The Summer Lodger

First try at a Sherlock fanfic (although I have one on wattpad called I, Cumberbatch featuring Benedict and some fandom celebrities/characters)!

No characters are mine except Trish.

Roommate wanted until 1st September. Must be willing to put up with some strange behaviour from other roommate. Gets own room. There is a kitchen, a living room and a bathroom. Nice lady downstairs. 221B Baker Street.

-SH

I look up from the advert I had cut out of the newspaper and examine the building. It was the right address so I knock on the door. An old woman answers, smiling. "Are you applying for the roommate ad?" She asks cheerfully.

"Yes. It hasn't been taken, has it? I'm a bit desperate. I don't have much time to find a room." I babble on and she stops me by disappearing up the stairs. Uncertainly, I follow and she leads me to a door.

"This is Sherlock's apartment. His friend John Watson has gone to his sisters for the summer and he gets bored easily. He needs constant entertainment and we want him to have more social interaction. He doesn't get out much." She unlocks the door.

"He sounds like a dog," I laugh and step in. A dark curly haired man is perched on an armchair, looking at a bowl of cereal with weird concentration. "Hi."

He looks around. "Good morning. I'm Sherlock Holmes. We'll be alright now." He says to the woman and she leaves.

"I'm Trish." I say and he stands up, letting his cereal spill onto the floor. My eyes flicker to it then back to him.

"Trish...Patricia...old fashioned name, you're embarrassed of it. Named after a relative on your mothers side. Your grandma. Shortened your name to Trish when you decided to move to London. Not move...university student. What's your major?" He asks and I stare.

"Philosophy." I say. "How did you-"

"Know all that? Quite easy to discover the origins of your name. Requires a bit of thinking. You're a student because of the suitcases and no boxes of furniture things. Philosophy, eh? Never met a philosophy student. We will have some stimulating conversations this summer then, won't we?" Sherlock says and gives me a slow smile.

I fold my arms and glare at him. "I'm named after my mothers aunty actually. And who says I'm moving in with you?"

"Always get something wrong." He shakes his head. "You're a philosopher, I'm smart and the only other flat available that would meet your standards is a share with two dumb guys who would hit on you every day. I checked it out."

"I might want to be hit on every day." I reply.

"Fine. Goodbye then." Sherlock turns away and throws a towel on the spilt cereal. He waits , back to me and I feel a smile creeping over my face. This guy is strange but a bit interesting.

"Which room is mine?" I ask weakly. He spins round and I try to hide my smile but he must see it because he winks at me and shows me to a bedroom.

Xxx

"Trish!" Sherlock calls me and I hurry into the kitchen, half in a jacket with my hair in a messy ponytail.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"I'm going to a murder." He says and puts on his suit jacket.

I pause. "Do you mean you're going to murder someone or are you a detective?"

"Neither. I-"

"Are you covering up a murder?"

"I'm not a murderer!"

"Are you sure?" I try to look serious. "You have the look of a psychopath."

"How many times do I have to tell people? I'm not a psychopath, I'm a sociopath." Sherlock sighs and my smile fades.

"So you have the potential to become a murderer?" I say then grin again. "Awesome. Come on. Let's go to the murder."

Xxx

Once we are walking towards the murder scene, Sherlock turns to me. "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. When the police need help, they consult me and I often solve the crime faster than they ever could."

"Show off." I mutter and look at the dark sky. "Looks like rain."

"Often does. Shall we run?"

"Huh?" I have time to say before he grabs my hand and drags me off. The streets whip by in my vision as I run through London, holding the hand of a possible psychopath and my new roommate.

Eventually he stops and I bump into him. He laughs at me as I lean against a wall. "I haven't ran like that since high school."

"I haven't ran like that since last week. If you're going to be solving murders with me, you'll have to be good at running." Sherlock tells me and takes off his coat. "Shall we go inside, Miss Jennifer?"

I can't remember telling him my last name and I am about to tell him that I won't be solving murders with him when he catches my eye. The steel grey of his eye twinkles in the light. "Certainly, Mr Holmes."