It's been almost two weeks since John's moved in with Sherlock. Well, 12 days to be more precise. It's...it's nice. John can't complain. Certainly better than that depressing room he had before. And Sherlock knows how to keep things more than interesting for both of them. Of course there are still some awkward moments. Especially in the morning. It's happened on more than one occasion now.

They'd meet in the hallway, John still half asleep and barely keeping himself upright on his way to the bathroom. And as if on cue, Sherlock would appear out of his bedroom, in his pajamas and silky gown, scratching the back of his head and yawning. John noticed he has trouble sleeping on his first week living with Sherlock and the dark circles under Sherlock's eyes only reinforces his worries. Yes, he worries. It raises up serious health issues and he doesn't know how Sherlock can function on no sleep for three or even four days at a time.

Of course, he's also learned that asking his flatmate about such things as his sleeping and eating habits result in him getting insulted and in having Sherlock sulk around the apartment for the remainder of the day.

So John stops himself from asking such stupid questions as he stares up into Sherlock's weary and exhausted face. His hand is extended towards the doorknob and it instantly falls back to his side.

"Did you want to - " He starts and for some reason his cheeks flush under Sherlock's gaze. Maybe it's due to the fact that he's standing before his flatmate, wearing nothing but his boxers. (He cannot stand sleeping with either shirt or pants on. But he would if it was really necessary.) He feels vulnerable with the way Sherlock's now alert eyes seem to travel over every inch of available skin, taking in every detail. John starts to fidget when Sherlock's eyes shoot up to his left shoulder, to the scar. He clears his throat, bringing Sherlock's attention back to his face. "Sherlock?"

"Hm? Sorry..."Sherlock smiled, looking rather sheepish at John. "What was it you said?"

"The loo. May I?"John asks, his discomfort quickly turning into amusement.

"Oh yes, of course. Don't mind me." Sherlock doesn't move at first. He tries and fails not to look at John's scar before giving a soft, defeated sigh and pushing past John to walk to the living room.

They don't talk about it but John makes sure to put at least a shirt on whenever he feels the need to go to the loo in the middle of the night or morning. And the next time he and Sherlock meet in the hallway, he doesn't miss the look of disappointment on the detective's face. John smirks. It suits him right. If Sherlock wants to know more about the wound, maybe even examine it, up close and personal, he has to get off that tight little ass and ask John. It's as simple as that, really.

"John? Hello..." A hand was weaved in front of his face, snapping John back to the present and away from his wandering thoughts.

He flinched and shifted in his seat. "Sorry, what was that?" He asked, having the decency to look at least a little embarrassed.

Harry, John's sister, who was sitting opposite of him in Speedy's Cafe, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Honestly, John. I know I'm not as interesting as your new 'flatmate' but I did come here to see you. I think I deserve at least a little bit of your attention, don't you?"

John had nothing nice to say as a response so he kept his mouth shut, staring down at his cup of coffee. Coffee. Certainly not Harry's favorite drink but at least she was sober now. For how long, John didn't want to know or even think about.

He still couldn't wrap his head around why she had called him in the first place. They'd never gotten along great. Ever since they were little. They fought and fought and even though he hated to admit it, he genuinely believed Harry hated him. And he couldn't deny the fact that maybe, just maybe he hated her just as much for all the pain and distress she caused their parents. Especially their mum. Who died of cancer at far too young an age. Harry didn't even have the decency to appear at the funeral since she was busy getting wasted.

The silence was starting to stretch on for too long and Harry shifted in her seat, lifting the cup of coffee to her lips and taking a small sip.

"When did you come back from Mexico?" He asked, not particularly interested in the response but at least he was trying.

Harry's eyes widened. "How did you know...?"

"Tan lines." He pointed to her wrists, then picked up his cup and took a sip.

"I got back two days ago. Julie, my - my girlfriend, she always wanted to visit Mexico." She frowned, narrowing her eyes at him. "How'd you know we went to Mexico?"

He shrugged. "Lucky guess. You always talked about vacationing there when we were younger."

"Right."

"Yes." John looked down at his hands.

"Didn't think you'd remember…"

There are a lot of things I wish I'd forget.

"So, how have you been? You...you look like you're doing well." She smiled tentatively.

"Can't complain, really. I'm just settling in with Sherlock. It's been...interesting so far."

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, right? I've read about him. In the papers, you know. A bit too know-it-all for my taste." She scrunched up her noised and John fought the impulse to roll his eyes.

"So tell me about him."

"Who?"

"Sherlock."

It's John's turn to narrow his eyes at her. "Why?"

"I don't know. He sounds like an interesting guy. Christ, John. I come back from Mexico and the first thing I see is you and this Sherlock fella on the front page of the papers! Don't you think I'd be curious?"

A small hint of a smile appears at the corner of his mouth. But it soon vanishes at Harry's next words. "I hear people calling him a freak." There's a pause. "Is he?"

"No. Are we done here or do I have to sit here while you insult my friend?"

"Oh, he's a friend now. So quickly?" She smirked. "He is single, you know."

"I'm aware of that, yes. And I quote 'married to his work'."

"Oh?" She looked downright intrigued now and he could feel the anger starting to build up inside him. Why were they talking about this?

"So you've asked?"

"Asked what? Harry, stop this...I don't know what you're trying to do here but it's not going to work, alright? You don't just get to waltz back into my life like the last 20 years never happened. I'm happy for you and..Julie was it? Yes, very happy. I hope it works this time around. I really do. But I don't want to be a part of it."

Silence.

Tic, toc, tic, toc.

Silence.

Tic, toc, tic, toc.

John sighed. He opened his mouth to...to what? Apologize? Before he could figure it out, Harry beat him to it.

"I've been sober for a month now, John." Harry sighed. This wasn't going how she imagined it would go.

"I don't know what that means, Harry. You've been sober for much longer than that and yet you always fall off the wagon." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I just...don't know what you thought you'd accomplish with this visit."

"I haven't seen you in years, John...I just..." She bit on her lower lip. "I missed you."

The laugh was ringing loud in his ears as he stared at his sister with sudden cold, emotionless eyes. This wasn't like him. He knew it, she knew it. It was written all over her face. The surprise was evident when she saw the look in his eyes. Her lip quivered and he just...didn't care. He couldn't help himself. The anger and hurt at Harry's behavior over the years was just too much for him to handle at the moment. Fact was, he didn't want to handle it. He was past trying to salvage whatever he could of his relationship with her.

John stood up abruptly, his chair making a screeching noise as he pushed it back. He looked down at her, his mouth opening but no words came out. He had nothing to say to her. She wanted to reconnect? Well, she was 20 years too late.

"Goodbye, Harry." He turned and left before she had a chance to respond, not once looking back.

So, yeap. There you have it. First chapter of my first Johnlock fanfic. It's unbeta'd so whatever mistakes you find, please let me know. Like always, please review. Any sort of feedback (good or bad) is welcome!

Until next time! -CH.