Disclaimer: I do not own anything Sherlock. All rights go to the proper people.
This is the first of many shorts I have and will be writing while I am working on my larger fanfic. These are in John's point of view, at various parts of the story.
The moment she walked through the door, I felt a mixture of feelings. Though mostly shock.
"Hello, I'm Anne," she introduced herself. "I am here to look at the flat."
My heart sunk a bit. I knew eventually I would have to deal with someone taking Sherlock's space in the flat, I just hadn't realized it would be so soon.
Mrs. Hudson had only put the flat up in the papers two days ago.
"Hello, I'm John Watson," I responded, masking the surprise I felt. "Would you like a tour of the flat?"
"Oh, no need to…" she trailed off, glancing at the walking stick leaning on my chair.
I gave her a friendly smile, "It is no problem."
So I showed her around the flat.
It was difficult to read her. Even having lived with Sherlock for over a year, I was not as good as him at noticing the small details.
I could tell she was in her early to mid-twenties.
She had on a uniform, so I knew she worked as a server somewhere.
Her dark hair was worn down, which told me she was laid back.
She had remnants of black powder on her arms and under her fingernails; that told me she was an artist.
Knowing Sherlock, he would have been able to figure out her life story.
Anne was looking at the spare bedroom now.
She held herself with confidence, though her bright blue eyes held the weight of secrets and a recent sadness.
We were walking through the living room when she noticed the smiley face on the wall. Mrs. Hudson and I never got around to removing it, and now it stared out at the room. The bright yellow smiling face seemed to be mocking me with its cheeriness; it had a dark irony to it, as its creator was now gone.
Anne ran her fingers over the bullet holes.
"Who's been using the wall as target practice?"
"Ah…that would have been Sherlock, my old flat-mate. He used to do strange things when he was bored." I replied.
"When he was bored?" Anne looked incredulous.
I shrugged. It used to annoy me when Sherlock sabotaged the apartment out of boredom, now I actually missed it.
Finally, I showed her my bedroom, and told her that if she took the place, I would be up there if she ever needed anything.
Back on the landing, Anne turned to me, "I really like the place. I may be seeing you again soon."
We shook hands and she descended the stairs to the ground level.
I watched her go, feeling a mix of surprise, sorrow, and even a little hopeful.
If anyone were to take Sherlock's room, I think I would want it to be her. She seemed like a good natured person. And very un-Sherlockish.
Maybe it was time to take my psychologists advice and move on by meeting new people.
