Sherlock's rejection echoed through the halls, bouncing off the concrete and repeating itself, over and over, quieter and quieter. The rumbled of the cars above was the only sound after the echo finished. The members of the force all looked agitated, Dimmock more than the rest. "Psycopath..." He breathed, rolling his eyes as he kept his arms crossed, his glare still fierce.

"No? What do you mean no?" Gregory scoffed, looking around at the other officers. "You do know it is a privilage to be offered a spot in Scotland Yard. You don't just say-"

"No?" Sherlock interuptted. "Well I did just use the word, didn't I, detective inspector. Fancy that." He chuckled bitterly, rolling his eyes and taking another long drag of smoke.

Sally was getting antsy. "We're wasting our time." She groaned, looking around at the others. "Let's go."

Sherlock watched her with a quirked eyebrow, scoffing slightly. "Give me time, dear Sally. Be patient." He said, the smoke blowing out of his mouth with each word, dancing up and out of their view, eventually disappearing into the ceiling. "I may agree to work with... These people... Under a few conditions."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow at him. "Conditions? Are you trying to negotiate with us, Sherlock Holmes?" He asked, actually considering. This guy may have been acting like a pain, but he definitely was making sense.

"Yes. I am, in fact." He nodded, wiping his runny nose on his dirty coat sleve. "As you can see, I live down here with my people. The homeless network, as I have already stated. We are practically a family, living together." He said slowly. "This is my habitat. And as much as it is /great/ to live among the dirt and diseases," sarcasm leaking through his voice, "it would be a bit nice to actually have a place to stay that keeps me safe and gurantees an actual reliable souce of nutrition."

All of the Yarders cocked their heads to the side. "So, like a homeless shelter?" The head detective asked, shrugging.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking away for a moment. "I've been to every homeless shelter within a four hour walking distance. They're disgusting. Have you ever been in one? And I'm not just saying that because they've kicked me out." He shrugged.

Dimmock furrowed his brow. "So what exactly /are/ you suggesting, Mr. Holmes."

"Do you really need me to spell it out for you?" He asked, sighing dramatically. "An actual home where I can stay and be fed and have indoor plumming."

Greg looked from Sally to Dimmock to the two officers that were standing warily to the back of them. "So... Would being, like, a flatmate, with... Me, per say, count as an actual home?"

Sherlock blew the smoke out into his left sleeve as he coughed loudly. "That would suffice very well." He nodded, taking deep breaths.

Michael looked shocked. "Are you seriously considering taking in this maniac to your home? Really?" He said to Greg, not even caring to hush himself because Sherlock was there.

The man leaning against the wall as he puffed out another breath of smoke shrugged, taking no offence.

"I really am, yes. Would we have solved this case without him? No. If this is the only way for him to join Scotland Yard, then by god, I'm going to use it."

"Woah, woah." Sherlock frowned, holding out one hand. "I'm still not going to /join/ Scotland Yard. I'm going to help out as best as I can, but I refuse to be considered a Yarder." He shook his head.

Lestrade sighed. "Fine. That works with me. You get shelter, food, and indoor plumming, while we get information on murders. Perfectly sound." He didn't get why, but it seemed like trusting this man was the way to go. As for Dimmock, he found Sherlock practically repulsive.

Sherlock held out a hand for him to shake, Gregory taking it and shaking it firmly. "Great. I guess we'll leave now." He nodded, looking at all of the agitated officers before they walked out, a large, proud grin emerging onto Sherlock's face as they turned around.

{=-=}

Sherlock walked into the unfamiliar house, looking around. It had a friendly feel to it. It was a small town house, already three people full. Now there'd be a fourth. The walls were painted a dark green colour, wall paper up to hip height. It was a brown and white pattern, what looked to be some sort of flower repetition. There were mirrors on the walls with a gold frame around each, a large carpet on the floor. He looked up the stairs, seeing toy trains lining them. /Married, one boy child. Obvious small amounts of attention given to said child./ He thought to himself, following him into the welcoming kitchen through the

The cooking area was obviously desinged by the DI's wife. It was a light green colour on the walls, tan tile as a backsplash. He could see that the whole house was practically woman's work. The DI didn't seem like the type to have a rooster themed kitchen. On the window sill, there was a large sculpture of a rooster. The cookie jar next to the fridge was a rooster. One of the paintings on the wall was a rooster. He looked around with a frown, but decided this was better than the dirty and damp underground. He looked into the den area which had a large, black leather sofa to one wall, a flat screen telly on the other. The walls were a deep red and had different paintings of the country side. There was a small play area in one corner, but definitely not large enough for a child.

"So this is my home." Gregory said from behind him, causing Sherlock to flinch slightly before turning around. "Very lovely." He said plainly, feeling unfit to the house because of the dirty rags that were hanging off of him. "My wife is going to be coming home soon, and she isn't really too keen on the idea of you staying here. I would like you to maybe take a shower and try to wash off the smell of sewer and smoke from you." He said, hoping he'd comply.

Greg and his wife were not the happiest of couples. Yes, they tolerated each other and could at least live together without being at each other's throats all the time. There were traces of dents in the walls where plates had been thrown. They had a child and they supported each other, and that's what counted in their mind.

His wife was a secratary at a landscaping buisness. She worked long hours, same as her husband. They both made a fair amount of money to keep them afloat, but barely had enough time for their child, Lewis.

"Alright." Sherlock nodded. If he didn't desperately need a shower, and desperately wanted one, he would have said no. Just to get on the person's nerves. But he hadn't had a proper wash in months, and he was dying for one. "Where's my room?"

Lestrade headed out of the room to the foyer. "Follow me." He said, Sherlock trailing behind in the unfamiliar corridor.

They walked up the stairs, both of them stepping over the toys and different items that were on the stairs. "Your room is right next to Lewis's. My son. He's seven." He said, looking into his room.

The child's room was a dark blue with beige carpet. As anyone that wasn't blind could tell, he was obviously very into Doctor Who. There were multiple stuffed animals on the bed, ranging from Daleks, to Adipose, to the TARDIS. The bed sheets were made to look like the TARDIS doors.

Greg lead him into the room next to it. It was obviously made to be a guest bedroom. Sherlock walked in slowly, taking it all in. The walls were a dark brown, oak furniture to match it. Two windows were placed in the wall opposite of the door, draped with light green curtains. The bed was placed against the same wall the door was, with matching sheets to the draperies. The carpet was white, but discoloured in multiple places. There was another door that was a crack open, apparent to be the bathroom.

"This is your room, yeah." Greg said, leaning against the door frame as he watched Sherlock. "The loo's right through there, has a shower in there, a couple towels in there, and a tooth brush. Just the bare nessecities."

Sherlock nodded, opening up the door slightly with his bony hand. "This works." He breathed, taking off his coat which was ripped in several places, and threw it onto the bed. "Not very sorry to ask for so much, but clothing. I very highly doubt you'd want me around your wife and Lewis in the state I am in." He said, gesturing to his dirtied clothes.

Greg furrowed his brow, twisting his lips to the side. "Well, we'll go shopping tomorrow for some things, then." He said, running a hand through his graying hair.

The raggedy man walked into the bathroom completely now. "I'll just need some clothes to use for the night and tomorrow, then." He said to the other man, closing the door.

{=-=}

Sherlock watched as the water turned brown as it ran down his body, disappearing into the drain. It felt great to shower. You never knew what a privilage it was to have plumming until it was gone. He ran his hands through his soapy hair, rinsing out the dirt and grime. He forgot what colour his hair really was.

Once he had finished scrubbing ever inch of his body of the caked on mud, he got out and felt relieved. He wrapped a towel around himself that he got off of the back of the door. He stood in front of the mirror that was above the sink and frowned. He hadn't looked at himself in a true mirror in what seemed like weeks. He could see his ribs and his collar bone clear as day. His arms were practically just tooth picks. His hair was curly instead of matted, now. It was a strange feeling to be actually, completely and utterly, clean.

He dried himself off completely and walked into his bedroom, seeing a pair of dark jeans and a t-shirt on the bed next to a pair of pyjama bottoms. He scoffed at the casual wear, rolling his eyes. Even for wearing the clothing he had been for the past few years, it was better than that. Reluctantly, he pulled on the clothes and felt the cleanliness of them, smelling the fabric softener. He would never fully admit it, but he was forever greatful to the DI and his family for accepting the homeless man into their home. He knew it would take a bit of getting used to, but it'd work.

"Why did you even bring a bum into our house, Gregory?!" A feminine voice yelled down the stairs and in the kitchen. "I thought you were kidding!"

"Obviously not, Laura! He's a great man. He needed a home, and we needed information at the Yard!" Lestrade, obviously, yelled back.

Sherlock sat down on the bed, his hands in his lap as he heard the two people yell at each other. He flinched slightly at their booms that echoed throughout the house, trying to drown them out. He heard the door to his room open slowly and creak, small footsteps cautiously stepping on the floor.