Chapter Text
John walked to the door of his new flat, duffel bag of belongings in hand. Moving out of his dorm made him realize just how little he actually owned; most of the furniture and decorations had been Mike’s. All John really owned was a barely-used journal with a matching writing set, his laptop, his clothes, and any school supplies. All of it had fit easily, and depressingly, into the bag. He looked up at the door, taking a breath before stepping in.
John looked around the flat, taking it in. The walls were covered with mint green wallpaper, framed with a dark wooden trim. There were two windows in the central room looking outwards towards the street, each with its own raggedy set of blinds. The floor was a dark hardwood, matching the trim.
Or at least it appeared to be so. Most of the floor, and all of the furniture that was set up, was absolutely covered in boxes of Sherlock’s possessions. Sherlock himself stepped out from a corner brushing dust off of his shirt, looking very annoyed.
“The landlord could have at least warned me about the obscene condition the previous tenant kept this place in,” he grumbled. “I don’t think this flat has been cleaned in the last century.”
John was still looking around at the sheer amount of boxes, binders, and loose-leaf papers. Some boxes had ordinary labels, like “textbooks” or “extra clothing”… Others had much more terrifying ones. One seemed to be leaking some kind of unknown fluid. He laughed once nervously to himself.
What have I gotten myself into?
“Are all these yours?” John asked, motioning towards the room.
Sherlock looked around, then made a face, and said “Mostly. Two boxes are from the previous occupant.”
John nodded, looking around again. There had to be enough books here alone to fill a library. He walked over to one smaller stack of boxes. Each of the five labels read the same thing; “Chemistry Equipment”.
“You have to provide your own equipment?” John asked, lifting the lid of one of the boxes. A various assortment of beakers and flasks sat inside.
“No,” Sherlock said, walking over and shutting the lid. John stepped back, mumbling an apology. “This is my personal set.”
“Oh.”
There was an awkward silence for a moment. John broke it, setting down his bag. “So, this place is nice. At least, the living room is.”
“Ah, yes, feel free to look around the rest of the flat. I need to begin sorting my boxes.”
John nodded, and began slowly pacing around. Connected to the main room was a little kitchen, decorated in cool blue and green. Leading from the kitchen was a hallway, with three doors on its walls. A bathroom, closet, and… One bedroom. John walked back into the main room. There were no other doors.
“Is there only one bedroom?” he asked.
Sherlock lifted his head from behind a stack of boxes. “Yes.”
John swallowed. Sure, he’d thought that Sherlock had looked oh-so-good during that show only a couple nights ago, but he barely knew the guy. And yet, here he was, moving in with him; even so, he didn’t quite want to share a bedroom with his flatmate.
Yet.
Sherlock, sensing John’s discomfort, gave a short sigh. “Sharing a bedroom does not equate to having sex, John.”
John flushed a deep red, turning away with a nervous laugh. “That’s not-“
“Yes it was,” Sherlock said, again giving a response before he could even finish his sentence. That was going to take some getting used to.
“At any rate,” he said, grunting as he lifted a particularly full box of books. “If you look, there are two beds.”
John breathed a sigh of relief, but somewhere in the back of his head he was oddly… Disappointed. He shook his head, pushing the little inkling away. That was enough of that.
“Right. Good.” John shuffled his feet awkwardly. Sherlock walked by briskly, setting the box down.
“You can go ahead and put your belongings in the bedroom, if you like,” he said, beginning to sort the contents of the box.
John nodded, picked up his duffel bag, and walked into the bedroom. Just as Sherlock said, there were two single beds with a bedside table between them. There was only one wardrobe, though; they would have to share. John sighed, hoping that Sherlock’s clothing collection wasn’t as extensive as the rest of his belongings. He took out his set of clothes, mostly t-shirts, jeans, and a few wooly jumpers, and hung them in one side of the wardrobe. He took out his laptop, setting it off to the side near an outlet. He decided that the journal and school supplies would sit fine on the desk in the main room once it was cleared of the boxes. He set the bag down, stepping into the main room to help unpack.
He was surprised to find most of the boxes already empty and sitting in a corner. The flat was beginning to look downright livable.
“That didn’t take you long,” John said, looking around the now oddly empty room.
Sherlock shrugged. “It shouldn’t take long if you know that everything has its proper place. Just a matter of arranging and rearranging.”
John nodded. That was beginning to become his default action; see Sherlock do something odd or amazing, nod in place of words. It was probably fairly annoying on the other end.
“Well, I’m moved in,” John said, setting his books down on the desk. Sherlock frowned slightly.
“Do you really have to have so many books?” He asked. John gave a short laugh, then motioned towards the two filled bookshelves along the wall. Sherlock looked them over, then shrugged.
“Those are my personal books. I only have three books for my Chemistry classes, and I hardly use one of them. You practically have a library in your hands.”
“Just another part of life as a medical student,” John replied.
Sherlock gave a short laugh and a smile. John couldn’t help but smile back; he was pretty sure it was the first genuine smile he’d seen on the man since they’d met.
They both turned, quietly going about the work of finishing up their flat.