Thirty-Six Questions to Fall in Love

The Experiment

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock smirked and held out his hand. He knew who the man was and knew exactly why he was here. "And you're my new flatmate." They shook hands.

"I-" the man began speaking, but, seeing that he was a bit flustered with his words, Mike Stamford piped up for him.

"He's John Watson," he said. Sherlock nodded, putting his dropper down on the table and leaving it there, coming forward to inspect this new person, and he was able to read him like an open book. Wondering whether or not he should tell him what he had found, Sherlock calculated John a bit more, making a decision before much time had passed at all.

"You're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. If I'm correct, you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him - possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic - quite correctly, I'm afraid." Sherlock liked showing off. Usually, it made people mad or scared them off, but he knew that this one, this man in front of him, was different. He was something new, not just the everyday, generic brick in the wall. This one was an interesting case. And Sherlock loved interesting cases.

And this man was different in a way that Sherlock wasn't quite familiar with. The way he held himself, the way his eyes looked, as if he had been hurt one too many times, was something Sherlock felt he could deeply identify with. But that wasn't all, either, because it wasn't just feeling like he could empathise with him that made Sherlock interested. There was something else about him, something raw and real, that made Sherlock feel like he was resting his feet on foreign grounds. Whatever it was that he was feeling, he definitely hadn't felt it before.

"How," the man paused, seeming neutral but coming across as suspicious and possibly scared. "How did you know that? Did Mike tell you?"

Sherlock smirked, grabbing his coat from by the wall and slipping it over his arms. He didn't provide an answer, so John looked to Mike, who shook his head and replied simply with, "He's like that."

"Look," John said, stopping Sherlock, who was already in the doorway and waiting to leave. "I don't know anything about you. I don't even know your name, and now you're asking me to consider a flat share?"

Sherlock looked him up and down, scanning him. He was a logical one, stoic and introspective. He had a brain, and he used it. This was convenient. Perhaps he could help him with a case.

Ignoring the rhetorical question from John, Sherlock stopped in the doorway, leaning in and staring the new acquaintance dead in the eye. "The name's Sherlock Holmes," he said, "And the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon." He winked then, closing the door behind him and walking down the long corridor of Bart's.

♡

And what an exciting case partner John Watson turned out to be.

"Dinner?" Sherlock had earlier asked, smirking a bit as John smiled back up at him. Even though he did more healing than he had fighting, John had exceptional aim, and a powerful gun, and overall was a very exceptional partner. So Sherlock, in the same manner that he'd accept a case for a favour of varying sizes, decided to keep him.

"Starving," John replied, wearing an almost stupid smile as he had replied.

Now, they were back in their flat, Sherlock scrolling through the recent news reports on his phone and John starting up the kettle.

"John," Sherlock called out from the living room. "I have a new case."

"Already?" John replied, watching the steam escape from the kettle into the atmosphere.