Oneshots

I'm Your New Flatmate!

A/n: So. Not dead.
Someone put up a thing on AO3 about what would happen if they were Sherlock's flatmate. I thought I'd do it, too. And I haven't written something in so long, I thought I might wanna get back into it. Enjoy!

Oh, and just to clear things up, the Sherlock TV show doesn't exist in here.

oOo

My POV

I knocked on the black and gold door with the the attached knocker thingy. I was 10 minutes late. I hoped this Sherlock guy didn't mind too much. London traffic is horrible.

The door opened inwards, and there was an old lady standing in the doorway.

We exchanged niceties, and I found out her name is Mrs. Hudson.

"If you need anything, just shout, dear." She disappeared into what I assumed was her flat. I picked up my suitcase and started my slightly painful accent into 221B.

oOo-Top of stairs-oOo

The door opened magically - thank Cas - and there stood a very attractive man with black curly hair, beautiful eyes, and perfect lips. He was wearing a three piece suit that fit him very well. Oh, and shoes, of course.

"Thank you," I breathed gratefully, dropping my suitcase and holding out my hand. "You must be Sherlock."

He swept those amazing eyes up and down my body, then started to speak. "Your hair, though well done, is slightly tousled, indicating a slight rush when you did it. You were afraid you were going to be late for your plane from America, quite correctly, I'm afraid. You rushed to the gate as soon as possible, having laid out your clothes the night before. You stayed up late last night, judging by the slight bagging under your eyes. Your ears show indents that indicate glasses, but you're not wearing any now, so contacts. Now, your phone," he said, his eyes traveling to my pocket, where the phone resided at the moment, "you've had it for long enough to get used to it. You're very attached to it and therefore take very good care of it. The case you bought for yourself, so you take good care of that as well. You like the case very much because of the decoration on the back which is a police box, for some reason-"

"You've never seen Doctor Who?! And you live in London?!?" I interrupted. "We definitely cannot have that. That was all true, by the way. You're a genius."

He seemed to freeze, like receiving praise for his geniusness was unheard of. "You think so?" Sherlock asked, with just the slightest bit of newfound nervousness.

"Not completely though, there's some things you need to work on."

Now he looked slightly offended. "What?" he questioned.

"Well, you live in London and you haven't watched Doctor Who."

"I don't concern myself with such trivia."

I sighed. "Looks like I have work to do. Can I see my room now?"

Sherlock stepped away and waved up the stairs behind him. I walked into 221B for the first time.

There was stuff everywhere, like a hurricane hit and he was too lazy to clean it all up. I looked all around the room, but there was one thing in particular that caught my eye.

"Is that real?" I asked, pointing at the skull on the mantle.

"Friend of mine," Sherlock replied, closing the door behind me. "Well, I say friend..."

"Cool," I said, starting the journey up again.

oOo - Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey Time Skip - oOo

After getting situated in my room, I went back downstairs. Sherlock was laying on the couch, hands in a praying position. I didn't take him as a religious type, so I wondered what he was doing. I sat on one of the armchairs and was about to pull out my phone when Sherlock spoke.

"Tea," he murmured.

I waited for him to get up and make some, but nothing happened.

"Are you talking to me?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said. "Make me tea." Seeing my look, he added, "please."

"One, I don't even like tea, and two, I'm way too comfortable. Make your own damn tea." I had stretched out so that it looked like the arms of the chair were holding me up bridal style (I was wearing jeans).

He looked at me and frowned. "That can't possibly be comfortable."

"You gotta try it to believe it," I told him.

Just then, sirens sounded outside. I jumped up and looked out the window.

There were police cars surrounding the entrance to the building.

Sherlock's not a criminal, right?

I saw one silver headed guy get up and run inside.

Just one cop? Definitely not a criminal. If he was, they'd send more than one cop, or make him come outside or something.

The cop opened the door, and I got a good look at him. He was quite the sliver fox.

"There's been a fourth," Sherlock stated. The cop nodded. "Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." replied the sliver fox.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if it wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?"

Ah, Sherlock's a detective of sorts, investigating...the fox said notes, so suicides.

Well, no lying around the flat for me. I sat in the chair normally and hid my mischievous smirk.

"Who's on forensics?"

"Anderson."

Sherlock looked away. "Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant." said the sliver fox.

"I need an assistant." Sherlock insisted.

"Will you come?" asked the cop.

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."

The silver fox left. Sherlock waited until the door was closed, then jumped up. "Brilliant! Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas!"

I grinned.

He pulled on his coat and scarf and glanced at me. "Coming?"

"Absolutely," I confirmed.

Wow. Took me, like, two hours to write this. That was so much fun! Bye guys.