Wake up. Brush teeth. Get dressed. "And I'm off," I said to myself.

"I'll see you when you get back," Sherlock said from his chair in the sitting room.

I stopped in my tracks and had to do a double take. Having someone else live with me. I haven't had that since I lived with my parents.

Knowing that someone will be here when I get back made my day really exciting.

I opened up shop and made myself coffee. With a smile on my face I looked around and noticed how bland and boring my book shop was. Should I paint? Maybe I could do a mural.

Sherlock could sell his art here! That would be cool! Right? He is so handsome and talented, he could sell pictures of himself and they would fly off the shelves. Maybe I'll just advertise the coffee. I went in the back room and found a chalk board and my chalk was in a box near the pens.

"Coffee half off with any book!" I wrote in that classic coffee shop writing.

Honestly the bell rang a bit more once I put the sign out. But Hamish didn't come today.

When I come home I brought more of my stuff and I was excited for dinner with Sherlock tonight. As I opened the door I heard two violins playing together quite peacefully.

Reaching the top step one of the violins slipped and then the other stopped. "It's alright," said Sherlock in his deep voice, "You're getting better. Practice and it should be there this time next week."

I opened the door and Sherlock was standing in a much cleaner flat with a boy no older than 12 and a violin in his hand. "Thank you," he said then left the flat.

Sherlock turned and placed his violin in it's case. "You sounded really good," I said as I put the box down.

Sherlock turned to me not realizing that I came home. "Oh thank you John."

I looked around and the flat seemed so bare now. "Where's all of the... Art?"

Sherlock, in a button down and skinny jeans, put his violin carefully away in its case, "I teach violin and piano on Wednesdays and Thursdays so the art is in a different room." I tripped over a stack of paintings but caught myself. "Most of the art is in a different room."

He came to my side and helped me with the boxes. "Sorry I have so much stuff," it was mostly books and photos of Hamish and I, and my army days.

"I have dinner ready if you're hungry so we can start talking about our... Arrangement."

Arrangement? I mean, an agreement sure.

Before we sat down with Italian food that was very obviously ordered Sherlock took off his button down so that he was just in a black wife beater to show his arm tattoos, "Sorry, I hate wearing those."

"Those?"

"Shirts," he got seated, "In order for me to understand my art I need to know who you are," he started as he pulled out a legal pad and a pen. "What's your biggest fear?"

"That's a big first question," I had to think. I was so distracted by his art. His entier left hand up to his elbow was tattooed with each bone but the bones were stopped by a thick bar. "If you asked me about 15 years ago I would have said getting shot and dying-"

"Why is that?" He asked as he wrote something down and only stoped to lick the pen witch his pierced tongue when the ink stopped flowing.

"Well I was in the army."

He slowly stopped writing and looked at me, "Im sorry?"

"I was in the army?"

He nodded his head. "And your uniform?"

"I believe we moved it in today," I said as I ate some pasta.

He nodded and moved his dark hair out of his face, "Good to know." He wrote something down and his face grew a little pink, he cleared his throat and looked at me, "Relationship status slash sexuality?"

That's a little odd, "I uhh... I'm ... Separated. I have a son, but I was never married. It was a teen... Pregnancy thing," I don't regret Hamish, I love him with every fiber of my being, but his mother is out of control. "Sexuality I uh-"

"Wait-" Sherlock wrote stuff about my son. "There's more there about your son. Talk about that." His beautiful blue eyes were blocked by his locks of hair but you could see his strong cheek bones since the sides of his head were shaved down.

"He lives with mom and I don't see him all that often," I admitted. "I wanted to be there but I got drafted so his mom took that opportunity to claim full custody."

I looked up at him but he was only writing. He has yet to touch his food but he did set out his own plate so I guess he planned on eating.

"Are you a wine person?" He asked as he finished writing and got up. He looked though his wine collection to see what he had to offer naming brands I've never heard of. I was so distracted by how goodlooking this man was that all I could do was concentrate on was his tattooed callor bone that stuck out of his button up.

"I'm more of a whisky man, actually," I said, "But I enjoy a good red wine ever so often."

-JW