It was not the best first impression. Sherlock most likely disagreed. He was satisfactorily impressive, he liked the flare of the dramatic. Liked letting John know he knew everything. Except he didn't. Not quite. Even the simplest man can have secrets.

John looks back now and wishes he had done more than stand with his mouth open, gawping like a suffocating fish. Sherlock ruled him. The first sly knowing look he had swept over him as he followed Mike into the dimmed laboratory, to the arrogant wink at the door, the presumption, the fact that he knew John would jump at the chance to be at his side, in his flat, in his life. And, damn him, he was so right.

He had volunteered his phone before he had even thought. Of course he would, that was the type of man he was. Had Sherlock anticipated that, or was it a test in itself? Had he needed to check John's generous selfless nature before he allowed him in? To determine the compatibility of their personalities. To know if he would be a help or hindrance. Or perhaps it was simply to garner more information, data. Sherlock's greedy eyes had given the phone a once over, his eager gaze flicking over the outstretched hand, the shortened reach and slight tremor belying the stress of the movement. He absorbed tan lines, posture, scars, the defiant lift of his chin as he registered the sweep of scrutiny.

"John, John, the pen, John, the pen."

John's reverie was rudely interrupted, as usual. It felt like he never got a chance to even reminisce anymore. It was as if Sherlock sensed him leave the room and sink into memories and dashed to pull him back. As if he couldn't bear the thought that John had something better to think about than him. Except he was thinking about him, but then, Sherlock's talents had yet to stretch to mind reading. He hoped.

"Get your own sodding pen," he muttered. But he was already reaching for it and flicking it over the desk. His feigned irritation flared into genuine for a second when Sherlock simply held the pen in his hand, making no move to actually do anything with it. But it only lasted that one second before he realised the futility of the emotion and looked back down to his newspaper.

When he glanced up a moment later Sherlock had the pen held between his nose and top lip like a moustache while he pondered some mysterious issue and John could only smile. As he often did. Struck by this marvellous man.

What else was there to do?


I've needed to write this for so long. My first published fic, so please review and let me know where I'm going right/ wrong.

Thinking of doing Sherlock's first impressions, but not quite sure how to approach it. Still not entirely sure what they were!