221B Baker St.

Sherlock, I presume?

I was having quite a nice dream. And then I sneezed. And with that sneeze came the harsh reality of waking up. 

I bolted upright as my body shuddered, and spilled my tea all over my papers. Lovely, I thought to myself. My stuff is wet, I'm in a new city, and I don't even have a hotel room. The true definition of lovely. 

It was quite the predicament. I had just arrived in London that morning, it was mid afternoon then. After wandering around aimlessly for hours, I had settled myself at a sandwich shop. 

I got up to grab some napkins. It was the middle of winter, and quite cold, causing me to wrap my jacket tighter around myself. The other patrons hardly seemed to notice the chill, and the grumpy café owner didn't seem like the type to invest in a heater. It was amazing that I had managed to doze off, though I do have a knack for that. 

As I was gazing out the frosty window my eyes caught on a certain figure. He was tall, pale, and wearing a black coat. I noticed the sharpness of his brown eyes, and the thick curly hair that tousled in the wind. I wished my hair was like that, I mused. Would be quite pretty. 

I turned my attention back to my mess. 

A short while later, I was rewrapping my grey scarf around my neck as I stepped out the café door. The sun was going down, and the temperature was continuing to drop. London was heavily falling short of my expectations.

After looking both ways, I decided on right to be my path for the night. I told myself it was randomness, but in reality, it was mostly to avoid the crowd of people to the left. So right I went.  

As I was making my way down the sidewalk, a notice on a door caught my eye. It read:

There is a vacancy at this flat. Please contact Mrs. Martha Hudson (#number) for further information. Thank you. 

I stood there in the snow smiling like an idiot, and promptly knocked on the door.

"Hello, dear, are you here for Sherlock?" A short older lady inquired as she opened the door. 

"Um, no. I've never heard of a Sherlock. I'm here for the flat vacancy?" I said cautiously, peering behind her.

"Oh! Yes, I can show you upstairs now?" 

I nodded eagerly, and stepped inside. She took my coat, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The building was quite cozy. 

"My name is Mrs. Hudson, like the notice says," she said cheerily.

"I'm Ivy Arthur."

She smiled again as she began to escort me up the stairs. "There's a room available- but you will have to share with a flat mate."

"Sherlock, I presume?"

"Hmm, yes," she pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted me was... messy. The room before me was a living room, and off to the left was a hall with what I assume were rooms, and a kitchen. The living room was divided into two parts, one half office, one half living space equipped comfortably with three chairs clustered around the cheery fireplace. 

Standing by the window was a familiar, dark curly haired man, clutching a violin.  He wasn't playing, simply staring down at the street. 

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson called. "Come meet your potential flat mate, Ms. Arthur!"

He didn't move.

"Sherlock!"

He sighed deeply. "How about some tea, Mrs. Hudson?"

I felt my brow arch in judgment. He spun around, and his dressing gown flowed satisfyingly. We studied each other for a minute.

"How's your cousin?" he asked nonchalantly. I rolled my eyes. 

"How's your lack of cigarettes?" I forenamed brassily. His eyes narrowed.

"... Mrs. Hudson took them," he said slowly, putting his violin down and sliding into one of the chairs. "How'd you get that?"

I smiled slightly. "I just had a feeling."

His brown eyes narrowed anew. "The tea, Mrs. Hudson?"

She huffed. "I'm not your housekeeper, dear, I'm your landlady." Yet she was already making her way to the kitchen to make that tea.  I stood awkwardly by the door.

Sherlock looked me up and down briefly before putting his fingers together under his chin and closing his eyes. 

"He's in his mind palace, dear, or that's what he calls it. Why don't you join my in here, hmm?" Mrs. Hudson chirped at me from the kitchen.

I took a moment to appreciate Sherlock's hair before I followed Mrs. Hudson into the kitchen.

The kitchen's mess rivaled the living rooms. Chemists supplies dominated the table, and I could only imagine what horrors lived behind the fridge and cabinet doors. A cry tore me from my thoughts.

I whipped around. "Mrs. Hudson?"

She stood back from the open cabinet, one hand over her heart and one pointing at the cabinet. I crossed the small space and put a hand on her arm. "Mrs. Hudson?" I repeated.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, like a gold fish, before she shrieked, "Sherlock! Why are there eyeballs in the bloody tea cabinet?!"

My head jerked towards the cabinet and sure enough, sitting on a little china plate were what appeared to be eyes. Presumably cow eyes, judging by the size. To Sherlock's credit, they did appear to be appropriately preserved. I sent a deep sigh in Sherlock's direction, before pulling a chair out from the table and helping Mrs. Hudson sit down.

I then crossed rapidly to the living room to give Sherlock a firm smack on the head, effectively removing him from his mind palace, and crossed back just as fast.

"What was the motive of that?" Sherlock exclaimed hotly, rubbing his soft curls. I sent him a cheeky smirk before reaching past the eyes for the tea. I could feel Sherlock's eyes following me as I filled the kettle, and set it to boil on the stove.

Finally, I turned and addressed Mrs. Hudson, "How soon can I move in?"