A brand new story whoo hoo : ) I've borrowed a few lines from A Study in Scarlet if you recognise anything so that belongs to Sir Arthur not me, the rest I promise will be all my won work. Please read and review and let me know if you want me to continue. Thanks all Music97 xx

Only a Mild Acquaintance.

John Watson dragged his poor, tired body through the bustling streets, not even noticing the many muttered comments and scandalised looks that came his way. This is not where he thought his life would take him. London, that buzzing metropolis that only seemed to grow and gradually fill with a million people. He sighed as someone else ran into him, nearly knocking his malnourished frame sideways. His throat was dry and his head ached. He looked up, desperate for anywhere to place his tired bones. He found a small bar that didn't seem quite as crowded as the others which he gratefully disappeared into. He ordered a drink with the little money he had left in his pockets and ran his finger down the side of the cool glass, staring into it.

"You won't find the answers in there Sir."

A young voice interrupted his thoughts; Watson looked up slowly into a pair of glittering young eyes that were smiling at him.

"Stamford!" He exclaimed, sitting up and offering his hand, which the man heartily shook.

"Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?" Stamford asked in undisguised wonder, "You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut."

Watson smiled at this; looking down at his weather-beaten hands he had to admit that he looked as little like his old self as he thought possible. Not wishing to talk much about his war experiences, Watson outlined briefly what had happened to him. Stamford listened with patience,

"Well what are you doing now?" He asked smiling slightly.

"Looking for lodgings," Watson answered. "Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price."

"That's a strange thing," Stamford remarked; "you are the second man to-day that has used that expression to me."

"And who was the first?"

"A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse."

"By Jove! If he really wants someone to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone."

Stamford looked rather strangely at him over his wineglass. "You don't know Sherlock Holmes yet," he said; "perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion."

"Why, what is there against him?"

"Oh, I didn't say there was anything against him. He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough."

"A medical student, I suppose?"

"No—I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first- class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors."

"Did you never ask him what he was going in for?"

"No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him."

"I should like to meet him, If I am to lodge with anyone, I should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?"

"He is sure to be at the laboratory, he either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning till night. If you like, we will drive round together after luncheon."

They rattled through the busy streets of London at a pace Watson had almost forgotten. He found it strange to see people going about their daily business when he had seen so much, so much that had changed him and here they were not caring.

Soon they pulled up at the hospital and jumped out of the cab, Watson smiled at the familiar sight before following Stamford inside. The smells and sounds brought back long buried memories to Watson who felt sick at the stomach for the loss of such a time. Before long they came to a laboratory where a lone student was working. Watson raised an eyebrow at the young man hunched over the desk, obviously absorbed in his work and inwardly groaned at the thought of having to make polite conversation with this man with whom he would probably have nothing in common.

He looked up as they entered and smiled thinly taking the hand Stamford offered him, he then turned to Watson and looked strangely at him;

"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Stamford, performing the introductions.

"How are you?" he said cordially, gripping Watson's hand with a strength that made him wince. "You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive."

"How on earth did you know that?" Watson asked in astonishment, not sure if he liked this man with his piercing eyes that seemed to go through you.

"Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself.

"We came here on business," said Stamford, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in Watson's direction with his foot. "My friend here wants to take diggings; and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that I had better bring you together."

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms. "I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street," he said, "which would suit us down to the ground. You don't mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?"

"I always smoke 'ship's' myself," Watson answered.

"That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?"

"By no means."

"Let me see—what are my other shortcomings? I get in the dumps at times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It's just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together."

Watson smiled at the man's enthusiasm. Having arranged to meet the following day Watson and Stamford left Holmes to his studies, Watson glanced back at the man who he would soon be sharing his days with. Stamford held the door open for him, a quizzical look on his face.

"Don't you think you'll become friends?"

"Oh I'm sure he has his own life, and I have mine, other than living together I doubt we will be much more than mild acquaintances."

Watson smiled and Stamford returned it, as they left Mr. Sherlock Holmes looked up from his experiment and sighed. He did not like to share his knowledge and this man whoever he was, was bound to get on his nerves. With a furious look at the exiting pair Holmes' dipped his head once more in thought and soon forgot Dr. John Watson.