One Surprise After Another

"Thanks, mate." John told his taxi driver and handed the man his cab fare in exchange for his luggage. The doctor smiled as he looked up at the familiar flat, grateful to see that 221B Baker St. was still in one piece after spending two weeks away from it. Well, at least on the outside. If Louise had also somehow managed to keep Sherlock from shooting up the walls again or blowing anything up, then he was definitely going to nominate that girl for sainthood. He started to reach out to open the door, when it suddenly swung open, revealing the bright and cheerful girl in question.

"Welcome back, John~!" She sang cheerfully, springing forth to give him a friendly welcoming hug. "How was New Zealand? Did you have fun?"

Well, at least he knew someone had missed him.

"Oh, yeah. You know how it is over there…" John said, smiling broadly. It was good to be home. "Lots of sun, lots of sheep…"

"Lots of long walks with Sarah without any third wheels?" Louise asked, waggling her eyebrows while giving him a playful nudge in the ribs. She was feeling loads better now that she was back on her meds and seeing a proper therapist again. She was really glad that John hadn't had to see her like that. He had enough to worry about already. This holiday seemed to have done him some good though. He looked well rested, and he finally had a bit of color in his face, thanks to that warm New Zealand sun.

John just grinned in response to her little quip.

"Oh, you." He said, nearly blushing, as he opened the door and they began carrying his bags inside and up to the flat. Every now and then, she could really catch him off guard with that frank directness of hers. "So, how were things on your end? Did Sherlock behave himself, or am I about to walk in on murder scene?" He asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.

"No, it was fine, actually." Louise replied, smiling wryly. "We hit a couple of snags here and there, but we're both still alive and un-maimed, and the flat's still in one piece too, though it still smells like tobacco…"

"Tobacco?" John asked. Did Sherlock relapse while he was away?

"Yes. While you were gone, he decided to some experiments, one of which involved an analysis of two hundred and something different types of tobacco ash. I had to leave before I choked on all of the smoke." She explained, still slightly chagrined over the fact that everything in the flat now reeked of nicotine, even though a whole week had passed since then.

'Sounds like it's been hard on you these past weeks." John said, smiling sympathetically.

"It wasn't all bad." She replied, shrugging. "He also taught me some basic judo moves in between cases. There was this really interesting one involving a melting laptop—"

"—Louise, what have you done to my…" Sherlock began to call out to her as the two of them entered the flat with John's luggage in tow, trailing off when he saw that their long absent friend and flatmate had returned. "Oh, John. Good. Just back from New Zealand?" Sherlock asked casually, before turning back to Louise. "What have you done to my sock index? I thought I asked you not to rearrange it when you were moving your things in with mine."

"I didn't. They were like that when I opened the drawer." Louise replied somewhat defensively, crossing her arms.

"Wait, sorry. Who's moving in with who?" John asked, thinking he clearly must have misheard. For the past month she had been living with them, Louise had been alternating between sleeping on Sherlock's bed when he wasn't using it and the couch, and she had been storing a few articles of clothing she had managed to accumulate here and there in a cardboard box that John let her keep in his closet, so people wouldn't trip over it.

"Well, since Louise and I are technically married now, it only make sense for us to share the same room, don't you think?" Sherlock said, as though it should have been completely obvious.

John's jaw literally dropped. He just stood there, staring at the two of them in disbelief, while Louise face-palmed. Just what the bloody hell happened between these two while he was gone!?

"Sherlock! I thought we agreed to let John get settled back in before we dropped that bomb on him!" Louise Holmes scolded her husband, a little concerned for John's mental wellbeing. The poor man was so shocked, he almost looked petrified.

"B… B-But… how!? Why!?" John finally managed to stutter.

"Mycroft." They both replied matter-of-factly, as though it should explain everything.

"… Y-You don't mean Mycroft made the two of you…?" John asked hesitantly, glancing between the two of them.

They nodded.

John's brain exploded. He had just received one shock per minute too many.

"Hello? John…?" Louise asked, waving her hand in front of his vacant eyes, concerned. She hoped they didn't just break the poor man. Was it really that shocking that she and Sherlock could ever get together?

"Perhaps we should have started from the beginning?" Sherlock suggested belatedly, finally noticing the severity of the state their friend was in. John must have let his imagination run a little too wild, judging by the amount of 'appalled' that was mixed in along with the 'confusion' showing on his frozen face.

"Gee, ya think?" Louise deadpanned rather sardonically. This was exactly why she had asked Sherlock not to do what he just did!

—∞—

"… Does Mrs. Hudson know yet?" John finally asked once Louise and Sherlock had sat him down and properly explained everything that had transpired while he was gone to him. It made a bit more sense now that he had heard the whole story, but it was still hard to believe such a thing could really happen. He half wondered if Mycroft had recently sustained some sort of head injury…

"Oh, yes. She was thrilled." Sherlock deadpanned, earning himself a nudge from his petite wife, silently telling him to behave himself. You never knew when Mrs. Hudson might pop in for a visit, and it wouldn't do to have her overhear something that might hurt her feelings now, would it?

"We kind of edited the version of events we gave her. I didn't want to upset her…" Louise said, smiling apologetically at John.

"No, I think you made the right call." John said, shaking his head to let her know he wasn't upset with her. Sherlock had been the one who dealt the fatal blow, after all. "And at least we no longer have to worry about you getting deported now, do we?" he added on a lighter note. No point in brooding over something that couldn't be helped, right?

"Nope! And, poor Lestrade doesn't have to keep going on with that wild goose chase we sent him on either, since my new ID popped up in his search and let him know that I'm supposed to be an orphan, and I was passing through London while apparently attempting to backpack my way around the UK, while taking a year off from my college in America."

"Oh, is that so? That's rather adventurous of you." John commented, smiling wryly. What an elaborate cover story.

"I know, right? It certainly explains why I own a North Face jacket." She joked, grinning slyly.

RING—! Whoever rang the doorbell must have something urgent to discuss with the inhabitants of 221B, because they pressed it for half a second at maximum pressure.

"Either of you expecting anyone?" John asked. It couldn't be Sarah. She was most likely still at her place, unpacking or sleeping off jetlag.

"It's a client." Sherlock stated, eyes glittering with excitement, as his lips curled up into a smirk. Having to rehash the past two weeks' events with John had been so incredibly dull, that he was more than ready to be rescued from this ever increasing feeling of boredom that had begun to creep over him by the promise of a new challenge. The flurry of pounding footsteps up the stairs echoed like thunder as the door to their flat flew open.

"—You're in!" A dark-haired young man of approximately twenty years of age announced excitedly upon bursting into the room. Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly as he scanned their visitor for clues. This young man was obviously a college student, an artist, sharing a flat with two roommates and a jumpy cat, and… not a client. Sherlock clicked his tongue in disappointment as he lounged back in his chair, while John blinked in surprise, and Louise said,

"… I'm in? In what?" She had no idea what her new friend and fellow aspiring artist, Barry White, was talking about.

"The gallery! Jayson Burns' Gallery! When he dropped by the studio to take a look at some of my paintings, he spotted yours and said he had to have them! He wants to put 'Cognitive Dulling' and at least two others on display! Your work's gonna be in a real gallery!" Barry exclaimed, laughing, and grabbing her hands so he could shake them with such vigor, that John was half afraid her arms might fall off.

"Get out!" Louise shouted in disbelief as a grin stretched across her face. "That is so totally awesome~!" She sang happily, bouncing up and down with her hyper friend in a strange sort of celebratory dance. It looks like pooling their funds to share rented space for an art studio together had been worth it, after all.

John glanced at Sherlock, wondering what they were talking about. What studio? Since when did Louise have a studio? But the genius detective wasn't looking at the two artists or John. Was it just the doctor's imagination, or was Sherlock… sulking? He wasn't getting jealous again, was he?

"Well, I'm not sure I completely understand what just happened, but… congratulations?" John offered as he turned back to Louise and her friend, smiling wryly.