It had been two days since John had moved into 221B, and with some difficulty he moved Sherlock's boxed into the spare bedroom upstairs - at least until he came back.
John resisted the urge to go through Sherlock's belongings, because since reading his website 'The Science of Deduction' he wanted to know what kind of work he did.
From what he had scene in one of the boxes he would have guessed police, but his website doesn't suggest such things, only that perhaps he works with them.
Although he did want to know, he pushed the thought aside. It's not as though we're friends, he thought, or even going to be living together. After what Mrs. Hudson said about him being difficult to live with, he expected he would leave soon after his return.
After getting all the boxes to the spare bedroom John retired into the silence of the sitting room with tea and a book.
"Evening."
John looked up, startled by the other man standing on the other side of the room, leaning against the door frame as he took of his gloves. The unknown man stared at John intently, almost examining him.
"What are you doing in my flat?" questioned John as placed his book on the side table before grabbing his cane and pushed himself up.
The man raised his eyebrows, slightly surprised, "Your flat?"
"If you're looking for the old tenant Sherlock Holmes, I'm not sure when he will be coming back, if ever."
"Well, that's strange." The man said as he took a few steps forward, "Because, I am Sherlock Holmes."
John stood still, staring the the other man in a small state of confusion, "Oh sorry. I didn't realize you were coming back today, no one told me."
John examined Sherlock for a brief moment. Considering what he had been told, he wondered how he could have gotten away with no scratches, no scars, no bruises.
"John," a small voice came from behind as Mrs. Hudson stepped into the flat, "Who are you talking to dear?"
Before John could answer Sherlock stepped forward, "Why wasn't I told someone else would be moving in? I should at least been informed of these things before hand."
Mrs. Hudson stared at John in silence, seemingly oblivious to Sherlock's talking.
Sherlock took a few steps forward waving his hands in front of Mrs. Hudson who stood unfazed, "Mrs. Hudson."
She tilted her head in confusion, still staring at John, "Are you alright?"
John nodded. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I was er," he paused for a moment with an awkward smile, "Just talking aloud to myself."
"Alright dear, I'll leave you to it." Mrs. Hudson smiled before she left closing the door behind her.
"She can't see me, or hear me." Sherlock tilted his head in a small state of confusion before turning to John holding up one hand, "John, place your hand on mine."
"What, why?"
"Experiment."
John walked to Sherlock raising his hand with an exasperated sigh, then slowly pressed forward only to have his hand go straight through Sherlock's.
"Interesting," Sherlock said as John pulled back his hand. The two of them stared at their hands intently for a moment.
"How come I can see you?"
Sherlock glanced down with a small smile, "Maybe you wanted to see me."
"Right, I'm sure." John laughed, "I don't even know you."
"Doesn't mean you didn't want to see me." he replied with a small pause, "Was it Afghanistan or Iraq?"
John gaped his mouth, shaking his head slightly, "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know?"
"You're tanned which means you've been abroad, but you're not tanned above the wrist, so obviously not sun-bathing. The way you hold yourself and your hair cut says military, and the book you're reading is of a medical profession. So, you're an army doctor, just returned from Afghanistan."
"I, uh…" John paused for a moment, his mouth gaping, "That was amazing."
Sherlock stared in almost disbelief before a flicker of a smile crossed his face, "You think so?"
"Of course, it was extraordinary."
"That's not what people normally say."
"What do people normally say?"
"Piss off."
John began laughing as he fell back onto the lounge, "I'm sure I'm losing it then. You have to be my imagination."
Sherlock tilted his head in a small state of confusion, "What makes you say that?"
"Well I can't be entirely sure," John continued, "But I could be the only one who can see you, and you know details of my life. So I'm sure I made you up."
"With the name of the old tenant?"
"Yeah, not sure where that came from." he admitted with a laugh.
Sherlock smiled at John for a brief moment before heading to the door, "I'll be back. Maybe you're not the only one."
"Oh, um.. Alright?" John muttered to himself as Sherlock rushed out the front door, "I'll just, um…"
He trailed off as he fell back in the chair with a heavy sigh. The entire situation confused him and if this Sherlock Holmes was his imagination, then why was it happening to him?