Author's Note: Hi everyone, here's chapter two. Just in case people got confused in the last chapter I have some symbols I use.
... = a change in perspective
_ a change in setting or a large amount of time passed.
Okay that's all from me. Enjoy!
"He's making us do his work for him!" John announced as he entered the flat.
"What does that mean exactly?" Mary called from the sitting room.
John threw his coat on the sofa and walked around to face Mary.
"He's making us find a flat mate for him."
Mary stared for a second, then a smile broke across her face, then she began to giggle.
"What? Why are you laughing this isn't funny!"
Mary kept laughing "It could be!"
John rubbed his face in frustration, sometimes he felt like the two of them ganged up on him when he wasn't looking. They both seemed to find amusement in his confusion.
Mary's laughing subsided "Think about it, it's like a challenge. How do you find a flat mate for a sociopath?" She laughed again, John sat across from her with a sigh, she immediately jumped in, "He doesn't want someone boring I assume, but if we give him someone like you then he'd think we took the easy way out and that's no fun for either of us."
John was fascinated by how closely she was actually looking at this.
She was thinking out loud now. "Okay let's see, what does he like in person? Did he ever date anyone? Besides you?" she joked.
"Very funny, and as far as I know, no. Sherlock Holmes has never been attached."
Mary thought long and hard, John was still bewildered at the work she was willing to put into this, and still he couldn't be more grateful. He stood and went to make some tea.
"Give him someone he needs to figure out. He said he liked me because I was interesting. Someone to kill his boredom."
Mary was still thinking, not saying a word until suddenly she took out a pad and paper and began to write.
Interviewing was taking hours. They'd posted the advertisement two days ago and received 20 applicants almost the next morning. Lot's of freaks looking for flats. John had thought after reading some of the replies. Then the interviews started the next day, it felt hopeless, like trying on shoes in a shop where they only sold two sizes. Size boring, or size dangerous, because those were the piles John sorted the applicants into afterwards.
The first two people that came in were clearly students who were extreme partiers. Late nights, loud music, binge drinking? No good for Sherlock. John crossed them off instantly, into the dangerous pile. Another rejection was a middle aged woman whom Sherlock would've classified as dull, and weepy, probably newly divorced and no children. He'd figure her out right away. Also why would she want a flat share with a strange man? Dull and dangerous? No wish to find out.
The next was an innocent looking young man who was clearly just out of uni and was trying to get on his feet as an actor. John crossed him off immediately for the kid's sake more than Sherlock's. Sherlock crushing far fetched hopes and dreams...no. Mary however, did most of the talking, she was incredibly sly. She seemed to look at the potential applicant and then match the personality that they'd respond to best. Similar to the way Sherlock could turn on the charm or the tears at a crime scene. She was able to get a lot the information that could have been over looked. About boyfriends, girlfriends, drug habits (big no no), pets and odd behavior. John didn't want two crazies in one house.
John heard the next person enter while he was looking over the last applicant's photographs of birds they'd left with them to "look into his true spirit." It had been five hours and he was thoroughly exhausted. How many weirdos were there in this bloody city? He didn't bother looking up.
"State your name."
Silence. He looked up confused, maybe he'd mistaken the sound of the door opening, he was tired after all but, no sure enough there was a young woman sitting in front of him with an uneasy expression on her face. He repeated himself.
"Name please."
The girl pushed her lips together and leaned forward to point at her application. Her name was at the top in semi-neat scrawl handwriting.
John looked over to Mary who was studying their new applicant intensely. After a minute a kind smile spread across her face. She'd found her approach.
"It's alright if you don't want to talk. I get nervous too sometimes. If you'd like I could write the questions down and you could fill them out over there." she said pointing to the armchair next to the fireplace. The girl smiled shyly and Mary walked with her over to the fireplace to write down the questions. When the girl was absorbed in writing she turned and smiled at John and mouthed.
"This could be it."
...
This was thoroughly ridiculous.
Found you one. I'm coming over.-JW
Well this wasn't going to take long. He'd given John until next week and he'd managed to find him a flatmate in two days. Sherlock considered what was most likely to come. John would present his idea of a perfect flat mate, Sherlock would immediately deduce everything about them and declare them unfit and John would be sent back into the fray. What an utter waste of time. What could John possibly consider a perfect flat mate for him? Most likely a carbon copy of John himself. No, he contradicted himself Mary would've advised against it. He'd never let it be known but Mary was more clever than she looked. She probably conducted half the operation. he thought smirking at the thought of John taking orders from her, all while trying to remain as in charge as he thought himself to be.
Just as he'd gone back into serious thinking mode he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. John, he thought then listened again, John and... someone else? Mary? No the other footsteps were lighter, trainers, not the heavy clomping of Mary's faux leather boots she seemed to favor so much. Dear god, he did not bring it with him. Did John really think that by bringing the person with him that it would change his mind? Moron. He's seen him pick apart numerous people to their face all the time, what made this time any different? All of the sudden the situation seemed to peak his interest. He wouldn't let John know that of course. But the fact that John had brought the person with him, after knowing him for all this time and thinking it would make a difference, what could this person have that is supposed to interest him?
He heard John outside the door speaking quietly to someone, Sherlock couldn't make out the words but it sounded like John was trying to warn whoever was with him. Preparing them for the madness. He thought, letting it echo with sarcasm inside his incredibly vast mind. John entered but no one followed behind him. They must be waiting outside the door while John tries to tame the beast.
"So..." he began.
"You've supposedly found one." Sherlock interrupted with an almost cruel grin.
"Yes, I think you'll be interested in them." John said trying to remain stoic.
"And why is that?" The detective replied turning to face the window, dressing gown swirling with him rather dramatically.
"They're... different."
"Everyone's believes they're different John, but in actuality we're all the same, same thoughts, same lives, same speech..."
"Well maybe not speech-"
Sherlock waved it off, "Well languages, but that's not the point-"
"Sherlock!" John said sternly. Suddenly Sherlock felt a third presence in the room.
He turned, to see a young woman, in jeans and trainers. Obviously. She didn't say anything she just stared at him with round hazel eyes, a brown several shades lighter than her hair, almost as if they'd been mismatched. He noticed her rubbing the fingers on her right hand together. Nervous habit. He looked back at her face, lips were red and raw from biting and scraping at them. Anxiety issues. She was pretty, well what Sherlock guessed was pretty. Boyfriend? Hell, what was this woman's name?
"Who are you?" he asked still studying her.
"Sherlock-"
"John don't answering for her, I prefer to make my own observations."
"Sherlock she doesn't speak."
The girl's eyes dropped to the floor immediately. A mute? Well, this should be easy.
"Early onset anxiety disorder due to a trauma as a child, leading to selective mutism. John, it's not terribly hard to figure out." Sherlock said quickly turning back to the window. He heard John murmur something like "I'm so sorry." to the nameless woman. Then he heard the rustle of paper and felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to be face to face, well face to neck with this woman, she was a full head shorter than him. She stepped back and tucked her hair behind her ear and with her left hand held out a small piece of notebook paper that read.
I'm Samantha, call me Sam. Nice to meet you.
When he looked up her right hand was held out for a handshake. Sherlock obliged cautiously, not without noticing John trying to hide a triumphant smirk.
What have you done Sam? She thought as she walked from the cab to her sister's flat. Heart pounding, and face flushed. You should've found out who you were rooming with first before agreeing to this. She'd had no idea her potential new flatmate was going to be male. And a strange one at that. She had to admit though. The flat was cool, there was a lot of weird stuff around and she'd always liked odd place like that. He didn't like me, I know it. She thought as she entered the flat and jogged upstairs to her room. He seemed mean even to Dr. Watson, and they were close friends? She took of her coat and scarf and sat on the bed. And why was he in his pajamas? It was after noon. He was extremely odd indeed. She looked around her small room, trying to picture her possession especially her multitudes of books among the madness in that flat. She'd done the same thing when moving to Uni, and it seemed so impossible until she'd arrived and her roommate, Kate had been so kind. The two of them stayed up at night discussing books and authors and philosophy until the wee hours of the morning, her anxiety dissolved. Maybe this would be like that. Maybe Sherlock Holmes, god what a strange name, isn't as brusque as he seemed. Or maybe they'd just coexist and not interact at all. Shouldn't be too hard since any possible conversation would be one-sided anyway. A deep sigh. This is a bad idea. An extremely bad idea.
"Sam, you home?" her sister called from downstairs.
Sam tapped her foot on the floor, their new signal for saying "yes" when far away. The two sisters had a lot of signals like that. Her sister, Sarah, had created the symbols when they'd both found sign language rather difficult, and Sam wasn't deaf. She just couldn't speak and she could hear just fine so why not let her sister speak normally when she's around? So in substitute they created little signals and sounds to communicate, along with the regular yes or no head nod. And Sarah could usually tell what Sam was thinking anyway, that's how it was with sisters. Close ones at least.
After Samantha had been released from Hospital Sarah had offered for her to stay with her and her fiance, Mark, until she got back on her feet. And to help her... adjust to this new lifestyle. Secretly, she felt like a bit of a burden to the two of them, they'd helped move her small amount of possessions (they only filled about three boxes, two of which were full of books) and her desk and bookcase to their reasonably sized flat in London for "As long as you need." Sarah had said, but Sam now felt she had overstayed her welcome. Not talking made you notice more. She could tell that the two of them tiptoed around her, and that they didn't like leaving her alone for long periods of time. Also she basically got rid of the guest room because it was now her room. So a few days ago she found the advertisement in the paper and thought the price looked reasonable and had Sarah contact the number for an interview. Phone conversations were out of the question now. Her mother had offered for her to live at home but, Sam decided that would be a huge step backwards. Time to be a grown up, she'd thought when she walked in for the interview. Except now that required action, and she felt miles away from ready.