This is an old story I wrote in 2012. It has been originally published in German. I have translated it in into English. Hope you'll like it but I have to warn you: It is not beta-read. If you want to correct feel free to do so. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC show "Sherlock". If that was the case, I wouldn't be here writing fanfictions about it.

A fateful meeting

„You are on search for accommodation then?", Mike Stamford asked the high grown man sitting in front of him.

„Not really…I've found already something.", he replied and took a sip of his coffee.

They sat in the break room of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Mike knew the man from former times. He had been one of his students, a diligent, conscientious young man who, on the one hand, had surpassed his fellow students in certain subjects, but, on the other hand, had refused to write an exam or a paper in several other courses because the proposed topic had appeared too dull, too boring and too insignificant to him.

Mike had wondered what this eccentric man actually planned to do with his studies, in which direction he wanted to go. It was even more puzzling for him that this man had known everything about his lecturer. For example, the fact that he jogged every morning three times around the block to slim, that his wife worked in a flower shop, that he had three-year-old twins, that he traveled regularly with his family to Gran Canaria on vacations, made up to the fact that he had a small white Bulldog as a pet.

But that was seven years ago. Meanwhile, Mike knew the strange man a bit better and how he got his information.

Their relationship was … well, they were no friends, that would be too much to say. More a sort of…colleagues who met in the corridors of St. Barts now and then, and sometimes, only sometimes, sat together for coffee or a short conversation – even if the tall man did not like to interrupt his experiments he was working on, just to be social once.

But this time he really seemed to need a listener.

„And where's the problem, Sherlock?", Mike asked.

The other one seemed to think for a moment and once again sipped from the coffee before he answered.

„I have found a flat in the centre of London which is quite favorable. I know the landlady."

„But?"

„I fear I still cannot afford it."

„Then you must look after another."

„This might be difficult."

„Why?", Mike asked looking surprised, „I suppose there are hundreds of empty flats in London you can move in."

„The housing associations don't like me." Sherlock replied his eyes squinted in anger.

„I cannot imagine…", Mike began but stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the face of the man who was now gnashing his teeth.

„What has happened then?", Mike asked calmly. „Do you still play the violin at three o'clock at night when others want to sleep?"

Mike remembered the time when Sherlock had sat in his auditorium. He had heard from the chats of his students that Sherlock Holmes lived in a student hostel; every week, they had complained about his violin-playing at night and loudly talked about the fact that he was unbearable.

Sherlock grinned in amusement but became serious again.

„It was the violin.", Mike stated.

„Not only …", Sherlock murmured and was thinking about a whole series of other things the tenants of his former apartment house complained about.

For example an awful stench coming from his chemical experiments which had somehow made its way to the staircase. Every now and then people had seen him how he had left the house with a human skull under his arm (it was not his fault that they did not understand that he could better think if he spoke loudly and that the skull was the perfect listener!). Then, he had shot the wall of his living room a couple of times with a revolver he had removed unobtrusively from Lestrade's office (he had to practice!). Another day, he had come home with a plastic bag full of human body parts he had "borrowed" from the morgue at Barts (for an extremely important experiment!). However, unfortunately, this bag had been too heavy and burst so that its contents had fallen out on the steps in the staircase.

Finally, that had been enough. The landlord had personally come to him and had asked him (not quite friendly) to move out immediately and to look for a new flat somewhere else.

„It was … quite a number of reasons.", Sherlock said and took one more sip of the coffee.

„And you believe that nothing else can be found?"

„I already said.", Sherlock answered irritated. „The housing associations do not like me." And that was true. During the last few years he had moved so often from one flat to another that he never had been at one place longer than four months. Meanwhile, he knew every little corner of London; he had lived in every house leased by Co-op Homes, CHISEL or the London Family Housing association. Nobody had wanted him permanently.

He could have moved to Mycroft, of course. His brother had already offered him a couple of times to live with him in his villa. But this was the last thing Sherlock wanted.

„I've come to the conclusion", he said, „that I should try a flat which is leased … privately."

„But the one you've found is too expensive."

„Yes."

„Well then. There is only one solution.", Mike said, „you need a flat mate. Somebody who is ready to share the flat with you – if the rooms are not too ..."

„Oh, the flat is big enough for two people."

„But?"

Sherlock thought for moment. A flat mate was something he really did not need, but it was definitely better than Mycroft's offer. But still, it was difficult for him to get used to this idea. A flat mate meant restrictions, duties and (on top of that) a closeness Sherlock never wanted to have. He preferred to be alone, to arrange things alone and to determine his daily routine alone (and if he wanted to play the violin at night, he would do that!)

Anyway, nobody would understand him. Nobody would be able to comprehend his way of thinking or to understand how important his experiments were to him or to share his passion to put himself into danger, to meet the challenge and to hunt dangerous criminals. He loved the mysterious cases – the more bizarre, the better. He was addicted to agitation and if he had no riddles to solve, he would finally sink into boredom. Most people were boring. Many looked at him with revulsion, called him freak or psychopath. And he did not need someone like that around him.

Moreover, when he thought of his chemical apparatuses on the kitchen table, the bullet holes in the wall and the body parts in the fridge …

„Who'd want me for a flat mate?"

~~O~~

When Sherlock was on his experiments again this afternoon Mike entered the lab with an about 40 year-old man which he introduced as John Watson. Sherlock only needed one look into the eyes of his former lecturer and it became clear to him that Mike had only brought the stranger because he was, in his opinion, a potential flat mate. Apparently he was currently on search for accommodation, too. And because the rents were too high, he considered the possibility of sharing a flat so that he has not to live above his means.

Sherlock Holmes decided to accept Mike's idea and to – at least – try to get along with another person and to share the rooms in Baker Street 221b. He believed that this would be only for a short time anyway because nobody could cope with him long. Probably he would spend some months with this John Watson and then he would be on search for a new place to live.

Sherlock took a closer look at the stranger.

Because of his way of standing, his haircut, his limp and the fact that he had also studied in Barts (what became clearly evident by his words when he entered the room) he deduced that he was an army doctor who was wounded in a war.

„Afghanistan or Iraq?"

These three little words formed the beginning of relationship which lasted over many years and which Sherlock did not want to miss in his later life any more.

By looking into the stranger's eyes the consulting detective knew that the army doctor had seen and experienced a lot. Violence, illness, hunger, death. He knew that he had been – far too much – in danger and that he knew the depths of human nature one experienced in the battlefield.

What Sherlock did not know was the fact that it was not necessary to think about another move because John Watson would live with him at Baker Street for a quite long time. He did not know that – in this moment – he had met the only person who valued him who could understand his inclination for adventure and who would become his companion, confidant and best friend.

Hope you'd like it and there weren't so many mistakes. I am glad if you'd leave a small comment on this piece of writing.