This is my first fic so please be nice. Sorry for any spelling errors.
The Glaswegian 24 year old Aoife MacFarlane looked up to see the welcoming face of her new landlady, Mrs Hudson, as she stepped out of the cab.
"Yoohoo! Miss MacFarlane!" came the cheerful voice of the old lady.
"Aoife, please," she smiled as she fiddled with her fishtail plait, which had come undone after being hit by a sudden gust of wind. "You must be Mrs Hudson,"
"Lovely to meet you dear. Come on in," said Mrs Hudson, welcoming her into the building. "Now then, I've the flat decorated but I'm afraid it's a bit, erm, bleak, furniture wise,"
Aoife looked around cautiously as she followed her downstairs into the basement flat where she was going to spend the next six months, at least. The walls of the small living area were painted in that nauseating magnolia that all property developers natter about with each other, the pine floorboards were bare but polished and Mrs Hudson was most definitely correct. It was bleak.
A small walnut-surfaced kitchen area, with a few stools at the counter, and a cosy white loveseat, which was bare of cushions. Her bedroom wasn't much better. Just a simple wooden bed frame and closet and that sickening magnolia once more.
"I'm sorry it's so plain," remarked Mrs Hudson, seemingly reading Aoife's thoughts. "I just didn't know who I was going to rent it to,"
"Oh, it's fine, Mrs Hudson," Aoife replied with as much cheer as she could muster. "I'm sure I'll find a way to doll it up."
And, with that, they wished each other goodbye and Aoife turned back to see her flat. It may have been small and bare but it was hers. And that had to be an achievement.
Aoife didn't know that she even had a neighbour, apart from Mrs Hudson, of course. It was only when John Watson was coaxed back to his flat by their mutual landlady that she even found out anyone lived in 221B. She had been returning from her furniture shopping when she had bumped into him.
"Oh, hello!" she said cheerfully, before seeing the sheen of tears in the blonde's eyes, allowing her face to settle into a little more solemn an expression. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?"
The blonde turned, only just having noticed her entrance. He looked as if he hadn't had any sleep in months.
"No, sorry, my flatmate…he passed away a few months ago…it's my first time back at the flat…" he paused every so often, looking distracted as he took in his surroundings repeatedly.
"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss," Aoife replied, sadly.
"Thanks. Sorry, I didn't introduce myself," he apologised profusely before proffering his hand. "John Watson. I live…lived…in 221B,"
"Aoife MacFarlane from 221A and it's honestly fine; you've obviously got a lot on your plate at the moment. I just hope you do come back as you seem like you'd be a wonderful neighbour,"
"Yeah, well, my flatmate wasn't…" he chuckled lightly. John looked at her once more. "Listen, Aoife, I have to go and sort out the flat now but is there any chance you may want to come up for a coffee in, say, ten minutes?"
Aoife grinned.
"I'd like that."
In those ten minutes, Aoife managed to continuously undo and redo her TARDIS blue tresses into every hairstyle imaginable before settling on a simple topknot, opting to keep her fringe loose to frame her long face. She hastily applied almost undetectable make up and made her way up to the flat. It wasn't that she wanted to impress John; more that she hadn't really had any contact with a male since moving to London. Not because she didn't want to, she just hadn't had time to go out, what with furnishing the flat, and most of the men she encountered at work weren't interested in that kind of relationship.
Upon entering 221B, Aoife could easily build up an idea of John's past flatmate. Experiments were strewn throughout the kitchen, along with the rotting flesh of numerous species, and a human skull sat happily on the mantle above the fireplace, staring at her as best one can stare when one only has empty sockets to stare with.
In fact, she was so intrigued by the flat, which was quite obviously a bachelor's flat, that she didn't notice John enter.
"Hey," he waved a little, obviously entertained by Aoife's interest in her surroundings.
"Oh hi!"
"Coffee?"
"Yes please,"
"So, Aoife, when did you move?"
"Hmm? Oh I moved a couple of months ago after finishing university in Edinburgh,"
"Wow. What were you studying?"
"Physics…astronomy mainly,"
John laughed as Aoife looked on, confused.
"What?"
"Nothing. I'm just imagining what Sherlock would've said to that – he never really had any time for the universe,"
"I take it Sherlock was your flatmate?"
"I'm surprised you didn't know already. He got quite famous until the… until he committed suicide,"
"I'm sorry,"
"Don't be. I should be the one apologising, offloading this on you,"
"Let's change the subject shall we?"
"Yes, yes, we shall. So, are you a scientist here now?"
"In the recession? God no! I'm a waitress but I model on the side,"
"Wow. I don't think I'd quite believe myself if I went back to my teenage years and told myself I'd be living next door to a twenty-something model,"
"I think I'd still be stuck on the fact that in the future I time travel…" Aoife commented, allowing herself to laugh a little.
"That's true!" chuckled John.
"Listen, John, I have to get to work but I do hope that I get to see you around here again,"
"I hope so too."
And with that, Aoife grabbed her jacket and walked out of 221B, pondering as to whether she would ever see John Watson in 221B again.
Sorry that it's so short and the dialogue seems really long but there is more (don't worry Sherlock is on his way)