A/N: Just an idea that was buzzing very annoyingly around my head, that I had to write down so it would let me sleeeep! Thoughts?
John arrived home after an exhausting day at the clinic, having worked overtime for the third time that week; with Sarah off sick with a cold, John felt like he owed her one (or two, maybe three..) after the whole "tied to a chair, nearly shot with an arrow" incident. He had been looking forward to coming home to a nice cuppa, and an uneventful evening in front of the telly, until he remembered that Sherlock had been between cases for close on a week. He groaned as he imagined the foul mood Sherlock would be in, and worse yet what state the flat would be in.
So it was in both pleasure and confusion that he stepped into a room that was in no worse shape than when he had left – there was the usual clutter about the place, but no new bullet holes in the wall or torn apart furniture. Only Sherlock sitting with his hands pressed together under his chin, as was his habit when he was in deep contemplation of something. Or as it turned out, someone. "What was your impression of her?" John sent Sherlock an exasperated look on his way past to the kitchen, "I hate it when you do that, talk as if I was here when you started the conversation" he grumbles as he sets the kettle on the stove. "But I'll bite – who are you talking about?"
Sherlock sighs "Do try and keep up John; Anita Farrow, Mrs Hudson's new tenant, did you not run into her two weeks ago?" "What, how did you even…..you know what, never mind."
Sherlock arched a brow at him "How could I not notice? Slightly flushed with pupils dilated – obviously you had just been with an attractive woman, but no self-satisfied smile, so no phone numbers were exchanged however you were hopeful of seeing her again; she must live in the area then. Your coat carried a faint whiff of a sweet perfume from where you bumped into her, the same scent that has lingered in the hallway for the past three weeks ever since furniture was moved into the flat downstairs. Also, upon questioning Mrs Hudson mentioned that she had seen you knock her new tenant down when you were rushing in one day. Terribly rude of you John."
John was reluctantly impressed, but bugger it if he would primp Sherlock's ego. He turned back to the now boiling kettle, and prepared two cups of tea, Sherlock's silence lending him hope that he would drop the subject. John had seen their new neighbour for no more than a minute, but there was something about her that had immediately drawn him in. Not just her looks – miles of wavy light brown hair, creamy skin, and soft green eyes – but something in the slight smile she had flashed at him as he was stumbling through an apology while giving her a hand up from the floor. He still regretted that he hadn't had a chance to chat with her, but she had seemed so shy as she mumbled a reply and fled to her flat, safe from any other men out to bowl her over.
"Well John, what was she like?" John sighed, knowing there was little point in not answering – Sherlock could be bloody annoying when he put his mind to it. "Why don't you ask Mrs Hudson? I only saw her for a moment, didn't speak more than a few words with her." He couldn't explain it, but he felt the need to protect the little mouse downstairs from the inquisitive cat that was Sherlock.
John handed Sherlock his cup of tea, then settled into his favourite chair and switched on the telly, determined to ignore his flat mate for the rest of the night. Lucky for him Sherlock was already lost in thought, oblivious to Johns presence. He couldn't explain it, but he was unaccountably curious about this Anita. Remembering the sad lack of interesting cases on offer at the moment he decided that she was just what he needed to keep him occupied until Lestrade inevitably hit a wall in one of his investigations. Absently sipping the cooling tea, he looked forward to figuring out the puzzle that was Anita, hoping it would keep him amused for at least a few hours the next day.