"We'll take it," he turned on the spot and swept towards the door where Irene and the landlord were stood, observing him from a safe distance.
The landlord started to babble on about a deposit but he cut him off by fishing a wad of notes from his suit pocket and pressing them it into the other man's hand. "That should cover it and any inconveniences. We'll move in immediately." he flashed a false smile at the now beaming man.
As the landlord hurried back down to the ground floor Sherlock stole a quick glance at Irene. She'd said nothing since they'd entered the flat and he had frustratingly hadn't been able to conclude anything from her silence.
Sherlock had maintained the whole time that it was in their best interests to live together over here. His argument being that he didn't want to have to fish her out of trouble again, but to be honest it was more to do with the crushing loneliness he felt stuck on this vast continent, an Atlantic Ocean too far away from John Watson. But also he felt an obligation to her somehow, ridiculous and sentimental he knew, but none the less he had to admit he cared what happened to her now, even if he would never openly admit it.
"Happy?" he asked, voice low, worried eyes studying her pale face for a reaction; as she, much like Sherlock, was never usually silent for long.