Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you for all the new reviews! I'm really excited about where this story's headed. Here's Chapter 4!
John sipped his tea half listening to the tournament on the television at Speedy's Diner. He checked his watch, two minutes of three. He looked up to the bell ringing as Sam entered the place, scanning the room. John gave a little wave and she walked over and sat down across from him in the booth.
"Hello then," John said with a sigh, "You want anything? Tea?"
She nodded and made a signal with her hands meaning "Two sugars."
John ordered for her and then they got down to business.
"Okay so... how are things going I guess?" he started.
Sam pulled out a notepad, and showed him the note she'd written to Sherlock. He raised his eyebrows at "Where else would you put them?" She really doesn't mind body parts in the fridge? She then turned to a clean page and scribbled furiously.
Okay, quick overview and questions.
One, he doesn't talk much except when he has to. Two, does he ever eat? I got him to eat last night but he didn't really have much. Three, he likes crappy trivia programmes, well correcting them. Which I don't mind by the way. And four, what exactly does he do?
John read the note quickly, and smiled at the bit about Sherlock still liking crap telly.
"To answer your question about the eating, he doesn't eat much, he...forgets to I guess."
Sam gave a look.
"I don't get it either just keep giving him food and he'll be fine. That's what I used to do."
Sam scribbled in her notebook but gave him no sign she was trying to communicate so he continued.
"And about what he does. He's a consulting detective."
Sam looked up, trying to understand.
"He invented the job the police consult him on strange cases. Murders are his favorite. And I'll tell you now," he leaned in a little "when he's on a case will be the quietest time of your life because he's usually never home, what you really should worry about is when he doesn't have a case, by the way does he right now?"
Sam shrugged, I don't know. Then wrote,
He had a case file out last night in the kitchen I think. But he was home all day as far a I know.
"He doesn't then. Just check the papers everyday and this website," he reached over and scrawled a web address in the notebook."The Science of Deduction, it's his website potential clients contact him there when they don't come to the flat."
She raised an eyebrow, Clients?
"Oh right, he doesn't just work with the police, he does private things as well. But only if they're interesting, if they're not he usually insults them and throws them out."
Both eyebrows went up now.
"He usually doesn't insult the flatmate, well mostly, I mean he would say horrible things to me but it was usually when he was frustrated or bored."
A pained look.
"I don't think he'd do that to you though."
John didn't know why but looking at her now, he couldn't picture anyone insulting this girl. And if anyone did they'd have to be completely incapable of remorse.
Sam seemed to have relaxed, she'd scribbled a few more notes in her notebook and had closed it up. By now her tea had arrived and she was sipping it daintily.
"Also, I have to ask, what do you do?"
Confusion.
"What's your job? You are paying for the flat as well."
She jerked her head back as if to say, "Ah I get it!"
She pantomimed typing on a keyboard,
"A blogger?"
She shook her head.
"A writer?"
She gave a hand gesture, Kind of. Then wrote in the notebook and pushed it across the table.
Freelance writer, I review books. Doesn't require talking because it's done through the internet. Don't worry about lack of work either because I have pretty steady income from multiple websites and magazines.
John nodded, "Good, good."
Sam sat back and finished her tea and raised her eyebrows at him. Is that all?
"I think that's everything, and if you have any other questions I gave you my contact info right?"
She nodded.
"Good," John didn't know what to say next, he felt like he was handing over his pet to a caregiver for the weekend, they'd talked about feeding him for chrissake! "Alright then, text me or email me if you need anything then."
She gave a warm smile, waved goodbye and left the diner.
And in that moment John began to trust her.
Sherlock heard her footsteps. No trainers today, boots. Not clomping ones like Mary's, hers were flat and rubber on the bottom. Quiet things. She was quiet. Not just because she didn't talk, but she did everything almost silently. She would walk heel-toe all the time feeling the floor rather than hitting it like Sherlock did when he walked. When she ate she chewed her food slowly, sometimes he noticed her looking at it on her fork for a minute before putting it in her mouth. She also spent a lot of time locked up in her bedroom. While she'd been out, conferencing with John no doubt, he'd peered in briefly. The two bookshelves had been almost filled completely with probably hundreds of books. The writing desk had a laptop and an open book on it with a small writing lamp. Her bed was always made and there was a floor lamp next to it. He knew she read a lot, he'd often see her in the mornings with a small volume in her left hand eating toast with the other, no plate, and nothing resting on the table where his latest experiments were always laying out. It was as if she was trying to take up as little space as possible at all times. She left no signs of ever being in a room except her own. And had taken a huge liking to her, sometimes Sherlock thought, even more than she'd liked John, because she always listened to her tangents on the day's gossip or her latest hip related problem.
However, she somehow made sure Sherlock did everything he was supposed to do. And he never argued. Not once. Something in the silent way she would casually place a plate of food in his lap or toss some clothes at him in the mornings made arguing seem out of place. Silly almost, unlike with John where everything was a battle. There was no competition with her, and it's not like she would argue back. Though she was interesting. He would watch her sometimes out of the corner of his eye. There were really only two time he saw her for an extended period of time. They'd created a little routine without really trying, he'd see her when she'd wake up in the morning, wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, she always woke up after him, she'd make some toast and butter and would him a small plate for himself. He'd watch her from behind his paper, she never knew. They'd both eat and read in silence, then she would leave the table for her shower and afterwards would emerge again to throw some clothes at Sherlock sometimes even looking at him then returning to her bedroom to write Sherlock assumed. He heard an awful lot of typing, quick paced with pauses, not like John which sound like slow tapping. Then he'd go about his day, meeting with Lestrade, experiments at the morgue with Molly, or case work with John. Whenever there wasn't a large case he always went home around the same time everyday for dinner, which lead to the second time he'd see her, take away dinner and telly, because a table conversation would be rather one sided. That's when he'd do his real observations. She was always in her pajamas by that time of night and would always eat on the sofa with Sherlock in the armchair closer to the telly. She always sat either cross legged or one knee drawn up with her food spread out the coffee table. He knew what her laugh looked like even though it didn't make a sound, she would smile in a different way than her usual timid close mouthed fashion. Sometimes she wouldn't even watch, on a number of occasions he'd caught her dreaming, staring out the window. Afterwards she'd clear all the garbage and go to bed, and that would be the last he'd see of her until the next day.
Sherlock would sometimes let the thought creep into his mind that their routine wasn't... he didn't know how to describe it...right? Whenever he was out with John he'd always ask him about her.
"You and Sam getting along alright?"
"Didn't you learn enough from your conference with her?"
"Okay, I shouldn't be surprised that you know about that, but we didn't talk about that."
"What did you talk about then?"
John thought a moment.
"It was just a check-in. Seeing how she was adjusting."
"She's fine, we don't see much of one another."
"How? It's not a very big flat-"
"John I need for you to understand something," Sherlock turned, "She is there for two purposes, to live there and to help me pay for it. She's not bothersome, she keeps to herself, we see each other twice a day, and she makes sure I don't destroy anything. She does a job. That's all."
He turned and kept walking, after a moment John caught up to him, not dropping the topic.
"Yeah but how can you not even interact? Shouldn't you at least get to know her?"
Sherlock was silent.
"You live with her and you know nothing about her!"
"How much did you know about me when you moved in?"
"I had learned too much by the end of the day."
Sherlock kept walking, they did know a little too much about one another, more on Sherlock's end, but that was because he looked.
"She keeps to herself, I think we're on the same page."
John stopped and he did too.
"Look all I'm saying is it might be nice for you to make an effort." he sighed "I don't think she has any friends or anyone she knows."
Sherlock scoffed.
"Don't Sherlock, think about it, she can't exactly interact with anyone. Not unless someone makes the effort first."
Sherlock stared.
A sigh, "Just... give it a shot."