A/N: Thanks to my beta, old ping hai as always.
Right, after doing several AUs, I've come to the sad realization that I have to put a disclaimer up to avoid the inevitable comments of "That's not how Sherlock and John act!" Especially when I'm combining the characters with that of another show or movie.
So here we go. This may contain spoilers for both the story and the movie on which it is based, but I'll try to make my notes here as ambiguous as possible.
Janine — John's best friend. Needed someone to match the line, "We need someone amoral." Which considering most of John's friends aren't. Especially not someone who would kiss someone the day before their wedding. Janine is the best fit for all aspects of the character Jack.
Greg — the mentor. As much as I love Mystrade, Greg fits the bill of mentor much better.
Anthea — Mycroft's wife. No speaking parts in the movie and only seen once at the end. But again, the only one that fits the bill.
Irene — needed someone salacious and a seductress. Which is Irene no matter whose pants she's trying to get into.
And I think the rest of the characters speak for themselves. Of course, there are some changes that had to be made. Greg, Sherlock, and Donovan are cops/detectives and John is still a doctor. So the café scene gets changed, too.
I'm really sorry for the long Author's Note, but I feel it had to be done.
I hope you enjoy my story anyway.
Sherlock stood in the middle of a garden over looking London. He felt at peace for the first time in his life, his mind slowed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Such green wasn't common in his city's urban expanse, which made this all the more stunning.
"Oi!" the cabbie hollered, waking the poor detective from his slumber. "You sure this is the right address? There are cops everywhere."
Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and paid the man, giving him no tip. He slid out the taxi. He stood up and teetered a little before TAKING an unsteady step forward.
A grey-haired man watched as Sherlock made his way over, his shoulders slumped against the world. By the time the detective reached the other man, he was almost steady on his feet.
"Lestrade," Sherlock greeted the Inspector.
Greg shook his head. "I know you're trying to convince the Met to hire you on as a consultant, but you need sleep, too."
Sherlock waved him off. "Show me your little burglary," he said, fighting a yawn.
The Detective Inspector sighed and fell in step with the lanky consulting detective. But like a dog with a bone the older man pressed his concerns further. "You've got to get out more, go have a pint with friends once in a while," he prodded.
"You've met me; how many friends do you think I have?" Sherlock snarked.
"Right. Zero. So go out and meet people then, they can't all think you're a heartless bastard and a —"
"Oi! Freak!" Sally called out when she spotted them.
"Yeah, that," Greg finished with a grimace.
"Hello, Sally," Sherlock greeted. "Still dreadful at your job?" He looked her over, "And your choice of men, too, apparently. You do realize he has a wife?"
"Shut it," Greg said before Sally could retaliate. "Both of you."
Sherlock's jaw snapped shut with an audible click.
Sherlock entered the scene and once he started his deduction dance all fatigue dropped away. He wove to and fro, pulling facts seemingly out of nowhere and when he was done he proclaimed to all the house that gardener had buried her ruby necklace under the roses. He was supposed to have come back that night to get them, but the stupid man couldn't remember which bush he'd buried them under. The woman was so grateful that Sherlock found the culprit so quickly, she asked him to marry her twice in as many minutes.
His phone rang and he answered it with a sharp, "What?"
"Ah, brother," the smooth voice greeted on the other end. "So lovely to hear your delicate tones."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Mycroft? I'm busy!"
"To invite you to dinner. One of my friends from university is coming and she's bringing a friend."
"I'm gay! I don't want whatever girlfriend you think I need. And a friend of a friend, no less? I'm fine!"
"Come now, brother, you need to get out more. This non-stop working has got to cease. At least make friends."
"I've been asked for my hand in marriage twice today!" Sherlock huffed.
"Oh my god! Marry me!" the woman cried as she ran up and clutched his arm.
"Make that three times." Sherlock shook her off as gently as he could.
"Grateful clients don't count. Just come tonight and meet him."
"Him? Why is she bringing a male friend? Oh god, he's gay, too. You are setting me up."
"Technically, he's bi."
Sherlock sighed. "Fine, but if he runs off by the second glass of wine, you will never set me up ever again. Deal?"
"Deal," Mycroft said, smug as if he'd won. Sherlock hung up, wondering what it was that made his brother so confidant.
That night found Sherlock in the back of a black taxi heading to his brother's house. Up ahead he saw a lorry coming their way. The cabbie screamed and then there was blackness.
John sighed. His real estate agent was an idiot. Well, that was a tad unkind, Mike was an old friend from uni and he was only trying to be helpful. He just didn't know John very well anymore and kept showing him places that drove him insane.
The Japanese-style one felt like a jab to his height.
And then he saw it. A "FOR LET" sign in the window of this amazing-looking place. It was one of those rare places in London that the march of progress had passed by. He dashed across the busy street with Mike hot on his heels.
"John!" he called out as the good doctor nearly got hit by a passing cab. Undeterred, John made it to the other side, Mike huffing painfully behind him.
"Here, John? Really?" the real estate agent huffed.
"I want to see it," John insisted.
Mike sighed and pulled out his mobile. John turned the handle and gently pushed. The door swung open with relative ease. He took a deep breath and stepped in. There was a rush of emotion and the sudden feeing of coming home.
Mike hung up and turned to John.
"All right, here's the deal. A and C are being rented and B is only being let on a month-to-month basis by the family."
"Lead the way," the doctor said, indicating with his hand.
Mike walked up the stairs and fished the key out of the box. "It might be a bit run down," he warned the other man. "According to the agency, the previous tenant was quite the eccentric." The door opened to reveal a comfy sitting room, filled with books and comfortable furniture.
"Bit of a mess," Mike commented.
"I'll take it," John nearly shouted.
Mike took a step back. "I'll get right on it."
And he did. John was all moved in by the end of the week. The TV that came with the flat was a bit old, but it worked, and John could make out the images on the screen well enough, so it was just fine.
He pulled a bottle of beer out of the fridge and sat down on the couch to watch…well, something. He really couldn't have cared less what was on. He popped open his beer and just sat there, staring blankly at the screen. He sighed and put his beer on the coffee table.
"Don't put that there!" protested a smooth baritone. John lurched in his seat. He looked around and there was no one there. He moved to set the beer down again but nothing happened. He ran his hands over his face. He looked at the beer and then picked it back up to down the thing in one gulp. He left it on the coffee table and got up to grab another beer.
"Beer?" someone scoffed. "The lowest common denominator. Such a sad state of affairs."
John spun around and standing next to the kitchen table was a tall man in a dark suit, his white dress shirt's top two buttons undone. His bright blue eyes were piercing and his dark, curly hair an artful mess.
John quickly grabbed the beer bottle as a weapon, but when he turned around, the figure was gone. Again he ran a hand over his face. "God, I'm just tired is all. When was the last time I actually slept? Jeez." He walked back out to the sitting room and nearly jumped out of his skin.
There, sitting on the leather chair, was the tall, dark figure.
"Is this what you do?" he asked.
"Uh?" John wasn't sure what to say to that.
"Break into people's flats and squat in them, filling their fridge with booze and placing it on the coffee table without respect for their things?"
"You don't live here," John said really slowly as if talking to a small child or raving lunatic. "I do. I moved in this weekend. I live here!"
That was when John decided to go out. He called his best friend and met her at a café.
Janine was about as tall as John was, only she favored high heels. Her dark-brown hair and eyes were perfectly placed in and around her pretty face.
He'd heard his mates call her voluptuous. But he really didn't think much about it. Today she was wearing black peep-toed shoes and jeans so tight that she looked as though someone poured her into them.
"Hey, Janine," he called out as he neared her table outside.
"John!" she called out happily. "How are you doing?"
"You aren't going to analyze me, are you?" John moaned.
"No, of course not!" Janine looked offended.
"Right."
"What? I'm a therapist. It's what we do."
"Ugh. Fine, whatever. I just don't want this getting back to your boss. He gives me the creeps."
"He's very prestigious."
"And blackmailing the hell out of at least half his clients!"
"There's never been any proof of that, John."
"Fine. Whatever."
"You realize you say that phrase a lot."
"Janine…" John moaned, his voice a low growl.
She raised her hands in surrender. "So, what's up"? she asked, changing the subject.
"Well, uh, I've been seeing someone…"
"That's fantastic! What does she look like?"
"It's a guy," John corrected.
"Ooh…" Janine cooed. "Guys are fine, too. I was going to introduce you to a good one that night you bailed on me."
"No, no!" John screeched, wanting to avoid the topic of his depression. "Not like that. Like seeing things, seeing someone."
"Oh." She whipped out her notebook and began jotting things down.
"Janine!" John protested.
"But this is good stuff, John," she told him. "Now describe him to me."
John got up in a huff and left. He stopped for more beer.
As he was putting the case in the fridge, he heard, "More beer? At least use a coaster this time."
John jumped.