1
Sherlock had been assigned a lab partner for chemistry. It annoyed him to no end. He didn't need a lab partner. He didn't want a lab partner. At best, this unwanted person wouldn't get in his way. At worst, he would be a complete bungler.
A tall, awkward looking blond man came walking up to the lab bench and stuck out his right hand hopefully. "Hello. I believe we're lab partners. My name is Blake Nash."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Holmes," he said grudgingly. Stay out of my way, don't be too much of an idiot and we'll get along fine."
2
Sherlock was still coming down off his latest and, unbeknown to him, last, high when the sergeant came to visit him in his cell.
"That was quite clever, what you did," the sergeant said. "It would have taken us weeks to catch the murderer without your help, if we ever did." He walked over and stuck his right hand out in the young man's direction. "Greg Lestrade, in case you were wondering." He shook his hand in the air, indicating his intention.
The still slightly high young man just looked at his hand, then up at his face. "What do you want?"
"I want you to get your arse clean and I want you to help with some of our more interesting cases. I think it would be a challenge for someone like you."
After a few drawn out seconds of silence, the young man nodded and said simply, "Holmes." It sounded almost like a curse.
3
The young brunette made her way across the club and sidled up next to Sherlock. She gave him her best, brightest smile. "Buy me a drink?"
The detective acted as if he hadn't heard her and swept his gaze over the crowd, looking for someone in particular.
The young woman didn't take the hint. She turned to face him, running her hand along his arm. "My name's Annita, Annita Nevarez. What's yours?"
"Holmes," the detective said absently before shoving her to the side, dashing across the dance floor and punching a tall ginger man in the face. Rampant chaos ensued.
4
Sherlock had the short man pinned to the wall, one arm over his throat. He had caught him in the process of robbing a bank.
"Tell me who you are," the detective demanded, the man's name being the only detail that had eluded him.
"Edward Lee," the man rasped. "But who are you?"
Sherlock slammed him hard against the wall, knocking him out. "Holmes," he said, looking down at the unconscious man. In the distance, sirens could be heard approaching.
5
The detective hated this part of investigations, meeting with the client. They were so boring and ordinary. The current client was no different.
The balding man held out his hand. "Alton Toler, sir. Thank you for agreeing to see me. Of course I know who you are..."
"Holmes, yes." The detective ignored the proffered hand. "Obviously, or you wouldn't be here. Now do go on with your story, unless it's boring. If it is, you may leave either by door or window. I have no preference.
Mr. Toler looked slightly confused, but he soon began his tale. He was soon rushed out the door, a small ceramic vase following him in flight.
5+1
Sherlock approached 221 Baker Street with an unaccustomed feeling of nervousness. He found he was actually looking forward to meeting the interesting man from Barts again. When he saw him, he couldn't help smiling.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes," John said, holding out his hand.
Sherlock found himself shaking it, something he never did, then he found himself doing something else he never did. "Sherlock, please."
The two men grinned at each other and Sherlock felt a warmth settle in his stomach. This John Watson had to agree to the flatshare. He didn't know why, but it seemed like the most important thing in the world, like it would change his entire life. Little did he know how right he was.