Walking in England, you'll notice an average looking black door. Upon further examination you'll come to your senses and slowly realize with glee that the golden figures on the black door could be read out as 221B. Suddenly, it dawns upon you; you are on Baker Street. Immediately you contemplate whether or not to burst into the building and snag a picture of Sherlock. Perhaps you want to know everything about what Mr. Holmes does. Or perhaps you're one of ''those'' people and want to know if John and Sherlock have a little more than a friendship going on.

The more you think about it, the more you convince yourself that it's not a good idea after all. Perhaps you're afraid that Sherlock will intimidate you (which he would) or that he strictly talks to people that contribute to interesting cases (which he does). No matter what you think of him, I can assure you, that is EXACTLY how he is.

''Well how would you know?" you wonder. "You've never met him either!" You might be right. Perhaps you're thinking that Sherlock's personality is finally rubbing off on you. What you will never notice, however, is that in the same building there is an equally ordinary door right next to 221B, even right down to the same shade of black. If you look at the golden writing on this door, everything will start to make sense. This is the unit that I live in.

I am the neighbor at 221C.

Pippa glared at the screen while sipping her coffee. Something about this felt wrong to her. Did she really want to share this with the world, possibly exposing them in a negative light? Would anyone believe her? Why was she even typing this? Her thoughts were cut short as a not-so-faint door slam was heard nearby, followed by a woman's sobbing, who's footsteps were also heard going down the stairs and finally out into the streets. The next lines were being typed onto her blog entry as a muffled argument came from her infamous neighbors:

I know this sounds completely pretentious, as though I'm bragging about living next to the world's only consulting detective. However let me assure you that it is NOT all it's cracked up to be. It's why I'm even making this blog: to rant about the annoying things Mr. Holmes does. Stick around if you wish. Otherwise leave me be.
Woth much annoyance,
Pippa.

Realizing that there was about two hours left before midnight, Pippa decided to get ready for bed. As she was brushing her teeth she heard a knock on the door.
"Hold on!" She yelled, her response muffled by her toothpaste. Quickly spitting the minty contents out she raced to the door. With her simple deduction skills she knew that different people had different ways of handling things. This included door knocking. The person on the other side was not pounding the door so as to break it, so it most definitely was not Sherlock. It was not a soft tap with a "Hoo hoo!" on the other side, so it wasn't Mrs. Hudson. This only left one other option.
"Hello Pippa."
"Ah, hello John!" She stepped aside as to let John in. "How are your this evening?"
John rubbed the back of his neck, a common sign of stress she realized.
"Errr... It could be worse." He looked up to face her. "I simply wanted to apologize for Sherlock's behavior just now."
"Wait, you don't mean to tell me that he was wearing high heels and crying out into the street, do you?" Pippa joked, earning a surprised laugh from John.
"No, no," John responded. "I'm afraid he was the one that caused the crying."
Pippa drank the rest of her now cold coffee as she tried to assess the situation. A sour look came on her face, though, as she quickly learned that minty toothpaste and cold coffee did not work well together.
"Was she a promising lead to another case or something?"
"Nothing of the sort. Entirely new one. She came in hopes of figuring out if her husband was cheating on her."
"Let me guess; he was."
"More or less, except Sherlock felt the need of adding the fact that her husband most probably wouldn't have done so if she didn't start her own affair."
A whistle came from Pippa. "That's a new low from him."
"Yeah," John agreed. "I keep trying to tell that bloody idiot to keep it gentle with these new cases but-"
"He just gets a kick out of being blunt about things?"
"'Rude' is the better term." John started heading towards the door. "Anyhow, sorry about that. I know you tend to hear everything we do down here."
A laugh came from Pippa. "John, I think I'm used to it by now. Don't worry about it, alright? Though truth be told, I just might start a blog about you two."
Now it was John's turn to laugh. "Go for it.I know mine helps me cope when he's being an utter arse."
As John saw his way out, Pippa decided to say something. "John, don't worry about me, alright? It's sometimes... Entertaining to hear you two."
A smile grew on John's face. "If you say so. Good night!"
"Night!" With that Pippa shut the door. She decided to brush her teeth once more before heading off to bed.