Phrase: _ is a Pill (adjective)
Meaning: someone/something "difficult" or hard to get along with
-

Sherlock woke up to the sound of rustling nearby, causing him to shoot up in bed with a start. Upon realizing it was only his new roommate John Watson and not the ghost of Jim Moriarty haunting him at an ungodly hour of morning, he proceeded to lie back down.

"Leaving so soon?" Sherlock asked, clearly uninterested.

"I have a class at 8am. Not really sure where the room is, have to go looking." John replied, hair wet from a shower. His long sleeves rolled up above his elbows, jeans loose, cane at his side.

"What class is it?"

"Experimental Psychology with Jacoby, room 115 in Rosewell Hall."

"Take a left out this room, down the stairs, out the doors, go about 200 feet to the Yates dorms and go around the back of the building, across the grass is the building, third door on your right."

"Have you taken the class before?" John asked, surprised at the ease in which Sherlock gave the directions.

"I only take online classes if I can help it," Sherlock admitted. "But I memorized the campus anyway."

"Why?" John asked, genuinely confused.

"The information may be useful someday. It was useful just now, wasn't it?" Sherlock asked, turning his body away from John in hopes of falling back asleep.

"I'll see you in a couple of hours, then. Want anything for lunch when I'm on my way back?"

"Really?" Sherlock asked, still facing the wall, his eyebrows raised nearly into his hairline. John had asked without a hint of malice or forcefulness, something he was far from used to. He didn't even imply Sherlock had to pay. Actually, now that he thought about it, John had asked a similar thing yesterday. Perhaps it was just a habit for him, Sherlock reasoned.

"Yeah, want anything?"

"Get me whatever you're getting, eating is just sustenance anyhow." He rebutted nonchalantly.

"Right, well, I'll see you then. Have a good morning." John pulled the handle up on his small backpack so it would roll like a suitcase.

"Likewise."

"I'll leave my phone number in case you think of anything. I get out of classes at 2pm, okay?" John assured, so used to justifying his actions to superiors that he didn't realize that to Sherlock's ears it sounded like he was biding his time, asking for permission to leave.

"Go on, you'll be late." Sherlock chided.

John left without a word, closing the door quietly behind him. Sherlock turned back towards John's bed and caught a glimpse of the J in Jim that his former roommate had carved into the wall, half hidden behind the bed. His memories were still clear as day, despite desperately wanting to move on from them. The kid was certifiably crazy, Sherlock knew that much the first time he'd met him.

He fell asleep, and with Jim Moriarty on his mind, remembered the first day he'd met him in vivid detail in his dream.

... Flashback ...

Jim had been walking around orientation with tight pants and a snug shirt, seeming to take turns charming one student to the next trying to find a fit for his needs. He had settled on a mousy girl with a sticker badge that announced her name as Molly Hooper.

Sherlock knew the Molly briefly, she had gotten lost on her way to that very auditorium. She had asked if she could follow him to orientation to which Sherlock shrugged stiffly with a whispered, "Aren't you following me already?"

It was raining and she had even offered to share her umbrella to which Sherlock declined. Molly, in her seemingly infinite kindness, had tried to still hold the umbrella above them both anyway her hurried pace awkward in an effort to keep up behind him. Despite her distracted demeanor, she seemed nice in Sherlock's eyes. She tried to talk to Sherlock but he gave murmured sarcastic answers or shrugged wordlessly. Molly had even told him their talk was "nice" in the doorway of the auditorium before going her own way.

Now she was being whispered to at a poor attempt of using the room-is-too-loud excuse by the human embodiment of a parading peacock. She seemed to light up at the conversation, which set Sherlock on edge. Molly seemed naive, impressionable, and the guy had ulterior motive, his body language oozed with it. Therefore, in a feat unusual to Sherlock, he felt the need go split the two.

"Molly Hooper, is it?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the boy. "We met earlier."

"Sherlock, did you get all your paperwork?" She asked, her attention taken from the boy for a moment.

"I did. Do you have any friends here, Molly?"

"Sure," Molly nodded, smiling, "I know some kids from my high school and some I know of but that I don't know personally."

"Would you introduce me, Molly?" Sherlock asked, eyes never leaving Molly's for the sake of holding her full attention.

She flushed, nodding, motioning Sherlock over to a group talking amongst themselves. Sherlock had felt a boost in ego that she had been captivated by him so completely. So completely, in fact, that she didn't even realize she had left the peacock alone to puff out his chest and seek out another victim. After being at a level of almost-pleasantness at all introductions he eventually brought her aside and informed her of what he saw the boy doing.

"Jim? No, he wouldn't take advantage of me, he seemed sweet." Molly smiled, denying.

"Molly, you misunderstand me. Not taking advantage of you sexually, he had absolutely no interest in you. Based on who he seems to be targeting around this auditorium- he was planning on using you as a free homework slave. If you see- over there, Molly- he is picking shy but intelligent students that he can easily manipulate."

Her face reddened in embarrassment as Sherlock mentioned sex, but lost her shame and became intrigued as he went on, "How does he know who to pick?"

Sherlock looked at Molly, felt himself force down a grin of self-pride as he explained, "It isn't foolproof guessing personality by mannerisms, but if you look at yourself, Molly, and then at the other students you will see similar patterns of behavior. Watching of anywhere but a stranger's eyes, eyes staring intently off into the distance, nail picking and biting, no electronics out for the sake of full absorption of surroundings, clenched jaw, unnatural focus on other people's actions- these are all traits of someone reading a room, whether direct or nonchalant. They're looking for social cues, it's fairly common for those of above-average intelligence to feel the need to mirror the situation in professional settings like this one. Plus some of them have greek academic pamphlets so... that too."

"The part just before that last bit was much more impressive." Molly whispered in a conspiratorial hush. "You should have stopped there."

"Perhaps I should have," Sherlock admitted, a tight smile showing through.

"I'm still very impressed, though." Molly looked up at a college counselor gesturing to the seats. "It is starting now, come sit with me."

Sherlock followed quietly, his tall figure looming behind her, hair still wet from the rain outside. As they sat down, he wicked the rain gathered on his trench coat onto the floor without paying much attention to the speaker.

Close to an hour passed before everyone was released on a tour of school grounds. Molly stuck fast to Sherlock who made cutting quips at each art piece on the lawn and each mural depicting student togetherness. Molly giggled and listened to him with interest. At the end of the tour everyone began to disperse.

"Sherlock, take my number. I think we could be good friends." She grinned, writing down her phone number then presenting it to him on a blue post-it note.

Sherlock took it, watching in confusion as she walked away.

"Sherlock, is it?" the boy whispered, Sherlock already forgetting the boy's name. "I'm Jim Moriarty, from before."

Sherlock responded with a suspicious glare.

"I'm not happy that you took her from me. In fact, I am quite furious." Moriarity's eyes darkened as his expression changed in an instant, his jaw tight and nostrils flaring. "If you intend to use her, why not share her? Hm?"

"I do not share anything, nor is she mine to share. Piss off." Sherlock strode by him, going in the direction of his dorm where he already dropped off his things.

Jim Moriarty smiled to himself, turned on his heel and headed towards his car. He did enjoy his games, and Sherlock seemed a worthy playmate, for now.

A chill ran down Sherlock's spine, but he wasn't sure why. He would later recall it as the exact moment he recognized as the subconscious start of his life going downhill at a breakneck pace.

... Flashforward ...

Sherlock's eyes shot open and to his phone as he woke with a start, taking it up in his hands. He rubbed his eyes with one of them to wake up enough to text Molly. He'd nearly forgotten she made plans to come over sometime that afternoon to see how his experiments were coming along.

I have a new roommate. He was in Afghanistan. He is sleeping in Moriarity's bed. Do you have a spare mattress?
-SH

Molly responded almost immediately, messages popping in with quick succession.

In his?

Why?

When did this happen?

Are you okay?

My parents might, do you need anything else?

Sherlock rolled his eyes, a familiar sigh of exasperation escaping his lips.

I'm fine. That's all I need. Why can't you send that all at once? You know it irritates me when you text like that.
-SH

The response this time took longer, long enough for Sherlock to get up, shower, change clothes, and begin checking his experiments.

Sorry, this is just a lot. I know I'm still not over Jim's death, so I can't imagine what you must be feeling. How is he? Your roommate? Is he nice? Does he know about him?

Sherlock sighed, finishing his checks before responding.

He doesn't know. He is a new student. He may be bringing me food after his classes, they end at 2.
-SH

Molly responded within the minute.

Can I meet him?

Sherlock looked over at John's things, then the bed, before replying yes back to Molly. She responded she'd be over at about 2 so she could meet him, promising to see him later.

Sherlock's eyes lingered on the lack of things John owned and he felt disappointed. He couldn't place just why, he just knew it felt wrong to him. John seemed to be missing something and his lack of possessions made it clear whatever it was wasn't with him.

He remembered how John's voice had weakened when he mentioned his uniform. Perhaps that was all he didn't have with him, maybe that was all that was coming. Although he was fond of his fair share of snooping, he felt a sense of guilt as he unpacked John's bag.

The first thing he noticed was John had only partially unpacked last night, probably because of tiredness. The sets of clothes rolled small made him pause. It was used to pack more in, but the clothes still only took up less than half of the bag, looking in the drawer there was only a couple of shirts and pants. Sherlock unpacked the ones in the bag into the dresser, a sorry excuse for a reason to be going through John's bag, but a reason he could explain away as being socially-inept. It had worked before.

Under the clothes was a rolled up jacket, pulling it out he noticed Watson stitched on the front. The material felt course under his fingers, pulling the material to his nose he smelled a smorgasbord of unidentifiable overlapping smells, the few he recognised being cigarette smoke, musty dampness, and disinfectant. He let a shaky breath out of his nose, hanging up the coat in the shared closet, putting it on John's side. He wondered if John planned on washing it, or if he wanted the smell the same, to keep the memory alive.

He glanced at the clock from his spot on the floor, the ticking a lulling sound to his mind, it was noon. He dove back in to the bag, catching sight of something gleaming at the bottom. Reaching his hand inside the bag he brought out a pocket watch. Turning it in his hands, he began to read the inscription when the door opened and John entered with a shocked expression at seeing Sherlock digging through his things.

"Sherlock. What are you doing in my bag?" John stepped closer, dropping his rolling backpack to snatch the watch out of his hand. "That, is an invasion of my privacy."

"I was putting your clothes away for you," Sherlock gestured to the single jacket hanging in the closet. "You're back early."

"My class was cancelled."

"Very unprofessional to miss the first day of a new semester, even if only a half semester class." Sherlock continued, watching John's hand which slowly clenched tighter on the watch.

"His daughter was in a minor accident- now why did you go through my bag?" He yelled, noticing the door was open behind him and slamming it shut.

"I assume an apology won't suffice." Sherlock leaned sideways against the bedframe of John's bed. His expression betrayed his lack of guilt.

"You don't seem like the apologizing type."

"That is true," Sherlock admitted. "I wanted to know your story. There is only so much to tell from our few hours of knowing each other."

"So, therefore, you feel privy to go through my personal belongings, is that it?" John's face began to get more and more red with frustration, noticing he was squeezing the watch he shoved it in his pocket and sat on his "futon" with a huff.

"Do you not understand why I am angry?" John asked, voice pinched with a mix of fury and disbelief.

"Not really, all I did was put your clothes away. Not like there is anything of interest in here. Except the pocket watch, maybe. It's not yours, likely your father's or brother's because the-"

"It's my sister's, it was a graduation gift. Never, ever, go through my stuff again. Are you clear on that?" John's voice flattened, calmed. As though he was barking orders.

"Clear." Sherlock nodded, a ghost of a smile appearing at the stern voice taken with him. "I have someone coming over at two, she wants to meet you."

John blinked a few times, confused at the sudden change in conversation. "Okay?"

"She's bringing a mattress. Her parents may have a spare."

"A spare mattress?" John asked, looking at his sad excuse for a mattress he used last night. "Where do they have one of those lying around?"

"Her parents do renovations on houses. According to Molly, the people they buy their supplies from give them bulk items sometimes. Furniture items included." Sherlock looked at the clock again 12:45. "If you want, I can see if she could get here earlier."

"No, that's fine." John muttered, "Anyway, I got us both sub sandwiches."

"Thank you, John." Sherlock took the sandwich from John's hand as he took it from his school bag. "What is in it?"

"I ordered the same as I got, not sure of your preferences, it's a ham and cheese sub." John got his own sandwich out and beginning to munch on it. "So... Who's Molly?"

"She's the one who wants to meet you, I just said that a moment ago." Sherlock mumbled around a half-mouthful of sandwich.

"I mean, who is she to you? Like is she your girlfriend, or?"

"Oh no," Sherlock chuckled absently, "Not Molly."

"Then you have a girlfriend, but not Molly?" John asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Ah, no. Not really my area. Would you like a water? I have some in the mini fridge." Sherlock asked, setting the wrapped sub on the dresser before getting to the fridge to grab a bottled water.

"No, I'm fine. So you have a boyfriend, then?" John asked, trying to make conversation.

Sherlock paused, a confused expression momentarily crossing his features, taking a sip from the bottle. "No. I don't."

"Oh, okay." John nodded along, finishing the last bit of his sandwich and throwing the wrapper in the bin.

A light bulb seems to go off in his head as he returns to his sitting place across from John, trying to take on a understanding tone. "John, uhm, I think I should make you aware that my experiments and my degree are my top priority right now and while I'm, uh, flattered by your interest, I-"

"Oh, uh, I wasn't asking- I was just... making c-conversation. You know, break the tension." John stumbled over his words, shock evident on his face.

"Right." Sherlock responded, his phone giving off the sound of an 8 bit sound effect that John couldn't readily recognize. Once he checked the message, he headed towards the door, rolling up his dress sleeves. "That's Molly, I need to help her get the mattress in the elevator. If that weasel Anderson tries to come in here tell him I still have the pictures of him and his married lover in throes, so to stay away. If Lestrade tries to come over, tell him to get his ass downstairs and help me with the mattress. We won't be long."

"Sure," John nodded, thankful that even though Sherlock was not openly acknowledging it, he was being kind to John in his own way. "Shoo away Anderson, tell Greg to help."

"Greg?" Sherlock scowled, "You mean Lestrade?"

"Yes, Sherlock, that is his name."

"His name is Lestrade." Sherlock corrected.

"Yeah, his surname is. His first name is Greg." John countered.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, distrusting. "If I yell out the name Greg, he will come running?"

"Yes, I'm sure." John smiled, amused.

"GREG!" Sherlock screamed.

"What?!" Lestrade jumped out of his room shirtless in his boxers.

"So your name is Greg, then." Sherlock said aloud, amused at his disheveled appearance. "Help me get this mattress into the elevator, Lestrade. Can't keep Molly waiting."

"Yeah, okay, let me get some shorts on. Be down in a sec. Hey, John." Greg waved, clearly having been roused from a midday nap.

"Heya, Greg. Sorry about that. I would help, but my leg-."

"Go on in, John. Make room for whatever he is bringing up. Molly will probably be up soon. Sherlock won't let her lift it, she hurt her arm a while back at her job. Most she could do is guide with her other arm."

Greg smiled from the open door, pulling on basketball shorts and closing the door behind him, heading downstairs. Anderson poked his head out the room next to Lestrade's and hissed for them to quiet down. John relayed Sherlock's message in air quotes, Anderson quietly closing the door without so much as a peep.

The boys came up soon after with a perky, smiling redhead with a cast on her left arm taking lead. "You must be John Watson." Her slight lisp caught on his last name, "I'm Molly Hooper."

The boys put the mattress inside, passing the two and working together in silence to put on the sheets.

"John, Sherlock does not claim to have friends, but I consider him to be one of my best friends. Do not do to him what Jim did. He said you don't know, but when he tells you I just want you to know that he is sensitive. He may not act like it, but he cares deeply about the people close to him. Do not take his cutting words at face value, he doesn't always understand the harm in what he says and does."

"So I have seen," John muttered, thinking back to the watch in his jeans pocket. "What happened to Jim?"

"You'll find out soon enough." Molly whispered, inviting Greg to stay and play monopoly with them.

"The game is strategy and luck, two things I am terrible at, but thanks." Greg laughed and exited the room.

They sat in a triangle, playing monopoly with a fairly bored Sherlock. He always lost first when playing with Molly, never getting the gist of the game itself. Sherlock's eyes wandered to Jim's name carving again and he looked at the made bed with a sense of relief. Hopefully, John would hang up posters and the room would look like Moriarity was never there.