The Saint And The Settler

An Interesting Introduction

John knocked the dirt off his shoes before walking inside and slumping down into his brown sofa chair. He let out a sigh of relief and looked at Sherlock, who remained standing. "Sorry," he said gesturing at the still messy house despite cleaning all morning. "It's still a bit messy."

His apology seemed unnecessary as Sherlock was hardly paying attention as he danced his green-blue eyes around the room, seemingly taking in every detail.

"You don't live here by yourself." He said more as a statement then a question. Not expecting the sudden comment, John was suddenly struck with surprise and didn't say anything. Sherlock noticed the look on the older mans face and continued his observations. "You're only a little older the me and you are trying to get into medical school, which is very competitive to begin with, not to mention the price, therefore it must be quite hard to pay off the bills while still saving up for those classes. The house is clearly been built, not bought, and is older, so not by your parents but a close family member and given to them after their death. Obviously you inherited the house after your parents own death. You live here with your younger sister, though only a year apart, took up her drinking habits from your uncle, who no longer lives here either. You save money where you can. I don't know much about horses but I know they're expensive and you have two. You're not poor, no, but frugal with your money. I noticed the hunting rifle next to the door and the obvious lack of T.V. and the short band Wi-Fi router."

John felt his throat go dry as the words rolled off Sherlock's tongue. He quickly recovered and cleared his throat, hopping Sherlock didn't notice his slightly glassy eyes, that he quickly dried, from the memories his careless words drug up and instead focused on the extraordinary man in front of him.

"That, was amazing." John said as he let out a breath of tension.

"I am."

"Of course. That was amazing, and quite brilliant."

"That's not what people usually say."

"What do they usually say?"

"I'm sure you can imagine." He grinned at John who smiled back, finally feeling relaxed.

"My grandparents built this place and my mom grew up here," John confirmed. "My grandpa died of lung cancer and my grandmother died a couple months later of heartbreak basically. I was only seven and hardly remember them.
She left the house to my parents and we moved here soon after her death.
I've always wanted to be a doctor and my mother encouraged my ambitions and started saving early. That's whats saved me from debt.

"When I was thirteen," he took in a sharp breath, "my parents died in a car crash a few miles from here. I hardly remember that night. It's a blur of endless questions and flashing lights. They left the house to me, though it wasn't legally mine until I turned 18, so my uncle lived with us, Harry and I. To be brief we had some... Disagreements and he was gone the second I took legal ownership."

Sherlock looked at John for the first time. Actually looked at him and drank in the sight of him. The small amount of freckles that remained on his cheeks from his childhood escapades in the sun, his blonde hair golden from hard work in the famous Texas heat, the stories of the shadows under his blue-grey eyes, the slight curl at the edge of his lips...

"You knew that already didn't you?" John's voice snapped Sherlock back to 'reality' and he brought his eyes back to John's. "I guess I don't have to tell you anything. I'm only here to imprison you."

"Why are you so quick to trust me?" Sherlock questioned without hesitation and stepped closer to John and was practically looming over him. He ignored the comment about being imprisoned here. If he wanted to leave he damn well would despite what John thought or said. "You've never told anyone this. Not even your therapist. You tend to use the technique of resistance, though unconsciously, when ever inquired about the subject. You've known me a total of seven minutes, maximum, and yet here you are spilling your guts to a complete stranger. Tell me, Mr. Watson, what makes you trust me so fast, a New Yoker who has invaded your home."