(Rosalie's POV)
I don't know what I expected when I moved in with John and Sherlock. It's really crazy at 221b. There's always something going on, especially when nothing is going on. Sherlock pretty much goes crazy when he doesn't have some sort of case to solve.
"It's been a slow month." John had told me. "We haven't gotten many cases."
The first week was slow. Sherlock kept pestering me, asking if I remember anything. John sometimes joined in. I don't remember anything though. Sherlock had been requested to investigate several cases, but thought that they were boring and declined.
The first case Sherlock had got that he actually accepted required him to travel to Hereford for a few days.
"You can come if you'd like." John invited me. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the invitation, but said nothing. He probably knew my answer.
"I don't think I'm up to traveling at the moment." I told him.
Before they left, John showed me how to work his laptop, the telly, and his mobile which he gave me in case I needed to call him in which case I would call Sherlock's number.
All right, maybe I left out some stuff. He really had to show me how to work almost everything in the flat; all of the appliances and electronics. He also went out and bought me some books like The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones in case I got bored of watching telly and the Internet.
After they had left, I didn't do very much. I cleaned out the fridge a bit. There was a lot of rotting food and severed body parts (which were from an experiment Sherlock had been doing and finished up a few weeks back but never got rid of John had warned), which caused me to rush to the toilet and vomit.
John had given me some money to go grocery shopping if I needed to, or go out and get food from a restraunt. I did go grocery shopping after cleaning out the fridge. I bought a cookbook too. I cooked for myself every day and found that I liked to cook and that I was pretty good at it too. I also began reading City of Bones, and it was amazing! I finished it the second day by myself. I also watched a show on the telly called Doctor Who. It was incredible. With the lizard woman, living snowmen, and the potato looking man I just became so lost in the creative story and yes, my feelings were toyed with as I watched it.
After three days, Sherlock and John came back. John immediately asked if how I was doing and Sherlock cut him off asking if I remembered anything now, which I of course didn't. He then hurried off to his bedroom, muttering to himself. John sat in his chair and got on his laptop.
"So, enough about me. What are you doing?" I ask him.
"Me?" He replies. "Oh, I'm just writing up the case on my blog."
"Blog?"
"Oh, a blog is like a website where you write about your life or about a topic for other people to read. On my blog, I write about the cases Sherlock and I work on."
"Oh. So how did the case go?"
"Well, turns out the maid was the killer. It didn't take Sherlock long to figure that out. 'It was obvious. I don't know why I didn't figure it out sooner' he told me."
"Oh."
"So what did you do while we were gone?"
"Oh, nothing much. I finished City of Bones and I watched some show called Doctor Who."
"Oh, really?" He said, pausing. "So, did you like them?"
"Yeah, they were pretty good."
John and I continued to talk for a couple of hours, asking each other questions and finding out more about each other. I asked him questions about Sherlock too like: What does he actually do? Do either of you work somewhere when you don't have a case? Is there anything I should expect him to do, but won't really like?
His answers were: "He's the world's only Consulting Detective. When the police are out of their depth, they consult him", "I work at a medical clinic sometimes", and "I've lived with him long enough to know that you can't expect anything from him."
John eventually went to his bedroom and Sherlock came downstairs and sat in his chair. He stared at me for an uncomfortable seven minutes and I was starting to think about throwing my shoes in his face when he finally spoke.
"I'm not going to sleep tonight," He said to me. "You'll sleep in my bedroom. "
"What? Why?" I asked, confused.
"I need to think," He explained. "I can't think up there, there are too many distractions. Plus, my skull is down here."
"Your skull?"
Sherlock pointed towards the mantel where sure enough, a human skull was sitting as if it had always been there and was meant to be there. "Friend of mine. When I say friend…"
"Okay…" I say, a tiny bit horrified; I hoped he couldn't hear any horror in my voice. I hopped up out of the sofa and started towards the stairs, but stopped when I reached the first step. I turned around. "Goodnight, Sherlock." I said, and of course, he said nothing back. He had his feet flat on the floor with his back arched slightly and his hands were in prayer position in front of his mouth. Does he ever sleep? I wonder to myself.