A/N: Oneshot only, sorry. But, if you wish to make it into something more, be my guest! Just tell me the link to the story before you publish it. Disclaimer: I don't own BBC or anything therein.
Sherlock looked at this person Mike had introduced and eyed him warily. Mike had to go somewhere and left him alone with him.
"Oh go on, impress him." His friend whispered.
"Can I borrow your phone?"
John Watson shrugged and gave it to him. Hmm.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"
He said looking back into his microscope.
"Excuse me- what?"
"Afghanistan or Iraq."
"Afghanistan, sorry how did you know?"
Sherlock handed the phone back.
"How do you feel about the violin? I also go for days on end without talking, would that bother you? I have a nice little place on Baker Street, the landlady owes me a favor. We could meet their at seven o'clock tomorrow evening. Sorry, gotta dash- I left my riding crop in the mortuary."
"Wait, we've only just met and now, we're talking about getting a flat. I hardly know anything about you! I don't even your names!"
Sherlock brushed away the plural as grammar problems.
"I know that you're a soldier recently invalided home from Afghanistan and you're looking for a flatmate." Fired off Sherlock as swung his coat and left.
He poked his head back in.
"Oh the name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker St."
Sherlock flounced out the door right as Watson called, "Who is your friend?"
Sherlock paused and looked at his friend. No one could see his (imaginary) friend except him. He opened the door again.
"You can see him?"
"Of course I can! He's standing there large as bloody life!"
Sherlock's friend grinned from ear to ear and straightened his bow tie.
"Hello! I'm the Doctor!" The man said smiling.