He didn't call him or text him that night but came home considerably more grumpy than before disappearing into his room with a slam of the door and a turn of the lock without saying anything. It wasn't the best start to their new living situation but John let it go as he fell into his own nightly routine. The next few days passed similarly with Sherlock remaining quiet on the couch while John took care of the flat and settled into his new room. Three days after moving in they were once more low on milk and John needed toiletries among other things, so he bid the sulking Sherlock farewell as he headed out for the day.
Sherlock lay on the couch listening to John's head down the stairs and out the front door. As soon as the door was closed, he was on his feet heading to the window. He watched on as John started down the street towards his destination. With the knowledge that John would be gone for at least a little while, he headed to the stairs slinking quickly up them. He hadn't set foot on the stairs since John's arrival and he was eager to explore the room that the man was now staying in. Opening the door, he slipped quickly inside closing the door behind him. He was disappointed to see that the room was mostly bare, giving him little clue to the man. The walls held no pictures but there was a framed picture of John with two women sitting on his bedside table. There had once been a second man in the picture but the corner where the mans head would be was missing and the picture folded to hide his existence telling Sherlock about the non-existant relationship with his father. The bed was folded with military corners and pressing his face into the pillow he could smell John's shampoo and aftershave mingling together. He took a deep breath of the comforting smell before moving on to the bedside table.
He wasn't surprised to find a bottle of lube inside it, nor was he surprised to find the case with the gun he knew John owned. He closed the drawer continuing to dig. John's books all were the boring war and mystery books he favored though he had a few medical books that Sherlock decided he may borrow. The wardrobe was even less fascinating only holding John's clothing and one change of shoes. The room screamed a man who had little possessions because he either didn't plan on being on this earth long or staying in one spot for long. Both options were unacceptable to Sherlock who wanted John near so that he could learn everything possible about the contradictory man who was both a soldier and a doctor.
*He won't want you, once he learns the truth,* his brain argued.
"Shut up," Sherlock hissed under his breath. John was a doctor and knew about his previous drug habit yet he chose to stay. Surely he could look past the scars on his arms that showed evidence of his usage.
*You're tainted in more ways than the scars on your arms.* He reminded himself. He pushed the thought away as he closed the doors to the wardrobe. As much as he wanted to get closer to John, he couldn't allow it. He could allow the man to become his acquaintance but he would remain married to his work keeping the man at arm's length. Then he wouldn't have to hear John reject him because of what happened to his body while he was on drugs and the consequences of those actions.
He left the room as quickly as he entered it going back down the stairs. Settling into his chair, he picked up a book to distract himself as he waited for John's return. He didn't have to wait long before he heard the door downstairs opening again and John come trudging up the stairs. He set the bags he was carrying on the table, then turned on the kettle before begging to unpack them. Once the kettle was hot, John poured two cups of tea like normal bringing one out to Sherlock.
"Thank you," Sherlock told him as the tea was set on the table. John looked up at him in surprise.
"So, we're on speaking terms today," John replied.
"I told you before you moved in that sometimes I don't speak for days," Sherlock responded.
"You did, but I didn't expect a demonstration so soon," John teased him gently. He flopped in his chair watching the way Sherlock observed him as he went back to his book. He had noticed that Sherlock tended to stare at him while sulking, always making sure that he had John's attention. John for the most part ignored him but he was making his own deductions about the man as the days passed. It was obvious to him from the beginning that Sherlock had a brilliant mind and that he was highly intelligent. He was still curious about what drove Sherlock to drug use but that wasn't a conversation he felt comfortable with yet. It was also completely obvious to him that his new flatmate was autistic but he was still trying to figure out how much without being rude and asking if he had ever been tested for autism. He still felt overwhelmed living in the flat with all the new information he was gathering but he had no plans on leaving. Leaving meant back to the one-room flat with a psychosomatic limp and only a gun for company. Here, his leg hurt occasionally but he could run again and he had the most fascinating man as a flatmate.
"You know if you have a question you could just ask me, rather than trying to deduce it," John stated breaking the silence.
"I don't," Sherlock hissed his full attention turning once more to his book.
"Then why do you keep staring at me?" John asked curiously. Sherlock's hand froze in the middle of turning a page and John could tell his mind was racing to come up with an answer. But rather than answer him, Sherlock closed the book setting it on his chair as he stood. He swept into the kitchen settling into one of the chairs there and turning his full attention to his microscope. Whether or not he realized there was no slide in place to look at didn't matter as he tried to make John realize that he had better things to do than stare at him all day. "You know I don't mind you trying to deduce me but I thought that we could get to know each other by talking instead."
"And what would you have me say?" Sherlock questioned. He didn't do small talk and while he was dying to get to know John better he really didn't want to tell John about himself.
"Anything," John answered. Sherlock sighed.
"Boring," Sherlock replied. He kept his head down focusing on the microscope and didn't notice John coming up behind him until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped turning as he did bumping the glass vials on the table and knocking one to the floor.
"I'm sorry," John apologized as Sherlock glared up at him.
"It's fine. I just ruined a week's work of experimenting for a cold case but that's fine I can just restart," Sherlock hissed. He leaned down grabbing a piece of the glass roughly and cutting his finger in the process.
"Shit," John swore seeing the blood. "Let me." He started to reach for Sherlock's hand without thinking but Sherlock pulled back. The anger was gone from his eyes replaced with pure panic.
"Don't touch me," he practically yelled.
"I'm sorry if I startled you," John apologized for the second time in as many minutes. Mentally he was kicking himself as he was failing spectacularly as he tried to learn to live with the eccentric man. The thought that he had moved in too quickly once more crossed his mind as he held up his hands in surrender before continuing to speak softly. "You're right I should be wearing gloves because you are bleeding. I know that and I wasn't going to touch the cut without it I just wanted to make sure it isn't that bad."
"There is a first aid kit below the counter," Sherlock told him. John nodded as he stood up. He went to get the first aid kit from the bathroom cupboard returning to the kitchen with it. He opened it, finding it almost devoid of all items inside. Sighing, he made a note to replace the kit as he pulled out a pair of gloves. He put them on and then knelt down in front of Sherlock again reaching for his hand. Sherlock hesitated letting the blood run down his hand as he stared at John.
"It's all right. I am a doctor and know what I am doing," John reminded him.
"I know that," Sherlock responded then held out his hand for John to take. John was careful as he wiped the blood away from the cut on Sherlock's finger examining it. The cut thankfully wasn't deep enough to require stitches. Sherlock watched him with his eyes narrowed as John worked. John explained what he was doing step by step as he cleaned up the small cut and wrapped it with a plaster. He let go of Sherlock's hand then cleaned up the mess putting it in a bag along with his gloves to be disposed of. Sherlock remained where he was on the floor staring down the entire time with his hand resting on his leg.
"How about we go out for lunch then I will make shepherd's pie for tea," John suggested. He offered his hand to Sherlock to help him up off the flor but Sherlock didn't take it right away as he continued to avoid John's eyes. He knelt down again but Sherlock refused to look up at him. "Hey, it's all right that you don't trust me yet. We've only just met and I startled you without meaning to. So how about you take a moment then I will make lunch instead."
"It's not that I don't trust you," Sherlock whispered so softly that John almost couldn't hear him. "My blood isn't safe."
"From the drugs?" John asked softly. Sherlock shook his head no.
"I never shared needles," Sherlock responded. He looked up finally meeting John's eyes. For a moment there was a deep pain in those expressive eyes but it was quickly swept away as Sherlock's mask once more fell into place. He climbed quickly to his feet heading towards his room. "I'm not hungry." was the last thing John heard as the door slammed shut with the lock clicking once more into place. John took a deep breath letting it out slowly as he kicked himself mentally. He had bungled that spectacularly. Going to the door he raised his voice.
"I'm going out for a while and when I get home I will be making tea," John called out. He waited a minute for a reply but when none came, he grabbed his phone and his coat heading out. He needed air and to think. As he left the flat though, a black car pulled up to the curb and the back door opened. He could have chosen to ignore it but instead, he slid into the backseat surprised to see Mycroft himself sitting there with a small file in his hand. "So it's true that you have the flat bugged. Do you enjoy watching me wank in the shower?"
"My brother is well aware of the cameras in the flat. He could choose to have them removed at any time but he leaves them in place. Why do you think that is Dr. Watson?" Mycroft asked ignoring John's comment.
"I don't know," John told him.
"Nor do I. What I do know is that my brother isn't going to give you the answers you require in order to treat him properly though he will continue to look to you for medical assistance as he has always hated hospitals," Myrcroft informed him. He held out a file for John and John crossed his arms.
"No, ta," John responded knowing exactly what the file in Mycroft's hand contained. He saw the file as an invasion of Sherlock's privacy and wasn't going to examine the contents without his permission. Anything he needed to know he would get from Sherlock or not at all.
"I thought you were a doctor and as a doctor, you would want all the facts for your patient," Mycroft argued.
"I am a doctor but Sherlock isn't my patient. He is my flatmate and my friend. Now that we have that established am I free to go or did you have another reason for being here," John asked. Mycroft flicked his hand towards the door and John got out. He saw the curtain rustle up above him as a lithe figure disappeared. Sighing, John turned away from the flat heading down the street. Today was already going well and it was barely noon.