A/N: Yes, I'm uploading two chapters at one go because the first one is dreary and I don't like dreary. Have fun! From here on, it should take a week (give or take) for new chapters to be up. Have fun!

And yes again: SPOILER ALERT. (I think I have to do this every chapter.)

1 week after Study in Pink

On the topic of Privacy

Sherlock Holmes is insane. This isn't the first time Watson thought that of his new flatmate as he watched the tall man rush about the kitchen/makeshift laboratory over his laptop. Absolutely brilliant and at the same time, absolutely insane. He had been living with the self proclaimed high-functioning sociopath for about a week now and he still couldn't figure out how Sherlock always managed to read people's life stories in five seconds. Hell, when he moved into 221B Baker Street, Sherlock had simply walked into his bedroom, glanced at the clothes he was packing into the bureaus and immediately commented on his inability to settle down with a woman. How the hell did he know he had eight girlfriends before Afghanistan?

"Your sweaters and socks." Sherlock replied, always in that tone. That I can't believe I have to spell it out for you tone. When he just returned a confused look, Sherlock had sighed and went on to explain how three of his sweaters were of different fabrics and colors which Watson would not have chosen for himself. His nine socks were also of more flimsy make, again, something he would not have bought because he was a military man, the durability of socks is of utmost importance. He also correctly deduced that one woman, his longest girlfriend, bought him both a pair of socks and a sweater, because while it's hardly been worn, the red sweater is only sold during Christmas four years ago, so it's a gift and the socks is almost worn threadbare and judging from the fade of color, it's about five, no five years and three months ago. "The argyle woman."

"The what?"

"The woman who bought you the green argyle socks and the red argyle sweater."

"What about her?"

"She must have been a nice girl."

"Wait, how did you kn-"

"Because a woman who thinks you look good in red argyle is a moron, and probably didn't know how to dress herself either so the only reason you'd have stayed with her is because of her personality."

"Now I know why people say 'piss off'."

Sherlock simply gave him one of his smirks. "And now I know she dumped you."

"How did you-"

Sherlock walked out of the room. "You acting defensive told me."

Brilliant. And utterly insane. Shaking off the memory of Sherlock analyzing his previous romances, he returned to his task at hand, typing out his blog post about the woman in pink. A Study in Pink. Watson smiled to himself. Not bad. He hasn't seen Ella since he's off the cane, but he know she'd check out his blog for professional reasons. This will cheer her up, he was certain. Ella was a good woman, who was really trying to help him, if he could do something to show his appre-

"John. We have a client." Sherlock's voice broke his reverie.

"What?" He looked up from his blog post and saw Sherlock standing at the window, peering down. Wasn't he in the kitchen/makeshift laboratory just a few seconds ago? "You mean you have a client. I, have a job interview that starts in..." Watson glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece "Thirty minutes. Try not to make a mess before I get back, I just cleaned up the kitchen this morning." Makeshift laboratory.

"We are out of coffee." Sherlock said, his eyes still glued onto the stranger hovering by the door of 221B Baker Street.

Short silence. "Are you asking me to buy some?" Watson frowned at the man standing stock still by the window.

"Why else would I tell you we are out of coffee?" Sherlock threw Watson a glance that read silly question, waste of time, how could you not get that? and returned to his staring at the unknown person below, analyzing, extrapolating, hunting.

"Well, because people normally add a please in there somewhere." Watson replied as he stood up and gathered his keys.

"No, wait!" Sherlock nearly tackled Watson down. "Don't open the door!"

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what he wants yet. Why is he standing at the door and not ringing the bell?" Sherlock went back to the window. "What is he doing? He requires my assistance and yet he is hesitant about it. What is he thinking about? Judging from the askew scarf hanging around his neck and his unbrushed hair, it means he got here in a hurry. If he got on the Tube here, he would have seen his untidy reflection in the mirror, or if in a cab, off the glass window no, but he did not fix them, means he was busy, probably preoccupied with his phone because he's checked it nine times in the last three minutes, all of that screams it's something of importance, but now he's just standing there. Why?"

Watson had already mentally shut out the monologue before his flatmate said 'assistance'. "Sherlock, I need to get to my interview!"

"Get out by the back."

"I do stay here you know, and I have no intention of turning up for an interview smelling like yesterday's garbage."

"There's a reason that he's hesitating at our door. Maybe he was sent here, or maybe he was forced to come here but there might be someone else watching him to see if he enters. Or maybe he is waiting for me to open the door-"

Yep, Watson thought to himself as he shrugged on his jacket but not without the slightest tinge of resignation. Here's hoping his potential employer didn't have Sherlocks' nose. Sherlock Holmes is insane. He almost regretted moving into 221B Baker Street.

Almost.