There we are, I've officially done it. I've run off my new flatmate. Shame, I was growing a little fond of him. But I went off and did what I usually do, and I told him everything about himself—even the things he obviously didn't want to hear. I'm waiting for him to shout at me, to get angry or frightened, to ask to get out of the cab and walk somewhere. John is quiet for a moment. "That..."

Here it comes. Well done, Sherlock. "...was amazing."

Sorry, what?

I can feel my face freeze. This conversation always ends up with yelling. And what's this? A compliment. From John Watson. I stare at him for a moment, wondering how to react. This is an incredibly new experience. I quietly, simply ask, "Do you think so?"

"Of course it was," says John, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary."

Let it be known that this is a day that I've got a case that I can't figure out. That case is John Watson. He seems as much as an enigma to me as I surely am to him. This army doctor, who is so kind-hearted and so removed from his family, may surely be the death of me—or at least the cause of multiple headaches. I can feel my mouth moving, spitting out syllables in a way they've never come out before. Am I sounding insecure? That's... blimey, that's new. "That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?" John asks, openly curious.

My face twists into a rueful smile. "Piss off."

I do believe that this is the start of what may lead to be a very wonderful friendship.