John fidgeted uncomfortably in the chair. How was he supposed to act? What was he supposed to say?
What does anyone say?
Sherlock was still in the bathroom; he had been for the past seventeen minutes. John checked his watch once more.
Why was he so nervous? He berated himself internally. He shouldn't feel nervous over such a silly thing. Sherlock was his flatmate; Sherlock had an alter ego; Sherlock was comfortable acquainting John with his mysterious alter ego. Why shouldn't John be comfortable as well?
He sighed, playing with his sleeve for another minute or two.
A light tapping sounded from the bathroom doorway. John looked up, confused for a moment – there was a woman tapping her knuckles on the doorframe to get his attention, he could swear it was a woman.
Honest to god, it was a woman.
John drew in a breath. "Mystique?" he asked quietly, feeling a more than a little silly.
The woman smiled shyly, and looked down, nodding.
Right, John thought. Mute, Sherlock said. She's not going to say anything.
The woman before him was tall, made even taller by the low black heels that adorned her feet. She wore a low-cut turquoise jumper and a pair of rusty red jeans, under which, John was surprised to see, she actually had curves. For someone as skinny as Sherlock, he reasoned, this was quite an accomplishment. He'd have to ask him how he managed it sometime.
The woman's most prominent feature, however, was the waterfall of red hair that cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves. John cleared his throat, and told himself to stop staring.
"It's good to… to meet you," he said softly, stumbling over his words. Mystique inclined her head with a soft smile. "You look lovely," John blurted out before he could stop himself. He blushed.
Thankfully, Mystique seemed to think it was sweet, and she giggled silently. She looked up, eyes meeting John's.
"Right. Well," John said, scratching his arm. "Would you like to sit?" he asked, gesturing to the sofa. Mystique smiled and gave a small nod before crossing the room and sitting across from his chair.
"I've… I've made tea," John said. "Would you like some?"
Another nod, clearly a 'thank you.'
John flushed, and nearly ran into the kitchen. He poured out the pot into two mugs before he realized that his hands were shaking slightly. He cursed inwardly. This was not part of the plan.
His cross-dressing flatmate was not meant to be attractive, he thought with a grimace. He sighed, shook his head, and took the mugs of tea back into the sitting room. He set the mugs on the coffee table.
Mystique had found a pen and paper pad, much to John's relief, and she was writing something on it. He nodded to himself, satisfied with this development – at least this way they could communicate.
After a moment or two of scratching on the pad, Mystique handed the paper back to John. He read it, then blinked. He read it again.
Sherlock's told me a lot about you.
He ran a hand through the back of his hair. "Um. That's… good? Is that good?" he asked, with a feeble laugh to cover his unease.
Mystique pulled the corner of her mouth up into a wry grin. She took the pen and pad back and once more began to write.
He and I are different, it read. You must understand that.
She passed it back to John, who read it and nodded. "I can see that," he murmured, a bit to himself.
I'd like to get to know you, John, the next note said, after another moment or two. Would you like that as well?
John met Sherlock's – no, Mystique's – eyes, and with a shy smile of his own, nodded his assent. "Yes, I… I think I'd like that very much, Mystique."