John seemed to do nothing but surprise Sherlock. Which, of course, made him horribly interesting, which was rare. People never really interested Sherlock, only cases, mysteries, and puzzles. John's whole personality was a puzzle to Sherlock, which interested Sherlock to such a degree that... Well, he wrote a fake note to make sure his boss would send him to John's each time someone was needed.

While in John's house, Sherlock had seen several notes and papers with John's handwriting on it, including his signature.

Sherlock expected, at this point, for John to know that he had done something. From what John had been on the point of figuring out, he was sure that John knew the "mysterious note" was actually written by Sherlock himself. What he didn't expect, however, was that John would deliberately wait until Sherlock had gone home for the day, and go into his work place to speak to his boss.

Sherlock was already well into reading up on cases in the newspaper in his hardly kept up apartment while John was sitting, waiting at the front for a chance to talk to Sherlock's boss. He was just thinking about how impossible it seemed to be that this one man of repair services was so very busy when the man walked out of the office.

"Mr. Watson?" he asked, walking forward with a hand out.

"Ah, yes," John said, standing up and shaking his hand. "Mr...?"

"Henry Weston. Nice to finally meet you. Have you been having more problems with your machine?" he asked as he led them into his office. He offered John a seat and sat down behind his desk.

"Thank you. No, I've been... well, curious about Sh- Ah, Mr. Holmes."

"Ah, yes. I could tell by your note," Henry smiled at John as John grimaced and nodded. There was one thing proven. "He's our newest and had zero experience when he showed up. I'm glad he's been so much help to you!"

"So, you got a note from me. I can't recall, what did it say?"

"You were very impressed with how professional and efficiently Mr. Holmes worked, said somethin' 'bout him being a lil late, but that's expected with traffic and that you didn't really mind it. Oh, and that you'd love to 'ave him if anything else happened to happen." He gave John a nod.

"Yes, right. Can you tell me anything about Mr. Holmes himself? I'm rather-"

"Interested? I can tell." Henry winked at John. "Nothing wrong with that. I was a little iffy on hiring the guy. He looked kinda sketchy and he'd been arrested seven times. But he seems like a nice enough fellow, even if the other workers don' seem ta like him. They keep telling me that they think he's keeping a head in his locker, but that's just completely bonkers." Henry let out a booming laugh that made John jump.

"Yes, he seems like a nice enough man, thank you for telling me." John nodded and stood up.

"You'll be off, then?" Henry grinned, clearly still thinking about how interested John was with Sherlock. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes or snap at the man.

"I will. Thank you for your help." John turned back right before he left, taking a deep breath. "Oh, and my damn washer's broken again."

The next day, Sherlock showed up at work to see a self-satisfied smirk on his boss's face. He narrowed his eyes. He only had it when he was in his office, or when he happened by Sherlock.
This had something to do with John. He hadn't sent in another fake letter, so it was obviously not that. John called. Or stopped by. Stopped by was more likely, given the completely smug look on the man's face. His look said so many things. He approved, he was proud of himself, he "set them up together" believed it was his fault.
Sherlock couldn't hold in a smile as he walked up to John's door yet again. It opened before he even knocked.
"Hi," John simply said, and walked back into the house. Sherlock followed. The house smelled of cinnamon apple and fire, meaning candles. Not one in sight. Sherlock closed the door and walked straight to the kitchen, taking his work jacket off and putting it to the side after putting his tools on the counter.
John simply walked over to his usual standing spot and crossed his arms, leaning against the counter and eying Sherlock carefully.
"Do you have any idea the mess you leave when you're done?" John asked, genuinely curious if he was doing this on purpose just to peeve him off.
"Oh, I do apologize. I didn't realize you hired me as your cleaning lady," Sherlock drawled, not even bothering to look up as he messed with everything in the dishwasher.
"Why did you take this job, anyway?"
"Can't you tell? I love fixing dishwashers. I've dreamt of it since I was merely a little lad with mummy in the kitchen. My brother used to tease me about it, but I got him back by hitting him over the head six… no, seven times with a dish. Damn thing refused to break." John snickered and Sherlock grinned into the dishwasher.
"Speaking of seven, I hadn't realized you were a convict."
"I'd reply with 'I hadn't realized you were a snoop,' but it's rather clear."
"Why were you arrested? Knowing you, you probably had been harassing some pedestrians, right? Telling them all their secrets? I can guess that not everyone enjoys it as I do." Sherlock snorted.
"I was attempting to help the 'detectives' with cases. They've screwed up so many already, I hardly think I was harming anything by giving them shoves in the right direction."
"You got arrested for... what, trying to help?"
"Yes."
"That's just not right. I mean, you're obviously overqualified, just from what I've seen you do already! I know for a fact that if I showed up somewhere with doctors who were way off, I'd be allowed to take over.
"You're a doctor, then?"
"Don't pretend you didn't know that," John replied with a chuckle. Sherlock grinned again. John certainly was different... Interesting. He loved it.
"An army doctor has a lot more credit than a 'consulting detective' who doesn't want to join because it's far too much work to be able to freely do what I already do. I've still been sending them letters, each one in a different hand writing. They've obviously been taking my advice."
"Hm... Well, then why did you take this job?"
"I already said, when I was merely a pup-"
"No, Sherlock," John said, sliding down to sit on the floor so he'd be more at Sherlock's level. Sherlock looked at him, his eyes slightly widened with how intimate the conversation suddenly felt with John just that much closer. "Really. Why not put in the work, rather than this?"
"My flat. I was going to be kicked out. The owner, she adores me, but she can't have me freeloading. I couldn't find a flatmate and it would have taken much too long to actually try for a job in that area. I can hardly afford the place now, as it is."
"Ah. I know how that is." John sighed, looking around. "This place is always falling apart. I'm not too shocked that my washer keeps breaking."
"Would you... possibly want to join me in my flat, then?"
"Isn't that an odd question to ask someone you've just met?"
"People put ads in the paper all the time. It's really a nice place."
"I'll think about it."
They looked at each other for a couple of seconds before Sherlock went back to working on the washer. John stood up, rubbing at his shoulder, and began making some tea for the both of them.
When the tea was ready, Sherlock was finished, but not at all in a rush to head out the door.