Chapter Text
Flatmate
You watch me move my things into ‘your space’. I start to regret the decision to take the room. The flat is lovely with plenty of room - and close to work. The hour commute had been killing me.
However your friend John assured me that you were a delight to live with. I have a feeling he would have sold his soul to leave you.
“Don’t worry, Sherlock. This is just until I can find a place to buy in this area. This will not be a long term arrangement,” I notice you twitch.
“If you move too soon, I’ll only have to do this again,” you say.
Your voice is deep and rich - and it should be comforting. Yet the lack of emotion puts me on edge. Your eyes and words move so fast that I miss things if I don’t concentrate. I am certain that I will mess up the kitchen schedule that you just rattled off to me.
* * * * * *

Flatmate
“What do you figure? Panties? Thongs?” you ask.
“Wait, is this your new flatmate’s suitcase?” he looks up with a pair of black underpants in his hand.
“What are you doing in my suitcase?” I stand in the doorway.
He cocks his head to the side. “Sherlock, really?”
“Shhh….I’m teaching a lesson,” your eyes are steady on his red face.
“On how to be a pervert?” I snap my pink case closed.
“I didn’t take you for a ‘pink’ person,” you smirk up at me.
“It was a gift!” I snap and drag my belongings back to my room.
* * * * * * * *

Sherlock
“Hmm,” I look at the calendar.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Last month, she was irritable on these seven days. So, based on the previous months….” I flip a page. “It would be on this day next week.”
“Sherlock, why are you trying to figure out her menstrual cycle?” he asks.
“I need to know the days when she will be the least rational,” I say plainly.
* * * * * * *
Flatmate
“What are you doing?” I frown.
“I’m in my mind palace. Shh. I need absolute quiet,” you hiss.
“Well you look ridiculous. If my mum calls round, how will I explain you?” I shake my head to go into the kitchen.
I sigh at the sight of your breakfast dishes piled in the sink and that bloody microscope in the center of the table.
“When you are done asking the genie for your last wish, can you pick up your mess?” I poke my head into the den.
I swear I see you smile under all that fabric.
* * * * * * *
Flatmate
“Is that my toothbrush?” I see you scrubbing away at something I guess is a specimen.
“I found it lying in the bathroom,” you answer.
“Yes, because that’s where you put toothbrushes!”
This is the second time one of my belongings has wound up in your hands covered in chemicals. I still don’t believe the explanation behind finding my pink panties in your possession.
“I’ll get you another. I have to go out tomorrow.” You are unconcerned.
“And what do I do today?”
You sigh. “I have no time to help you through your day. Really…you are a grown woman. You should have sorted yourself years ago.”
I head to the chemist to get another toothbrush.
* * * * * * * *
Flatmate

I look over my book. “You cannot be comfortable.”
Your eyes never leave the telly. “I can be and I am.”
“Aren’t you hot in your overcoat?”
We’ve been living together for three months and I am no closer to understand your bizarre behavior.
“Yes, it is warm,” you sigh.
I forget that you hate banal chit-chat. I look at the telly. “The X-Factor?”
You roll your eyes. “Yes? Is there a point to you asking?”
I stand to leave. “I didn’t take you for X-Factor guy…..”
“Is that like your pink case?” you slip your eyes to me.
“It was a gift,” I say walking to the kitchen. “You, Sherlock, chose to put this shite on.”
“I’d love a cuppa,” you call.
“Great. Come make it,” I shout back.
I don’t see your grin.
* * * * * * * *
Flatmate
The flat is quiet and dark when I open the door. Quietly, I close the door to click behind me.
“You’re home late,” I hear your voice as I pass the den.
You lounge in the leather chair beside the non-working fireplace. Slowly, your head turns to me.
“What are you still doing up?” I stop.
“You know, thinking.” You glance at your watch . “You just made it home before this was technically a walk of shame.”
My eyes narrow. You are truly an infuriating roommate at times.
“Why do you care?”
“I suppose I don’t care about your reputation if you don’t,” you shrug. “I suspect your evening was adequate.”
“Clearly it was more than just adequate if I’m home this late,” I shift my weight.
Our eyes meet in a glare. Heat rushes to my face, first in anger then something else I cannot describe. I feel almost flustered under your scrutinizing eyes.
“Well, good night,” I say.
I notice your breathing has quickened. “Good morning…..actually.”
I swallow hard. I cannot decipher your gaze. “Fine…whatever.”
I flee down the hall to the safety of my room.
* * * * * *
Sherlock
I listen the ticking of the clock and my brain. It is just past two in the morning. I glance at my mobile.
Have a good night - SH
No response. I know you thought I was rude to him. I suspect telling you that you were dating beneath you while he was standing there might have been…..wrong?
I hear the click of the lock and the creak of the door.
“You’re home late.”
“What are you still doing up?” you drop the keys onto the table.
“You know, thinking. You just made it home before this was technically a walk of shame.” I cluck.
“Why do you care?”
I sense an edge to your voice. What were you doing this late?
“I suppose I don’t care about your reputation if you don’t,” I dangle my arms over the chair. “I suspect your evening was adequate.”
I’m not sure why I care. I have more important things to do than ponder your romantic life.
“Clearly it was more than just adequate if I’m home this late,” you shift your weight as your defenses go up.
Our eyes meet in a glare. Your cheeks are red, not from the walk to the second floor. I sense that your pulse has quickened. Out of anger most likely. Or is it something else? Shame? Your hair is in place and your clothes are not disheveled. I don’t want to think why I take odd comfort in that detail.
“Well, good night,” you say.
I feel something catch in my chest, like heartburn, or a flutter. “Good morning…..actually.”
“Fine…whatever.”
Your footsteps echo down the hall. I brace for the slam of your door, but you don’t.
I stare back at the wall. The energy in this flat is confusing lately.
Perhaps having you move in was a mistake.