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Meet the Neighbors

Soft, linen sheets.

Muffled voices.

The scent of tea.

Sherlock cracked open an eye, and immediately shut it again at the bright sunlight streaming through cream-colored curtains. Since the last thing he remembered was sitting in the living room, he assumed he had fallen asleep at some point. John must have brought him to his bedroom.

The voices continued, too clear to be the telly. A visitor, then. Maybe a case? It was too soon to tell.

Sherlock forced himself to open his eyes. Rolling out of bed, he pulled on his blue dressing gown and opened his door. The clinking of two teacups confirmed his theory.

"Good morning!" John raised his teacup in salute as Sherlock walked into the living room. "I thought I'd let you sleep as long as you wanted, seeing as you needed it."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't need-"

"And yet you slept for 13 hours? Hm…" the doctor smirked. "Well, I suppose I'd better introduce you. Sherlock, this is Reverend Roundhay," he motioned to their visitor, a tall, well-dressed (too carefully dressed; no case, then) man with a kind face and a bald spot. "Reverend Roundhay, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"I've heard so much about your work," the man gushed, grabbing the detective's hand and shaking it with fervor. "I'm an avid reader of John's blog."

"Because the blog always gets the facts right," Sherlock muttered, prying his hand free. He glanced at his friend. "May I, John?"

"Be nice," the doctor warned.

"Well," he gave the pastor a quick glance, "You're unmarried, had eggs and something syrupy for breakfast (pancakes- no, waffles, I believe), you already started working on your sermon this morning, and you prefer writing with a pencil to typing on a computer. You live no more than a kilometer away from us and walked to our cottage to 'meet the neighbors.' You're a decent, if not great, cook; you like to fish, and you have someone living with you who smokes, despite your disapproval."

Reverend Roundhay just stared, open-mouthed. "How…?"

The detective sat down in one of the comfy chairs. "Shall I start from the beginning? Not having a wedding ring is a bit of a giveaway," he rattled off, "but on top of that, your outfit clashes and there's a button missing from your jacket. No wife would allow her husband to go out wearing a broken coat; thus, you're unmarried. The crumbs on your shirt tell me all I need to know about your breakfast. The fact that the side of your hand is covered in graphite tells me both your writing preferences and that you worked on your sermon. There is more dirt on your shoes than walking from a car to our front door would cause, meaning that you walked. Anything more than a kilometer, you would probably have driven, seeing as a walk longer than that gets tiring and tedious for most people."

"Breathe, Sherlock!" John interrupted the rant, but was promptly ignored.

"Judging by the unfamiliar plate and crumbs, you brought cookies, so it's a 'meet the neighbors' visit. Judging by the fact that you and John- no, just John- ate them all before I woke up (and your arrival wasn't too long ago; you're only on your first cup of tea), they must have been very good, making you a good cook. You have old and more recent scars from fishhooks (so you're obviously a fisherman) and you smell like cigarette smoke. Since you don't smoke (no nicotine stains or such on your person), someone living with you must. You disapprove, of course, since, if I remember correctly, you think of your body as a temple of the Lord and don't want to defile it." He trailed off into a coughing fit. Maybe John was right about the breathing…

It took a moment for the pastor to regain his composure. "That… that was… incredible! Everything was spot on, even about my lodger!"

Sherlock smiled. "Child's play, really," he croaked, catching his breath.

"So," John cut in, "you deleted the fact that the earth revolves around the sun, but you kept an obscure passage from the Bible?"

"I tried to delete it, but at the time I was solving a case that involved too many pastors who kept bringing it up. I decided it wasn't worth the time and effort it took to delete it repeatedly."

"Well, after that speech, I think you need some tea." He held up a teacup to his friend.

"Why is it that you're always forcing me to drink tea?" Fuming, he snatched the teacup and sipped it resignedly.

"Because you don't take care of yourself!"

Reverend Roundhay looked between the two of them. "I take it this isn't just a holiday for pleasure, then?"

"No, it's not." Sherlock said bitterly.

"More of a… forced holiday," explained John. "Sherlock's been sick lately, and since he refused to do anything about it, I thought a break from cases would be best."

"Well," said Reverend Roundhay, "if it's a break from cases you're after, you've come to the right place!"

This elicited a groan from the detective. "I get exiled to this land of tedium, and I don't even get to eat the cookies the reverend brought."

"You wouldn't have eaten them even if there had been some left. Don't deny it."

"We'll never know, since there aren't any."

John smirked and rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop complaining! It's not that bad. So, Reverend Roundhay, tell us about your lodger…"

While John made small talk, Sherlock plotted his escape.

JWJWJW

Yay, we finally added another character to the mix! Sorry that I didn't update sooner; I was drowning in homework and uploaded as soon as humanly possible. Honestly. Thank you for all your support (reviews, follows, favorites), I really appreciate it!

Hopefully the action will pick up next chapter. I have big plans for it! Lord willing, I can update soon, but I make no promises. Thanks for reading!

~JillianWatson1058