Not a very strong start, I'll admit. It will get better though; I promise. Anyway, remember to review and let me know how you like this first chapter!
Bored, bored, bored, bored. The mantra repeated itself over and over again in Sherlock's mind. The criminal population of London had evidently gone on holiday, leaving him with absolutely nothing to do. It had been nearly a week since his last case, and Sherlock could feel the tedium slowly crushing him.
He threw himself down on the sofa with an exaggerated huff, though he wasn't entirely sure that John was there to witness his penchant for the dramatic. Well, this is dull, Sherlock thought. It was no use for him to use such histrionic means to prove his boredom if John wasn't at least present as an audience.
Too lazy to actually get up, too depressed by the post-case monotony to move, Sherlock stayed in that position, lying on his stomach with his face pressed into the cushions. He was so bored that he even indulged the possibility of taking a nap, and soon enough, he felt his eyelids grow heavy as sleep became more and more tempting.
Before he could succumb to sleep, however, John's footsteps could be heard on the stairs leading up to their flat's door. Sherlock remained where he was, not even bothering to look up as his flat-mate entered their lodgings.
"Sherlock, are you asleep?" John asked softly when he saw his friend's figure draped across the sofa.
"Obviously not," Sherlock drawled.
John walked into the kitchen, and Sherlock could hear him taking out two mugs and preparing to make tea. When John returned to the living room a few minutes later, two steaming mugs in hand, Sherlock finally pushed himself into a sitting position. He accepted his cuppa from John and sipped it gingerly.
John sat in his usual armchair and pulled out the novel he had been attempting to finish. Sherlock, of course, already knew the ending of that particular book, but he had been prohibited from spoiling it.
A few minutes passed in silence. Eventually, Sherlock finished his tea and his overwhelming boredom took over once more. "John," he whined. "I'm bored."
"Lestrade sent you over some cold cases a few days ago," John replied, not lifting his eyes from his book. "Take a look at those."
"Solved them," Sherlock grumbled unpleasantly. "They were all rather simple."
"Why don't you go work on your experiment? You should finish whatever you're doing with that pig's stomach so we can get it out of the fridge."
"I finished that experiment nine days ago."
John looked over at Sherlock with a puzzled expression on his face. "Then why haven't you thrown it out yet?"
Sherlock looked supremely disinterested in this conversation. "I wanted to see how long it would take for you to throw it away yourself."
John rolled his eyes. Typical. "Well, then I guess you could just go out and deduce people for fun."
"Would you come with me?"
"Nope."
"It's no fun if there's not someone to stand around looking impressed." Sherlock pouted and pulled his knees up to his chest.
John chuckled. Despite Sherlock's overwhelming intelligence, he could be such a child sometimes. "Well, if you're really bored, you could always do the shopping."
Sherlock snorted. "Really, John? You've got to be kidding."
John sighed. "It was worth a try." He put down his novel, resigning himself to the fact that, until Sherlock found other suitable entertainment, he would have to be at his flat-mate's disposal. Otherwise, Sherlock would end up shooting the walls again.
Sherlock turned his full attention to John, who was stubbornly matching his stare. The consulting detective employed his deductive skills and analyzed on the miniscule details and hidden clues on John's person. "You've got a date tonight with Mary," Sherlock said finally. "You shaved this morning, and you only ever do that when you have a date. Besides, you're wearing that jumper she bought you for your birthday. You've also put on your nicer trousers and your more expensive shoes. But Mary's been with you long enough to not care about what you dress in, and it's not like you're taking her anywhere particularly fancy this evening, so my guess is that you're trying to impress someone else. There's an extra mug set out on the counter—not yours or mine or Mary's—which means that this mystery person is coming to the flat. I'm assuming that this guest is a woman, based on the mug's rather alarming shade of pink. You'd never give a man tea in something that color. So, a woman is coming round today, and you wouldn't be trying to impress her so much if you'd ever met her before—you tend to stop caring what people think of you after your first meeting with them. Who is she then? Not someone from work…not some random date (you're too loyal to Mary for that sort of thing)…who is it?" He paused for a moment, squinting as he added, "John, is someone moving into 221C? She could definitely be a new neighbor. That would fit…"
John huffed out a laugh. "First of all, that's brilliant, as always. Secondly, have you not listened to a word I've said over the past month?"
Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Evidently not…what's going on then?"
John sighed in an exasperated manner. "Seriously, Sherlock? I've been talking about it for awhile now, and you still neglected to listen. That's really unfair, you know. You expect me to hear every word you say—even if I'm not bloody home when you say it—and yet when I talk for a straight month about something, you can't be bothered to listen."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"
John reminded himself who he was dealing with. I really shouldn't have expected things to go any differently, he thought. "No, no problem at all," he replied, his voice a mixture of barely restrained sarcasm and tired acquiescence. "Anyway, in answer to your question earlier, yes, someone is moving into 221C." He paused before adding, "Which you would already know if you cared to listen when I tell you things. Just saying."
Sherlock scoffed. How could John have expected him to listen to every little thing he said? Really, Sherlock had been so distracted earlier in the month with a rather interesting case which John had called "The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet." After that, Sherlock had been so wrapped up in his own helpless boredom that he really couldn't be bothered to pay attention when John spoke.
"Well, listen, Sherlock," John began. "She's—"
Sherlock held up his hand to signal his friend to stop talking. "No, don't tell me. It'll be more fun if I can deduce her." He smiled, his eyes twinkling. Deducing new people was always interesting, and he was not going to allow this opportunity to pass him by.
John looked a bit hesitant to allow this. Sherlock could be…blunt, especially when deductions were involved, and John didn't want this new neighbor—someone he did, in fact, know very well—to be put off by the consulting detective's rudeness. "Just be gentle," John cautioned.
Sherlock, however, wasn't paying any attention. "She'll be here within the hour, am I right?"
"Yes, how did you—"
Sherlock waved a hand to dismiss the question. "Elementary." He looked down at himself. He was wearing the same dressing gown and pyjama bottoms he'd been in for the past several days. "I should probably change into something more appropriate." There was no way he could "greet" a new neighbor in such clothes. He always tried to look sharp whenever he was in the company of others, though John and Mycroft were clearly exceptions to this.
John eyed him warily. "I'm a little worried about how excited you are over this."
"Of course I'm excited," he shot back. "This is the most interesting thing that's happened in awhile, and with the criminal classes suddenly taking a holiday, I've got to find enjoyment in whatever little things I can."