"Right," I said, glancing down a my list, "The next one is Nikki Johnston. She's twenty-six, non-smoker, works part-time as a waitress, and owns a dog."

"Ugh, dogs," Sherlock spat in disgust, "I never liked dogs. Stupid animals."

"Yes, well, you didn't state any rules about pets," I said, then added in a mutter, "especially when it comes to levels of intelligence."

I was sat in the armchair of the living room and my eyes stared unseeingly at the list in front of me. We'd been doing this for days now - interviewing people - and the task was becoming harder and harder with every person that left through the front door, with an expression that said they never wanted to set foot there again. Sherlock and I needed the rent money in order to keep ourselves well fed and looked after - even if there was hardly ever any food in the fridge - and never did I think the passing of dear old Mrs Hudson would ever cause so much hassle for the two of us.

What I found most annoying about the whole situation was how Sherlock had chosen to handle it. I knew it was his was of grieving, and saying that he didn't want anyone to live in Mrs Hudson's rooms downstairs, but what Sherlock needed to understand was that the phone bills had dramatically increased since his most recent experiment had begun - something about listening in on phone conversations in different countries. I hadn't listened to Sherlock's explanation - I'd been too angry at the time to care what he was doing. I had been far more worried about the money we'd need to pay to the phone company...

"They get hair everywhere, too," Sherlock added, half to himself, "...and tend to smell."

"What amazes me Sherlock is that you never fail to focus on the negative."

"What amazes me, John, is that you still think I care about all this."

"Well you should care. We are talking about the person who is going to be our neighbour, Sherlock. And after you scared off the last thirty-odd applicants -"

"Thirty two."

"- I would appreciate it if you just give it a rest, alright?"

"Are you asking me to be someone I'm not?"

"I'm asking you to be quiet." I said, feeling myself on the verge of irritation, "Okay? No snide comments. No deductions. And definitely no acting, okay?"

"Fine."

The doorbell rang. I looked over at Sherlock who was sprawled out on the sofa in his pyjamas and dressing gown, plucking the strings of his violin absentmindedly as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Are you going to get that?" I asked.

"Why should I? I haven't answered the door to the rest of them."

"Well could you at least get dressed?"

"I could," He answered, in that rather bored tone of his. But he didn't move.

Realising I was getting nowhere with him, I got up from my armchair, and went to answer the door.

The image I had concocted in my mind when I read the application form, was of an unintelligent, lazy girl with one of those annoying little yapping dogs. Bleach-blonde hair, ridiculous heels, an inability to say a single sentence without the word "like". That was what I had presumed. I was quick to judge, I'll be upfront and honest - but that was probably because I was just bored of the process now. Everyone who could have been considered a possible tenant was scared away by Sherlock and his tendencies. And everyone else...well, the few who hadn't been driven away were (how do I put this nicely?) barking mad.

I wondered what Sherlock would have made of Nikki Johnston from just looking at what she had written down. However, I hadn't allowed him to look at any of the forms after he had done so with the first one; coming to the immediate conclusion that the poor middle-aged man was an obsessive compulsive who was incredibly overriding and had a tendency to be emotionally clingy. How he managed to deduce such a thing, I have no idea, but when the door bell rang, Sherlock rang straight towards it and refused to give the man entry. He wasn't even given a chance.

And as for the rest of the applicants that I had deemed acceptable in their interviews - Sherlock had managed to drive them all away. To begin with, he was quite blunt with them and did his normal thing of pointing out their biggest insecurities and flaws and revealing their secrets just by looking at what they were wearing. However, after the first few, that became "boring", and so Sherlock did something that he had picked up by watching sit-coms (something I now regret getting him in to).

He acted crazy.

And I'm not talking about the usual "Oh, that's Sherlock. He's a psychopath" crazy. I'm talking about "You need to lock that guy in a padded room and throw away the key". That kind of crazy.

In any other situation, I would have found Sherlock's acting incredibly amusing. And, actually, I did have to stifle laughed on a few occasions when he did things that were absolutely ridiculous. But, as I was trying to find a resident for the flat downstairs, and a housekeeper to come and tidy 221B on a regular occurrence, I was beginning to find Sherlock's actions rather annoying.

Nothing changes there then.

So, silently praying that what Sherlock had in store this time wasn't too bad, I grasped the handle of the front door, and swung it open.

"Hi, I'm Nikki," Said the person who was stood waiting, "I'm here about the flat."

The woman that stood before me was nothing like I had imagined. Her hair wasn't dyed, she wore little makeup, and was practically dressed for the weather and occasion. She looked older than twenty-six, appeared extremely mature for her age, and, quite frankly, she was...well, stunning.

I stared at her for a long moment, "You're...you're Nikki?"

"Yes..." She answered uncertainly, with a nervous laugh, "Were you expecting someone else?"

"Oh, no...I was expecting someone a little more...I mean, a little less..."

She looked at me expectantly again. I realised I was rambling.

"Sorry," I said, with an apologetic and perhaps bashful smirk, "Please, come in."

Nikki walked past me and headed up the stairs, as I directed. As she passed, I couldn't help but notice the dazzling smile she gave me.

'No,' I told myself firmly, 'She's too you for you, John. She's too young...'

I allowed myself to glance at her as she climbed the staircase. She looked amazing from the back too.

I heard myself let out a small whine of desperation.