BANG. BANG. BANG.

Three shots were fired into the wall. All fell short of their target but the firer wasn't fussed about where they landed. He was bored. So very bored, that he had resorted to shooting the wall. He just wanted something to do, and shooting things was mildly interesting.

His flatmate returned with fingers shoved deep into his ears, a look of deep annoyance on his face.

'What the HELL are you doing?'

'I'm bored!' The man in the chair whined. He stood up and fired three more shots into the wall, this time hitting the intended target, a yellow smiley face spray painted onto the garish wallpaper.

'Sherlock, that doesn't mean you can shoot the wall!'

'Bored! I need something to do.'

'Yes I know you're bored, you have been for the past week.'

'So tell me you have some good news, John, please!'

'By good news do you mean bad news for someone else?'

'Must you put it that way?'

'Yes.'

BANG.

One more shot was fired into the wall, causing the man, John, to jump. He proceeded to tackle the gun out of Sherlock's hand and take out the magazine, placing it on the table. Sherlock collapsed into the nearest chair and sighed.

A small cough sounded in the doorway.

Both men turned, the taller turning at a slightly more leisurely pace than the other.

A woman with one eye made up and the other with a dark streak of eyeliner going straight up to her eyebrow leaned against the doorframe with a small smirk on her lips.

'Sorry to disturb you gentlemen, but I was wondering if you would be so kind as to stop shooting my wall.'

Sherlock looked put out. The small man, John, thought this was a bit much from him seeing as he was the one causing all the trouble.

'I wasn't shooting your wall. I was shooting Mrs Hudson's wall. A slight difference.'

He stood up and walked over to the door, placing a hand on the doorknob. The dismissal in his eyes and stance was very hard to miss.

The small woman looked up at him and frowned.

'Look, I'm new next door-'

'I can tell.' Sherlock said lazily, examining his nails.

She woman sighed and shook her head slightly, widening her eyes in exasperation. She could tell this was going to take a while.

'And I feel we have got off on the wrong foot. I am having a very nice, quiet party to celebrate my move-'

'Why would you do that?'

'Sherlock…'

'Because I just moved, that's why.' She spoke slowly, as if talking to an idiot or a child.

Of course, Sherlock was neither, although he did act like the latter.

The dark haired man feigned interest.

'Oh really, where did you move to?'

The woman turned to John.

'Is he always like this? Or is it just me.'

'No. He's like this with everyone. Even the people at Scotland Yard.'

She smiled at him, apparently pleased with the friendly response.

'Shall we start again? My name is Sophie Collins and I'm your new neighbour. I would invite you to my little get together but I have a feeling you would decline.'

John smiled at her graciously.

'I would accept but I think Sherlock here would rather shoot walls.'

Sherlock coughed from behind the door, where he seemed to have retreated.

Sophie looked at him with interest. Any hostility she may have felt towards him seemed to disappear.

'Ah, Sherlock Holmes? Excellent!' She reached out to shake his hand. He just stared at her like she had some contagious disease. She withdrew it with a puzzled expression. She looked over at the other man still leaning against the table on which he had put the gun. Smiling at him she walked over and shook his hand instead.

'And you must be John Watson. A friend of mine showed me your blog. Very good by the way, regularly check up on you and your…' She trailed of, seemingly looking for an appropriate word. 'Adventures.'

Sherlock scoffed.

Sophie changed the subject.

'My friend said he knows you from Afghanistan. Do you remember an Alfie Robinson?'

Johns blue eyes lit up.

'I do remember him. Wow, he's still around? He saved my life at least twice out there, a real hero that man. Would he by any chance be at your party?'

She laughed pleasantly, showing rather a lot of slightly crooked teeth.

'Yes he would and would you like t-'

Sherlock groaned and jumped like a fish onto the sofa.

'Is this conversation going to get any more boring? If it is, I want you to leave. Go back to your little party, go get your make up done all pretty, flirt with the man you so desperately want to be there and get out of my flat!'

She looked taken aback to say the least.

'Don't listen to him, he's just bored.'

'No, really?' Sherlock's sarcastic comment floated from the cushion where he had firmly planted his face. 'Go to her party John, leave me to rot alone here while you talk to your army friends and eat little biscuits. Tell me all about it later.'

'If you're going to behave like a child about it I can go tell Lestrade to stop calling you with cases that you might find interesting.'

Sherlock's head rolled out from the pillow, eyes narrowed to slits.

'You wouldn't dare…'

Sophie coughed again in the back of her throat.

'If you wouldn't mind, I have guests arriving soon. Will I see you there John?'

'Yes, as soon as I can get him to bed with a glass of hot milk and a cookie. Which number flat is it?'

'Number 220b.'

'Brilliant, I'll see you there!'