Tera sat at a small cafe in London, sipping her coffee and observing the area around her. She had always been told to expect nothing but rain in the city, but her first few weeks had been relatively dry. Cloudy, with minimal precipitation. Much like any city, people moved quickly, heading to and fro and wherever in a rush. She noted, however, this 'rush' was nowhere near the same kind of frantic hustle as downtown Toronto. Toronto, everyone just pushed and shoved through - you had to learn to navigate the barrage of people or risk getting elbowed and barely making it through the crowds.

Internationally, Canadians were known for being nice and polite. For the most part, they were. Except they also weren't. The people in London didn't seem extra friendly either, but they seemed to be an improvement on the Toronto crowd. In Tera's books, anyway.

Her gaze drifted to the line of people at the edge of the coffee shop, waiting for their morning Java. Office workers, construction workers, businessmen, grouchy college students nursing a hangover - it was a mixed crowd. Not surprising being that this area seemed to be a junction of all sorts of areas of city life.

She drummed her fingers on the table absentmindedly, something she did whenever she was anxious or deep in thought. Scrolling through a list of flat advertisements online, she found herself rather dismayed. So far, her hunt for a flat had been, well… falling quite flat. Prior to today, she had looked at four, and none had been quite up her alley.

Two were affordable but appeared to be a front for some kind of drug den. One turned out to have a creepy old man looking for a flatmate. He had jeered and winked at her, slurring through his drunkenness about hoping a 'pretty young thing' would apply. Tera shuttered, recalling how quickly she had torn out of that place. The fourth had been lovely, in an upper-class neighbourhood with a beautiful balcony. It turned out, however, that there had been a typo in the advert, and the first two digits were switched around. The actual price was far out of her range.

She had one more interview today - flat not too far from the cafe she was currently eating her breakfast at, and she silently prayed that this would be the place. The funds she had set aside for staying in a hotel until finding a more permanent home were nearly depleted, and she wasn't prepared to break her budget just yet.

The bagel in front of her was calling her name - the first one she had in a month, despite it being her favourite food. She had decided to lay off the carbs for a while, but this morning, wanted to indulge. It was freshly baked, smeared with the perfect amount of cream cheese, beckoning for her to bite into it.

One cheat. Just enjoy it, and remember it. She told herself, hoping it wouldn't disappoint.

She lifted the bagel to her mouth and bit into it, flavour exploding. She was so enthralled, a moan of pleasure escaped her lips and she flushed, looking up and hoping no-one had heard. Unfortunately, someone had indeed noticed.

A tall man with dark, curly hair, piercing blue eyes, and very high, sharp cheekbones stood glaring at her. His eyes flicked to her table, eyeing her camera, open Macbook with an Obama and Biden meme stuck to the front, flicking back to her hand with the bagel, then returning to glaring at her.

He was attractive and well-dressed, she noted, though he seemed displeased at everything around him. His gaze was intense, like he was trying to figure out everything about her with just one look.

After a few moments, he spoke with a grumble before walking away, coffee cup in hand.

"Americans and their obsession with food."

Tera snorted and called out after him, "Canadians! Canadians and their obsession with food." Grinning widely, she seemed pleased with herself as the man paused, stiffened slightly, then walked away. She loved correcting people's misconceptions.

She watched as he continued forward, up until he disappeared into the crowd. His body language seemed to do everything it could to deem him unapproachable - wherever it was he was heading, he wanted no interactions with another human being.

Once he was no longer within view, she glanced at her watch and realized she only had a few minutes left before she would have to head to the flat. She had a few emails to send off and wanted to get them finished prior. A couple resumes, a query letter, and accepting an offer for a sponsored blog series on moving to London on a whim from Canada. Although, she mused as she clicked send, she wasn't 'unemployed'. Just not… employed.

Snapping the lid down on her Macbook, she smiled at the meme on its front. "Find someone who looks at you the way Biden looks at Obama." She knew that was why the terse man had thought she was American, which amused her further. People observed for telling facts about someone they encountered, though most didn't look too deeply.

She slipped the laptop into her carrier and stood up, tossing the paper plate in the garbage and snatching up her coffee cup and map. One more glance at it to remind herself of the directions. Tera had drawn a big, red circle around the location, with the address sprawled above.

221B Baker Street.

The advert was rather bleak, providing only the rent amount and a request that this person must be willing to do groceries and some cooking. As long as it wasn't another few creepers, Tera felt she would be more than thrilled with it. She loved cooking anyway, so having an excuse for cooking for more than just herself was a good thing.

Tera noted the shift in the neighbourhood atmosphere as she made her way down the street, around a few corners, and eventually turned onto Baker Street. It grew quieter, more of a residential area it seemed. Not quite high end, but not low end either. Moreso right in the middle. She counted the numbers and found herself pleased as she landed in front of a door right beside a cafe. Having quick, easy access to coffee was always a perk.

Looking up at the black door, there was an ominous feeling in her gut. Not the kind that makes you want to run in fear, but rather, the kind that tells you everything is about to change if you walk through that door, whether it's a metaphorical one, or in this case literal.

But, it was just an interview for a flat. How much could that change things?

She shook her head clear of thoughts and reached up to ring the buzzer. Hurried steps came towards the door, the lock unclicked, and it swung open revealing a cheerful looking older woman.

"Yes?"

"Good morning, ma'am. I'm here to interview about the roommate spot in the flat?"

She looked confused for a moment. "I didn't advertise for any… Oh! Sherlock," she said scoldingly, casting a glance up the old wooden stairs. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, the landlord. Come with me."

Tera followed her inside, noting how clean the place was, and the small, modest kitchen at the end of the hallway that looked like it hadn't been updated since the 1950s. There was no ring on Mrs. Hudson's finger and very few belongings from what Tera could see on the lower level. Single, possibly never married. Doing quite well for herself as a landlord, from what she could gather. She grinned as they walked up the stairs. The very definition of a self-sufficient woman Power on, Mrs. Hudson. Power on!

Only a few steps up was an incredibly creaky board, and Tera winced as she stepped on it. Creaky boards irritated her, always reminding her of some horror movie or something awful waiting to happen.

Mrs. Hudson led her up the stairs to the first level, and to a door that opened up to a living room, packed with books, scientific equipment, papers, and more. A table placed in between the two windows was littered with more papers and equipment. Despite the cleanliness of the rest of the house, this room was quite the mess. Hunched over the table was a man, though Tera couldn't see much about him beyond his backside.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said cautiously.

"Not now."

"Sherlock." Her tone slightly more agitated.

"Not now, I'm waiting on an appointment."

"Your appointment is here," she said.

"Well, why didn't you just say so," he muttered grouchily as he stood.

Black curly hair. Tall. Tera blinked. There was no way, it couldn't be, could it? The man turned to face her, piercing blue eyes narrowing as he saw her.

"You."

Tera snorted. "And you."

"What are you doing here, in my flat?"

"Well, I didn't know it was your flat. I'm here about the flatmate advertisement."

"Oi, what did you just say?" another man shouted from the kitchen, hurrying in. "What do you mean, flatmate? Sherlock, what is going on?"

Sherlock glanced over at the other man, rolling his eyes as if shocked that no-one else understood the answer without being told. "I'm not kicking you out, John, if that's what you're thinking. There's an empty bedroom on the third floor, and since you keep insisting on trying to find a job to help pay the rent I assumed bringing in a third person to cover a portion of the rent would alleviate that need for you, freeing you up to work with me."

"Well," John began, shifting nervously. "You could have told me."

Sherlock snorted. "Well, now you've been told." Sherlock turned back to his table, pulling a piece of paper off the printer and shuffling some things around.

Tera had only just realized that Mrs. Hudson had disappeared, and John was looking at her apologetically as he offered out his hand.

"Hullo, I'm John. John Watson."

Smiling, she shook his hand back. He seemed like a friendlier sort, putting him at odds with his aggressive roommate. Or perhaps they were more than roommates? Lovers, maybe? John appeared to be down to earth, but Sherlock - Sherlock was in a league of his own. His expecting that people knew answers without him giving them said a lot. He was intelligent, most definitely more than the average person. The mess in the room - he clearly felt there were more important things than organization, so he was task oriented.

"I'm-" she began, but was cut off by Sherlock, who whipped around to look at her and began to speak quickly.

"You're Tera Kingsley, a new resident of London looking for a flat. I'm guessing early twenties, you've taken a year off college, based on your outfit - skinny jeans, and a band t-shirt, Mickey Mouse side-bag, and some kind of cartoon sneakers.. You've got no idea what you're doing here, but thought you'd be on a grand adventure."

Tera crossed her arms, unamused at the man's tirade.

"You have an indent on your ring finger from a ring that has been there frequently, but also taken off frequently. Married young? Serial cheater? Or perhaps you've fled here to get away from the husband you shouldn't have married so early."

He walked closer, peering over her like she was a subject in a science fair, and Tera watched him back, unflinching under his gaze.

"You're used to being the smartest person in the room at your college, which was why you felt the need to correct me on your nationality. It's also why you left, tired of feeling like things were too easy. Should I go on?"

Tera crossed her arms and laughed. "Amazing."

Sherlock smirked in satisfaction and walked over to the table again.

"Isn't it?" John replied. "He can tell anything about a person, it's frightening, really."

"No, it's amazing that beyond my name - which he already knew - and my being here, every single thing he said was wrong."

John blinked at her like she had just spoken a foreign language. Sherlock froze, and slowly turned back to face her, his nostrils flaring slightly in annoyance.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Let me give this a try," Tera drawled, walking around the room. She could feel Sherlock's eyes boring into her, and she wondered if he was wishing she would just disappear into a pile of ash right there.

She examined everything, from the human skull on the mantelpiece, to the hundreds of books on the shelf. Criminology, true crime, criminal studies, science, interrogation tactics, martial arts; all geared towards understanding and solving crimes. She looked back over at the fuming man - his clothes were expensive, but functional, not designed to show wealth.

"Besides the obvious, which is that you are a pompous ass," she began, fighting the urge to grin as John choked down a laugh behind her. "You're wealthy and bored. Unlike me, whom you emphasized on thinks they are the smartest in the room, you are the smartest in any room. You're a high-functioning sociopath, obsessed with solving crime. But you're not a vigilante seeking justice. If you were, there would be news of mass crimes being solved. There's not."

She looked over at Sherlock, whose anger was being replaced by thoughtful examination. "You're rich and arrogant, and believe that those around you are merely annoyances distracting you from the true goal, which is to solve mystery. Except John. You enjoy his company, although you pretend not to, whether it's because of some odd romantic connection or friendship. You don't work for a living - you believe work to be a waste of time and would rather solve crime because it's more fun. People are a means to an end to you, sentiment is wasteful, and menial tasks are below you."

Pausing at his computer desk, she looked over at him again. "How'd I do?"

"Bloody hell," John said, walking further into the room. "Don't tell me there's another you."

Sherlock smiled with amusement, looking in a way that Tera hoped expressed being impressed. "No, there's not another me. But in her assessment - which was rather astute, I might add - she did reveal everything about herself."

"But, how did she do that?" John gaped.

"She's a writer, John. Judging from her casing of the room, likely trained as a journalist." Sherlock said. "I should have picked up on that at the cafe, but I was too annoyed by her loud indulgements. The laptop, and the camera; I assumed they were there for tourist purposes, given the map, but that's not true, she was putting in some work before trying to find her way here."

He walked over to her, sizing her up. "Given that little tidbit, the rest falls into place."

Motioning for her to take a seat in the brown chair, he sat down across from her and waited for John to join them, who leaned against the table.

"You're much older than you appear, early thirties, likely 31, and because of that, you're used to having to assert your way for people to take you seriously. You gain amusement out of showing people they're wrong, it gives you a thrill. The indent on your finger is from a fake ring that you wore as a reporter, deterring interview subjects and people at media gatherings from thinking you were single. You're here because you're bored and looking for something to give you the same spark that threw you into reporting as a young college graduate. An only child, you're used to getting what you want, although you hate to have it handed to you. You earn it because of this need to prove yourself. You've moved here without a job and intend on freelancing your way through."

He paused, looking at her. Now, it was Tera's turn to definitely look impressed.

"Shall I continue?"

"You can if you'd like, but you pretty much got it."

John sat gaping, looking between the two, unsure of what to think. "What just happened?"

"Ms. Kingsley just got an offer to move into our flat."

Tera grinned. "I accept."

"Of course you do, why wouldn't you?" Sherlock retorted, standing back up. "There are a few rules. You don't touch anything that belongs to me. You do not leak stories about me to the press, you'll come with John and me whenever I tell you to, and you'll do the cooking and the groceries as discussed in the ad."

"Wait, what's wrong with me doing the groceries?" John protested.

"You always return claiming you had an altercation with a chip-and-pin machine."

John looked as if he was about to defend himself, and then stopped, thinking the better of it.

"When can I move in?" Tera piped up, trying to distract from the obviously uncomfortable silence.

"I'll send a car for your belongings," Sherlock said nonchalantly as he returned to whatever he had been working on when she came in.

"You don't have to-"

"I'll send a car."

"Okay then." She looked over at John who merely shrugged.

"I'll show you to your room. Sherlock is a bit, uhm, preoccupied."

Tera's things had shown up a few hours later and she began to unpack her belongings, settling in as quickly as she could. Furniture had already been provided, something she assumed that was courtesy of Sherlock, which saved some of the money in her budget. She would be out the money for her hotel room that night, but it was better than being out the rest of her funds and being homeless.

Unlike Sherlock's chaos, Tera required things to be organized and specific. Books, clothing, laptop; everything had its specific place. She paced the room for a bit, unsure of whether to go and spend time with her new flatmates or to hide in her new room. It wasn't quite late enough to start cooking dinner yet, although she realized she had no idea when they preferred to eat.

She slipped on some more comfortable clothing - leggings and a long shirt - and made her way downstairs.

"Anytime, now," Sherlock said as she entered the room.

"What?"

"You were coming down to ask when we prefer to eat, were you not?"

Slightly startled, Tera stammered. "Uhm, yes?"

"The answer to that is anytime now. There are some meat and veggies in the fridge. You'll need to do groceries in the morning."

With that, he went back to pretending as if she didn't exist. Still bewildered, she entered the kitchen, looking through cupboards to find cooking utensils and dishes.

"You'll eventually get used to that," John said, leaning on the doorframe as he watched her.

She looked over, noting the kind smile on his face. At least one of them was personable.

"Get used to what exactly?"

"Him predicting everything. He likes to believe every person is completely predictable."

"And are they?"

"No, but he's happier believing that. He usually gets it right, anyhow. People still surprise him, though he'll never admit it."

Tera smiled. "How did you surprise him?"

"I killed a man to save his life."

Blinking, Tera stood slowly and looked at him with a pure look of horror on her face. "You did what?"

Realizing how it must sound to someone who wasn't aware of the story, John dropped his jaw and started stumbling for an explanation. "Oh gosh, no, not like that. I didn't just go out and murder someone. Sherlock was on a case to catch a serial killer, and the killer set his sight on him. He would find ways to trick you into taking a poisonous pill. He was trying to convince Sherlock, and even though he says he wouldn't, Sherlock was tempted to take it. To see if he could win the game. I couldn't let that happen. I was in the building across, and it was save Sherlock or watch him die."

"So you shot the man," Tera mused, looking a little less terrified. "To make a shot like that, you're what, ex-military?"

John nodded. "Military doctor, actually."

"Impressive." Tera moved towards the fridge, opened the door, and screamed in shock as a head stared back out at her. "Good god, what in the hell is a head doing in your fridge?"

"Experiment," Sherlock said loudly from the other room. "And would you mind keeping those annoying screams to a minimum? I can't work with frightened girls getting all yappy."

"You'll get used to that, too," John said apologetically.

Tera sighed and leaned back against the fridge door. "Would you mind getting the food out for me? I can't with that thing in there."

She watched as John pulled food from another shelf, relieved it was completely sealed. As she stared ashen-faced at the head, she found herself wondering if she had made a grave mistake, silently scolding herself for not taking that ominous feeling a little more seriously.

"So what's the story between you two?" Tera asked, trying to change the subject as she began cutting the vegetables.

"We're just friends," John stammered. Clearly, this was a point of contention. "Why does everyone think there's more?"

Tera shrugged. "It's a vibe, I guess. Mixed with how different you are."

"We're just friends," he reiterated, picking up a knife and another cutting board and assisting her in cutting the vegetables. "I'm straight as a nail."

"Good to know," Tera mused, chewing on her lower lip. It dawned on her, especially if they were both straight, she could end up in a lot of trouble living with two incredibly attractive British men. But getting away from drama had been part of why she moved so far away; her parent's divorce had gotten nasty and she just needed to breathe. Causing drama would not make anything better for herself.

John, clearly catching her comment, smirked slightly, then changed the subject. "So what exactly brought you to London?"

"A mix of things. Boredom, escaping my parents, a need for something new and fresh. I've always wanted to live abroad, and I adore England, so London it was. My job at the paper had become far too menial."

"Are you looking to get a job at a paper here?"

"Nope. I'm not sure what I want to do here. Freelancing for now. I'm sure I'll figure it out soon," she said.

"And you're not worried about finances?"

She shook her head. "I saved for three years to make this move, just so that I could have some time to settle in and figure myself out. I'm good for a few months, at least."

"Well, you'll never get bored living with Sherlock, that's for sure."

Tera chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully again. If Sherlock was half the man his belongings said he was, boring would be the last thing her life there could possibly be.