Eight months.
It had only been eight months.
To some, eight months is nothing. Days creep by blending into weeks and eventually months. Eight months later, a baby is born or a solidier is returning home to his family after a long and brutal tour.
To others, eight months is an endless span of time. It feels infinite. The mother of that baby who waits to meet the child she adores and nourishes. The soldier longing to sleep in a proper bed, arms cradled around his wife and children.
Eight months.
That's all it took.
John still wasn't entirely sure of what woke him from his deep slumber in the first place, only that he'd found himself creeping along the hallway wall towards the sitting room.
It had been a particularly warm day, the heat carrying over well into the night, and his pajama bottoms were clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He paused midstride and looked down. Resting his temple against the wall, he squeezed his eyes shut. 'I'm gonna die and they're gonna find my body in Minnie Mouse pajamas.'
He froze as he heard rustling of papers and someone muttering to them self. A string of 'OhshitOhshitOhshit' raced through his mind and John tightened his hold on the armful of shoes he'd grabbed along the way. John wasn't a large man. Standing at 5'6, he had a small frame but what he lacked in size he made up for in muscle. He was toned and could hold his own in a fight if need be.
Taking a deep breath, John barreled out into the sitting room screaming and flinging shoes in the direction of the perpetrator.
"NYAAAAAAHHHHHHH-"
Flip flop.
"Get-"
Boot.
"Out-"
Sneaker.
"Of-"
Hello Kitty slippers. Where the hell did those come from?
"My-"
He'd run out of shoes to throw and had resorted to wildly flailing his arms against the intruder. John vaguely heard someone shouting in the distance.
"John-"
Smack.
"John, stop-"
Hit.
"OW."
Kick, oh good aim.
"JOHN IT'S ME-"
Slap.
"JOHN, YOU ARE BEING RIDICULOUS."
John stopped abruptly, finally piecing the voice to a face.
"Sherlock?" He panted and slapped a hand to his sweaty forehead. "Sherlock? What the hell?"
Of course.
Who else was crazy enough to break into his flat at two forty-five in the morning? Sherlock was cradling his now bloodied nose. Serves him right.
"Was that really necessary?" Sherlock complained.
John gaped at him. "Was that...Was that really necessary? Christ, Sherlock I thought you were breaking in to kill me."
Sherlock scoffed, "Please, as if anyone would waste their time trying to kill you. How tiresome. No, I only needed paper to burn so I could begin to evaluate the rate of which-"
John cut him off, "Right, because any explanation you attempt to provide totally justifies why you were breaking into my flat at," He glanced at his watch, "Almost three in the morning."
"You gave me a key."
"For emergencies, like if you're dying or you blew up the kitchen table or something!" John practically shouted.
"It was an emergency."
He gave up. "Right, how stupid of me. How could I not know running out of paper was a catastrophe."
Sherlock blinked at him. "Exactly."
John let out a hysterical giggle and turned towards the bathroom.
This is what eight months had brought him.
Sherlock Holmes, John's genius and quite frankly ridiculous neighbor, who lived downstairs in 221B.
John had been looking for a new flat for some time, seeing as finding roaches in his fridge and mice scurrying through his drawers had become a tad irritating. He was in a horrid mood, already running fifteen minutes late to his lecture, and had spilled a cup of coffee on his trousers so it looked like a pee stain. There was a Chinese restaurant nearby, so he'd ran in to grab tissues. Dabbing at his trousers with the crumbling napkins he noticed an ad on a nearby window.
Baker Street Apartments For Rent
Call Hudson
07700 900709
He ripped the paper off the window and shoved it in his school bag. He would make the call after the lecture he was now 20 minutes late to.
Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, was quite possibly one of the sweetest women John had ever spoken to. She sounded delighted over the phone and had all but begged him to stop by and look at the flat. It was an old, white, stone building that was nestled alongside what appeared to be a very crowded sandwich shop. Across the street from him was an identical building. There was a man, who freakishly resembled a rat, on his knees with his arms wrapped around the waist of a tall, dark-haired woman who looked thoroughly embarrassed of the scene he was causing. A floor above from them were two men watching them. The shorter of the two was sipping his martini with an amused grin. The taller one was leaning on his forearm against the window, with a bored expression.
John shifted his heavy bag on his shoulder and had barely knocked on the door when it flung open and he was almost knocked backwards.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Here let me help-" Her voice was drowned out by the sound of a wailing baby. Presumably the one tucked in her arms. The person who had almost run him down was a petite woman with tired, brown eyes and brown hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail...and she was thoroughly distracted trying to console the screaming child.
"No,no,no,no, don't cry, you're fine, you're fine. Shh. Don't cry." She looked up to the sky and quietly muttered 'God help me.'
John cleared his throat which startled her and she gazed back at him apologetically.
"I'm sorry, we're in a bit of a hurry. I'm Molly." She rocked the now whimpering child in her arms. "...and this is Audrey."
He gave a little wave.
"Joh-"
"Molly, you forgot your purse. Oh! You must be John," An older woman pranced over with a black bag slung over her shoulder, "I see you've met Molly and little Audrey." Molly grabbed the bag and gave the older woman a quick kiss on the cheek
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson, we've got to get going. We'll be back later." She rushed by, calling over her shoulder, "Nice meeting you Jack!"
He frowned and muttered 'It's John' even though she was already more then halfway down the block. "Well! Shall we take a looksie?"
The other woman, Mrs. Hudson, clapped her hands together in obvious delight.
Mrs. Hudson lived on the first was another door adjacent to hers that led to a flat in the basement but she'd said that it it was already occupied. On the second floor he could hear yelling coming from behind a closed door, loud enough so the shouts were traveling into the hallway.
"You had no right!"
"Oh, come now brother dear, there's no need to be so melodramatic. I'd like to think I did you a favor."
"Do us all a favor and go stuff your fat face so you can die faster. Obesity suits you." The voice paused, "...and mind your own business!"
There was man leaning against the wall outside of the door with his arms crossed. "Dear god, make it stop."
The poor guy looked drained. It seemed as if the small patches of grey in his hair were multiplying as the commotion behind the door continued. He wiped a hand over his tired face.
"They're going at it again?" Mrs. Hudson patted the man's shoulder.
"Of course. He never stops." He nodded at her. His gaze flickered over to John.
"Who's this?"
"This is Mr. Watson. He's interested in the flat upstairs." She said with a wink.
The man stuck his hand out. "Greg Lestrade, Good to meet you."
John clasped hands with him. "Likewise."
There was a loud bang against the door, like someone threw a heavy book at it.
Greg sighed, "Oiy, good luck mate."
With that he turned and went down the stairs hollering over his shoulder, "I'm going out My, be back in a mo'."
Mrs. Hudson clicked her tongue. "Always arguing with each other, it's not decent."
John was used to the yelling and screaming. He had a sister, Harry, who he didn't particularly get along with. He thought she drank too much and she'd told him to fuck off on more than one occasion. Her girlfriend, Clara, was a saint and John could not understand how she put up with her.
Mrs. Hudson led him up a second stair case and pointed to the first door on the right.
"Molly and little Audrey live right over there. Poor girl, she's had a hard time sleeping with the little one constantly crying. Colicky, if you ask me," She sighed, "Ms. Adler lives upstairs and helps babysits during the day. A bit frisky that one," whispering the last part.
"Well I won't be young forever." A striking woman, with lips painted in the most offensive shade of red he'd ever seen and a dress that left little imagination, came bouncing down the steps. She blew a kiss to Mrs. Hudson and strolled by with a wink over her shoulder. John raised his eyebrows and turned toward Mrs. Hudson who giggling like a school girl.
"Now you'd be right over here." She unlocked a door that said '221 D' for him and he shuffled in.
It was a decent sized sitting room with two very large windows overlooking the main street. He could see the man and woman across the road were still arguing. It was connected to a small kitchen, which was no problem seeing as John very seldom cooked because when he did, the fire department was often called. The hallway attached led back to a bathroom and a bedroom. It was small but cozy and more than enough for John. He thought about his current flat and how tired he was of going for a bowl of cereal and finding a box of bugs. He wasn't high maintenance by any means, but just for once he'd like to be somewhere where he could put his socks in a drawer without finding three generations of mice making their homes inside of them. He shuddered at the memory. There may have been an undignified amount of screaming when he'd opened that drawer. As he looked around, checking corners, opening cupboards, and looking in closets he heard a piercing strain of, 'God is that even a violin?'. It sounded more like a cat shrieking in pain, 'Good lord, that's awful.'
Mrs. Hudson sighed loudly and John jumped. He'd almost forgotten she was was there.
"He does that at unholy hours of the night." She muttered, shaking her head. She tossed a pair of keys over to John and him a bright smile she gestured towards to empty space.
"So, what do you think dear? I'm afraid it's a bit of a nut house most of the time, but you get used to it. Got some lovely people here, just lovely."
John had a feeling she'd say that about a serial murderer as long as he used his manners. He snickered to himself as he pictured Mrs. Hudson sitting across from a 200 pound, buff man drinking tea and eating pastries with their pinkies up.
He quietly took in his surroundings; Someone was laughing, someone else was banging on a door, another person was shouting, a baby was crying, cars were driving by and honking, probably at oblivious pedestrians crossing the streets without so much as sparing a glance over their shoulder, and that god awful violin was still screeching an agonized melody. 'Won't be getting much sleep, I suppose.' He thought back to the mouse incident and shuddered. Nope, he was pretty sure he'd rather live in a box than have to wake up with a mouse on his pillow wishing him a good morning. He gave a firm nod to himself and turned to Mrs. Hudson.
"Where do I sign?"
It was his last box and of course it was the heaviest. He was grumbling to himself, trying to balance the weight, and fish his keys out from his pocket at the same time. His arm was killing him from moving his stuff and arranging and rearranging furniture, not that he had much, over the past few days. Thank god for Mike Stamford. He was one of John's closest friends at school and hadn't hesitated to lend a hand with the move. Unfortunately for John, Mike was at work and wasn't able to help with the box so he could get his keys.
'Goddammit, where are they...I'm...almost...done...come...on,' He grunted.
John wasn't even sure he knew what he packed in the cardboard, he'd been in such a hustle to get out of the shit hole he was living in. His arm was about to give out when he saw a large shadow loom over him.
"It's unlocked...idiot."
Oh.
John quickly reached a hand over the knob and turned. To his relief it was indeed unlocked. Stepping over the threshold, he hurried to put the box on the steps to relieve his arms of the strain. Straightening his back and rolling his neck he turned to address the individual who'd spoken and insulted him.
"Thanks, although the 'idiot' was probably uneces-"
He stopped abruptly and stared at the man in front of him.
Jesus.
Was everyone in this building undeniably...pretty?
The man was standing at an absolutely ridiculous height. 'Who the hell needs to be that tall?' His cheekbones were alarmingly high and he had piercing, blue eyes that made John feel like his entire life was written on his forehead. A curl slipped out of place, dangling over his brow, probably because this guy had a head full of dark, unruly curls that looked like they refused to be tamed.
Christ, if he'd ever had to stamp a name on his balls, it'd probably be this guy's.
'If lost please return to man with high cheekbones'
The man cleared his throat and looked at John with annoyance.
"You're blocking the stairs." John blinked.
'Holy shit, his voice is deeper than my love for hot pockets.'
"Sorry," he paused and held out a hand, "I'm John Watson, I just moved in upsta-"
"Must we state the obvious?" The man sighed deeply.
John lowered his hand and shoved them in his pockets."Right, well I suppose the boxes gave it away."
The man looked oddly amused at this. "Something like that" He stated, "Sherlock Holmes."
What the fu-
"Nice to meet you" is what John said instead.
What the hell kind of pompous name is Sher-lock.
The man-Sherlock, rolled his eyes. "Are you going to move any time soon or should I begin writing an obituary?"
John frowned. He noticed the man was carrying a bag of,
"Are... those toes?"
Sherlock raised the bag and beamed with adoration for his severed appendages.
"I'm calculating the quantitative relation between necrotic tissue and time of death."
The...what?
John let out a nervous giggle."Okay, well you do that. Let me know how it turns out." John turned and moved to pick up his box off the steps.
"Really?"
"What?" John said, knitting his eyebrows.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, "Shall I inform you of my results when it is completed?"
Was he serious?
"Uh, sure. I love necrotic toes first thing in the morning." John grinned.
Sherlock eyes glimmered in excitement and he stared at John with wide eyes. "You too?"
John's grin faltered. 'Oh shit. He's a cannibal, and he's going to cut my toes off and use them as tea bags and hide my body and no one will ever find me and I just paid first months rent-
His string of thoughts were cut off by a boisterous laugh. "Stop."
John released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "What?"
"You were thinking that I had cannibalistic tendencies, but I don't. I was simply engaging in what I thought was normal conversation between neighbors."
Norm...Normal?
John narrowed his eyes at him,"Do people often think you're some sort of deranged killer?"
Sherlock flashed him a toothy smile. "Now and again, yes."
Great.
Well, at least he wouldn't be bored.
"So...necrotic toes?"
Sherlock's flat was a mess and that was putting it mildly. There were books, and papers on everything. A human skull sat on the mantle next to a board game that had been stabbed against the wall with a pocket knife. Aside from his obvious messy habits John learned Sherlock was 21, only two years younger than himself, and that he was some sort of consulting detective. He wasn't sure what to make of that but Sherlock had said he was the only one in the world. John didn't argue. He was eccentric and bounced around from thought to thought. John struggled to keep up with him...and of course the man was absolutely brilliant. He could observe someone and be able to accurately describe their personality, work style, romantic life, and just about anything else he wanted to without even speaking to them. He was also quick to complain about how dull they were.
He'd also learned that Sherlock worked with the people across the street he'd seen arguing a few days prior, Sally and Anderson. Using the term 'work' loosely.
"They're the epitome of idiocy. Especially Anderson," He sniffed.
John just nodded. He was completely entranced by the small craters that formed in Sherlock's cheeks when he spoke.
'You could fit a baby in there.'
"I highly doubt that." Sherlock was staring at him, a slight smirk graced his lips and he arched his brow.
Oh shit, had he said that out loud?
John felt his face heat up and he cleared his throat. "Anyway, what's the deal with everyone?" He shifted in his seat," It's like everyone is related or something."
Sherlock stood by the window. "Not quite. We all know one another for different reasons. For example, my insufferable brother Mycroft," He shuddered, "actively participates in regular intercourse with Lestrade downstairs."
"You mean Greg?" John clarified.
"No, Lestrade. He lives downstairs? Surely you must have noticed him by now. Even you couldn't be that oblivious." Sherlock curled his lip in disgust.
"Yeah, his name is Greg." John was sure of this.
Sherlock waved his hand. "Yes, yes. Gavin, George, Greg, whatever."
'Okay then. That's more than I ever needed to know.'
" So Greg works with you, Sally and Anderson?" Sherlock scowled at the mention of Anderson.
"Yes, and they live below Jim Moriarty."
'Who? '
"He used to date Molly as a matter of fact. However that didn't last very long. I assume it's because he's gay." Sherlock pursed his lips.
"Who's Jim?"
"Do keep up John. Jim Moriarty, he lives across the street."
Oh.
"Is Jim Audrey's father?"
"No, what? Absolutely not." Sherlock looked horrified at the idea. "Audrey is Molly's niece," He paused, "Irene helps with her I suppose.".
John started carefully, "Why is Molly raising her niece? I mean, where's her mother?"
Sherlock didn't turn to him. "Deceased. Molly's sister and husband died in a vehicle collision shortly after Audrey's birth," He paused, "I assume Molly was the only living relative able to care for her."
Oh.
Poor Audrey.
Poor Molly.
He couldn't imagine finding out that Harry and Clara died and left behind their child for him to raise. Then again he couldn't really imagine Harry doing anything other than laying in a gutter, piss drunk.
"So correct me if I have this wrong, Mrs. Hudson is our landlady. Mycroft is your brother and is dating Greg who lives downstairs and is a DI that works with Anderson and Sally across the street who live below Jim, who once dated Molly from across the hall, who is friends with Irene. Did I miss anything?"
"Precisely."
Well then.
John wasn't really sure what he thought of that. It was like they were their own little community...and he was an outsider. It made his stomach knot. He wasn't sure why but he knew he wanted to be a part of it.
"One week."
What?
"You've been here for one week."
John counted the days in his head. "Yeah, just about."
'I hope it lasts much longer.'
Eight months.
That's all it took.
Eight months of living in the same building and spending practically every day together.
Eight months had led him to this.
Sherlock was now sitting on his couch, holding a bloodied tissue against his nose, glaring at John.
"So you broke in and decided of all the paper there was to use, you'd grab my homework. Nice." John leaned to press another tissue against Sherlock's nose.
"You received a bad mark on it anyway, I was simply sparing you the torment of looking at it. Plus, I needed paper." Sherlock huffed and hissed in pain. John may have 'accidentally' pressed too hard on Sherlock's newly bruised nose.
"Oh, how considerate of you." John rolled his eyes."You couldn't ring your brother and have him send you paper? He's downstairs."
Mycroft, Sherlock's brother.
Who was in a relationship with Greg.
Who lived downstairs.
Where Mycroft was.
Where Sherlock could have gotten paper.
"Don't be absurd. God knows what they're doing down there." Sherlock grunted in discomfort as John applied a clean tissue. "In any case, I do not wish to see the atrocity he calls a nose. " Of course he had something against his brother's nose.
John sighed and moved to sit next to Sherlock. He handed him the tissue.
"Eight months." He rubbed at his eyes.
"Eight months, two weeks, three days, and four hours." Sherlock grumbled.
"On that note, goodnight Sherlock. Make sure you actually close the door. I don't want to flash poor Molly again." John heaved himself off the couch and started towards his room.
"You were the one who decided to walk by without pants!"