The door to 221B Baker Street opened, and John walked in, carrying a bag of shopping and an umbrella. His roommate was, as usual, still wearing his pyjamas and dressing gown.
"Sherlock."
"Yes John?" a pair of green-blue eyes were trained on him.
"It's mid-day."
"Yes John, I'm aware of that." already uninterested, Sherlock turned away. John sighed.
"It's midday, and you're not dressed yet."
"Once again, thank you for highlighting the already startlingly obvious."
"How old are you?" John snapped, his patience wearing thin. When he didn't receive a reply he decided to go into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock to sit silently in his chair.
Unpacking the things he'd bought for dinner, John looked around the kitchen. Something smelt bad. Really bad. Like milk had been left for a week in the sun.
"Sherlock?"
"What now?"
"Why does this kitchen smell like bad milk?"
"Experiment," was his only answer.
"I don't think I want to know what kind of an experiment." He muttered under his breath, starting to make himself a coffee. Behind him, he heard the door to Sherlock's bedroom close. Good, he was getting dressed.
Taking a deep, calming breath, (which was needed most days in 221B), John waited for the kettle to boil, before making himself a hot cup of coffee and settling down in the armchair. He closed his eyes, thinking about the date he had for tomorrow. A nice meal, with a nice girl. He wouldn't have to cook for Sherlock and listen to his complaints about being bored.
"Thank God." He whispered, taking a sip of his coffee. Nothing could interrupt these few minutes of quiet while Sherlock tried to find his pants. Nothing.
What was that scratching at the wall?
John opened his eyes and looked around the flat. There wasn't anything making any noise in here… So what was that scuffling, scratching noise?
Placing his coffee on the table, John stood up and walked towards the front door, to see if someone was at the door. The hallway was empty.
Behind him, he heard a grunt and another scuffling sound, and turned around just in time to see the curtain flutter, and someone fall through the window onto the carpet.
"What the hell?"
The person turned their head to look at him. There was a clear look of surprise on their face. On their very young, and very pretty face. A girl, who probably couldn't have been much older than twenty-five, had broken into 221B.
"Oops." She muttered sheepishly. There was a long moment where she stared at John, and John stared straight back.
"Who are you?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"Um… I'm not really important." The girl stood up and dusted herself down. After a short moment, she held out a hand for him to shake.
"John." He accepted it. She already seemed to be distracted, as her eyes were wandering around the flat. There was a hint of confusion in her face as she took in her surroundings and then looked back at John.
"Uh… Excuse me?" John watched as she went to the door, opened it, looked at the sign saying '221B', closed it, and gave him another confused look.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. It sounded more like she was just thinking out loud, so he decided not to answer.
"John?" Sherlock called from his bedroom, "Can you not Skype your girlfriend while I'm in the flat please?"
"I'm not!"
"I can hear your voice, and a voice which is considerably higher, so unless you're talking to yourself and doing all the voices…" Sherlock stepped out of his room, and froze when he saw the girl. His eyes widened, ad his mouth opened into a small 'o' shape.