Chapter Text
Silence hung in the air as Sherlock waited for the other man to say something, his own mouth not moving because his mind had been wiped completely blank at that last statement. You’re quite attractive? That had been entirely unexpected. He usually knew what was going to come out when he started speaking but he’d been unprepared for that particular phrase. It wasn’t even a deduction! The man Mike had brought in looked like he was in shock, his mouth hanging open the slightest bit as he stared at the detective. Mike himself was smiling, looking rather pleased with himself, and Sherlock briefly had time to wonder what he was so smug about when his friend spoke.
“Um,” he started out, a faint blush spreading up his cheeks to his ears, staining them pink. “Thank you, I guess.” He coughed awkwardly, shuffling his feet a bit, glancing around the room, at Mike, and occasionally letting his eyes dart to Sherlock before they flitted away again.
It took a moment but Sherlock got it. “Oh! You’re waiting for me to talk again. Right. Yes.” He didn’t understand why he felt so strange. Perhaps it was the weather. “Right. Um.” He paused, looking to Mike as a sort of lifeline. “Mike. I need your phone. Mine doesn't get service here. And,” he added when Mike opened his mouth,” before you start spouting nonsense about using the telephone, I will once again repeat that I prefer to text.” He glanced again at the man on the other side of the room.
“Sorry,” Mike said slowly, patting down his jacket. “Haven’t got mine on me.” He was lying. Sherlock knew he was lying, could see the shape of his phone in his breast pocket, and was about to comment when the would-be army doctor spoke up.
“Here, use mine. If you’d like.”
Sherlock stood quietly for a moment, before reaching across to take it from him. “Thank you.” He took notice of he scuff marks around the power plug-in, feeling the engraving on the back with his fingers before he pressed the button to turn it on. He quickly sent a text to Lestrade (If brother had green ladder arrest brother. -SH) before returning the phone to the stranger, purposely avoiding letting their fingers make contact. The engraving on the back had said To Harry, xoxo Clara, which hinted at a wife but that clearly wasn’t this man. He didn’t have the look of an alcoholic and there was no ring on his finger, so this was clearly a present, most likely from a brother. Once again, he opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.
“John Watson,” Mike said, still looking far too pleased with the situation. “Friend of mine, in case you were wondering, since you didn't ask his name.”
The other man, John, sputtered. “Mike! Jeez, it’s fine,” he said, turning to Sherlock, “don’t worry about it.” He looked a bit uncomfortable.
“He’s right,” Sherlock interjected. “It was rather rude not to ask your name, I apologize.” He gave a small smile, which John returned. Sherlock suddenly felt like he needed to leave, immediately, or he’d make a fool of himself. “Right then. Flatshares. I’ve got my eye on a nice flat in central London. The landlady knows me, likes me quite a bit, might I add, I remind her of her grandson. She also owes me a favor, so the rent is rather cheaper than it would normally be, so together we should be able to afford it.” He stood, gathering his coat into his arms and wrapping his scarf rather haphazardly around his neck as he made his way to the door, giving Mike’s friend a wide berth. “We can go take a look at it tomorrow, if you’re amandable. I’ve got to run for now, but I’ll meet you there around 10.”
"Hold on a second," John interrupted, making Sherlock pause. "That's it? We've just met and we're going to look at a flat together?"
"Yes. Problem?"
John laughed. "A bit. I don't know anything about you, I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name." He watched Sherlock expectantly, waiting for an answer.
Sherlock continued to the door, opening it before turning to look at John. "I play the violin and sometimes I don't talk for days. I can be exceedingly rude and obnoxious, and I always speak what's on my mind in regards to people. I know you have an alcoholic brother that you don't get along with, which is why you need a flatshare." He watched John's face flit through a series of emotions before settling on shock. The detective smirked.
"The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street." On an impulse, he winked, before closing the door behind him. Leaning heavily on it for a moment, he clearly heard Mike inside say "yeah, he's always like that."
Sherlock hurried away, wondering why on earth he had winked. Who winks at strangers? Certainly not Sherlock Holmes under normal circumstances, but these clearly were not. Something about John Watson made Sherlock act strangely and he resolved to make it stop. He was broken out of his thoughts as he hailed a taxi by a buzzing in his pocket. As he climbed inside the yellow car, he pulled out his phone, groaning to himself as he saw Mycroft's name. He opened it to find a text.
Are you trying at all to solve this problem? -MH
Sherlock sighed heavily, responding quickly before shutting his phone off.
No, I'm not. Boring. No point. Shove off. -SH
He gave the cabbie the address of New Scotland Yard, and rode in silence across London. He sent a quick text to Mike Stamford on the drive.
Just what, pray tell, are you planning? -SH
A few minutes later, he got a strange response.
Not a thing! Hope you and John get along. -Mike
He closed his phone, staring at the window and letting his thoughts flitter wherever they desired.
Mike didn't know about the curse, but the way he was constantly trying to set Sherlock up with various friends and colleagues sometimes made the detective suspect. This one though, this John, was interesting. He hadn't run screaming anyway, which was better than most people, and Sherlock hadn't been punched. He was rather glad for that; John had looked rather strong, and a hit from him likely would've put Sherlock on his back.
He was sick of the interferences. He knew there was no way he could lift the curse by the time he turned 21. His birthday was just short of a year away, and he had no desire to find someone tolerable. He did regret that failure to lift the curse would result in losing Lestrade as an almost friend, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. Mycroft was particularly annoying about it all, wanting the curse gone so that Sherlock could improve his reputation and establish connection, much like the elder himself did. But Sherlock could really care less about business and relationships.
Really.
When he arrived at his destination, he entered slowly, looking up when Greg Lestrade called his name in a cheerful manner. "Sherlock! Just who I was looking for. Thanks on that last case mate, we would've never even suspected about the green ladder."
"That's because you're all idiots," Sherlock retorted. "Honestly, why do you even pay Anderson? He doesn't do his job correctly."
Lestrade chuckled. "He does do his job right. You just enjoy torturing him because he's not as clever as you." He picked up a cup of coffee that was on the counter next to him, taking a sip before continuing. "Seriously though. How did you know about the ladder?"
Sherlock scoffed. "There were microscopic specks of green aluminum in the victims blood. It was obvious." He looked past Lestrade, seeing Anderson coming towards them, and when he walked by the detective resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. He allowed his senses to sweep over the other man quickly, taking note of anything he could use against him. "I hope you know he and Donovan have been shagging in the supply closet again. Granted, they've gotten a little smarter, not using the one right near your office, but they're still doing it." When Greg groaned, Sherlock ended with, "whichever closet has baby powder in it. Lock it every day and watch how angry they get."
Greg laughed again. "You're really something, Sherlock." He paused for a moment, inspecting Sherlock closely before he started on a subject he'd clearly been thinking about. "How's it going with... You know... The curse?" He'd lowered his voice for this part, glancing around to make sure no one heard.
Mycroft had told Lestrade about Sherlock. After Sherlock's continuous verbal assault on his officers, it was a necessary step; Sherlock needed to stop, or he was off, no matter how clever he was. Mycroft explained the situation, and the British government and the DI had developed a sort of friendship, constantly plotting to help Sherlock break the curse. But he didn't need their help.
Sherlock shook his head. "Mycroft put you up to this. Obvious. But like I told him, there's no point. There's no way to lift it in time, so I've given up. Shove off." He turned on his heel to leave, but Greg stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"That's your problem, Sherlock. You shut people off. You even do it to me, and we're at least sort of friends. I hope anyway. But even if you wanted to, how could you find someone to lift the curse if you can't stand to be around anybody and they can't stand you?"
Sherlock shook his hand off, turning to face him again. "I don't want to find someone to lift the curse, because there's no use. And for your information, there are people I can stand to be around. Not many but there are some. In fact," he paused, wondering whether this was a good idea or not. "I may have a flatmate soon. The man, John Watson. He seems... Tolerant of my behavior at the very least."
Greg's eyes widened. "You're joking! Did you just not speak to him at all? It seems impossible, most people you talk to want to kill you and this one wants to move right in?"
Sherlock gave the man a small smile. "I'm still asking myself the same thing." He turned away again, walking towards the exit. "Got to run," he called over his shoulder. "Got a flat to set up. Let me know if there's anything interesting. And, don't tell Mycroft about the flatmate."
He exited the building, leaving Lestrade behind him, hailing another taxi and giving the cabbie the address 221B. He had a few boxes to unpack. He knew for sure that John Watson would be there tomorrow. He didn't know why, but he knew he would.
~~~~~~~~~~
Lestrade watched Sherlock leave NSY, before pulling his phone out of his pocket. It may have been directly against the tall man's wishes, but Mycroft needed to know about this. He found the elder Holmes number and called him, only having to wait a few moments for him to answer.
"Detective Inspector. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Greg hesitated a moment. "It's about Sherlock." At the sharp intake of breath, he included, "no no! It's nothing bad. I promise. It's about the curse." He kept his voice down, walking slowly to the side exit for more privacy.
"I doubt he's found someone. He said he was giving up, and Sherlock is nothing if not stubborn."
Mycroft was definitely the pessimist of the two. While he hoped beyond hope that the curse would be broken, he didn't think it ever would be. Greg balanced him out though, meeting his negative views with his own more positive ones. "It sounds promising, actually. New flatmate. He can actually deal with Sherlock." He paused a second, a shift in the corner of his eye notifying him of the movement of a CCTV camera. "Stop that, it's creepy."
"My apologies, Gregory. What did you say this man's name was?"
"John Watson, I think," Greg responded without thinking, then realizing what he'd done. "You're not going to search him are you?"
"......"
Greg sighed. "Mycroft..."
"Necessary precaution, Detective Inspector. If you'll excuse me, I have an important matter to look into." There was a moments pause, then... "Pleasure as always, Gregory."
Lestrade smiled. "Same to you, Myc. Try not to scare him too bad." The line clicked off.
He hoped John Watson wasn't easily intimidated.