Changing
[A.N. This is my first real Sherlock fic and I'm a little wary of my portrayal of Sherlock, so if you feel I'm not writing him correctly or I'm writing him out of character please do comment and tell me so I can alter him appropriately and feel free to give me some tips on how to write him, they will be highly appreciated. (Sometimes I'll add a comment at the beginnin gof a chapter if I'm writing Sherlock out of character for a reason because sometimes it's instrumental to a story) I ramble, sorry... Enjoy the story *wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge* ;)...]
(Influence: 'Complicated' by Avril Lavigne (My influence is usually the song I listen to on repeat whilst writing btw)
(Warnings: Swearing... 'bout it tbh)
Third Person Point of View
Chapter One
"Boring. Please leave." Sherlock responded before the seventh option had even opened his mouth. His words were polite but his tone had an unshakable edge of rudeness, and the objective to offend clung to his voice like it was stuck with glue; Constant and old, as though he'd been like this for a while. His eyes stayed fixed on the lean man as he arose from his seat and walked out the door. I wish there was a better word to describe the way he walked, but there isn't he just... walked. He was so ordinary it physically pained Sherlock to think about living with him. A sigh escaped John's lips as he made no attempt to move. Sherlock's head snapped almost robotically to the right, now fixing his piercing gaze on John, who didn't even stir under Sherlock's perfected, scrutinous eyes. "The monotone in your sigh suggests you are annoyed at me for reasons I just cannot fathom, John." He mentioned, with no emotion in his voice and John just rolled his eyes before replying:
"Sherlock. That's the fifth person you've dismissed before they've even spoke... The seventh person you've sent away overall."
"Your point being?" He asked, for a genuis, he really was stupid at certain times.
"Sherlock! At this rate you'll never find a roomate!" John replied, his voice raising louder than John usually explores with Sherlock.
"Relax." Sherlock replied, not stirring at all since he sent the man away. He was eerily still. Almost inhuman as he sat, not even the rise and fall of his chest was visible.
"Relax?!" John yelled, his voice sowly growing louder and louder amoungst the papers and books that littered the floor, corrupted by Sherlock's thoughts.
"Yes. Relax. It's a verb. It means make or become less tense or anxious." Sherlock recited, as if he had a physical picture of the dictionary in his head. "Besides, I have one more... contestant." Sherlock concluded to John's relief. Sherlock almost shuddered at the word 'contestant', like he was disgusted by the mere thought of the word alone.
"You'll probably send them away because their shoes imply they're a heroine addict who solves crimes to get high. No, wait, that's you!" John retorted coldly and factually inaccurate. The degree of cynicism was foreign in John's voice, he was never inconsiderate, or venemous. The soft patter of shoes walking up the appartment stairs was guised by the uncharacteristic arguing of the two men and Sherlock's face grew into a smirk. "Do you have any idea what else you are, Sherlock Holmes? You're a sociopathic, unkind, unpleasant, unfriendly and disagreeable man who is completely devoid of feelings!" John wrapped up.
"Feelings do nothing but distract." Sherlock stated, staring off at some distant object in his line of sight. John let out a heavy sigh of frustration from his nose before he turned around and stormed out, not paying Sherlock one more look.
"Uhm I-" Started a voice, directly at John as he passed, but the Doctor was gone before anything else could be said. "M- Mr Holmes?" The voice attempted again softly. Sherlock's eyes darted towards the door, where a woman stood. She was about five foot four, five foot five approximetly. Her hair was long and black, pulled up haphazardly in a two minute messy bun. She had an oversized university branded jumper draping over her torso
'Probably a boyfriend's.' Sherlock thought. Dark blue skinny jeans consumed her skinny legs. There was a square indentation in her left front jean pocket and, judging by the size, it was where her phone sat 'Possibly left handed'.
"Yes. Come in." Sherlock ushered the woman in after he jumped up from the chair. She sat down on the chair usually reserved for the clients and Sherlock stared at the back of her head. He blindly pushed the door and it closed with an overpowering slam and he watched intently as the woman almost jumped out of her skin "Nervous?" He asked with a smirk
"No... Well, not particularly, not because of you, uhm, loud noises scare me... Consequence of growing up with who I did I can only guess." She replied. Her voice small and her words holding a slight stutter to begin with. Sherlock rounded the woman and threw himself down in his chair. He glanced across to where John was sat no less than five minutes ago and he was almost sad to see it empty... Almost.
"Who you grew up with?" Sherlock questioned. Her eyes grew darker, something Sherlock didn't think logically possible in a human being.
"I don't see how my family tree is hardly relevant?" She asked him and he narrowed his eyes.
"It isn't. How's your boyfriend?" Sherlock asked, spying the most miniscule spot of blood on the jumper
"I don't have a boyfriend." She stated and Sherlock tilted his head slightly. "The jumper. It's mine. They sent the wrong size and I never saw the need to buy a smaller one."
"Hmm." He simply stated, staring with his grey eyes fixed on the blood.
"The blood is mine too. Bit of a run in at one family dinner. What about you, Mr Holmes?"
"Please. Call me Sherlock." He interrupted somewhat courteously.
"Sherlock. May I deduce you, as you are so obviously attempting to do to me?"
"Go ahead."
"Okay. You aren't used to fighting with the Doctor, whom I assume is former soldier John Watson. You're concerned about him because he isn't usually that agressive. He's newly married, and a baby on the way and you're worried about how he's coping but you're too afraid to say anything because you don't want him to see how much you care. You're jealous. Implying you either have a romantic or sexual interest in Doctor Watson or a former relationship including those things. But you haven't, you're just not used to having friends. He's your fir- second real friend. You had a childhood friend but you don't know what happened to him. Do you want me to start on your dysfunctional family problems? Or is this enough for you to be getting on with?" She said, her voice being complicated-ly fast at some points, like she was trying to get a lot of information in a short space of time. Sometimes she spoke eerily slow, as if waiting to see what reaction she elicited from him.
Sherlock didn't speak, he just stared, he was surprised. Impressed? Perhaps. Though he'd never show this. Someone had just beat him at his own game. After he had made completely false deductions on her, she had swooped in and 'hit the nail on the head'
"I'm sorry." She replied and the words seemed foreign on her tongue. It was said so emotionless it didn't even seem true. Of course, Sherlock knew it was true. He often said things he meant, but the emotionless timbre in his words often dissuaded people. He could tell her words were genuine. Sherlock had to have been silent, staring, for a good ten minutes because she rose from her chair and made for the door.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, jumping up onto the seat of the chair almost urgently
"I just told you everything you've been trying your hardest to hide from the world, you don't want me around, I promise you, you don't want me as your roommate." She replied and Sherlock leaped from the sofa and scuttered between the girl and the door.
"You're not leaving." He told her and she frowned.
"Sherlock, I'm the world's shittest roommate. I'm loud, annoying, frustrating, nosey, sometimes I lock myself away and sometimes I don't talk for days on end." She explained with a far away look sitting in her green eyes and a faint smirk etched it's way onto Sherlock's face
"Honey." He said in a fake humerous voice "You just described me.". A rejuvinating laugh escaped her lips and Sherlock smiled a genuine smile.
"Alright then. This ought'a be fun." She told him and the two smirked a mischevious and wicked smile at eachother.
"How do you feel about murder?" He asked and she tilted her head to the side.
"Committing, witnessing or solving?" She asked
"Solving. Maybe witnessing."
"Sure, why not." She replied
"Lets go."
"Wait, right now?" She asked, watching as Sherlock started running down the stairs, like a child on a sugar high.
"Yes, right now."
"But I don't even have a coat." She exclaimed, gesturing to the oversized Oxford Uni sweater she was wearing. Sherlock bounded back up the stairs towards her, pulled off his own Milford Coat and swept it around her shoulders before grabbing her wrist and tugging her down the steps after him. They both stumbled through the door as the streets of London hit them both.
1 hour later
"Wait, so there's not a murder?" She asked him and he shook his head.
"No ma'am."
"Then why did you drag me out of the flat saying there was?"
"I never said there was a murder."
"You slick bastard." She excalimed but she laughed, taking any angry edge away from her words. Sherlock smiled. It was a genuine smile, one he hasn't experienced in a long, long time.
"You wanna get some food?" Sherlock asked, after hearing the odd growling of his own stomach.
"Yeah..." She replied, but her voice was soft and unsure.
"You don't have to if you don't wanna, just a suggestion, I'm a little hungry."
"It's just..." Her voice trailed off and her gaze lingered on the ground
"Yeah?"
"I don't know anywhere in London..." She said, still looking at the ground and Sherlock smiled again
"If that's the problem we'll go somewhere mainstream." Sherlock mentioned, before he grabbed her wrist and ran off across the road, pulling her behind him. Laughs echoed from the two as they tripped and stumbled towards a McDonalds. "They have these where you come from right?" Sherlock asked as they both lumbered through the doors into the fast food establishment.
"Of course they have these where I come from. I haven't come from under a rock." She said and the two laughed loudly, attracting the stares of several people. "Sherlock I'm gonna need my arm back" She exclaimed with a humerous tone in her voice. The resturant wasn't crowded but it wasn't empty. There were two fourteen/fifteen year old girls sat at one table, sharing a portion of fries and laughing over some obscene reason. There was a family sat at one of the booths, a mum, dad and a son, eating their food and laughing and talking, like a family should.
"Hey," Sherlock asked, grabbing her attention again "I don't even know your name."
"Oh, yeah! Oh uh, my Name's Jane. Jane Moriarty."
"Moriarty?" Sherlock queried and his stomach dropped.
"Yes, I know it's weird but I'll have you know it's one of the most common surnames in London!" She replied in mock defense.
"Ah."
Jane's hands plunged into her coat pocket, before she remembered; It wasn't hers.
"Uh, Sherlock..."
"Uh Huh?" He asked, watching something out of the window.
"This is your coat." She mentioned, as she gripped the cuffs of the arms in her hands.
"Yes, it is."
"So, it doesn't have my things in it."
"Oh, yeah. I'll pay."
"No." Jane replied and Sherlock was slightly surprised by her reluctancy.
"Why?" Sherlock asked, nudging her slightly with his shoulder
"Because then people assume I depend on people."
"Just because I pay for your food once doesn't mean you depend on me."
"I just... I don't like owing people anything."
"It's on the house. A thank you for being my new roommate." Sherlock replied, persistant.
"Shouldn't it be me thanking you?"
"Nope. No one wants to be my roommate but you."
"You had seven other applicants."
"None of them were as intresting as you though, Jane." He replied, looking at her face and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her features.
Ten Minutes Later
[Jane's P.O.V]
Me and Sherlock sat across from eachother. We both picked at our chips but neither of us seemed overly interested in them, despite him saying he was hungry earlier.
"You okay?" I asked and I knew it'd take a while, longer than a few hours together, for him to feel comfortable enough to open up to me. His head snapped up quickly from his food to me and he frowned for half a second before his brows smoothed out again
"I'm fine. Why?" He asked as his grey eyes were fixed on my green ones.
"Well, earlier you said you were hungry, but you've barely touched your food. You seem distant..."
"I'm good. What about you? Are you alright?" He asked as he placed a chip in his mouth and munched on it.
"Yeah, I'm fine." I replied and my gaze dropped to the food in front of me as I too picked up a chip and ate it.
"Wow. You're lying." Sherlock stated with a light chuckle.
"So are you." I told him, still looking down onto the table and playing with my chips, moving them around the tray.
"Touche."
"My brother used to say that all the time." I said with a smile, looking up almost as if to see him. My stomach dropped when I was greeted with not him. Of course not.
"Your brother?"
"Yeah. He used to say a lot of things."
"'Used'?" Sherlock queried, and I could tell he was intrigued. I smiled before stating:
"You're not using my brother as a thing to blackmail me with." Coldly
"Why would I blackmail you? And why would I use your brother?" He asked, frowning and setting the chip in his hand back down onto his plate.
"It's complicated and I've known you less than a day. I'm not having this discussion with you." I replied with a cynical tone in my voice
"It's okay you can talk to me about it-"
"I have to go." I interrupted before rising quickly and abruptly form my seat and striding out of the building. I felt bad for leaving Sherlock, especially after he had been so nice to me, so uncharateristically kind to me... Why was he kind to me? He's Sherlock Holmes, his infamous attitude and insulting behaivour is what led me to him... Yet he's being kind. 'Weird' I thought to myself.