221B Baker St.

Are you enjoying the view?

I pulled on my coat and boots before following Sherlock out of the flat. He lead me a short ways down the street towards the corner grocery store. The snow had stopped, but it covered the ground in great quantities.

I stopped along side Sherlock at the crosswalk. The light flashed red, and cars began flowing past us. Suddenly, Sherlock sucked in a breath next to me.

I looked to see a car swerving down the road, people started blaring their horns and pulling over. The presumably drunk driver was nearing us, picking up speed, ready to run a major red light and probably cause an accident. In one smooth motion Sherlock put his arm out and backed me away from the curb, with the other arm he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the  hazardous vehicle.

The car careened away, miraculously not crashing into anything. The whole street had silent. Sherlock broke it. "I've texted Lestrade the license number and the street we saw it on. It'll be off the road in half an hour."

"... ok," I murmured, looking around as traffic began to flow as normal.

He gave me a knowing look. "You're frightened? Perfectly natural, you know. Most people get scared by such things. Anyway, lets get to the shop. It closes in an hour and a half."

I grimaced. "I'm not scared. Just kinda... thoughtful. Someone will get hurt."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Then how come your expression was fearful? When you're thinking you get a crease between your eyebrows, and your bottom lip goes put, like you're pouting. That isn't the case right now. Your eyes are narrowed, but your eyebrows are relaxed. Your mouth is pressed in a tight line and your jaw is clenched, rather then the relaxed lip out. You are definitely feeling scared or anxious."

My face went slack. "Do you really notice that much about me?"

He shrugged. "I notice everything about everyone."

Next thing I know, I'm being dragged across the street, Sherlock's arm hooked around my elbow.

"Sherlock!" I complain as we come to a stop in front of the shops doors.

"What?" He snapped harshly, pulling the door open.

I step inside. "A little warning next time, please?"

He grunted in understanding as he pulled off his scarf and grabbed a trolley. He stilled and stared at me. "Are you enjoying the view?"

I huffed before pushing past the consulting detective and pulling our trolley into the store.

I could feel Sherlock analyzing me as he followed me around. Since Sherlock had no food at the flat, I grabbed all the essentials, plus the makings of a suitable lunch. I settled on sandwiches.

Finally, we joined the short queue and I got ready to pay the teller.

"I'll pay," Sherlock said suddenly. The teller gave us a confused look.

"Um, who's paying, miss, you or your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"We met yesterday."

"Just acquaintances, really."

"Flatmates, actually. And I'll be paying," Sherlock handed his card to the bemused teller.

I glared daggers at him.

Finally, Sherlock looked at me, bag in each hand. "You gonna help me carry these, or not?"

I let out a disgruntled sniff before plucking up the remaining bags and leading Sherlock out into the snow.

After we arrived back at the flat, I made Sherlock assist me in putting the groceries away. He maintained through the whole operation that we simply didn't have the room for all of this food, but to his dismay, I found a place for everything.

We sat at the kitchen table in silence, the only sound was the consumption of cucumber sandwiches.

"I will be going to the morgue soon," Sherlock commented suddenly, taking another bite out of his sandwich. "Need to pick up some body parts."

"Can I come?" I asked. Sherlock gave me a funny look.

"You want to go to the morgue? Ivy, do you know what a morgue is?"

I cut my eyes at him, glaring over my tea. "Yes, Sherlock, I'm not five years old. And yeah, I want to go to the morgue so that I can look for a job."

It was hilarious watching Sherlock's dark eyebrow creep higher and higher up his face. "You want to work at a morgue?"

"I studied forensics and anatomy in school, why would I work anywhere else?"

"Where did you go to school?" He said, with what seemed to be genuine curiosity.

"University of Oxford," I replied. "Where did you go to school?"

He smirked. "I didn't go to school. Too smart for them, I surmise."