Title: My Flatmate's Hands
Summary: Sherlock is a transfer student to John's university. Seeing an ad for a flatmate, Sherlock goes to see John and desperate, John agrees. Living together turns out to be very difficult when John learns Sherlock refuses to speak. AU.
Rating: T (for sexual references and language)
Pairing(s): Developing John/Sherlock
A/N: Written in alternating John and Sherlock's POV in a diary-like progression. There will be interludes written in third person to tie them together.
As always, I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 1: The First Day
John's POV
January 1, 2012
It's the New Year. A lot of my friends are starting what they call "blogs". They said it's a good way to keep track of your life and that I should try it.
Right. Okay.
I wonder how long this is going to last.
January 2, 2012
Nothing happened today.
Nothing ever happens to me.
That's it.
January 10, 2012
My rent was due today. I didn't pay it. More like, I wasn't able to pay it.
Does anyone even read this?
January 19, 2012
All right, whoever replied to my post on the 10th with:
"hey sexy. i want to see your cock. cum message me at sunnygurl2000"
Umm… no. I don't even know you and I'm not looking for anything. Sorry, but you should really stop doing this and read a book or something. Get a nice cup of tea for yourself. Watch some crap telly. Anything! You really don't need to go around to random strangers and ask to see their… genitals.
January 20, 2012
I told Sarah about sunnygurl2000. She laughed at how seriously I took the whole thing. Apparently it was just spam. Of course it was spam, of course.
January 23, 2012
Sometimes, things just don't work out. This morning, I was woken up by my landlady pounding viciously on my front door with what sounded like her spatula. Her spatula! Of all the things she could have used – hell, she could have used her fists – she uses a spatula. I ignored her; she does it every day now since my rent is way past its due date. I feel bad, I honestly do. She's my mother's close friend and if it weren't for that connection, I would have been kicked out a long time ago. We all have to make our living, but it's been particularly hard for me. I couldn't even finish my breakfast because she came again while I was eating a bowl of cereal and I nearly choked on my spoonful of corn flakes. On my way out to the university, I had to run away from her. She was still holding her spatula.
Jesus, I need a flatmate.
I put up a few ads around and even had Mike, who works on the university's newspaper club, put in a word for me. That was two weeks ago and nobody has shown up. I don't live in the best part of town and it's not exactly close to the university, but God, I can't be the only one in dire need of some help paying the rent. I've got a part-time job at the local clinic as a receptionist. My hours have been severely cut recently. They've hired someone "more qualified" to take on my job when I'm not there and it seems they're making an effort (without being too obvious about it) to gradually make my absence permanent.
Guess I need to get a new job, too.
This was my longest entry yet. I think I'm getting the hang of this.
January 25, 2012
Yeah, so, the clinic sacked me. I was expecting it but it was definitely a slap in the face. Although, I do have to admit, the bloke they got to replace me has a certain air to him. He's much better suited to have my position.
What am I going to do now?
How am I going to pay the rent?
January 28, 2012
Still no one coming to see about the flat. I had Mike put in another ad in the university's paper for me. I added loads of pictures this time. I cleaned the place up last night with Sarah's help to make it look presentable and in my opinion, it looks like something out of a catalogue. It's a little empty; there's not much I can buy to decorate the place, but it has sort of a warm feeling to it.
I called Harry up last night, telling her about my situation. She seems to be happier than I am, considering she's patched things up with Clara. She's laying off on the alcohol, too. That's good. It never did anything for her but make her unreasonable and a downright brute. Anyways, I told her about my problem. She didn't even offer to open up her place, not that I was expecting anything. Can't really expect courtesy from Harry. She did tell me to "Get the fuck out" and stop causing Mrs Williams so much trouble. I know it's selfish of me to stay. It's just I can't help but take advantage of her kindness for just a little while. As much as I hate how she nags – even if she has all the right to – this place feels like home.
Maybe it'll feel a little less lonely if someone else was in here.
January 29, 2012
I've got some more interesting news today. Well, I think it's interesting.
There's a new student in my Biochemistry class. He sits next to me and I introduced myself, saying "Hi, I'm John Watson" and he just gave me a nod. Doesn't say much. Actually, I don't think I heard him say a single word. I guess he'd be what people call "handsome"; he has a head of dark, unruly curls, and there isn't really a colour to describe his eyes. If I had to pick, I'd say blue. But then when I caught a glimpse of him looking at me, I could have sworn they were green, maybe grey. I'll stick with grey since it seems the most neutral.
So, I got curious and I asked the girls after class who he was. Like I thought, the girls were all over him but the guy didn't seem remotely interested. Maybe he swings the other way, not that it's a problem. It's really all fine. They say he's a transfer student but beyond that, nothing much is known. He doesn't talk so nobody had a chance to catch his name.
He looks like one of those Byronic heroes written about in novels.
"John! There's someone here to see you!" Mrs Williams called up the stairs.
John was piecing together an impressive structure of aldehydes made of sugar cubes for a project. Too immersed in his work to get up, he shouted back, "Thank you! Send them up, please!"
John heard the guest come up the stairs, footsteps heavy yet gracefully skipping over every other step. When the door cracked open and the guest showed himself, John couldn't keep his mouth shut. He let out a soft gasp of surprise, nearly dropping a sugar cube held in his fingers. "You…?"
It was the transfer student, adorned in a close-fitting purple dress shirt, suit, and (very expensive-looking) coat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, hanging it out at arm's length for John to see.
"That's my ad," John's eyes grew wide and it took a moment before it sank in. "You want to be my flatmate."
The transfer student gave a smug grin, as if he was thinking Obviously.
"That's great! All right, perfect." John stood up and crossed the room. He reached out his hand in greeting, which his guest warmly took. "Don't know if you remember me. I'm John Watson. I sit next to you in Biochem."
Another smile, this one much friendlier. So he remembered John.
"Can I ask your name?"
The transfer student reached into his pocket once more and pulled out a business card. John took it curiously and squinted his eyes to read the fine print, "Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective." He looked up and quirked an eyebrow, "Consulting detective?"
Sherlock hummed in affirmation, but didn't bother to elaborate. John slipped the card into his back pocket and smiled, "Okay. When do you want to move in?"
Sherlock swiftly left the room and returned just as quickly, rolling in two suitcases that he had left outside the door.
"Now?"
When Sherlock said nothing, John took it as a yes.
"Right. Sure. Make yourself comfortable, then." John was about to turn around and resume his aldehyde-model-making when a thought struck him, "Sorry if this is a little sudden but… can you talk?" he asked with concern.
Sherlock shrugged but he didn't look offended. Rather, he looked quite amused. John didn't know what that was all about, but he decided not to pry. It wasn't a very good idea to get too personal when he had barely just learned his new flatmate's name.
Flatmate...
Flatmate!
He had a flatmate! If he did well, he didn't have to worry about future rents anymore.
Speaking of rent, there was the problem of the overdue rent he owed Mrs Williams.
John hesitated. His eyes flickered from the ground to Sherlock, then back to the ground. He took a breath in and just when he was about the break out the subject of money, there was a beautifully bound wad of cash thrust into his face.
Stunned, John blinked a couple times and collected himself before stuttering out, "H-how? I didn't even say anything."
Sherlock shrugged again.
Even without touching and flipping through it, John knew that what Sherlock had given him was far too much. It seemed he had the overdue month's rent, as well, which wasn't necessary considering Sherlock and John hadn't even met the previous month. John needed the money but that didn't change the fact he would feel terribly guilty taking it. "The rent isn't that much, Sherlock."
Sherlock teasingly waved the bundle in front of John's nose.
John let out a sigh and grabbed Sherlock's wrist, "Okay, I get it. Thanks. It's like you read my mind." He loosened his hold and Sherlock pulled back, placing the money in the palm of John's hand as he did so. John held the cash in a death grip. He didn't know what to do with it.
Sherlock reached out with his finger and tapped John's shirt pocket. Sherlock seemed to be telling him it would be reasonably safe there.
Taking the advice, John put the money in and gave the bulge on his chest a slap, "Good." He cleared his throat, "I'm making some aldehyde models. Do you want to have a go? I think I'll have some leftover sugar cubes. We can sort your things out later."
Sherlock nodded enthusiastically.
So, they spent their first day together making aldehyde models out of sugar, with John doing all of the talking and Sherlock responding with facial expressions, a tilt of the head, or the occasional shrug. Sherlock was very skilled at making the models. His slender, nimble fingers worked elegantly together, combining piece by piece accurately and efficiently. There were times when John stopped doing his part altogether and just stared. They hadn't even had a proper conversation yet – John was having doubts as to if they ever would – but he had a feeling that this Sherlock Holmes character was a fascinating man.
John's POV
January 30, 2012
I got a flatmate today. It's that new transfer student I wrote about. His name is Sherlock Holmes. You know how there are some people who have everything? He seems to be one of those. Intelligent, good-looking, rich.
He doesn't talk. I can't make out if he can't or if he chooses not to; although, I don't understand why he would refuse to speak. I tried asking him conversational questions – what are your hobbies, where are you from, things like that – but he never properly responded. So, I stuck to yes or no questions, which he was pretty willing to reply to. A nod of the head once in a while, a shrug when he didn't care, a smile or a frown when something put him in a good or bad mood.
If he really can't talk, then I'm eventually going to run out of yes or no questions. Maybe I'll get him some paper and pencil. Maybe we'll take sign language or morse code classes together.
Either way, I don't have to worry about the rent for another few weeks. We got last month's paid off, thanks to Sherlock. Poor Mrs Williams was nearly on her knees in gratitude. God, I really hope that I get a decent paying job so I stop causing her so much grief.
I would write more about Sherlock and what I've learned about him, but I'll save that for another day. There's surprisingly a lot you can learn about someone, even if they don't talk.
Oh, there was something I found a little odd. He gave me a business card. Says he's a "Consulting Detective". I've never heard of a job like that. I'll ask him to write down a description for me tomorrow. Don't know if he'll listen, though.
Sherlock's POV
1/30/2012
John Watson and I are now flatmates.
I am deliberately refusing to speak to him to determine how far human communication can go when there is no speech from one or both parties.
I look forward to collecting adequate data for my paper.