1

She was nervous. Shifting from one foot to the other, she stood outside the townhouse that was to be her home and just looked. It was a nice enough place. Of course, she had thought that back when she'd first seen it too.

But she was going to be living there now. All alone too. Except for the mysterious flatmate Mrs Hudson had mentioned once or twice.

For a moment she thought of the flat she'd shared with Brigitte since she was eighteen and wilted. Still, no way around it, now that Brigitte and Carter were engaged they would of course, want to live together. She missed it already and she'd only not been a resident there for forty-five minutes.

Ophelia finally just shook her head and used the key she'd been given to open the door. Mrs Hudson greeted her with a smile.

"Oh how lovely, you're here! I was hoping the boys would be here to welcome you but it seems they're out for the moment."

"The boys?"

"Dear Sherlock and John, they're the other tenants."

She blinked. She'd heard those names before. Together even.

But where?

The couple from work Brigitte was telling her about, the ones who were fighting all the time now?—she wondered as she climbed up the stairs.

No, wait, they were fighting over the fact that one of them wanted them to start living together, couldn't be them.

Ah, yes, she'd overheard something about a Sherlock and John at Carter's sister's wedding. Either that they were always at the scene of a crime or that it was a crime they weren't together. Ophelia figured it was the latter. It took a morbid person to talk about crimes at a wedding.

"Although," She said out loud, paused on the stair landing, "Carter's uncle is a detective at Scotland Yard or something."

Food for thought.

She shook it off and ran up the rest of the stairs, a sudden burst of energy rushing through her as she carried the trunk with her and let herself into her new bedroom. It was nice enough, very old school though. Soft cream and blue fleur-de-lis wallpaper, dark wood furnishings and all that jazz. Not at all like her stone tiles and sleek chrome book shelves at the old place.

It wasn't unexpected of course, it's not like she hadn't already looked over the flat. But it was only striking home now how different everything was going to be.

The boxes she'd sent over earlier were waiting to be unboxed and rolling up her sleeves she began the arduous process of unpacking.

She made her way down the stairs tentatively. There were raised voices, a woman sitting in the armchair with a baby in her arms, watching as two men argued. Ophelia curled in on herself. She didn't deal well with yelling, it took her back to the horrid fights her parents would have before they got divorced. It was much easier to deal with yelling when she was the one doing it.

"I swear to God Sherlock, I'm going to kill you!" The shorter of the two, blond and red with anger, shouted.

The other one, tall and brunet, just scoffed in response. "Oh, where have I heard that before?"

"Everywhere you've ever been I'd imagine." The woman said coolly, her hand poised over the baby carefully, more than a little amused.

"I cannot believe you woul-Oh, hello." The man doing the yelling said.

Ophelia's eyes flicked between the three people, all now staring at her intently, all looking ready to attack at the drop of a hat.

"...Hi. I'm the new tenant?"

"New te-Oh, Mrs Hudson mentioned that, you've taken up my old bedroom, I believe." The blond man said.

Old bedroom, good. That meant he didn't live here and she wouldn't have to live with constant fights. Ophelia relaxed and smiled in answer but the smile froze as another thought occurred to her.

What if the reason it was his old bedroom was because he'd moved into the brunet's bedroom?

"Oh, wipe that look off your face, he doesn't live here anymore." The dark haired man snapped at her.

"No, John just likes to have his little lover's tiffs here," The woman said, clearly amused, "Says our house is too nice for that sort of thing."

Ophelia blinked. What sort of madhouse did Mrs Hudson run?!

And what the hell had she done to qualify for it?

"Right. Umm, I'm Ophelia by the way," She said awkwardly.

"John." The man who was yelling held his hand out.

"Mary." The woman said and tilted the baby up a bit, "And this is Amelia."

"When's your friend getting married?" The dark haired man said in lieu of his name.

Ophelia blinked. "They haven't set the date yet. I'll let you know when they do."

The man frowned and leaned in to look at her closer.

"Odd." He observed.

Ophelia didn't say anything. She wanted to ask him just what he meant by odd but she had a feeling she wouldn't like the answer.

John had no such qualms.

"What's odd?" He began looking at her suspiciously, which was a bit much. She wasn't the one acting crazy, where did he get off standing in judgement of her?

"People usually ask me how I know things about them." He continued his scrutiny of her, now going so far as to rest his index finger under her chin lightly and turn her face this way and that.

"You should ask people for permission before manhandling them." She informed him once he pulled back.

"Dull, much easier to say sorry later on. Don't even need to mean it."

She took a healthy step away from him and turned back to the rest of them.

"Please tell me you're all in therapy."

Mary burst into raucous laughter. "Sorry darling, I'm afraid not."

"Well crap." She'd already paid six months' rent. Couldn't move out anytime soon, not if she wanted to eat.

"Why didn't you ask me how I knew your friend was getting married?" Sherlock asked seriously and Ophelia eyes darted about, silently asking Mary and John if he was serious.

By the grave look on John's face and the barely held back giggle on Mary's, Sherlock was quite serious.

"I assumed Mrs Hudson had told you."

A muscle in Sherlock's jaw twitched and he turned around, his great big coat swirling around him and stomped off to the room at the end of the kitchen, which she assumed was his bedroom.

Ophelia was at an utter loss for words. "Umm, should I wait until he gets out or-"

"Did you have anything you wanted to talk about?" John said kindly. "I'm afraid Sherlock's going to be sulking for a-" The sound of a violin crooning interrupted him and he closed his eyes before opening them with a tight smile. "He'll be sulking for a long time."

"Right. I just wanted to know what the rules were for the common areas."

John burst into hysterical laughter. It continued for a considerable amount of time before he just sat down in the chair next to Mary's, his head dropping into his lap as he shook with the force of his chuckles.

"Right then, rules for the common areas. If Sherlock can pick the lock to it, it's a common area-"

Wait, what?"

"-that includes your laptop, mobile or any other devices that are password protected-"

What had she gotten into?

"-If you touch his experiments or clear the dining table, Sherlock will take his revenge-"

Experiments? Dining table? Revenge?

"-And no matter what, don't touch the fingers in the fridge." John finished seriously.

"And don't drink the milk, especially if Sherlock's offering. Actually, just don't take anything he offers." Mary added casually and John nodded in agreement.

"I don't suppose you guys know any place with a reasonably rent that I could look into for once the six months end."

"Oh, darling," Mary said with a wicked, wicked grin. "I highly doubt you'll last the six months."

Lovely.

A/N: The tags are prone to change, I have nothing planned out and that includes relationships etc. (Except for Mary and John, they're too cool to split up.)

For the most part I'm probably going to keep it as an outsider observational sort of thing. Feedback would be appreciated.