Sherlock sat quietly on the old, worn out leather couch in his London flat, tapping away at his computer. He could faintly hear his landlady rambling on in the corner, a terribly dull conversation about the flowers she bought this morning. He internally groaned, for he did not have time to listen to her babble today.

"Get to the point, would you please?" Sherlock interjected, miffed. He snapped the laptop shut and shoved it to the floor with a thud.

"Oh, Sherlock. You should get yourself cleaned up, she'll be here in a few minutes," Mrs. Hudson replied.

"'She'?" he parroted. He was growing quite irritated waiting for her to answer his questions.

"Miss Tyler. Now I suggest you put some trousers on before she gets here," she insisted.

"Why have you invited this Miss Tyler, anyways? Scrap booking club again?" Sherlock scoffed, irritated. He rolled over to face the couch cushions, wrapping his spare sheets around him like a cocoon.

"You haven't left Baker Street for weeks, Sherlock. I had to do something about it," the old woman replied, a sad smile forming on her face.

"And you assume she can help? I do wonder how you ordinary people think," Sherlock muttered.

Mrs. Hudson didn't like seeing him like this, so distant and cut off from humanity, since he was almost like a son to her. She gave a sigh, and was about to accept defeat and return to her own flat when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it, you just go put something on, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson murmured, moving to get the door.

"Ah, Miss Tyler! How are you?" Sherlock could hear her ask the woman.

"I'm fine, thank you. But please, just call me Rose"

Sherlock grunted loudly from where he lay, opting to ignore the pair of them. He tried in vain to ignore the sound of the chair squeaking as Rose sat down across from him.

"Now you be nice," Mrs. Hudson instructed the two of them (more specifically, him), and with that, she left.

Sherlock craned his neck to get a good look at the woman. Blonde, green eyes, jeans, and a Union Jack shirt. She was average, and that was boring him.

"Speak quickly, don't babble, and don't be boring," he advised, before returning to his previous position.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but I'm fairly certain that you've already deduced and labeled me already. I can think of a few words to describe you too, if you'd like. And don't get me started on how unrealistic your expectations are in the application form on your blog. 'Twenty-four hour silence,' really?" Rose gave a laugh, before leaning forwards and resting her hands on her jeans.

"If you didn't like it, why are you here?" Sherlock asked through gritted teeth.

"To get the job, of course," she replied, smiling a bit.

"I won't just accept just anyone," he stated.

"Good thing I'm not 'just anyone' then, Mr. Holmes"

Sherlock snorted, turning to look at her again. 'Was she was actually serious about this? She couldn't possibly think that,' he thought.

After a short moment of silence, he had decided what to do. "I suppose we'll see about that, Miss Tyler," he said, and returned his head to the plush couch cushions, slowly drifting away into his mind palace.

And that was how their adventure began.