The October morning was silent and crisp around 221B Baker street when John Watson was woken from his unusually peaceful slumber by a loud gunshot. He groaned, and pulled his pillow over his head. "Sherlock…" he grumbled, "why at this ungodly hour?" He turned to the clock on his dresser. It read 7:16. "oh," he mumbled, "you held off."
He shuffled into the small, cramped, and horrifically cluttered living room holding his particularly bitter coffee and in his dressing gown. "good morning Sherlock." He told his tall, untidy friend. Sherlock merely nodded his acknowledgement. "y'know," John said, unfolding the newspaper and putting his feet up, "you should really quit doing that when you're bored. You give the new neighbors a bad impression."
Sherlock looked at him, "teen Suicide on page 2, positively stupid sculptures on page 5, dog adoption on page 4, And some about us on page 3. BORING."
John frowned, "the new neighbors?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "the newspaper, John. It's a boring newspaper, As are most."
"ah…"
Sherlock sat down, and placed his pistol on a side table near his skull, "Speaking of the new neighbors…"
John sighed, "John Smith has moved into 221 C, Rory and Amelia Williams, his friends, have moved into 221 D."
"We should say hello."
John raised his eyebrow, "No."
"why?" Sherlock shot back.
Dr. Watson leaned forward, "because you don't say Hello, Sherlock, you offend."
"I won't offend them, John."
"I'm sure you won't"
The door bell rang. Sherlock grinned, "looks like they have come to us," he said. John huffed. "Calm down john, Its not like their Aliens or anything." He opened the door to find a man with messy brown hair, a tweed jacket, a bowtie, and disgustingly ridiculous fezz.