Chapter 3

And finally Sherlock had looked up at John. And John repeated his question.

'So you can lipread, right?'

John held Sherlock's gaze. With a frustrated frown Sherlock thrust out his right hand, palm down, fingers splayed and waggled it from side to side, his lips pursed and shoulders slightly hunched. Ok. Alright. Ish.

'You're alright...' John began. But Sherlock was now looking away from him staring down at his hand where he still held it in front of his chest, his gaze flicked back to John's face, and his upper lip curled as he saw John had started speaking.

John stuttered to a halt. 'Sorry. Sorry.' He muttered, both hands outstretched towards Sherlock .

'Sorry. Right. Ok.'

Taking a slightly fortifying breath in he lowered himself carefully down onto the armchair, which was positioned opposite the sofa Sherlock lay stretched out on. He thumped the cushion behind his lower back and hooked his cane over the arm of the chair before looking up and meeting cool, grey eyes dead-on.

'Sorry. ' John repeated. Sherlock inclined his head slightly. Forgiven thought John. Then watching Sherlock's face for a reaction he spoke his next words carefully, 'You can lipread fine.'

Sherlock mouth opened and his hands started to come up.

'Right. Not fine.' John amended quickly. 'You can lipread as well, as anyone can lipread.'

A raised eyebrow.

'Ok you can lipread better than most people. But lipreading isn't easy...it's not exact.'

Sherlock stared back impassively, though there was a faint crease between his eyebrows. John continued.

'And signing is better, if the other person can sign...as well as you do?'

Sherlock inclined his head slightly.

'And writing is...ok?'

Sherlock responded with several quick and fluid. The meaning of each sign was lost on John but he translated it roughly as 'I prefer to text.' He snorted at that. 'You like to make me text you mean.' Sherlock's eyes flicked back and forth across John's face and the crease between his eyebrows deepened. John clumsily mimicked back what he presumed was the sign for text, pointed at himself and rolled his eyes.

'Soooo...' Continued John 'You and I are going to need to work this out. How you and I can communicate. How we can communicate better. Because we need that if we're going to be flatmates. So you need to help me with that Sherlock. Ok?' John's voice tapered off at the end and he hoped his meaning was understood.

Sherlock just stared back for a moment, then wet his lips, John almost thought he might speak. But instead all John got was a sniff and a twitch of the lips before Sherlock's gaze was once again tracing patterns on the ceiling. John decided this meant yes.

'Right.' John said, taking to himself as he levered himself up, out of the chair with a grunt. 'I'll see you when you next need a text message sending.' On his way pass he thumped the side of his sofa with his cane.

'One sugar John.' Sherlock's softly rounded voice called out.

Lipreading wasn't an exact science, but apparently the international thump for 'I'm putting the kettle on. Fancy one?' was well understood in 221B Baker Street.