Warning- The following story may or may not contain explicit slash between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Consider yourself warned...

Disclaimer- None of the characters you are about to read of belong to me. I am only using them for my sick and twisted enjoyment... And yours. Pervert.

"Listening at night
Waiting for a sound to come up the stairs.
Listening at night
For the slamming door in the car park"

Taken from the song 'Untitled 8' by Brand New

He sat alone in the flat. Silence around him was deafening. Albiet he loved the silence, it meant he could be alone with his own mind. He could think finally. The last one that was here, that Henry person or whatever his name was, had tried too hard to be perfect for Sherlock. Who the fuck does that? 'Being too perfect for Sherlock' meant 'not doing anything at all and just being here sometimes.' Nothing more, nothing less.

"SHUT UP." Sherlock shouted as the phone in the flat rang. Oh how annoying that sound was, almost as obnoxious as the breathing sound Anderson makes. Unlike Anderson, the phone doesn't obey when told to kindly shut up.

Sherlock huffed and walked over to the still-ringing phone. Why hadn't he just disconnected it? Oh right, Harold needed to be in contact and 'cellulars are just too expensive and I never get good service.'

"What?" Sherlock said into the phone as 'nicely' as he could for now.

At first there was no response. He assumed it was someone who had seen the advertisement for a flat mate put out my Mrs. Hudson. No one Sherlock knew would call the flat phone, they would call his personal cell. God, this blasphemous creation needed to be destroyed.

"Hello?" Sherlock nearly shouted into the phone.

"Oh, er... Is this flat 221 B on Bakerstreet?" The voice was meek at first but after a clearing of the throat it became deeper and clearer.

"Yes." Sherlock said.

"Well... I saw an ad in the paper about a flat mate? Is this a Mr. Holmes, or Mrs. Hudson?" The voice sounded afraid now.

"Sherlock Holmes." Does he really sound like woman? "Mrs. Hudson faced a rather gruesome death the other day and now I have her rotting body in my bathtub, if you don't mind the stench you can come by and see the place." Sherlock smirked as he spoke.

"I..." There was a click and the obvious sound of dead air ringing into his ear. If he didn't hang up soon a voice would come on telling him that he had misdialed or needed to dial his phone. How bothersome that voice was.

Sherlock walked back into the living room. He sat on the couch. It had been a little over a week since a good case came around. He sat and listened to the noises. Slamming car doors outside, seven to be exact, and the muffled voices of people walking by, two men, and lastly he could hear his own heartbeat in his chest. It was solid and perpetual, always there, unlike the sounds of the outside world. The time where most things are silent is at exactly 2:36am. Right now it was the noisest time of day, 8:42pm on a Thursday, it was starting to get dark and people were going out for the found this out last Tuesday when he was sitting on the chair facing the window and looking out at the city. Nothing was stirring, not even a murderer.

Author's Note:

I am back, bitches. And this time I am writing about Sherlock and John. Anyhoo I really have no idea where this is going so be ready for whatever. Seeing as writing unplanned work didn't go so well in the past I hope you will bear with me.

-a