"Oh look, it's the flatmates I didn't want and disagreed to, thank you, Mrs Hudson, how very courteous of you"
Beatrice Astor was sarcastic, perpetually moody and hopelessly gorgeous- Sherlock couldn't help but be instantly attracted... But how doe...
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Beatrice lay sideways across the armchair, head tilted awkwardly back to show her Sherlock in his thinking position, though, of course from her perspective- he was very much upside-down, perching in a strange crouch on the edge of the coffee table with his shoes on, he hadn't moved in a long time. She'd stared at him the wrong way up for so long now that his face looked incredibly weird from that angle, still, she had no interest in moving as her arm flopped lazily to her side. She had been dragged out of Sherlock's bed early that morning for work, of all things. It seemed so long since her last shift that she felt like she didn't even work anymore. But for once, she'd been called to an ordinary body drop that she swept for forensics and was on her way in less than an hour. Small steps, but that was good sometimes.
The door opening to her side had her head-turning which was good because it felt strangely heavy at that peculiar angle. Blinking rapidly as she pulled her head upwards, she smiled as John rejoined them- as usual, nobody mentioned the sleeping arrangements and she was glad for it. She presumed they knew of the tornado of emotions that danced furiously within her constantly.
"I said could you pass me a pen" Sherlock announced and Beatrice frowned. She had only been there for half an hour but hadn't heard him say anything of the sort- he hadn't even greeted her when she reentered but she was used to it by now. A 'hello' may actually have given the unsuspecting girl a heart attack.
"What? When?" John frowned, seeing the puzzled look on Beatrice's face.
"About an hour ago" and eyes rolled in exasperation. Sherlock had that effect on them very regularly. John huffed and grabbed a pen from the table beside the armchair, flicking it to the detective who clapped his raised hands, catching it easily. "Didn't notice I'd gone out then? I went to see about a job at that surgery."
"How was it?" Sherlock questioned.
"Great. She's great" the doctor hummed, eyes scanning over the pictures Sherlock had pinned to the mirror over the mantle.
"Who?" Beatrice's head tilted in curiosity and it reminded John strangely of a puppy, the large inquisitive doe eyes didn't help as they speckled like diamonds in the faint lighting.
"The job" John answered, looking deeply at Beatrice who raised an eyebrow, flopping her head to the side to look at Sherlock who nodded with a faint smile.
"She?" Sherlock prompted and John blinked in shock.
"It"
"Have a look" Sherlock gestured backwards with his head though didn't move himself, instantly forgetting John's mixed up pronouns. John steadied his palms against the coffee table as he looked at the lit-up screen of the laptop.
"The intruder who can walk through walls" John read aloud.
"It happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked, windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon." Sherlock informed and Beatrice sighed, again- this was not her case. She had enough trouble with her own work without having to consider theirs, though she was unsurprised that somehow, in the time she'd left John and Sherlock alone- they'd managed to find a dead body.
