I do not own Sherlock.
The Flat
By Random Flyer
Chapter 1: The Flat
"Here we are," the landlady said, opening the door to 221B, flat for rent on Baker Street. "It's a little dusty, I grant you, but it's more than enough room for a single person, or two if you should decide you'd like a roommate."
John Watson stepped into the apartment, glancing around with appreciation at the furnishings already present. He didn't have any furniture himself and having a pre-furnished flat would be much more comfortable than sitting on the floor. "No," he said, as he eyed the filled book cases. The previous tenant had left quite a bit behind. "No, it'll just be me, I'm afraid."
John limped into the kitchen, peering around the old wooden table and into the cupboards and shelves. It was a little dusty, like the rest of the apartment, and obviously hadn't been occupied for months but beyond that it was clean. The same could be said for the bed room, dusty, but otherwise clean and with a large, and apparently new, queen sized bed wrapped in a plastic cover for storage. John almost wanted to fall onto it right there and then after the past several months sleeping on the narrow, old bed he had at the invalid home.
"Are you sure about the price?" John asked, moving back out into the living room. The landlady stepped behind him, tutting at the dust and herself for letting it get so bad. He looked around the room again and glanced out the window where London buzzed away at another weekday. The place seemed too good to be true, not something he'd ever expect to be able to afford on an army pension. "It just seems a little low considering the location."
"Oh I'm quite sure, Dr. Watson," she smiled up at him with a motherly expression John hadn't experienced in the ten years he'd been in the army. "You seem like such a nice young man, and you'll be a good neighbor as well. I live down stairs and have just as much desire for a good neighbor as a tenant. Don't worry about the rent. As long as you're honest and don't try to cheat me, I'm sure we can work it out."
John hitched a half smile on his face, torn between believing there was something wrong with the place and accepting that the older woman was just as desperate for company as he was. Still, even if it was a bit of both, as long as it got him out of that depressing little room he'd been trapped in since his discharge, he'd be happy. "Well, I guess I'll take it then. I'll bring my things over this afternoon."
"Oh splendid!" the landlady clapped her hands knocking some dust out of the cloth she'd used to wipe down furniture. "I'll just air it out when you leave and dust things a little. We can sign the lease when you get back, but here's the key, I have a spare if you forget it here at any time." She handed over a silver house key on a plain metal ring labeled "B" with a paper tab. Then, she turned back toward the stairs. "Take your time."
John nodded, looking back over the space. Even with the furniture and some clutter already in place, he knew his paltry number of possessions would never fill even a quarter of the space remaining and he didn't have the income or the inclination to buy anything more to fill the rest. It was alright, though. The flat was fine as it stood.
It took a moment for John to realize the landlady hadn't left yet. He turned and found her hovering in the door at the landing for the stairs, a deep, worried frown on her face.
"Is everything alright?" John asked, turning fully to woman. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?" He couldn't afford anything more expensive. If she decided to raise the price after all, he'd be back at square one.
The older woman clenched the dust rag in thin hands before shaking her head. "There is one thing you should know before deciding."
Frowning but ready to hear about the apparently large defect that caused the flat to be marked so low, John nodded his head. "Aright, what is it. Is it the plumbing?"
"Not the plumbing," she said with a brief smile and a short shake of her graying head. "No, I've had everything in this place looked over and checked. All the appliances and utilities work fine. It's just…well, my other boarders never stayed very long. They all said this place was…" she struggled, motioning with her hands as if she could usher the words out. "Well, they said it was haunted."
It took John a moment to fully grasp what the landlady had said. "Haunted?" he repeated, glancing around the room. True, the Victorian styling of the room made it believable that some old specter occasionally dropped by to visit old haunts, but John did not believe in ghosts.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," she nodded, a grimace passing over her face. "I promise there's nothing wrong with anything here, as I said, I've had it all checked and re-checked. There just seems to be something that frightens all my tenants away, just from this particular flat. I was even able to let out the basement flat for longer than I have this one." She shook her head, crossing one arm over her middle and the other coming up to her face as she looked around the room. "I really don't know what to do with it, but if you've changed your mind, that's alright. I'll understand, dear."
John shook his head, a real smile break out of the shell it'd been hiding in since leaving Afghanistan. "No, no! I'll take it." Now that he knew what was wrong, why the rent was so low he felt even better about the choice.
"Good," she smiled with relief, a weight almost leaving her shoulders and tension dropping from her that John hadn't even realized was present. "I'll just go down and get my cleaning supplies, touch up the place, but just this once you know."
"Thank you, Mrs. Turner," John smiled, following her out to the landing. "I'll only be a moment then get out of your way."
Mrs. Turner nodded, patting him on the arm. "You're going to be a fine tenant. I'm so glad you're not afraid of ghosts, or being haunted, everyone else is apparently." She turned and moved down the staircase at a slow pace, probably due to a bad knee, John's keen medical eye informed him.
John looked back at the flat he'd just rented. He thought about what the landlady revealed, some mysterious haunting that apparently drove out all boarders. Then, he thought about the single room he had at the invalid home, only slightly more welcoming than a prison cell, and he thought about the veterans that had killed themselves in that same building, two in the past three months. John was not the best at expressing himself to other people, his therapist could attest to that, but he was well aware of the road he was going down. If he didn't change something soon it might just be himself that the coroner wheel out the door of that dreary, depressing halfway house.
"No, Mrs. Turner," John said to the air around him. "I just think my demons are worse than whatever this place can throw at me."
TBC...
A/N: This story is completed but going through editing. Updates should be weekly baring unforeseen circumstances. Please read and review. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.