Human (BBC Sherlock)

A Bit Interested

"Would it kill you to be a little polite?"

John had stepped back into the room, chiding the unaffected Sherlock who had moved away from the desk to his usual armchair, the same one that Isabelle had been sitting in just minutes before. He casually leafed through the day's newspaper, taking his time replying to his un-amused friend.

"Afraid I don't know what you mean," he finally answered, pausing to skim over one of the black and white pages. John stood a few feet away from him, arms crossed in annoyance and waiting for him to keep going.

"Oh, you mean the mentally unstable girl you've allowed to stay here," Sherlock added with an air of sarcasm. "I've already lent her my room John, how much more 'polite' do you expect me to be?"

John's expression changed at his 'mentally unstable' comment, which upon notice caused Sherlock to let out an exaggerated sigh and go on to explain.

"Her wrists, John. Faintly scarred, self-inflicted. She's spent time in rehabilitation and taken multiple anti-depressants and although they've done her some good there's the faint possibility she could relapse. She's never been in a steady relationship and although she apparently has enough intellect locked up somewhere to graduate university a year early, she lacks in confidence or common sense when it comes to her emotional state."

"Says the man who knows no emotion." John blinked, wanting to defend Isabelle in some way but not finding the words. He was well aware that his friend had gone through personal struggles, but regrettably had not been around to help her when she needed it most several years ago, when she had finally broken down. Even if she was doing considerably better now, that regret weighed down on him after Sherlock had spoken.

"It's a waste of valuable brain space," Sherlock retorted, folding up the newspaper and lazily tossing it onto the coffee table. He rubbed his fingers together to rid them of ink stains, and let out another sigh. There was nothing good going on, no heavy crimes, no murders, nothing. How boring.

"At least try to seem happy that she's here, Sherlock. Please. She's a friend, and she'll only be staying until she can get herself on her feet here."

"Your friend." Sherlock distinguished, right before a refreshed Isabelle stepped into the room, her hair now tied up into a bun on top of her head. She smiled kindly to John, then to Sherlock, although a bit hesitantly. He made her nervous, but she couldn't place why.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson left your tea on the dining table," John informed her. Isabelle made her way to the kitchen, but quickly came back with widened eyes.

"I, there's a, um...a hand in the kitchen sink," she managed to say, tightly gripping the porcelain cup in her hands.

"Ah, almost forgot about that." Sherlock jumped up and drifted into the kitchen, muttering something to himself along the way. A still stunned Isabelle turned to John, her eyes begging for an explanation.

"I suppose I should have mentioned something about Sherlock's experiments," he stated, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing back toward the kitchen. "They tend to pop up in various places. Although I've told him that testing things in the kitchen isn't very...sanitary."

Isabelle took a long sip of her tea, unsure of what to say to that. "What does he do with them?" she finally asked, out of curiosity.

John opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Sherlock as he returned to the room. "A variety of things, Miss Adkins, will that be a problem?" For the first time Sherlock stopped in front of her, looking at her as if he'd finally acknowledged her presence, although his tone suggested he wasn't particularly overjoyed about it.