Texting Sherlock

A Strange Meeting

The flat smelled of cheap cognac and an abandoned kitchen that hadn't been cleaned for months on end. In the small bed, made for one person, laid said person. Odds were, nobody knew he was there, aside from (maybe) his sister.

On the other side of London, in a new flat, that now smelled of chemical experiments and decomposing limbs, on a two seater couch, laid a tall, lanky man, clothed in a silky blue robe. He sighed heavily and turned onto his back, facing the ceiling, his hands steepled under his chin.

These two men, meant to be with each other, were struggling without each other.

John flipped over in his bed, facing the fact that it was time to get up for work. He wasn't looking forward to today. It would be another day, just like the rest. He felt like he was living Groundhog Day, over and over again. Stuck in a loop, Dr. Watson did not know how to get out, or what (who?) would shake him out of this hellish routine. He dragged himself out of bed, and made himself a plain black coffee, with a blank expression on his face. John downed it in two sips, wincing from the scalding hot liquid that made its way down his throat. He rinsed the cup, dried it, put it back into its cupboard, and then made his bed. Everything was neat, nothing extra in the flat, hospital corners on the bed.

On the other side, Sherlock Holmes remained laying down on his back, eyes closed, in deep thought. There hadn't been an interesting case in months. He was going crazy, but had promised himself and Mrs. Hudson that he would lay off of the drugs, and so far, so good. He sighed deeply once more, and shifted into a sitting position. The detective considered shooting the wall again, with his brand new 7mm, but decided against it, as he didn't want to anger his landlady (or pay any extra fee). He wandered why nothing exciting has happened in London, why no serial murders? He sat for a couple for minutes, finally deciding that he would head on over to the lab today, maybe Molly had something interesting for him. He grabbed his coat from the hanger and in one fell swoop was out the door.

John Watson had made it to the hospital at exactly 8:00am. He hung up his outdoor jacket (that was now soaked with rain) and put on some scrubs.

Sherlock Holmes had made it to the lab at exactly 8:10am. He had walked there, it wasn't excruciatingly far from his flat. The downside of that? He was soaked because of the constant flow of rain outside. He shook out his coat once he was inside, and draped it over his arm, making his way upstairs to where he knew Molly Hooper would be. She was pleasantly surprised to see him, but had nothing for him aside from some blood samples. He was done with those in less than fifteen minutes. He bid her goodbye, knowing that she had nothing more for him, and he didn't want to get dragged into a pointless conversation with her about what she watched on TV last night. He walked with his head down through the hallway before he was stopped, suddenly, by a much shorter man than had run into him at full speed. The shorter man dropped the metal tray that he was carrying that had three needles on it. Sherlock winced, him and needles did not have a good history.

"Sorry, god, I'm just in a hurry" the shorter man said, leaning down to gather his supplies back up, before glancing up at the tall man he had just bumped into.

The air was knocked out of John's lungs, the man standing in front of him was absolutely stunning.  He apologized again, shaking his head and realizing that he had to get down to a surgery.

"It's fine" the other man said. Then he started talking really quickly, firing off information, "you're single, on the verge of depressed, looking for something or someone fun, living in a lonely flat on the other side of London, you feel like your life is stuck in a loop, and you're losing your patience".

"How did you? How did you know?" John couldn't believe his ears.

"Because I feel like that, too" he said quietly, then straightened up, "come to 221B Baker Street tomorrow at 11am".

He then continued walking down the hallway before John said something.

"Hey" John called from behind Sherlock, "Uh.. I don't even know your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes"

"John Watson" the shorter man smiled.

It brought a smile onto Sherlock's face, something that he had not experienced in months.

The next day, at exactly 11am, there was a knock on Sherlock's front door. He swung it open, to reveal a grinning John. Sherlock stepped aside, giving room for John to slip in.

"I've made some tea upstairs, let's head up" Sherlock said, quietly.

They sat down, opposite each other, John somehow already feeling at home with this weird man that he had met a little bit over 24 hours prior.

"So, potential roommates should know the worst about each other, tell me about yourself" Sherlock said, taking a sip of his tea and looking at John through his eyelashes.

John sipped his tea too, "I am just a retired army doctor with a bullet wound and a life story that cannot be told over a cup of tea".

A/N: I love you guys haha, sorry I haven't posted in a while, I hope this is good. I've been crazy busy with college, it's all so insane right now. I'll try to post as much as I can, I miss you guys and I miss writing.

Music Recommendation: Future Friends Album by Superfruit.