Now this is a proper, long chapter, isn't it?
Please, let me know what you think, cause I had to summon a minor demon to write this fic, and he drunk all my coffe, so I need to know if it was worth it.
CHAPTER 2: I Won't Leave Any Doubt Or Stone Unturned.
Two days after that evening, John decided to pop over to see Sherlock – he hadn't visited him in a while – and almost had a heart attack, after having the door opened by a tiny, black haired girl, dressed only in a black, silky bathrobe. After the initial shock he realized he knew her from somewhere, and after a couple more minutes, came to the conclusion that she was in fact a new clinical psychiatrist at St. Bart's, and he'd seen her in the canteen a couple of times. He vaguely remembered that he'd considered her very pretty, but certainly not his type, and rather intimidating, as she never seemed to talk to anyone and moved with a natural grace and self-confidence one could only be born with.
But why she was now standing in the door of 221b dressed only in a bathrobe was for John inconceivable.
"Oh, hello." She said, her voice sharp and low, a bit unusual for a young woman, but pretty nonetheless. "John Watson, right? I suppose we haven't been introduced properly yet. Rose Lilac Breathless. And Sherlock is still asleep, I'm afraid. Or whatever he's doing locked in his room."
"Er, hi." John was more than a bit lost. "Nice to meet you...Rose. Your name is pretty...flowery, huh?"
"What can I say." She shrugged, inviting him in, "My parents were way too imaginative for their children's good. My sister's name is Violet Amaryllis. I'm the luckier one there. Do you want some tea or whatever?"
"No, thank you." John looked around, still lost. Rose put the kettle on and busied herself with preparing tea. John realized she'd taken two mugs out of the cupboard, one of them Sherlock's and another black with a picture on it that John had never seen before.
"Sit down, I'll be back in a minute." She smiled, and then knocked on Sherlock's bedroom door.
"Wake up, sunshine!" She yelled. "John's here!"
John just sat and stared at her in disbelief. Surely she wasn't dating Sherlock?
It was impossible, John was pretty sure his ex-flatmate was as asexual as it was possible to be, he never saw him even looking at any woman – or man – like that. Of course there was Irene Adler, but it wasn't like that, was it? She was simply fascinating to him as a person, as a case, not as a sexual object. So was John, for that matter. Not that he didn't try. He did, he very much did, but after all of his little hints and flirtatious glances were firmly dismissed, he just gave up.
And he was happy. With Mary, who was soon going to give birth to their little girl.
Anyway, what was this intimidating, flowery-named young woman doing there? She seemed very comfortable and was acting so confidently like it was her own home...
Sherlock's bedroom's door opened, and the detective emerged from inside, yawning, and breaking John's train of thought. Meanwhile, Rose positioned herself in another chair, making John realize that his old chair had disappeared and had been replaced by a black, velvet one. Sherlock sat – or rather fell – onto the couch, not sparing him a single glance.
John, feeling surreal and weir, and simply wrong took place in Sherlock's chair.
Rose was sipping on her tea, watching them over her long, charcoal lashes, her long, pale as chalk legs bent. Her robe was pulled back a little bit and to his surprise John saw net of thin, short scars all over her thighs, a couple of shades paler than her almost white skin.
She saw his look, and cast him dark glare.
"If you'll excuse me," she said, "I'll go and dress more appropriately."
Just as she left – and, at least John hoped, was out of hearing range – he immediately stood up and positively loomed over his friend, whispering sharply. "What the hell, Sherlock?!"
The detective stood up, slowly, still yawning, and took his cup from the counter.
"Rose. My new flatmate. Don't be obtuse, John."
"Your new...your what?" John frowned.
"Flatmate. Don't make me repeat myself."
"But why?"
"Well, since you are so wrapped up in your family life, I considered it appropriate to find myself someone to share the rent with." Sherlock shrugged.
"How the fuck did you find her?"
"She's my... friend." Sherlock hesitated a bit, which made John suspicious.
"Your friend." He repeated. "I thought you didn't have friends?"
The detective shrugged again.
John sighed, his long-suffering sigh he should have had patented by now.
"Where do you know her from?" He asked.
Was it his imagination, or did Sherlock blush a little?
"Sherlock?" He repeated patiently.
"We've been to rehab together." Sherlock blurted out.
John breathed in through his nose and breathed out through his mouth, just like Ella was teaching him. Then he repeated the process. Twice.
"Excuse me." He said. "Could you repeat that? Cause for a second I thought that you said you know her from fucking rehab."
Sherlock avoided his eyes, and kept silent.
"Jesus, Sherlock, you're living with another sodding addict now?" John was on the verge of a mental breakdown. "Are you back on drugs? How long has it been?"
"I'm not!" The detective snapped. "She's clean now. So am I, I assure you."
"Forgive me for not believing you." John said sarcastically. "How long has she been clean? A month? She's too fucking young to..."
"To what?" A cold, calm voice interrupted him. Rose was standing in the door, dressed in black jeans and black, silk button-down, buttoned all the way up to her neck. Her dark hair was tied into a knot on top of her head. "I've been clean for 7 years, just for your information, Dr Watson. If you were curious, I'm 27 now." She took place in her chair, and continued calmly. "I work as a clinical psychiatrist, I have shifts twice a week. I'm not married, and I don't intend to be. My criminal record is nothing but clean, and the worst crime I can say I commit is fucking smoking." Her voice trailed to the verge of threatening. "So please, if you would be so kind, don't talk about me behind my back. I believe Sherlock is a grown man and can easily make his own decisions himself."
John looked at her, quite impressed. And, being the polite man that he was, he apologised.
"I'm sorry. I must admit I..."
"I'm glad we have that settled." She waved her hand dismissively. "Now, I assure you that there won't be any cocaine involved. You can sleep peacefully. All I intend to do here is live and pay half of the rent. And, I suppose, buy milk. Also, I promise not to be a threat to your hopeless crush on this man." She pursed her lips, as John's ears went bright red.
"She's a doctor, John." Sherlock said, his voice as disinterested as it could possibly be.
"A bloody good one." She added.
"And I need someone here now that you're...away." He rolled his eyes. "I am bored."
"As well as I." Rose completed, and, looking John straight in the eye, took a silver cigarette case from the nearby table and lit a thin, long, cherry cigarette, exhaling smoke slowly with her perfect mouth. "And since Sherlock was so nice and asked me to help him on the cases, I believe we'll entertain each other just fine. Now, do we have your blessing, Dr Watson?"
John couldn't help but notice how she switched from calling him by his first name to his surname. She didn't behave so, being all sarcastic, but he realized she must've been really offended by his suspicions over her person.
"I am truly sorry." He said again. "I guess I was just...surprised."
Sherlock's phone buzzed just at that exact minute, cutting off John's explanation. He practically flung himself in its direction, read the text at the speed of light, and exclaimed "Perfect!"
John and Rose both looked at him, asking in perfect unison, "Case?"
"Yes! Oh, I feel like its Christmas!" Sherlock positively glowed with joy, a wide grin spreading over his face. "Double homicide, Lestrade needs us immediately." He rushed to the door, putting on his coat on the way.
Rose followed him, putting on and buttoning her own coat, and letting her hair fall all over her arms. She grabbed her purse on the way, and looked at John expectantly. "Aren't you going?"
"He has you now." John shrugged.
"Oh, come on, you look like he's cheated on you." She rolled her eyes. "Come with us." She urged.
"Rose!" Sherlock exclaimed from the door. "Hurry up!"
She threw the keys to John, who almost dropped them, turned away and went.
And John, because he had feltlike Sherlock had just cheated on him, and also because he was a tiny bit curious, followed soon after her.
Huge thanks to my lovely beta! 3