Sherlock (but from a Johnlock POV){ON HOLD}

SIP: ✨Two✨

   He saw John frown, confused. Mike smiled knowingly.

   "What?" the shorter man asked.

   "Which was it - Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock repeated. He looked at the very surprised John, making brief eye contact, then back down at the phone.

   John looked across the room to Mike, who had a very knowing look on his face. "Afghanistan," he replied finally. "Sorry, how did you know...?"

   He trailed off as Molly walked in the room, holding a mug of some kind of drink. Sherlock looked up at her. "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." He closed up John's phone, handing it back to him, and took the mug from Molly. He looked at her face a little closer.

   "What happened to the lipstick?" he asked.

   Molly gave him a blank look, then smiled awkwardly. "Oh, it wasn't working for me."

   Sherlock tilted his head a little. "Really?" He started walking back to the far end of the room. "I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too... small now."

   He stopped in front of a laptop at the table and took a sip from the mug, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste.

   "...okay," Molly said softly, and left the room. John watched her leave, still looking confused. It was an expression that fit him well, Sherlock thought, then frowned internally at the thought.

   "How do you feel about the violin?" he asked, changing the subject for his mind. He bent down to reach the laptop, opening it up.

   It took John a moment to realize he was the one being spoken to. "I'm sorry, what?" he said politely.

   " I play the violin when I'm thinking," Sherlock said as he typed on the computer. "Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He turned back to John, subtly examining him once more. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

   He gave John a false smile - though something inside him told him it wasn't so false - and watched the former soldier stare at him blankly for a moment, then look to a smug-looking Mike.

   "Oh, you... you told him about me?" he asked.

   Mike shook his head. "Not a word."

   John gazed back at Sherlock. There was something in his eyes that was very different than the rest of the people the detective spoke to... it was hard to discern. "Who said anything about flatmates?"

   Sherlock shut the computer, then picked up his coat and put it on. "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan." He shrugged a little, adjusting the coat so it wasn't crooked. "Wasn't that difficult a leap."

   John continued to stare at him. "How did you know about Afghanistan?"

   Sherlock ignored the question, wrapping his scarf around his neck, then picked up his phone and glanced at it for a moment. "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it."

   He started moving towards the door, sliding his phone into his coat-pocket. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening, 7:00. Sorry - gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary." He walked past John and reached the door.

   "Is that it?" John asked, turning to look at him.

   Sherlock stopped and pivoted back towards the former soldier, stepping a bit closer. "Is that what?"

   "We've only just met and we're going to go look at a flat?"

   Sherlock tilted his head. "Problem?"

   John smiled in disbelief, looking towards Mike for help, but his friend just continued to smirk knowingly. He turned his gaze back to Sherlock. "We don't know a thing about each other," he explained. "I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name."

   Sherlock stared at him for a moment with piercing blue eyes. He took a breath. "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic... quite correctly, I'm afraid."

   John looked down at his cane and bad leg, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

   "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" Sherlock said, very smugly.

   He turned and walked to the door again, feeling quite satisfied with himself, opening it and stepping through, then leaned back into the room again. "The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street." He winked at John, making a clicking sound with his tongue as he did so. "Afternoon." He disappeared from the room.

   Mike raised a hand in farewell as the door slammed shut behind the detective. John stared at him in disbelief. Mike smiled, nodding. "Yeah. He's always like that."

   John gazed at the door in amazement.

Wow, this was actually a really long chapter! I had fun writing this one, too, and I hope you had fun reading it!!

Next chapter will have much more Johnlock, brought to you by Mrs Hudson, so stay tuned! (It probably won't be published as fast as these ones have been)

Here's some allergy-free Chick-fil-a ice cream for the wait:🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦x1000000

As always, thanks for reading, commenting, and voting, and I hope you like the next one!

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