

The apartment was messy, but some places were straight. The floor was clean, even though it appeared that Sherlock never put his shoes where they were supposed to go. Magazines and old newspapers were stacked against one wall, and all over the other available surfaces.