Disclaimer: 'Sherlock' belongs to all the important people that you know. Also, credit to Ariane DeVere for her series transcripts that had been extremely helpful.

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The next morning, minutes after Joan left to collect her bags and terminate her current tenure, Mycroft showed up at their door, as if he was laying in wait for this exact moment. Knowing him, he probably did. Sherlock listened to his steps ascending the stairs, gleefully noting that the sound was heavier than at the last visit – one more confirmation that he was right, Mycroft was gaining weight again.

Snatching his violin from the far end of the cluttered dining table, he quickly returned to the couch, right on time to see the imposing silhouette of the older Holmes appear in the doorframe. "Brother dear" he drawled in greeting. "To what do I owe this questionable pleasure?"

This earned him a long-suffering sigh and a thin yellow file being dropped on his feet. "I'd rather you know what you are getting into, Sherlock." Mycroft was towering over his sprawled form, looking irritatingly concerned and smug.

"I know enough" he snapped, starting to pluck random strings on the instrument. It always had an intriguing effect of shortening conversations with his brother.

"You can't do a proper work without all the relevant information."

Sherlock glowered at him. "This is not a case."

"But it is an experiment, isn't it?" Mycroft examined his nails for a minute, waiting for a response.

It is. It was. It's not. Assessment impossible. Unresolved loop identified. Pending code adjustment.

In guise of response, Sherlock increased the rhythm of the sharp staccato of random notes. "Look it over, will you" Mycroft finally gave up, and turned to leave. The younger man glanced at the file with distrust. It was yellow and it was nagging at him. Coming to a sudden decision, he gently put the instrument aside, grabbed the offending folder and rushed after the retreating government official.

"I don't need your help" he hissed, tossing the papers at an unimpressed Mycroft who had already took several steps down and lost his height advantage.

"Consider it a safety precaution" came the retort.

Sherlock glared, feeling surprisingly offended by the insinuation. "Watson is not a threat."

Mycroft chuckled in that highly arrogant manner of his that drove his younger sibling up the walls. "Perhaps not now, and not to you. But when you manage to alienate her, as you are prone to do with every person that crosses your path, I'll be sorely tempted to sit back and watch the fireworks."

"Go away" Sherlock growled, and stormed back to the flat.

"Contrary to what you seem think, brother dear, I would be interested in keeping this particular asset at your side" Mycroft called from the staircase, before finally getting out of the building. How dare he? John is not an asset! She is...? No, she is more. I perceive more.

Pacing across the room, Sherlock felt slightly uneasy. It wasn't like him to refuse free information. But his new flatmate proved to be full of surprises, and he didn't want them spoiled. At least, that was the reasoning he came up with, when two hours later a grinning Joan dropped a duffel bag and a box full of books on the floor.

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A week later, Joan opened her useless blog (Ella kept nagging), and thought of the crazy flatshare interview devolving into criminal investigation bordering on spy novel she had last weekend. The front page, except the series of frankly depressing one-sentence posts and the two vague and slightly worrying updates from the previous week, contained only her profile description.

Joan H. Watson

(Call me John)

I am an experienced medical doctor recently returned from Afghanistan.

No photo. She wasn't ready to show her mug to everyone on the web.

Sherlock was busy doing circles in the living room, probably for some obscure experiment, and clearly not aware that she could smell cigarettes even if he succeeded to not let her see them. Smiling thoughtfully to herself, she opened a new blog post and started typing.

The nervous pacing behind her stopped for a moment. "Joan H. Watson?" The interrogation mark was clear as day, but she was a tough cookie.

"Yep."

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A/N: Alright, so here goes the Study in Pink. The following ark (and I still can't fully believe I manage to write arks...) will be an original plot, and a little shorter than this.