Author's Note: A Study In Pink takes place in at the end of January. The Blind Banker takes place on March 23rd to the 28th. So, there's January 31st, then the month of February (28 days) and 22 days of March of John and Sherlock living together. All together that's 51 days and nights of our favorite pair of men learning about each other. What's happened during those 51 days and nights? Well, lets pull the curtain back and see shall we? Here's my take on what took place.
Now fair warning, this is going to be a lengthy piece. I have no idea how many chapters it's going to be... one day could be several chapters, or one chapter. I'm just going with the flow.
Title: A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes
Genre: General, Friendship, Angst, Drama
Rating: Will venture into mature, due to adult themes of sexuality, drugs, ptsd and other subjects that will pop up.
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, with appearances of DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper and others.
Summary: John Watson moves into 221B Baker Street after the events of 'A Study In Pink'. He had no idea what he would be in for, living with an eccentric genius like Sherlock Holmes, but if the first twenty four hours are anything to go by, then he knows he's in for a ride. Spoilers for A Study In Pink.
Chapter 1: Moving In
Date: January 31st. The First Day
Time: 2:30 pm
He can't escape the bright light seeping into his brain.
Ultimately, John blinks his eyes open, and turns his head, trying to avoid the bright sun pouring through the windows.
This does not feel like his bed.
It feels like a sofa.
His heart starts to race.
Where am I?
He sits up quickly, not recognizing his surroundings.
"Afternoon," A deep baritone like voice rumbles from his right.
John blinks rapidly, trying to recognize the room and the voice and then suddenly everything crashes into place.
Sherlock about to swallow the pill.
Shooting the cabbie.
He shakes his head, as if getting the cobwebs out, and looks over to see Sherlock in a chair, on his laptop. Now he knows where he is. His heart calms down. Then something clicks.
No nightmares. Not one single nightmare.
Huh. He must have been quite exhausted. If that's what it takes to get through a night without those nightmares, then he'll start doing that.
"You were ready to pass out while we were eating chinese," Sherlock says not looking up.
"Adrenaline crash," John murmurs, rubbing his face.
"Most likely," Sherlock agrees. "Since you had not moved in yet, you fell asleep on the couch."
"What time is it?"
"Half past two."
"Did you get any sleep?"
"A little," Sherlock answers, and then looks up from the laptop. "I let you sleep late, figured your body was not used to what I am."
"No, no it's not, that is for sure," John admits, setting his feet on the floor, and stretching his arms, wincing a little at the tightness in his shoulder.
"So, do you still plan on moving in?"
John thinks on that. The last twenty four hours have been quite... insane almost. "It depends. Will living with you always be like it was like last night?"
"Hmmm, not always. But it is to be expected."
John wonders what the man does on his down time, in between cases. Well, he'll have plenty of time to find out.
"Yeah, I'll be moving in..I don't have much in my bedsit, just some clothes and my laptop.. but everything else is in storage." John sighs. "That's going to be a trip."
"How far away are your things?"
John tells him the address and he watches as Sherlock taps it into his laptop. As he does, he hears a knock on the door, which is open and has Mrs Hudson standing there.
"Oh, good, you're awake Doctor Watson." she steps further inside and sets down what looks to be a hot cup of tea, and then places one next to Sherlock.
"Thank you," John says warmly as he gratefully drinks from the cup, the tea helping him wake. He notices that Sherlock doesn't drink it, his attention on the laptop.
"Your welcome dear." She smiles at him warmly, and clasps her hands. "So are you indeed moving in John? I do hope last night's events did not put you off. Sherlock could use a flat mate."
John notices the small smile that appears on Sherlock as the man moves his attention from his laptop to his phone.
"Yes, I plan on it, I just have to find a way to get all my things here. And no, it didn't put me off."
Mrs Hudson beams. "Well that's good. Trust me, you won't get bored living with Sherlock. He won't let you."
John thinks that is probably quite true and judging from the smirk that momentarily graced Sherlock, so did he.
"Well, now you two have your tea, I'll go back to watching the telly. You two enjoy yourselves," she pats John on the cheek, and he flushes a little. She pats Sherlock's arm and then leaves.
"John if you want to freshen up here, you can do so, or when you get back to your bedsit. You have two hours before Allied Movers gets to your storage space."
John blinks. "I- what?"
Sherlock looks at him, looking a bit annoyed about apparently having to explain himself. "I just arranged, " he holds up his mobile, "for Allied Movers to get your things, which will be in two hours. You'll have to meet them at your storage space. I imagine you would want to freshen up."
John just blinks at Sherlock, trying to keep up with this quick turn.
Sherlock frowns. "Really, John, are you always this slow when you wake up? Now you see why I don't sleep when on a case. Or eat. Slows the body and mind down."
Yes, John remembered that conversation. Sherlock also only ate a little bit at the chinese place they went to.
He rubs his face again. "Just had a lot happen in twenty four hours. Mind hasn't completely caught up yet."
"Hmm, yes, I suppose it would seem like a lot happened. Either way, everything is set to get your things moved here."
"Did it rather quickly."
"Of course. The longer you wait to move in, the more you may rethink about doing so. The more you rethink about doing so, you will end up changing your mind and I will have to find another flatmate. All rather bothersome." Sherlock says all of this without looking up as he's responding to a text on his mobile.
"I imagine you have to go to Scotland Yard to give your account on what has happened?" John asks as he stands.
"Already did so."
John nods and takes a couple steps forward, his leg buckling under him and he quickly grabs the desk near him to keep himself upright.
It's in your head. In your head. You had no trouble running with Sherlock last night.
John lets the memory of running after that taxi run through his mind, forcing it to replay.
"Hurry John! We're losing him!"
John's leg straightens, and the phantom pain is gone.
"Next to my bedroom," Sherlock comments. "Past the kitchen."
John grimaces as he goes into said kitchen. Counters, table, everything has stuff on it. And none of it is food. A few boxes on the counters, evidently more things that Sherlock had not unpacked yet.
He goes down the small hall, passing a bedroom from the looks of it, although he doesn't see much and goes into the small wash room.
As he closes the door, John leans against it.
So, this is the beginning of a new life.
Have to admit, he much prefers this beginning compared to what the original beginning of his civilian life started out as.
Due to training, John doesn't take long in the shower. The hot water feels good on his body, and his shoulder does not ache for once. Normally it's a dull ache, reminding him of what happened.
When he's done and dries off, he's reminded rather unfortunately he doesn't have a fresh change of clothes, so he simply puts his clothes on from last night, telling himself he can change when he gets to his bedsit.
He walks out of the bathroom and walks carefully through the kitchen, before successfully getting into the main room without sending anything on the table to the floor. Sherlock was still there, engrossed on his laptop. John could see he is on his website.
Going over to the couch, he spots a few of his things laying down on the small coffee table. His wallet mainly one of them. And his gun. He grimaces as he checks it, noticing the safety was not on.
Bloody careless. He's unsure where to put it now, there's no proper space for it. John tucks into his backside, reminding himself when he gets to chance to by a case for it. Then opens his wallet and scowls at the contents.
He'll have to walk to the bedsit, as he won't have enough for a cab ride to the bed sit, then to the storage, then back here.
Have to get a job at some point...
John starts, and sees Sherlock at the door, coat and scarf already on.
"Come on, grab your wallet. We can get a cab to your bedsit, where you can take care of matters there, then get to the storage."
"You-you're going to come with me?"
Sherlock shrugs. "Might as well. You don't have enough for all the cab rides, I have some money that will help with that. I have no cases, nor anything to do at St Barts that is immediately pressing, and nothing else to do. Well that is, except to make sure my new flatmate gets settled." He flashes a grin. "Come on." Not waiting for a response, Sherlock leaves, and it takes John a few seconds to regain himself before trailing after Sherlock.
Soon he's in a cab with Sherlock, heading towards his soon to be former residence. And trying not to feel uneasy being in a cab, what with the last cab they dealt with turned out to be serial killer and all. But it was obviously not affecting Sherlock, so he wasn't going to let it affect him.
With Sherlock's attention on whatever is on his mobile, John checks his own mobile, and sees a couple messages from Harry.
The usual messages. They've been the same since she and Clara split up. No doubt she's completely loaded at the time. John has no wish to talk to his sister like that. Conversations end up yelling matches.
"The media has been informed of what has happened, and that the killer was found, but dead, by the time he was tracked down," Sherlock announces after about ten minutes of silence.
"Really? How do you know?"
"One of my contacts just sent me the rough draft of the briefing he was part of," Sherlock holds up his mobile and John reads what's written there.
"You have reporters for contacts?"
Sherlock smirks. "And others."
John doesn't ask for him to elaborate. He just files this away as part of the Sherlock Holmes section he created in his head. He has a strange feeling it's going to have a lot of information, very quickly.
"How are they explaining his death? I mean being shot and all."
"No idea, not my problem." Sherlock comments, sounding bored about it already, thenglances at him. "You needn't worry though," he adds.
John took that for what it was. He was a little worried about his rashness, and while surprised he killed someone to protect the man next to him, someone he barely knew him, John also knew it was the only thing to do. Ultimately, the right thing to do.
"Are you mentioned? After all you helped."
"No, of course not."
John raises his eyebrows, and Sherlock glances back at him. "What?"
Sherlock shrugs. "There's no need to mention me. Besides it'll hardly look good in the papers that I was brought in. I'm satisfied with helping, and the Yard has one less killer to worry about."
"But-" John protests, "but you helped, you contributed. You should get partial credit at least."
Sherlock shrugs. "I see no need."
John frowns. That's not right. As aggravating as Sherlock can be, and temperamental and a lot of other things John discovered over the course of twenty four hours, the man is still brilliant. If it hadn't been for Sherlock, more people would have most likely died. He should get credit of some sort.
"John. You're a soldier. It's going to take some time to adjust to civilian life. And writing a blog of everything that happens to you will honestly help you."
"Nothing happens to me."
Well John can't say that anymore.
And right then and there, John decides when he has the time, he's going to write up the case.
Hope you are all enjoying this.