The Flatmate before John

Written by Tora

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock in anyway, all rights belong to BBC sent from heaven above.

Chapter 1

Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.

Yes. That is me.

Hello, how d'you do.

I live in 221B Baker Street, and am a consultant detective, and that is all you need to know about me.

I am, however, in need of a flatmate. I've had several other flatmates before, none of them really appreciating what they saw. The last flatmate left after one hour. He found my dead lab rats.

Mankind's toleration is disturbingly low. Mankind's toleration has always been low, but not this low.

Mrs. Hudson had informed me for the seventh time that there was a man who was interested in being flatmates with me, when I finally told her I'd consider.

I had been considering it since the first time she told me. She had been knocking on my door every hour to remind me that there was a man interested.

I was sitting and reading the paper, when the door knocked again.

I peered around my papers to study the door.

Man's knock.

He must be tired from traveling, his knock was sloppy and heavy. Was I to be flatmates with a man who would be traveling a lot?

I got up and briskly walked to the door and unlocked it.

I stared at the man, and he stared back.

Height: five foot ten.

Weight: About 183lbs.

I took a glance at his suitcase. "Northern Ireland," I said.

"I didn't even say anything…" the man said.

"Correct," I replied, still looking him up and down. "Come in."

The man slowly followed me and shut the door. "Don't we need to make introductions?"

I lazily plopped down into my chair. "No need. Your name is Wilber Barrett, and you know who I am."

The man named Wilber Barrett set down his suitcase awkwardly and said rather quietly, "Did Mrs. Hudson tell you my name?"

I sighed. "No. But I assumed she told you my name."

"Then if Mrs. Hudson didn't tell you my name, how did you know my name?" Wilber asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

I ignored his idiotic question and said, "You used to be married?"

Wilber frowned hard and said, "I never—"

"Course you never told me," I interrupted. "You were married for about ten years I'd have to say…"

Wilber simply looked at me. The look that preceded most of my previous flatmates running away. "Nine…."

The number sunk into my brain and I suddenly violently banged my fist on the arm rest, causing Wilber to jump. "So close!" I hissed to myself.

"How do you know?" Wilber demanded, taking me out of my train of thought.

I absentmindedly said, "There's a band of pale skin around your ring finger, idiot. I'm guessing you recently divorced because the skin hasn't had a lot of time to get tanned. The flesh around your ring finger is still soft."

"Right…" Wilber muttered.

The thing that truly snapped me out of my thought was that Wilber began to softly drum his fingers on his side.

"Something the matter?" I asked curiously, except I knew what the matter was.

Unaware of what he was doing, Wilber replied, "What?"

I sat up a little straighter, getting a little interested in this brown headed man. Oh yes, his hair was brown. Did I mention that? He was obviously vain about his appearance, because it was dyed brown. He himself had to be in his late forties. "You're upset about the divorce," I mused. "You left her, didn't you?"

Wilber uncomfortably took off his coat and began to drum on his thigh a little more rapidly.

"Do sit down," I said slowly, absorbing all that he was doing. This was a rare treat. Usually my flatmates ran off about now.

I had already deduced a lot about him, but I wanted to keep prodding, because I found it interesting, of course.

Wilber sat down stiffly.

He's been traveling all day. Most likely sitting for a long while.

"Would you prefer to stand up, Wilber?" I questioned.

"Um no… that's fine… and call me Will," Wilber said awkwardly. He avoided my eyes and looked around the room.

"Very well Wil, with one L," I decided.

Wilber stopped looking around and said, "Wait, what? What do you mean one L?" He was frowning hard and almost looked shocked.

I smiled. "If you want to be called Will, you will be called it. But the way I want to say and spell it, and that is with one L."

Wil frantically tried to defend his name. "But that doesn't make sense. When you say my name, you won't know if you're saying it with two Ls or one..." He paused. "I think I'm confusing myself…"

"Of course you're confusing yourself. I see your name spelled W-I-L. Not W-I-L-L. Your name is after all 'Wilber' and not Willber, correct?" Actually, I wasn't sure why I was asking him that, when the tag on his suitcase said Wilber Barrett.

Wil looked confused. "Don't call me Wil with one L," Wil finally said stubbornly.

"No can do," I simply replied back. My eyebrow twitched a little. Ahhhh. I see. "Your wife called you Wil and spelled it with one L, didn't she..."

"So tell me about yourself?" Wil asked all the sudden.

Of course he wanted to change the subject.

"I'm a detective. A consulting detective, to be exact," the words dripped from my mouth. I was much too interested in him to be bothered with talking at the moment.

Wil tensed up.

I chose my words correctly. A smile crept on my mouth.

"Oh… so… you go with the police and do crime investigating things?" Wil half-heartedly said.

"Shut up, I'm thinking," I barked softly.

Wil, realizing I was studying him, got up and said, "Right… I'll be unpacking…"

Wil took his suitcase and hurried off to his room.

My eyes were fixated on the chair he had been sitting in. I imagined him sitting in it, and began to look him over again.

When I thought the time right, I stood up and went to Wil's room and knocked on the door.

"Come in," Wil said shortly.

I opened the door and sure enough, the time was right. He was unpacking. I scanned the room and his suitcase.

Oh, joy! Christmas had come early. I stared at his suitcase, which was my early Christmas gift. He was in a big hurry to leave his wife. All his clothes were mashed together in some kind of jumble. Wait—he had also stayed at a hotel before and had stuck out the little lotion container. Very vain about his appearance. He had to keep his hands hydrated, of course.

I did not need long to stare at his suitcase to decide that he was a business man, but I knew that already too. "What company did you work at?" I demanded.

Wil said nothing for a few seconds. Then said, "I'd rather not talk about it or my wife, thank you very much."

I sighed. "Very well. You worked at the capitol of Northern Ireland. But you lived in the country far away from people. So you have to travel a lot. Your back pains have been troubling you for a long while, and I take it you've had to move your business to London."

Wil stopped unpacking to gaze at me. "How did you…" the words trailed off.

I might have given him a small smirk. "Simple. Your business card is located at the capitol, you live in the country because of some of your shirts, and since you live in the country, you have to travel a lot. You've been traveling a lot, and your back has started giving you pains, and well, the London part is easy."

Wil raised a hand and snapped, "And how do you know I'm from the country?!"

Such an idiot. Such an idiot. Must I explain everything? "Your accent gives it away. It's well hidden, but you still sound like a country boy."

"But what about the shirts?" He interrupted.

"I was about to get to that," I growled. "Don't interrupt me. A couple of your shirts are stained green. I take it you run a farm? Or ran a farm?"

Wil ignored my question, and continued to demand, "What about the back pains? How could you tell that?"

Good grief, that was easy. Anyone could deduce why he had back pains. "The way you sat down all stiff like. Also you have pills for your back pain in your luggage."

"Right… was there a reason why you came into my room?" Wil growled angrily.

I smiled. "Shall we go get something to eat?"

Wil frowned. "I'm not in the mood, really…"

"Nonsense, get ready," I said, leaving his room. "I know just the place. There's a new Indian restaurant."

I left his room to go sit down and read some more. Except I wasn't reading. My mind was on Wil. He was hiding something. This was going to be interesting, and I highly doubt he would stay my flatmate for long…

A few minutes later Wil came into the room. "I'm ready," He said flatly.

I didn't look away from my papers. "Why don't you get some take out, Wil."

I could tell that Wil was shifting his feet, as he processed what I just said. "Wait… you're not coming?"

"Of course I'm not coming," I replied simply.

"But you said—"

I stopped Wil from speaking and said, "I only said that so I had an excuse to go into your room and have a look around."

I glanced up to look at Wil. He looked extremely flustered looking and was frowning. "Fine. I'll go eat there myself."

"Suit yourself."

"And I'm not bringing food back for you."

"I'm not hungry anyway."

"You're unbelievable."

"Point?" I demanded, looking at him.

Wil took a deep breath and said, "You are selfish and unpredictable, as well as nosey."

I blinked. "What's new?"

Wil gritted his teeth and said, "I'm going for lunch. I'll be back. While I'm out, why don't you ponder what I said?"

I looked back at my paper. "Don't get the curry special or the fresh spring water," I advised him.

Wil opened the door and said, "Why not?"

Why not? Why was he so simple? Couldn't he think about it? "Because the curry seasoning isn't from India the way they claim it to be, and they use ice cubes in the fresh spring water, which defeats the purpose of fresh spring water, doesn't it, Wil…"

Wil barked back, "I'll be sure to get the curry and fresh spring water, thanks for the advice, Sherlock!"

The door slammed shut, and I was left alone with quietness.

I instantly picked up my phone and phoned up a friend of mine at the police department.

"Sherlock," I said into the phone as I heard someone pick up on the other line.

"Oh. Hello, Sherlock…" said the voice on the other line. This wasn't Lestrade. It was someone offsetting the phone system.

I glared and said in two words, "Lestrade. Now."

The person retorted back, "Lestrade has gone out for lunch!"

Rolling my eyes, I said calmly, "Anderson, where is Lestrade."

"Gone out!" Anderson insisted a second time.

Did he not know the word 'where'? Was he that dumb? "Where, Anderson?"

"That new Indian restaurant that everyone has been going to! He keeps going on about the Curry Special." Anderson mused. "Tell you what—"

I hung up and stood up to go.

Putting on my scarf and donning my coat, I began my march out to the Indian restaurant.

Going into the Indian restaurant, I spotted Lestrade instantly, and Lestrade spotted me instantly. He rolled his eyes and mouthed a 'what now?'.

I smiled and waved. Lestrade didn't take it as a friendly gesture. He glared and beckoned me.

As I walked to him, I saw Wil. Smiling, I waved at him too. Wil ignored me.

Lestrade hissed at me, "Will you not do that, Sherlock?"

I stopped smiling. "I'm being friendly."

"It's creepy!" Lestrade barked.

Slipping into the booth across from Lestrade, I said, "Why is Anderson holding your spot while you're gone?"

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Because… I asked him to?"

My eyes narrowed a little. "It's a wonder Anderson's face doesn't offset the phone system…"

Lestrade jerked his head back and said, "What?!"

I shook my head. "Not important."

"What is then?"

I pointed at Wil, who was pretending to read the newspaper. "Him."

"What's so interesting about him?"

"I said important."

"Well interesting and important are sort of the same…"

"Not even close."

I could tell Lestrade had to think about what I said and had to try to separate interesting and important. Why couldn't that man concentrate on what was important, instead of trying to find the difference between what was important and what was interesting…

"Lestrade. Focus," I said, snapping Lestrade out of his train of thoughts.

"Right. What's so… important about him?" Lestrade stared at the man. "Looks like a normal man to me."

I gave Lestrade my cold glare. "It must be so boring to be so simple…"

Lestrade glared at me. "It's not as boring as you think it is. Why don't you give it a go sometime?"

"His name is Wilber Barrett, and he's from Northern Ireland. He recently devoiced his wife and moved to London," I said, giving Lestrade the facts.

Lestrade's face was blank. "Please don't tell me you decided all that just by looking at him for a couple seconds…"

"In about 15 seconds to be precise."

"Good grief."

"He's my new flatmate."

"Ah… I all the sudden feel for him…" Lestrade sympathized with Wil, giving him a sorry look. "Can I make a bet how fast you'll run him off at the office?"

I ignored Lestrade's question and went on. "He's lying about something."

"So you've come to me for advice?"

"Of course not. You're over thinking, Lestrade," I said in my bored voice. "I need you to do something for me."

Lestrade sighed. "Of course… it would be me…"

"I need you to find out a little more about his wife," I told him.

"Can't you do it? I'm already working on a case that I'm struggling with," Lestrade complained.

A smile crept on my lip. A case he couldn't figure out. Good grief, such a dimwitted man. "I can do it, but I'm going to be busy."

"With what?"

"Why, your case, of course," I said cheerfully, rubbing my hands together.

I hadn't had a good case in a while. "Explain," I demanded.

Lestrade sighed. "Do I have to?"

My smile grew. "You can't get very far without me. So tell me the facts…" I began to grin. His expression was most amusing.

Lestrade rolled his eyes and gave in. "Fine. We recently found a dead body floating in the river Thames—"

"Are you sure the body was floating?" I interrupted.

"Well actually the body had sunk—"

"Then how did you find it?"

"I was getting there, Sherlock! Stop interrupting me!" Lestrade barked back, glaring into my eyes.

I smirked. "Continue."

"The body had sunk, some people saw it in the shallows as they were about to go out on a boat. We suspect suicide," Lestrade paused to drink some Indian tea with leaves that probably weren't from India.

I rolled my eyes. "Why do you always suspect suicide?"

"Why do you always suspect murder?" Lestrade demanded.

I snorted and said, "Because I'm right and you're wrong. Simple as one plus one."

Lestrade ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. "Why am I helping you!" he muttered under his breath.

"Because you need me."

A/N: First time writing a Sherlock fan fic! I'm excited! Chapters will be posted about once a week! At first I thought it was going to be hard to write it from Sherlock's POV, but as I was going, it grew pretty easy.

No, I will not be shipping Sherlock with my male OC. I believe in Sherlolly.

Did I do an okay job? Does he sound too OOC?

Thanks for reading!