Thank you all for the feedback! Evidently, I'm continuing this story. I would have updated sooner, but school has been a monster (what else is new?).

Enjoy!~

Sherlock's eyes snapped open when he heard an unfamiliar voice. Someone was standing in his doorway. For a few long moments, the men stared at each other with curiosity, taking each other in. The stranger was rather short with blond hair and dark blue eyes and donning a hideous green jumper that made Sherlock want to vomit. Sherlock noted that the man was only slightly older than himself, though his eyes held a tiredness that made him appear weary. He was unconventionally attractive, Sherlock mused.

Oh.

Sherlock nearly scolded himself aloud; the man was obviously his betrothed. He should have realized that within a second.

He lowered his violin slowly. "John Watson, I presume?"

"Yeah. Sherlock Holmes?"

"Obviously," he put his violin away in its case and set it on his bed. When John didn't say anything, Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Are you going to stand in my doorway the entire time?"

"Oh, sorry," John stepped into the room. "And sorry, too, for watching you play without you knowing. I just followed the noise and, well, it was very good."

Sherlock couldn't suppress a slight grin, unwillingly warming up to John. Since he stepped into the room, the sunlight coming in from the window was making John's hair golden. Sherlock looked away and cleared his throat. "Thank you."

A silence came upon them that Sherlock didn't know how to break.

John's brain scrambled for small talk and he looked around the room for inspiration. His eyes landed on the periodic table hung up on the wall in a frame. "You like chemistry?"

Sherlock turned to look at the picture. "Oh, yes. I experiment a bit."

"That's nice, very nice. Find out anything interesting?"

"A bit. I mainly experiment on body parts."

John looked surprised, but not horrified as expected. "Body parts. Right. Okay. Um, where do you get them?"

"Bart's morgue."

John nodded and silence prevailed again, more uncomfortable this time.

He sighed, "Look, Sherlock—can I call you Sherlock? Yeah? Okay. We should…talk about this," he winced at his own words.

"Talk about what?"

John stared at him incredulously. "The marriage!"

"Oh, that?"

"Yes!"

Sherlock shrugged. "What's there to discuss? We know what's going to happen. It's inevitable, I'm afraid."

"Which is why we should talk about it."

"What's there to say?" Sherlock asked genuinely. "Our marriage will be an arrangement and nothing more. If you're worried about being tied down, there's no reason to be; I have no need for a spouse. You can be with whomever you please. Perhaps we could get a divorce at some point, if you want. We would definitely have to wait a few years or else our families would have our heads, don't you agree?"

John blinked slowly. "Does this really mean so little to you?"

"What's the problem? It isn't as if you want to marry me." Sherlock was getting irritated. He hated when people were so emotional.

John shook his head. "You seem so unaffected by this."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

"Of course I am."

"Why? Marriage doesn't change anything. We're two strangers who will be living together. It's like a flat-share."

John laughed bitterly and shook his head again. "Oh, you're a right wanker, aren't you?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, now truly annoyed. "Don't make a scene, it's completely unnecessary."

John scowled. "And I thought I might actually tolerate my fiancé. Silly me."

"Yes, silly you. Did you think you would be paired with the love of your life? Are you that foolish?"

John made a sound not unlike a growl, "Now, you listen here—"

"Sherlock! John!"

They turned their heads and Sherlock walked out of the room to the top of the stairs.

"Yes, Mummy?"

"Time to come downstairs!"

Sherlock turned to John. "I'm assuming you heard that."

John nodded, attempting to swallow his anger. This prick.

Sherlock attempted to resist rolling his eyes again. This idiot.

They went downstairs to their parents.

Sherlock and John didn't really listen to anything their parents told them. They talked about boring things, anyway—who was going to be on the guest list, when they were getting fitted for their suits, what color the plates would be, and things of that nature.

"Of course you'd want to show off and have a big affair," John muttered to his parents.

John's parents glared.

Sherlock's parents looked disapprovingly.

Sherlock was amused.

"Listen," Mrs. Holmes said, "the wedding is a month from today. You two will move in together immediately after that."

John's shoulders slumped. "A month?"

"A month."

Sherlock didn't care. In a way, he just wanted to get this whole thing over with. "Where will we live?" he asked.

Mr. Watson smiled, "Well, we figured that you two could choose. Any place in England. It's your choice."

"Oh, letting us choose something in this situation, are you?" John snapped.

"John!" Mr. Watson scolded.

Sherlock smirked. John may have been annoyingly emotional, but he was interesting.

"Well, I think it's time to go," said Mrs. Watson awkwardly. "It's a shame you two couldn't spend more time together, but you'll have other opportunities before you marry."

"We can't leave you alone too long, of course," Mrs. Holmes said casually. "No sex before marriage."

Sherlock felt his cheeks burn and his jaw dropped. "Sex with him?" Sherlock waved his arm in John's general direction. "Please, I have higher standards than that." Which was an absolute lie. John may have been an idiot, but he was attractive. Or, he would be attractive if Sherlock cared about any of that rubbish.

"Don't flatter yourself, bastard" John said lowly, almost dangerously.

Sherlock saw John's hand clench into a fist. "You're very quick to anger, aren't you?"

"You started it!"

"Enough!" Mr. Watson cut in. "It's time to go."

They said their goodbyes and Sherlock and John shook hands roughly with tight smiles.

Six days later, John was lamenting to Mike Stamford about how much of an arse Sherlock was and about the situation in general.

"That's utter shit, mate," Mike agreed. "I knew your parents were controlling, but…"

"I know," John stared at his empty glass. "The nerve of them to get angry because I don't want to do this."

"So, who's the guy?" Mike took a sip of his drink.

"Oh, you probably don't know him. His name is Sherlock Holmes."

Mike chocked. "Sherlock? They're setting you up with Sherlock?"

"You know him?" John looked at Mike in surprise.

"Oh, yeah. He snoops around Bart's a lot."

"He did tell me that," John recalled. "Have you talked to him?"

He nodded. "He's…well, you've met him."

"He's a prick."

Mike snorted. "I wasn't going to be the one to say it, but yeah."

"He made it perfectly clear that our marriage is an arrangement and nothing more," the words tasted sour on John's tongue.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Mike raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"Yeah. I mean, he said that I could go out and cheat on him and he wouldn't care. He even suggested getting a divorce in a few years."

"That sounds like something he would say," Mike smirked. "You seem bothered by it. Do you want to marry him?"

"Of course not!" John looked scandalized.

"Then it seems like he gave you the best solution in this situation."

It was true. Not being committed to Sherlock was the best John could hope for. He knew that, so why had Sherlock's words stung him? Was it the calculated manner in which Sherlock had said them?

"I guess," John said slowly, "it bothers me that he's so unaffected by this. How can he not care?"

"Not everyone is a romantic like you, John," Mike gave him a small smile. "It could be that he just isn't the type to settle down. It seems that way, at least."

"Maybe."

John's phone chimed an alarm. "I actually have to go meet him now. We're going to look for a place to live," he explained with a grimace.

"Good luck," Mike raised his glass with a smile. "Living with Sherlock. Wow. You'll have to tell me what that's like."

John sighed. "Yeah, yeah."

John's parents gave them a list of available houses to choose from. Within two hours they visited all of the homes and had gotten absolutely nowhere.

"That was boring," Sherlock announced while they walked down the sidewalk.

John was trying not to punch him in the face. "I'm not the one who found something wrong with every house we visited!"

"It's not my fault they were all inadequate."

"Look," John grabbed Sherlock's arm (perhaps a bit too roughly) so he stopped walking.

Sherlock shot daggers at John's hand where it touched his arm, but John was unfazed. "We need to pick somewhere. The list my parents gave was just a suggestion. We could go anywhere in the country."

"Really?" Sherlock perked up.

"Yes, didn't you listen to my parents say that?"

"No," he said honestly.

John looked torn between exasperated and amused.

Sherlock suddenly remembered that Mrs. Hudson, a former client, had a flat up for rent in London. "In that case," said Sherlock, "I think I know a place."

"All right, lead the way."

"Okay." Sherlock looked down. "You can stop holding my arm, John."

"Oh," he removed his hand. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

Sherlock led John to Baker Street. "Do you have any reservations about living in a flat?"

"No, not really. We're going to look at a flat? My parents won't be happy about that."

"Which is exactly why we're going to do it."

John grinned, "Absolutely."

Sherlock liked John's willingness to disappoint his parents. In that respect, he was the very opposite of Mycroft. Anyone being unlike Mycroft was good in Sherlock's book.

Sherlock rang the doorbell and Mrs. Hudson answered.

"Sherlock!" she cried and pulled him into her arms.

Sherlock briefly hugged her back. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson." He noticed that she looked much better now that her husband was gone.

"What brings you here?"

"I understand that you're renting out 221B?"

"Oh, yes. Are you thinking about moving in?"

Obviously. Sherlock liked the woman, but she could be so tedious. "Yes, my fiancé and I are looking for accommodations."

"Fiancé?" Mrs. Hudson noticed John for the first time. "Oh, hello!"

"Hello," John smiled.

"Oh Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson put her hand over her heart, "I knew you'd find someone!"

Sherlock felt pleased until John cut in, "No, we're not…It isn't like that."

"It isn't?"

"It's an arranged marriage," John explained.

Sherlock felt strangely hurt that John jumped in to clarify that he wasn't marrying him by choice.

Mrs. Hudson's smile widened. "I can just tell that you two will warm up to each other in time. Come inside, boys. I'll give you a few minutes to have a look at the flat."

221B had awful wallpaper, a sofa and two armchairs near a fireplace, a kitchen table, a refrigerator, a functioning toilet and a shower, and two empty bedrooms. Sherlock thought it was perfect.

"This could be very nice," said John.

"Yes," Sherlock looked around the sitting room once more. "I agree. It's a fine size for two people and it's in London."

"You like London?"

"Life outside of the city is boring."

"True," John nodded. "I never liked life in the countryside. So, how do you know Mrs. Hudson?"

"I helped out with her husband's execution in Florida a couple years back."

"Sorry, you saved her husband from execution?"

"Oh no, I ensured it," he smiled.

John opened his mouth and closed it. He stared at Sherlock with slightly widened eyes. "You go to the morgue and experiment on body parts and you ensure executions. So, what is exactly it that you do?"

Sherlock put his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked on the balls of his heels, biting his lip to fight off a grin. He liked this bit. "I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world."

"Is that like a private detective?"

"No," Sherlock said, disappointed. "When the police's incompetence interferes with solving a case, which is always, they consult me."

"Police let you in on crime scenes?"

"Yes."

"How do they not kick you out?"

"They need me. It helps that I got on the good side of D.I. Lestrade." Sherlock reached into his coat pocket and pulled out Lestrade's ID. "I pickpocket him when he's annoying, see?"

John, to Sherlock's surprise, burst into giggles.

"What?" Sherlock frowned.

"Just, wow. You pickpocket police officers for fun. I'm marrying a madman."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, it is unfortunate for you."

John's giggles died down and he shook his head. "You'll have to tell me about your cases."

"You want to hear about them?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, why wouldn't I?"

John was smiling. It was really the first time Sherlock had seen John fully smile. It was a very nice smile. Sherlock mentally slapped himself. Why did his thoughts suddenly resemble that of a toddler?

Mrs. Hudson knocked on the open door. "So, what do you think? There's another bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

"Of course we'll need two," John said immediately.

"You never know!" Mrs. Hudson grinned cheekily.

John cleared his throat, "Yeah, no."

Sherlock felt a wave of hurt. What, was John really that repulsed of him that he felt the need to clarify that no, he would not be sharing a bed with Sherlock?

"We will be needing two," Sherlock confirmed. "The thought of sharing a bed with him disgusts me."

"Likewise," John smiled brightly and falsely.

Mrs. Hudson's mischievous expression, to Sherlock's discomfort, did not falter. "Sure, dears. Whatever you say. So, you will be moving in?"

Sherlock nodded silently, mulling over the odd feeling in his chest.

Sherlock left John to make arrangements about moving in and he stalked out of the flat with his hands in his coat pockets.

"Sherlock!"

God, what does he want?

"Sherlock," John's voice was closer as he came down the steps.

"What?" Sherlock turned to him.

John shut the door to 221 and crossed his arms. "This isn't going to work."

"What do you mean?"

"This whole," he waved his hand between them, "hostility between us. We're going to be miserable living together. Look, I'm saying that we got off on the wrong foot. We should at least be civil, right?"

"I suppose," he said briskly. He didn't care if he had to live with someone he disliked. He could always ignore John. That wouldn't be difficult.

"I'm trying to be nice," John said.

"The status of our relationship is irrelevant to me," Sherlock sniffed.

John was visibly holding back his anger. "You're not helping."

"I just said—"

"Shut up." John said firmly.

Sherlock's mouth snapped shut on its own accord.

After a beat, John spoke softly, "Can't we be friends?"

"Friends?"

"Yeah, something wrong with that?"

"I…" Nothing would be wrong with that. Nothing at all. Sherlock realized he hadn't said that out loud, so he shook his head.

"Good," John's lips tilted into a half-smile. "We should try to make the best of this." He stuck out his hand. "Friends?"

Sherlock shook his hand. "Friends." John's hand was warm and felt strong. Now that Sherlock was really looking at him, he saw that John looked slightly muscular. What did he look like under his jumpers?

"Sherlock? Hello?"

Sherlock came back to reality. "Yes?"

"I said I'm going now. We have to meet again to get fitted for our tuxes. I'll see you then."

"Yes, goodbye."

And if Sherlock were looking forward to seeing John again, he squashed the thought immediately.

Sherlock and John are so dumb. I love them.

Please review!~