Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other
"Yes, yes they should" John half muttered, half shouted into his pillow. The pillow which helped to quieten his complaint. He shouldn't have bothered with the muffling, his shouting was inevitably drowned out by the gunshots resounding off the walls.
Violin playing! That was what Sherlock had said was his worst trait."Well let me tell you I would much rather be awoken at 3 IN THE MORNING by Bach's Violin Concerti, than by the not so distant echo of an ear-splitting bang!" John muttered into his sheets, knowing Sherlock couldn't hear but still feeling the need to vent his frustration to someone. He didn't have a someone so his pillow would have to do.
The problem was that Sherlock wasn't a potential flatmate anymore, he was John's flatmate. Maybe this was what Sherlock had been scheming all along, by not revealing his certain bad traits or his certain allure to police officers who felt the need to conduct drug busts, he had lured John, much like the police officers, into coming to his flat.
However unlike the police officers John had been enticed to stay.
So why didn't he leave?
Because he didn't want to.
Because being with Sherlock was like being on the battlefield again, because being with Sherlock felt... good. John used the work good because in the dark confines of his room trapped from his dreams by smatters of gunshots, he didn't feel up to using the word fantastic, but it was. Being with Sherlock was fantastic.
