Watson limped into the living room towards the old sofa chair; setting aside his cane carefully he sank into the chair with a sigh and unfolded the newspaper he had tucked underneath one arm. The noise of him giving the paper a shake to straighten it a bit was the only sound to be heard in the room as Sherlock was laid out on his couch drumming his fingertips above his chest in silence. His translucent blue-grey eyes remained unblinking as he stared at the ceiling. Watson did not see Sherlock abruptly turn his head and the perplexed expression in his eyes as he sat contentedly reading behind the partition of paper. Watson commented aloud to himself,
"I think I'll make a pot of coffee," he turned the page of the paper shaking it out once more.
"Why?" said Sherlock with a stony depth to his baritone voice.
Watson lowered the paper, his mouth remaining in the firm straight line that rarely betrayed emotion but he raised his eyebrows quizzically,
"Beg your pardon?"
"WHY, Watson." replied Sherlock.
Watson had been a flat mate with Sherlock long enough to know he wasn't inquiring about his intentions to make coffee (which in fact Watson was sure Sherlock hadn't even heard him say anything at all as Sherlock was locked away in his busy thoughts.) Watson knew that Sherlock would grin deridingly once Watson asked what he was talking about and at that point it would be too late; Sherlock would have baited him into a match of wits to pass time. Watson; considering himself to be an average fellow of decent but not lofty intelligence and not being too keen on puzzles gave a straight forward answer as was his usual way of responding.
"There's a chill in here; thought a pot of hot coffee sounded good."
"Dribble Watson, why I would want to know something as insignificant as the reason for why you want to make a pot of coffee remains unclear to me." Sherlock said impatiently.
"Uh…" said Watson looking perplexed "There are times I say dribble and you've told me I just helped you solved a tough nut of a case to crack. Apparently I haven't this time. Care for a cup?" he said as he stood up.
Sherlock's voiced followed him as he limped towards the kitchen.
"If you must; I'll have two spoonfuls of sugar and a ¼ inch of cream in mine. Well, since your newspaper has kept you from the obvious I shall tell you the purpose of my why. Approximately twenty minutes ago Ms. Hudson was wondering aloud as she was sweeping outside our open doorway on how two fellows of such different natures get along underneath the same roof. The door to your room was open and with Ms. Hudson's high pitched voice you would most certainly have heard it unless you were sleeping, which you weren't. Every morning after you wake up you trudge to the bathroom to brush your teeth first thing, and either you aspire to make your dentist proud or it is pure habit from your regimented daily schedule when you were in the army. I'm going to go with the latter. The door to your room was, per usual, left open when you went to brush your teeth. At the time she was talking you were brushing which means you heard her talking about us. This must have inspired some sort of curiosity since we heard Ms. Hudson talking about us without addressing us directly. Apparently, she as many others have been wasting time musing upon how we manage to co-exist agreeably. I recall that we negotiated whether or not we could live together at 221 Baker Street the day we met at the mortuary lab then I realized I failed to consider your how your overly placid personality would fare with such a personality as my own. Why Watson is "why do we get along when the incompatibility of our personalities should prove to be an affront to each other?"
Watson paused as he pulled coffee mugs from a cabinet,
"Blimey you're out of touch! You ever had a roommate before? You can be different as night and day and it can work out just fine. Also, do you have to say overly-placid? Couldn't you just say calm, or laid-back? I sound like a complete bore when you put it that way. "
"Don't be offended Watson, your demeanor and personality is part of what made you a wonderful army doctor; makes you slow for my line of work but I suppose it is better to have a roommate who can tolerate me than none at all."
"Tell me then Sherlock; what kind of personality is needed for your line of work?" said Watson.
"Genius, fast-thinking, clever, perceptive, capable, impetuous, blunt, eccentric, somewhat-uncaring…oh don't misinterpret that; emotions only slow people down when tracking a criminal, slightly misanthropic, agitated easily, restless. Oh, and basically different than "other people," don't take that out of context either, people practically mill around blind through their daily lives, looking but never seeing."
"How do you that? Talk about other people like you aren't human yourself?" said Watson.
"Fatigue, hunger, and the occasional cold remind me I am human; I tend to forget the rest of the time." replied Sherlock.
Watson pursed his lips for a moment then spoke sharply,
"We get along just fine because I can make it through the day without punching you in your smug face, how's that for your why?"
Sherlock's eyes lit up as realization settled in and he smiled to himself while he stared at the ceiling.
"Watson my boy, pat yourself on the back, you just solved this small case."