A/N: Short chapter I am sorry. It barely covers 2000 words and it annoys me but I couldn't have extended it anymore without using extended metaphors and all the poetic stops I love to use with all my heart. Again, there will be errors since sleep is sadly a thing in my life. After this chapter things will finally speed up a little bit! I can't wait!

I enjoy a little bit of a sassy/over-reactive John every so often so this is that time. I use him a lot since he's almost as much fun to write as Moriarty. God... Moriarty! That's another character altogether I can't wait to bring back~! Okay okay. I'm getting ahead of myself. Onto the story. Then sleep. Finally.

Read/follow/fav/read! Enjoy the story! Ciao~

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock

Chapter 6 – Psychedelic

Opening the door, I wasn't surprised to see the detective glaring at what the meal the nurses delivered to him.

"This is rubbish," he spoke with disgust. I rose a brow in his direction but he failed to see the mocking expression.

"That 'rubbish' is what every patient in this hospital gets when they have to stay longer than a few hours. Jello and easy to eat accommodations."

A gagging noise seemed to crawl up Sherlock's throat but never made it to his mouth. Well, I'm sorry Princess. I can't bring you fancy food when nobody else can get the same. It was unequal and it wasn't in my morals. But of course I didn't mention this. It would be like arguing with a little kid wanting a lollipop instead of a biscuit.

Sherlock pushed his tray away from him with his good arm.

"And you wonder why the patients stay here longer than they should," he muttered and I sighed. Really. He was practically like a child – again – who wanted candy and junk food for his hospital meals. He needs to realize he isn't getting special treatment here. Even children don't get special treatment and normally they are more pampered than anyone in this building. Thank God I don't work in that department. It would end up in an early retirement.

I sat in the chair beside his cot and watched him flip through some of the channels like last night. He didn't look amused. Then again, he didn't look amused last night as well. He didn't seem one for the media at all actually.

"And rubbish reception. This is a wonderful occupational area you have set for yourself, Doctor."

I could hear the sarcasm and felt my hairs bristle along with my pride, "Oh shush it you. Everyone is equal here and has the same meals and same ' rubbish' reception as you do and I don't hear them complaining. I fail to see how you are any different than them and don't you dare mention the fact that your posh excuse of a brother is part of the bloody government because that doesn't mean nearly as much here as it would mean elsewhere."

After that, I sat there in my chair, fuming. I didn't see Sherlock's expression, but I would assume it would be indifferent. No doubt he is depreciating me and assuming I'm immature and short-tempered, which I'm not. Well, never mind. That can be debatable. Very. Nonetheless, he was probably unaffected by my words. Tuned them out like a bad antenna on the telly.

He wasn't too fond of relationships from what I see. If that is the case, then why is he inviting me to speak with him? Clearly this might end badly. It's already starting off splendidly.

Sherlock ceased flipping channels, or so I took notice of when the station stayed on the same women for longer than 10 seconds.

"John."

I didn't look at him. I refused to dismiss what he said. He was mocking me. I was not going to just forgive him like that. I had too much pride to allow him the decency of being forgiven that quickly. If we were going to be soul mates, he might as well know my flaws since there are a lot and they all derive from the military ironic enough.

"John look at me."

Sod off you pompous git. You need to learn to apologize. Better yet, maybe I should buy you a bloody book! Then you can actually learn how to speak to people you should treat with respect and not with this... I don't know how to describe it. Disinterest? Aloofness? Some word that I probably would have to search the dictionary for a ridiculous amount of time to find? Probably.

Speaking to him was definitely not on that list. Yes, I suppose I would have brushed it aside if I didn't suspect us being future mates. If we weren't to be that I would have just laughed it off or rolled my eyes. Perhaps I'm being over-reactive. I've been told that by some people. It normally comes with emotional stress and not being able to cope with change, apparently.

Well, this definitely qualifies for that.

Clara said I should talk to him and get used to him since I think – rather unlikely might I add – that he is my mate. I should get used to him and kind of become accustomed to him. Right now, that was an impossibility and I don't think it will change. Not at this moment.

"John please," Sherlock whined and I gave a relenting sigh before looking at him.

His gaze was fully on me and as expected, expressionless besides the little signs of whining and complaining.

I could see the little tidbits that made him look like the Translucence part he had in him. It was clear and yet not. The sharp cheek bones, the blue eyes, pale skin, and skinny frame. Those were it, but it definitely made him appear one of them. If not for the fact the veins and organs couldn't be viewed and his hair was black, I would assume that he was a full-fledged translucent.

But he wasn't. Only part. A bigger part than he should be but a part nonetheless.

I still don't know where he got that attitude from though considering the Translucent are wonderful people to be around. Must be the Monochrome. Or his brother. Or both.

"Remember what I said last night?" he spoke and I nodded, still slightly irritated but curious. I wanted to know what he was interested in telling me. The reasons were in halves I must admit. Part was because I wanted to know if he noticed the spark and if I should avoid him. The other was because he was the most intriguing person, Monochrome or otherwise, I have ever met and I wanted to hear every word he had to say... as odd as that sounds.

He leaned back against the cot and sighed.

"I want to make a little... preposition. If you are willing to accept." I caught the tinge of 'if you want to I mean' underlining his words but made no move to mock him with them. It was clear he wasn't used to asking for permission and just kind of assumed most revolved around him and go with him whether they want to or not.

"A preposition upon what grounds?" I ask carefully. I didn't expect anything far fetched, despite the aura Sherlock seemed to give off.

"One concerning living arrangements," he responded smoothly and averted his gaze to the telly. Part of him seemed annoyed for asking the question – although this looked to be directed at himself – and part was lining of curious and worry. I was a little surprised to see all the emotion so quickly and openly.

"And why, by any means, would you want me to be taking this sudden change?" I was more than a tad surprised with the sudden question. I didn't expect it and I'm sure he didn't either. The part of me that was curious on the bond was starting to show again.

Sherlock hesitated at this question. He looked confused and irritated, but after a minute he responded quickly.

"Well, if I were to take in your occupation with the abilities of my own, then it would seem appropriate to combine them. Also, you are clearly not living on your own but wish to therefore-"

"Fibbing Sherlock," I grinned and he sighed. He wasn't used to getting caught. Certainly not by a dull Monochrome as myself.

After grumbling to himself for a bit, he looked at me and responded bluntly, "Fine. You interest me John Watson. "Plain and simple" as they say. The fact that I seem to hold this atrocious pull in your direction and have yet to discern it as something my heavy vessel of a body naturally has is beginning to wear on my mind. Therefore, the most reasonable path to go along is to study you more. I'm sure you can take account that I will not injure myself on pointless tasks because not only would that annoy yourself, but it would get very bland for myself since one soon runs out of ways to injure oneself without fatality consuming them."

He took a deep breath and met my eyes directly, "So, doctor Watson, will you or will you not accept my preposition? I don't have all day since I know after you leave the room I am to be discharged."

Silence thickened the atmosphere as our eyes interlocked but nothing broke it.

Sherlock was waiting for a response.

That I, of course, had not yet been ready to answer.

Because, like an idiot, I sat there dumbfounded and still analyzing his words. Mostly in the terms of my medical and science fields because I was in that mindset. He said he felt a pull, but he didn't get a spark. Was he dull to the soul mating process? Would he even know if his mate were to be right in front of him? He finds it annoying and absurd, which I couldn't agree more since I wasn't looking for a mate in him at the moment, and yet finds it intriguing. Like a geologist finding new territory to discover the terrain and such.

Wait, he said to move in with him. In the most roundabout ways, sure, but he did say it. To me. A man he just met. He says I'm interesting and that's why he wants me to become his flat mate, but what about myself? Unlike Sherlock who apparently has his partial Translucence genes affecting the soul mate system in his body, I am completely normal. I'm still of Monochrome standards and will feel every single bloody spark I get from just accidentally touching his pinky.

He was getting off easy.

But how was I supposed to say no? For one, he is my mate. Sadly. Another, he is a person that is appealing and the way his mind works is definitely something that attracts me to him. Not just by mating standards, but by personal curiosity. No was beginning to fly out the window and yes was settling in.

Maybe it was my background. I was used to danger and something out of the ordinary. I was attracted to adrenaline and the rush of it. For some reason, when my eyes met Sherlock, it seemed that he was nothing but all of these things combined. Something about how he wouldn't tell me how he got into the case of all those injuries or how his mind works. It was everything that I definitely wouldn't mind accompanying if given the chance.

That wasn't the only reason his offer was appealing.

Well, it would get me out of the flat of Clara and Harry. They are lovely but I really need to live on my own and away from their... relationship. Especially since I am already anxious about my possible future one. Maybe Sherlock and I can remain friends or comrades so-to-speak.

Because I didn't deserve a mate of any kind and I certainly didn't expect this one of all people. Who would? I was happy in my own little world of black, white, and grey and yet when I touched his skin ever so briefly I saw a spark of the color "blue" people mentioned. It was vibrant and contrast to my daily color schemes.

Finally, I realized I wanted to see more of these colors that I lack the sight of.

I let out a breath and Sherlock sat a little straighter. Was he nervous or was it just reflex?

"Fine."

He didn't grin like I probably would, but I could feel the little aura of feeling pleased surround himself. He probably predicted I would say that. Maybe. I'm still not sure which part of him holds Translucence and which holds Monochrome. Maybe he just knew I would say that. Maybe he knew I would think this.

Or maybe I'm just being completely absurd and he is just a git who becomes proud whenever things go his way.

"Perfect," he nodded to himself and then sighed. "Now, for your newly appointed flat mate, is there any way to get better meals in this sort of place?"

I laughed, "In your dreams."