A/N: I have such wonderful friends and readers! Gameson221b, you always make me happy with your reviews! I love the encouragement, and thank you endlessly for your devotion to these little fics. KoraM852, I know you'd rather be writing for Data...thank you that much more for helping me with John and Sherlock. CiCi98, thank you again for your thoughts! I hope this has lead you to want to re-watch all of Sherlock. It has me! Everyone, please read and enjoy this next entry into John's journal.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the show, neither have I met the cast, crew, or creators of Sherlock... Jeez, don't rub it in. I know it already! *Weep*

Monday.

I walked up the street just before seven. I made good time, taking the tube and then walking a few blocks. Awkward, especially with all of those goddamn stares.

I'm not a leper, people. I'm a war veteran. A little appreciation for serving my country would be nice.

Anyway. As I came around the fencing, I saw a door with brass numerals nailed to the wood surface. The numbers emblazoned above a heavy-looking door knocker identified the address as 221B. I made it, despite my damned leg.

The paint on the door was weather-worn but well maintained. Not a flake of loose paint could be seen. And the small deli next door looked welcoming. I could see myself here, on this street where order seemed paramount.

I knocked, feeling a bit awkward. Half of me wanted to walk away and forget the prospect. The other half...was nearly tingling in anticipation.

A cab pulled up at the street, and there he was. Tall, exiting easily from the back seat. He paid the cabbie and stepped up beside me to shake my hand. I couldn't help but watch him. He seemed to be vibrating with excitement. Wherever he had just come from...because I refused to think it was because of me...

He told me briefly about how he had found the flat. Some connection he had with the landlady, Mrs Hudson, and the execution of her late husband. Sherlock assured me, he had ensured the outcome.

Just as the words left his lips, the lady opened the door and greeted him in a surprisingly warm hug. I couldn't believe it. The man I had met yesterday seemed hardly able to greet a person properly, and here this woman was doling out affection as if he were her own son. He even managed to make introductions for us.

I smiled and made my way amicably, ducking into the flat as she held the door back for us. Sherlock followed me in, and led me up a narrow flight of stairs to the second landing.

He waited for me. Was this to make a good impression? After yesterday's interaction...

I promised myself I would take it a moment at a time. I needed this, after all. I had to get away from the bedsit. I had to start my life...

I was a bit concerned when he opened the door. There was clutter everywhere. So much for my nice, ordered neighborhood... My flat would be absolute chaos. My flatmate a veritable storm of activity, seemingly never at rest.

"It could be nice," I heard myself say. I won't lie, I had imagined the rooms to be different. Perhaps, because he was looking for someone to share the rent with, I expected there would be...space to accommodate another person. Lucky for him, I have very little.

He started shifting things around the rooms, going between stacks of books and papers, to teetering piles of file boxes and a packing trunk. The mail was hand delivered to the mantle—and stabbed with a utility knife.

I felt the smile pull at my face and worked to control it. At least he was consistent. Haphazard interpersonal skills, poor housekeeping, and little consideration for others. It was fitting. And unexpected. And fun.

I was happy. In all this chaos, I felt a kind of peace I'd never really known before.

Mrs. Hudson had followed us up the stairs. I suppose she was curious about her possible new tenant. She wrung her hands and asked how I liked the place, going on a bit nervously about a second bedroom upstairs.

What was she thinking? What had he told her?

I stared at her, my eyes darting to Sherlock and back. He wasn't looking at me, conveniently enough. He was turned toward the opposite wall.

I blinked at the older woman, suspicion making my eyes squint. "Of course we'll be needing two."

Mrs. Hudson genially excused the awkward moment by discussing the neighbors. She busied herself by complaining to Sherlock about some mess in the kitchen area. I didn't notice anything amiss...a chemistry set up on the table, perhaps. But was that so odd? Especially for someone who professed himself able to deduce anything.

I sat down, grateful to be off my feet after that walk. Psychosomatic or not, my limp wreaks havoc with my low-back.

Sherlock seemed to have settled a bit, turning to his desk and a hibernating laptop. He opened the cover and tapped it to life. I confessed to him that I'd looked him up on the internet. I tried not to pay attention to the stutter of my insides at the expression he gave me... Curiosity? Worry? A bit more than mild interest.

He was obviously proud of his website, or at least the deductions he toted on its pages. I had my doubts, and I wanted some real answers before I committed to moving in. If I had to live with this incredible person, I wanted to base it on more than a convenient living arrangement and a decent rent.

I challenged him, and I learned something new. He doesn't like being called out. He shot back two personal points he'd identified about me yesterday. Two things which I am still trying to come to terms with.

"I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone."

"How?" But he still wouldn't answer me.

Mrs. Hudson pulled the paper from somewhere and started talking about this unsettling case that's been circulating. Serial suicides. Nasty business...

And it was brought to our doorstep by the lead investigator himself, DI Greg Lestrade.

Apparently, Sherlock gets involved in police cases. Rather, they involve him. And now me. Because I'm a doctor. An army doctor accustomed to violence. And I can't say no when someone asks for my help.

A/N: I have to say this here, just in case... This day's activities may take me a bit longer to write than I anticipated. I will post them as I am able! In the meanwhile, please let me know your thoughts!