Ok I hate this chapter and I'm sorry for the length (that's what he said). I should've just attached this to the last chapter, but as usual, I am an idiot.
When she woke up in the morning, on her nightstand was a post-it with two names on top of a pile of beekeeping books. Initially, she planned on ignoring them, but it was a safer option than thinking about Sherlock's giant blue peepers all day.
Taking the post-it off the top book, Nasira couldn't help but to frown. The name Sherlock Holmes sounded fake to her, but it was what 'Joan Watson' had called him last night. Either way, she couldn't stop saying it, enjoying the pattern of her tongue behind her teeth.
Taking a break from her studies, Nasira chose to make dinner for her housemates, but perhaps at the wrong time. "I went to Le Grand Macabre one when I was nine, now I'm a buff!" Sherlock yelled, stomping into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry, Nasira. I ordered these in advance, thinking it'd only be Sherlock and me." Joan apologized.
Nasira shrugged, not making eye contact with the woman. "It's ok. I don't like the opera anyway." She lied, scowling as Sherlock stole a freshly made breadstick from the tray.
Feeling there was an argument coming on, Nasira turned off the oven, excusing herself from the kitchen and made her way upstairs. When she said she'd be out of their way, she meant it quite literally. Plus their arguing would only add to her stress which was already through the roof since they moved in. The constant paranoia of them kicking her out, the suspicion as to why Sherlock let her stay in the first place and of course her withdrawals were all taking a toll on her.
Sighing to herself, Nasira picked up the stupid beekeeping book to distract herself from the pointed tones going on beneath her.
She'd just finished the history of bees in Ancient Egypt when she heard the front door close. Hurriedly, but not too eager, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen to see Sherlock already helping himself to her lasagna.
Pulling out a plate for herself, she began cutting a slice. "You should try to spend time with her, Sherlock. She's your sober companion." Grabbing a fork, she sat across from him at the small table, not paying his furrowed brow any mind. "She's only trying to help."
Since she obviously wasn't getting the hint that Sherlock didn't want to converse the situation with her, he picked up his plate and relocated to the living room, leaving a stunned Nasira in the kitchen.
It'd been hours since Sherlock left the brownstone, giving Nasira the peace and quiet she wanted to read. Much to her surprise, she began to find apiculture very interesting. But naughtily, she began to wonder what exactly Holmes intended to do with all that honey.
"Nasira?" Joan called out as she entered the brownstone, causing the woman in question to hide the book under the pillow she'd been laying on. Looking at the clock, Nasira realized it was almost midnight and that there was only one set of footsteps.
"Where's Sherlock?" Nasira asked, stifling a yawn.
"In jail because he ran into the suspect's car, on purpose." Joan answered annoyed at the situation. "With who's car?" Nasira wondered, trying to clear things up.
"Mine!" Joan half yelled, throwing her hands into the air before plopping down onto the loveseat.
Nasira couldn't get the word suspect out of her mind. Sherlock didn't look like a cop to her. "What exactly is it that Sherlock does?"
Joan turned her head quickly to the woman across from her. "You don't know?" Nasira shook her head slowly, wondering if she was currently jeopardizing the façade Sherlock had so thoughtfully crafted for her. Surely a friend, co-worker, fellow apiculturist or whatever the hell she was supposed to be should know what he did for a living.
"He's a consulting detective for the NYPD."
By the time Sherlock had finally come home the following night, the two beekeeping books were back on the bookshelf, and Nasira was currently deep into one of his psychology books while noodles were cooking on the stove.
"I see you've made yourself at home in my absence." Holmes stated, acknowledging the fact that Nasira was lounging in her pajamas while reading one of the books he hadn't permitted to her.
Finally, choosing to look his way, she thumbed her spot on the page before replying "Yeah, I think brushing up on how the mind works would be a wise choice considering your profession… detective." She added the last part as she walked past him and to the kitchen to finish her Chinese food.
Nasira didn't feel much at home knowing that she was living under the same roof as someone who had connections to the police and could remove her from said roof if she stepped a toe out of line.