Sorry for the break fanfic wanderers, this fic just got too emotional as well as the fact SEASON 4 IS SOOOOON

Wssh Chapter 3

Sherlock's Holmes's studio was definitely not what John had been expecting, that was for sure.

For starters, it was a little flat on the upper floors of a house on Baker Street, not the penthouse in Chelsea he'd been expecting.

Secondly it was dusty, cluttered and smelled like hot glue. His small sitting room was crowded with fashion magazines spilling over every flat surface. His blackened fireplace looked like it was used often, and he spotted half charred cut outs of different outfits, poking out of the ashes.

There was a skull on the mantel piece.

John found himself transfixed by it. It stood out, glinting in the ring lights that were dotted around the room.

He had a few fangirl skulls of his own. Maybe that would be a good thing to do with them.

Don't you dare the angel on his shoulder hissed.

"Who's that?" John asked as Sherlock flung his iconic coat carelessly on one of two armchairs, revealing a sleek in-season suit.

Sherlock glanced up through his dark curly locks.

"Oh, an old friend," he frowned, "well when I say friend-"

"Sherlock, you got foundation all over my sinks again, next time I won't be cleaning it up I'm not your-oh who's this?"

John span round to find himself face to face with a small fashionably dressed woman.

"John this is Mrs Hudson, my secretary, landlady and not housekeeper. Mrs Hudson, this is John Watson the new addition to the Wssh agency. He'll be staying with us from now on."

I was? John felt an unexpected thrill of excitement run through him. Living with the Sherlock Holmes. Wow…

No John this is a working relationship the angel on his shoulder interjected.

Sooooo the devil slouched on his other replied, you never know…

"Well there's an extra room upstairs, if you'll be needing two."

John felt his jaw drop, his mental fantasies slipping into reality.

"Ah no, I'm-I'm-" well no, that would be a lie, his mind scrambled for another answer, "he's not my type."

All of a sudden, he wanted to sink through the floor. Why couldn't Sherlock have lived in a swamp.

They were both staring at him disbelief in their eyes.

"I- "

Of course Sherlock was his type, he was everyone's type.

"Bring us tea, Mrs Hudson, would you?" Sherlock interrupted, no longer looking at him.

Mrs Hudson snorted, "Not your housekeeper."

Sherlock sighed, beginning to close the door. "That's right you're a flamingo dancer."

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson began to retort but the tall model had already slammed it in her face.

"Come." He ordered turning away and heading into the kitchen.

John felt like a bichon fries, or a well-trained hedgehog as he followed him. Maybe he should have brought his costume.

"This is where I work." Sherlock spread his arms like the Angel of the North, but his blue eyes remained fixed on his face as if waiting for judgement.

The kitchen table was covered in what looked like lab equipment, while 3 mannequins stood around the room half clothed.

"It's nice." And it was, compared to other studios he'd seen that labelled themselves with hipster terms such as minimalistic, eco-friendly, and this-is-a-school-sir-get-out, it really was fashionable and aesthetically pleasing.

Sherlock nodded, expressionless but John thought he seemed pleased.

"I'll show you your room then." Sherlock began to turn.

"Why is there science equipment on your table." John had found his eyes drawn back to t.

Sherlocked stilled, hand resting on the door frame.

"You-you don't want to know." His voice was lower than before, edged with a never-ending sadness as unmeasurable as there are drops of water in the sea.

John, moved by his tone stepped forward and placed a hand on his taunt shoulder.

"I do."

Sherlock turned to face him, head angled down to look him in the eye.

"It's part of my tragic backstory." He whispered.

"I don't care." Their lips were inches apart. The tiniest movement and-

Sherlock averted his eyes, stepping back.

"I-I wanted to be a detective when I was younger. I was smart, really smart." The words rushed out of him, his shame obvious. " And though my grades were extraordinary, no college would accept me. Not one. Especially not when they heard what I wanted to study. I tried other methods, going to Scotland Yard itself, but the result was the same." His fists clenched at his sides. The wound so obviously still fresh.

"But why."

Sherlock shook his head, a cold laughing erupting from his tightly pressed lips, like a seal going after a penguin about to go for a swim in the Artic.

"Isn't it obvious?" He gestured at himself. "My attractiveness is god-level. My cheekbones like blades. My skin porcelain. My hair the colour of raven's wings but as soft as a cherub's. My eyes are the colour of the unpolluted parts of the Mediterranean Sea, and they are shadowed by lashes that would make any mascara selling company cry because it would put them out of business. They didn't want me to get hurt. I was too beautiful."

And it was true, so very true.

"But I haven't given up, one day, when this is done, I will work in law enforcement. I'll show them all. And look hot as the fourth circle of hell while doing it." The latter part at least would be true, Sherlock's new illuminati line had come out only last month.

With that John's new partner turned and headed towards what was presumably his bedroom. Forgetting to show John to his own.

So I'll have something from Moriarty next chapter, maybe even Seb in you're interested. Or even better some fanatic fans for John to fight off with a baseball bat while on the set of a zombie movie. Spooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiillleeeeeeeeeeersss.