Human (Johnlock)

Moving Day

Thanks to everyone who's reading this!

As always, all mistakes are my own, and I apologize for them.

Enjoy!

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Growing up, John had had a fairly standard childhood. He lived on the outskirts of London in a three bedroom house, went to public school, and even owned a car when he was old enough. His home was the largest on his street, and was rather nice, and he'd felt privileged to live in it.

Still, his house failed substantially in comparison to Sherlock's childhood home. Nestled comfortably inside a gated community, the three story mansion was the most extravagant residence John had ever laid eyes on. The thought of anyone wanting to escape this place was more than perplexing to John, and he told Sherlock this the moment they stepped foot inside the great estate. His statement was met with a dramatic sigh and an eye roll from Sherlock, who once again informed John that he did not know his brother Mycroft.

"Will I get to meet him?"

"Not if you're lucky." John chuckled, and Sherlock watched him out of the corner of his eye as they navigated the many hallways of the Holmes Estate. John glanced around at the paintings that adorned the walls, noticing the severe lack of family photos that could usually be found in every home. John wondered if there was any sort of connection between the lack of sentimental decorations within Sherlock's childhood home and his somewhat cold and detached nature. He decided not to dwell on that thought for too long and instead focused on how loudly his and Sherlock's footsteps echoed throughout every hallway as they walked.

"Where are we going, exactly?" he asked after they'd been walking for several minutes.

"Library. It's where all my stuff is being kept."

"Not in your room?

"No."

John opened his mouth and sucked in a breath, but the look Sherlock gave him made him seal his lips immediately. He just nodded his head and no more words were said until they reached their destination in the East wing of the house. The library was large and extravagant like the rest of the manor, and John took a few moments to appreciate the myriad of books contained within the baronial bookcases while Sherlock gathered his things from a far corner of the room.

"Do you need any help?"

"No thanks I've got it." After hearing the slight strain in Sherlock's voice, John diverted his attention from the twenty two volume ornithology encyclopedia in front of him and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw Sherlock trying to balance six large bags on his person he chuckled and walked over, grabbing a bag and the two boxes that Sherlock had been trying to pick up. Sherlock met his eyes with a confused gaze, but John only smiled and strolled towards the door. He waited in the hallway for Sherlock, who emerged looking somewhat flustered, and the two men made their way back to the front of the mansion, where a sleek black car and an equally as sleek looking man in a black uniform was waiting for them.

"Hello, Master Sherlock," the man greeted, bowing slightly before reaching for Sherlock's bags. He threw them into the boot of the car while John stood nearby, then he grabbed the boxes and placed those inside as well. John joined Sherlock in the back seat of the car and turned to face him with a smile.

"Master Sherlock?" he questioned, causing Sherlock to groan and roll his eyes. John chuckled and turned to look out the window, searching for any sign of the driver. He saw him still standing at the boot of the car, talking to some man John had never seen before. He reached over and tapped Sherlock on the shoulder, then when he had his attention he pointed to the back window. Sherlock turned and looked, scowled when he saw the man, then quickly got out of the car. John watched from his place in the back seat as Sherlock approached who John guessed was his brother. They appeared to exchange a few heated words before Mycroft turned and casually strolled into the house, leaving behind a red-faced Sherlock and an uncomfortable looking driver. When Sherlock climbed back into the car he looked rather sullen and was undoubtedly pouting, despite the fact that he was a fully-grown man. John could still see a faint flush on his cheeks.

"Everything alright?" he asked, starting to reach towards Sherlock but stopping his hand halfway. Sherlock gave a curt nod and turned towards the window.

"Everything's fine. I'm leaving this place, I couldn't be happier." John wasn't fully convinced due to the monotony of Sherlock's voice and eyed him skeptically. Sherlock caught his eye in the reflection of the window and offered him a tight smile. "I assure you John, everything is okay." John sighed and nodded his head, and settled into his seat. The driver had now taken his place behind the wheel and they were finally headed back to John's flat so Sherlock could officially move in.

When they arrived, John and Sherlock carried Sherlock's things into the flat, and placed them in a corner of John's bedroom. John hovered in the doorway between the hallway and his room while Sherlock surveyed the pile of bags and boxes. He looked like he was deep in thought, with his brow furrowed and fingers gently caressing his own jaw.

"What is it?" John asked, stepping back inside the room and standing beside Sherlock.

"Don't you think it would be better to leave this in the living room? I don't want to have to come into your personal space every time I need to change my outfit or grab a book."

"You won't be," John said as he grabbed Sherlock's arm and led him out into the living room. John sat down on his couch, and Sherlock sat in the armchair directly beside it, turning slightly in the seat to face John. John brought his feet up onto the couch and turned to face Sherlock, a smile on his face. "You'll be staying in my bedroom, and I'll sleep out here."

"I can't let you," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "The couch will be just fine for me."

"You're my guest, Sherlock."

"And as your guest I'm requesting you let me sleep on the couch." Sherlock looked over at him and their gazes locked. John narrowed his eyes, as did Sherlock, and they waged a silent war that John lost when he sighed and nodded his head.

"Fine, fine." He stood from the couch and began walking to the kitchen. "What do you want for dinner?" He glanced over his shoulder at Sherlock, who was staring at him through still-narrowed eyes.

"Dinner?" he asked, sounding somewhat scandalized, "I've already eaten today." John couldn't help but to laugh.

"Do you only eat once a day?"

"Sometimes not even that." John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, who immediately ducked his head down and avoided eye contact. John decided not to press the matter further and continued on into the kitchen. Just because Sherlock wasn't going to eat didn't mean he wasn't. He set about taking down various ingredients to make a stir fry, and heard his television click on in the living room. John listened to the sounds of his favourite police show while he cooked, and decided that he could get used to this...arrangement he now had with Sherlock.

Just as John was finishing his cooking he noticed that he could no longer hear the tv, and could only hear Sherlock's muffled voice instead. He turned the stove off and peeked into the living room to see Sherlock pacing back and forth in front of the tv, which was now muted, talking to himself it seemed.

"What are you doing?"

"Thinking." John took a step closer and tilted his head.

"About what?" Sherlock continued pacing for a moment, and John thought his question hadn't been heard. He was starting to turn back to go into the kitchen when he heard Sherlock's voice.

"Nothing important." John glanced briefly up at Sherlock, who was still pacing, then went into the kitchen. He then grabbed a plate from a cupboard overhead and began spooning some of the stir fry onto it. As John was grabbing a fork from the dishwasher Sherlock appeared beside him, looking extremely uncomfortable. John started to ask if everything was alright, but he was silenced when Sherlock raised a slender finger to his lips. John nodded and walked over to the dinner table, setting his plate down in front of him. Sherlock followed and stood beside John's chair.

"I must have you know, John, I do... I do appreciate this. I'm not exactly an expert when it comes to..." he trailed off and stared at the floor, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "When it comes to.."

"Thanking me?" John offered. He saw the look of relief that briefly flashed across Sherlock's features before he nodded. John chuckled and took a bite of his stir fry. "It's no problem, really. I've always wanted a flat mate."

"Me too." John raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"Really?" Sherlock seemed to be arguing with himself for a moment, then sighed and shook his head.

"No. I was just attempting to establish some sort of common ground." John laughed as he shoved another forkful of stir fry into his mouth. He chewed silently, and after several moments, Sherlock sat down across from him, in the same seat he'd been in when John had cooked them dinner. It was crazy to think that was only two days ago.

"So," he said when he finished his meal. "what do we do now?"

"Oh, I don't know. What do flatmates usually do on boring Thursday nights?"

"Watch telly, most likely. Drink a few beers, chat a bit." Sherlock made a disgusted face, and though John felt he shouldn't have found it funny, he did. Sherlock saw the smile on his face and glared at him, but John wasn't fazed. Instead, he folded his hands in his lap and smiled at Sherlock. "How about we, oh how did you put it, establish some common ground?" Sherlock shrugged.

"I assume there are worst ways to spend an evening."

"I'm taking that as a yes." John stood from the table and signaled for Sherlock to follow him. They walked into the living room, and John sat down on the couch. Sherlock sat in the armchair, and the two men faced each other instead of the tv that was still on mute. Several moments of silence ticked by, but it wasn't exactly awkward. John took in a breath, and could see the slight widening of Sherlock's eyes, indicating interest in what John was about to say. He tried not to smile at the thought.

"So, tell me about yourself. What do you like?"

"Experimenting, working, occasionally reading." John thought over what Sherlock said, trying to decide where he would take the conversation. He settled for reading, because it was also a hobby of his and he would most likely be able to contribute more to that conversation.

"What do you like to read?"

"Non-fiction." John shrugged, not exactly happy with the answer he received but still glad he'd gotten an answer. Sherlock seemed rather uncomfortable with this activity, but at least he was going along with it. He shifted in his seat before hesitantly meeting John's gaze. "Do you like to read?"

"Oh, yes!" John said, sounding a bit too happy at Sherlock having asked him a question. "I read mostly medical journals and crime dramas though, with the occasional romance novel if I feel like it." Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes, and John began to feel incredibly self-conscious. "Mostly medical journals and crime dramas though." Sherlock began to look around the room with a bored expression on his face, and John was about to terminate the conversation when Sherlock's eyes suddenly snapped to his.

"Was your father a military man?"

"Uh, no. He was a doctor." Sherlock looked extremely upset by this information, so John began wracking his brain for something else to say that might please him more. "My uncle was in the military though. He's who I'm named after they say. Captain John Watson." John smiled, as did Sherlock.

"You're very fond of him." John nodded his head.

"I was. He died when I was seventeen. Killed in action. He was the reason I decided to join the military."

"But you're a doctor."

"Yeah, I am now. But I did go to boot camp." John subconsciously reached up to place a hand on his left shoulder, an action that did not go unnoticed by Sherlock.

"You said you were injured there. What happened to your shoulder?" John bit his lip and looked away, not exactly willing to tell the tale of how his nearly-fatal injury came to be. Sherlock seemed to pick up on this and immediately changed the subject, asking John about his time working at St. Bart's. They talked for hours until John decided that he was rather knackered and stood from the sofa. Sherlock stood from his seat as well and followed John to his bedroom. He grabbed what John guessed were his pyjamas and went into the bathroom to change. John grabbed a pillow from his bed and a blanket from the hallway closet and carried them into the living room. Sherlock appeared beside him as he was fluffing the pillow, clad in a pair of grey pyjama pants, white t-shirt, and blue housecoat.

"John, there's no need for that."

"It's bad enough you're sleeping on my couch. I want you to be comfortable." Sherlock sighed and sank down onto the couch. John handed him the pillow, and was incredibly aware of how their hands touched when he did so. Sherlock placed the pillow behind his head and stared up at John.

"I really do appreciate this John," he said, his voice soft. "I hope you understand." John just smiled and nodded his head, then turned to leave. "Please allow me to make it up to you?"

"Just how do you plan on doing that?" Sherlock smirked at him, and suddenly John felt a strange feeling stirring in his abdomen. His breath stuttered and he raised his eyebrows at Sherlock, who simply rolled his eyes and looked away.

"How would you like to accompany me to Scotland Yard tomorrow?"