Hi there! I know, I'm over a week late again! I'm sorry for doing it again, I promise I will try not to do this anymore! Any who, here we go with chapter four, I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing. It all belongs to Moffat and Gatiss.

The next day I woke up to something not too pleasant. The smell of fire. Alarmed, I groggily ran into the kitchen still in my nightclothes. For a few minutes I was also surprised to be in the old flat until the memories of last night flooded back into my head.

"What the heck are you burning in there?" I coughed through a cloud of smoke pouring out of the tiny kitchen.

"Toast," Sherlock yelled back as the sprinklers went off, soaking me within seconds.

I sloshed my way into the kitchen and slipped across the tile floor. Sherlock was standing in his robe with a towel and was trying to hit out the fire that had now almost ceased. Where the toaster used to sit was now a stack of melted plastic and ash.

"I take it that you deleted how to make toast?" I inquired tapping my soaked socked foot as the sprinklers turned off and the smoke cleared.

"Toast isn't important," he muttered, going over to the sink.

"Oh, right of course," I nodded rolling my eyes. "How do you even burn toast that much to demolish the toaster along with it?"

He didn't answer for a long moment, but then he turned from the sink to look at me. "I was simply making toast and while it was cooking I retreated to my mind palace. Then I came back in here after five minutes and the toaster was on fire and melting. End of story," he finished turing back to the sink where he was scrubbing his hands free of the soot that clung to them.

I sighed and went over to get the garbage can out of the corner to dispose of the recently deceased toaster. First I brushed the ash in and then I attempted to pry the now cooling plastic from the counter.

"Come. On," I muttered pulling it until my nail broke.

I looked at my bleeding finger and glared at the toaster darkly.

"Well, Sherlock. It looks like our first official day at the flat has begun with a new flatmate. Meet Toasty," I spat, gesturing my non-injured hand to the stuck mess that had made a home on the counter.

"Hello Toasty," he muttered without turning around to look at it.

"He can be friends with Smiley," I rambled to myself, putting the garbage back and picking up the mop that leaned against the wall.

When I got back in the kitchen Sherlock was gone, leaving me to clean his mess up by myself. I quickly ran the mop around the floor picking up all of the stray ash that coated the floor in several areas. It took me a total of two hours to scrub the entire kitchen. When I was finally satisfied with its condition I trudged out of the kitchen to take a shower and was very displeased to see Sherlock lounging in his chair on his laptop furiously typing. He was fully clothed in one of his suits.

"Thanks for helping," I muttered to myself as I walked back to the bathroom to take a shower.

I grabbed my old robe off of the back of my bedroom door and went into the bathroom and ran a hot shower. The water felt good on my cold skin. It's as if no time has passed at all, I thought. I still get as annoyed with him as if it were the first day we met. When I was done with my shower I went in my bedroom to pick out something to wear from my minimal clothing selection. My closet was practically empty and most of what was there had, along with my pajamas, moths eating away at them. I finally found a dark brown jumper and a pair of light jeans that I was able to wear. When I was dressed, I walked out into the living room where Sherlock was still sitting with his computer in his chair, but now he was just searching instead of typing. I went over and plopped myself down in my chair across from him and flipped the television to the news. It was a story about the death of an older man after a mishap during cardio surgery.

"So what were you planning on doing today other than burning toast?" I asked not looking over at him.

He ignored my first comment and replied with, "Catching up at the station."

"Well if that's your plan then you need a disguise or something because I definitely don't consider that one," I said gesturing to his current attire.

"You didn't recognize me," he retorted not looking up from his computer screen.

I didn't respond to his remark because I couldn't, I didn't have anything to respond with. It was true. I didn't recognize him entirely until he started to talk like Sherlock and even then I wasn't positive it was him.

"Just change," I whispered harshly.

For a moment he just scowled at the screen, but then he actually, to my disbelief, slammed the cover shut and stalked back to his room. I smirked and flicked off the television to go get a cup of tea. While the water was boiling I poked the toaster and shook my head. Maybe Sherlock will melt it with acid in one of his experiments, I thought. I poured myself a cup of tea, walked out into the living room, and grabbed my laptop after I had set my tea on the side table. Once I was on I did something I hadn't done in awhile, I went straight to my blog page. I checked the stats and was surprised to find that I had had views recently. The views had never really stopped coming even when after his reputation had been dragged through the mud. There was nothing I wanted to type at the moment and then I realized even if I wanted to I didn't have anything to write. When I was shutting my computer down Sherlock trudged out of the back room in a new outfit that I had never seen before. He was wearing dark jeans, a purple dress shirt with a black sweater over it making it so you could only see the purple collar, and black dress shoes to match.

"When did you get that?" I asked stifling a laugh not at his outfit, but at the way he stood in it and the look on his face.

"Five years ago at Christmas from Mummy," he muttered, obviously very displeased with his new attire. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Yeah," I chuckled, draining my cup and walking it into the kitchen.

When I came back out into the living room he was putting on his scarf and trench coat.

"No," I said.

"What now?" he asked, turning to look at me with a confused look coating his face.

"That, along with the deerstalker, were the trademark things that people recognized you by," I replied shrugging on my black jacket.

He rolled his eyes and slowly tore his jacket and scarf from his body. "It's warm enough," he murmured and dashed down the steps.

I followed after and met a waiting cab that Sherlock was getting into. I leaped into the seat next to him and the cab tore off on its route to Scotland Yard. The cab ride was completely silent except for the annoying hum of the cabdriver. There wasn't much to be said and neither of us were exactly in the mood for small talk. When the cab pulled to a stop in front of the large office building, Sherlock hopped out and disappeared into the building before I was even all the way out of the vehicle. I walked into the building to just to see him turn a corner. Walking quickly, I attempted to catch up with him through the many corridors leading to Lestrade's office, but failed miserably. I caught up with him when he was standing across from Lestrade at his desk and shaking hands with him.

"What are you guys here about?" he asked when I entered.

"Cases," Sherlock informed him, falling to the seat next to the desk and folding his hands in his lap. "I kept to date on most of them, but I would like to hear about the ones mentioning Sebastian Moran."

I sat in the chair next to him and waited for Lestrade's reply. "I do recall the name. I actually believe we have had a few run-ins with him over the years now that you bring it up. Quite a few recent ones of him murdering some men," he muttered rummaging through some files.

As if on cue Donovan walked in. "Sir, another murder down town. First suspect is Moran, again," she reported to him.

"I'll be right there," he grunted, stretching his back from the bent position it was in.

For some reason, she hung around. "Who's this?" she questioned, gesturing to Sherlock.

Before he could answer for himself I did. "Um, an old army friend. Sam Hutchison meet Sergeant Sally Donovan."

Sherlock briefly smiled and extended his hand. I could tell he was trying his hardest not to ruin the act by insulting her in some way. I glanced up at her to see if she bought it and I knew right away she did. Her eyes were sparkling at him, which being Sherlock meant he was oblivious to that fact. Not good. Lestrade got up and walked to the door where Donovan was in a daze and ushered her out.

"You guys can come if you want," he called back.

Sherlock nodded vigorously so I replied with, "Sure, we'll follow in a cab."

We stood and walked after them and this time I actually matched Sherlock's stride. When we got outside of the building and I hailed a cab just as the police car was pulling away from the curb. The good thing about following in a cab is that you practically get to say the age old line of, Follow that car!

"Where to?" the cabbie asked in a nasally voice.

"Could you just follow the police cars that just pulled away?" I replied.

"Sure, why not?" he answered and we rumbled away from the police station.

The first thing I said to Sherlock was, "I only am agreeing to this on one condition, you don't act like yourself. You can act as interested in it as you want, but you can not go in there and start spouting off deductions like you normally would."

He huffed and rolled his eyes for a long moment, but then he finally replied, "Fine."

"Thank you. If you don't abide by it I will drag you out by your ear if I have to," I muttered turning to look out the window.

"You couldn't reach," Sherlock huffed which made me frown. The short jokes had made an unfortunate return.

We pulled up to a new white brick building that was now surrounded in yellow caution tape and had police officers and cars swarming in and out of it. There was also an ambulance parked in the corner, probably just in case someone else was injured. When the cab jerked to a halt Sherlock bounded out once again, leaving me to pay also once again. I couldn't find my wallet in my jacket for a minute until I realized that it was in my other pocket. By the time I had retrieved the money out of my wallet the cabbie was becoming impatient, so when I got out I barely had time to close the door before he sped off down the street looking for faster fairs. When I turned around to find Sherlock I realized that blending in wasn't working well for him. He was standing next to Lestrade and Donovan talking and he looked as if he was going to burst in frustration when Anderson sauntered over in his feminine way. I rushed over as quickly as possible to make sure, one I was there for the introductions in case Lestrade forgot Sherlock's undercover name and two to make sure that Sherlock didn't tear Anderson to pieces. When I arrived at the spot I could tell Sherlock was getting ready to open his mouth and pound Anderson to a pulp with insults.

"Anderson," I greeted with a fake smile plastered to my face. "Nice to see you."

"This is a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated," he snorted, which made me have to restrain myself from raising my eyebrows at him.

"Have you met Sam yet?" I asked, ignoring his earlier comment.

"No," he grumbled.

"Well then Anderson, this is an old army friend of mine Sam Hutchison. Sam, Anderson." I introduced, but this time Sherlock refused completely to shake his hand until I kicked his foot.

His lips curled into a smile for less than a second before they returned to a line.

Lestrade could obviously tell that this was going downhill quickly so he said, "Would you guys like to take a look at the scene?" We both nodded modestly in response and were led by Lestrade into the building followed by the bothersome two.

We walked a flight of stairs to the second floor and the first door on the left was propped open with people walking in and out. I was very thankful that when Anderson told us to put on the blue jumpsuits that Sherlock listened to him and did as he was told. When we walked into the crowded room and made our way over to the other section of tape my heart nearly stopped when the body was revealed to us through the crowd.

Cliffhanger! Who's dead? Like it? Don't like it? I'd love some reviews on what you guys think of my portrayal of the characters. I know it's a a bit OOC at times, but bear with me on this! I will try my hardest to get the next chapter up by the weekend.