Just a small drabble based off a sentence in one of the original stories.
I do not own the characters or the BBC or anything really.
No really!
Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. He had even managed to clear the living room, well mostly. There was the occasional book or so that was thrown about the room, but it was at least livable. I walked further in, and looked into the kitchen. The kitchen was a different matter entirely, one that I took upon myself to rectify later. There upon the table sat the man whom I sought since entering. Still dressed in a silk bathrobe was the man that I had chosen to live with, or rather he had chosen me, in a meditative pose. He was surrounded by vials of different colours, with various objects floating in each one. I should have been alarmed to find him surrounded by what I suspected to be the remains of a person immersed in different substances, but I was not. Smiling to myself I cleared my throat so as to catch his attention. His head turned in my direction, a small quirk of his lips the only acknowledgement I was given before he closed his eyes and turned his attention back to the vials; probably an experiment of sorts.
Shaking my head in silent laughter, I turned to walk up the stairs with my things in hand. The door was open and the room looked fairly clean. I shuffled into the room and set my bag against the wall closest to the bed. Sitting on the corner of the bed I glanced about, taking in my new surroundings. I glanced toward the headrest and was greeted to the sight of a human skull, but more importantly I noticed it was the same skull that Sherlock had introduced to me three days prior. If it had been anyone but me, they might have taken offense to the sight of a skull resting over their bed, especially if they had ever met Sherlock. But I took it as it was intended to be, giving that I had met its owner. Taking the skull into my hands, I smiled at the message Sherlock's skull represented. "Welcome."