Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock

John's Blogoshpere

10/09/2013

I went out this morning to buy a newspaper, having already stocked up yesterday evening with supplies for a cup of tea. I bought the independent, a newspaper my mother always enjoyed reading.

There was a report on the recent 130 car pile up, and how much of a miracle it is that so far no one has died as a direct result of he crashes. There has also been the report of another curious death, so far that would make it 2 deaths, that can't be explained by the police as there have not been any follow up stories. The deaths aren't linked, the police have already confirmed this with the press. I am not going to go around an try and solve any crimes, who am I to judge. The police do a good enough job given the rubbish they sometimes get, they need no more grief from a random citizen.

I have moved the 10 boxes and 2 suit cases worth, I have failed to unpack anything however. Sitting here writing this blog the room feels very empty, but I have no motivation, or need so far to unpack, so I have made the logical decision not to unpack. Maybe I am rethinking my decision, I don't think so. But maybe subconsciously I am regretting ever having agreed to take up residence with a man I know little of, apart from the small snippets of information pulled from the unreliable internet.

Mr Holmes was out when I arrived with my things. Mrs Hudson kindly helped me upstairs with my things. Mr Holmes come back at about 7 O'Clock. He all but ignored my existence, instead preferring to mill around the flat pre-occupied in his own thoughts. What was on his mind any one could guess, but he seemed to be fixated on the idea.

I will need to do a big shop tomorrow, collect food for the next week, maybe take Mr Holmes out to shop with me, see if I can get to know who my flat mate is. Feels weird writing "flat mate". Only truth to that so far is 'flat', the other word 'mate' appears not to apply so far. I haven't checked out the kitchen facilities so far, but there appears to be a large enough refrigerator, a washing machine, a dish washer and a sink, so the basics. I should probably start a list for shopping, keep the money down.

I've been doing a small amount of job hunting you will be pleased to know. Found two placements so far, neither of them really pull at my heart strings, but what ever pays the bills I guess. There is a volunteer doctor at a homeless charity, I mean it is a good cause, but not the major work that I prefer. Or there is even a Doctor at a sexual health clinique, like taking patient histories and taking blood samples. Still no as thrilling, but slightly better.

As said before Mr Sherlock's things are strew across the flat, there also appears to be a very curious skull upon the mantle piece. It is almost eerie the way it watches you as you sit on the sofa. I have no idea why Mr Holmes has it, but I am not about to make him remove the object. Who knows I might learn to love it. Well... when I say love, maybe tolerate is a more apt word.

My first evening with Mr Holmes. Having finished his unnerving walk of the room he proceeded to seat himself in the arm chair opposite to where I was seated in a comfortably cushioned arm chair, and then began attempting to play the violin. plucking at it's strings, making a tune not unpleasant to the ears, but irrationally annoying. I was busy with my cross-words, struggling specifically with 6 down, skipping that I moved on to the second cross-word. Upon which Mr Holmes plucked Jane Austen's Emma from the Shelf, having no prior knowledge of the book I decided it best not to try and begin a conversation.

I then gave up on the second cross-word as well, so decided that a fire might be nice, the mood of nostalgia I get listening to the wood crackle away; it is timeless. Having ripped up an old metro, beginning the flames of the fire I pushed on some tinder logs, slowly growing the size of the logs from the handy basket full of wood near the fire place. I would have to thank Mrs Hudson in the morning. Watching the flames lick the large wooden logs I settled back into the armchair, and the infuriating puzzle.

Sherlock sighed, lay his book down in frustration, grabbed the newspaper from my hands, and my pen, then proceeded to write in all of the answers to the cross-word. Taken a back I sat there in slight shock, only briefly however; and sat back instead to lick my wounds, as the right to answer the cross-word had been stolen from me. However I was also incredibly impressed with Mr Holmes light work of the cross work, and complemented him so. Mr Holmes simply shrugged and crawled back in to the obviously engaging world of his book.

Just thinking, that cross word was probably easy, especially after I began some of it, the cross words are themed each day, half the puzzle is working out the theme, the other half is working out the words. Maybe Mr Sherlock found it easy to work out today's theme, who knows. Quite frankly I am not sure any one knows when it comes to Mr Sherlock.

With the cross-words completed, I had little need to stay in the communal part of the flat and retreated to my room. I made myself a large cup of tea in the kitchen, said a brief good night to Mr Holmes and went upstairs. And now here is where I sit, writing this blog, and sipping at my very well made brew (if I do say so myself).

And so...

Thorn: There is not a lot of food in the house, and if the flat gets much messier I will take a bin liner to the flat, and much of Mr Sherlock's things, including a pair of his boxers that were draped lovingly on the back of a dining room chair.

Rose: 3 days to go! My friend is coming down from Derbyshire. Also having finally moved into the flat, I may not have unpacked apart from the essentials, but so far I feel like I am settling in well enough.

This blog took a good 2 hours to write. spent some good quality time here. Nearly had a panic attack early on, when I though I had lost most of the beginning of the blog, however I simply pressed back and the writing suddenly appeared again. All is well.

So until tomorrow Blogoshpere followers, if there any that are out there.

John Watson, professional tea addict, signing off.