The Reality That Doesn't Exist

(Uff. Dr. Watson is not feeling so well. The Blanched Soldier! OH MY GOD!!!) I saw him actually look up from his work. Well, I certainly caught his attention now. But I had this weird feeling as he approached me. God only knows what it was. And I saw the look on his face, he was surprised. But why should it surprise him if I offered him my phone? I felt a little awkward having him stand right next to me just typing. The silence. Until he said---Wait, wait, WHAT? What did he just say? "I'm...sorry?" I ask, confused. Totally caught me off guard there...

Sherlock glanced up again, barely hiding his grin as he saw the confused expression on John's face.

"Which one was it?" He muttered, persisting with the question. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" He finished sending the text message and clicked the phone shut, handing it back to the girl before moving back to the chair where he'd left his coat.

He was muttering, I could tell it from his voice. And it was weird. I had a feeling that he didn't really want to talk to me or that he didn't want me there at all. Like he was forcing himself to talk to me. Either way, I could tell he wasn't really interested in me and so there's no way he'd want me as his flatmate. And the- Is...is he asking which WAR I was in? That is pretty much the only thing I can think of that makes any sense with his question. But---how the hell would he know I was in the war? And what's he grinning like that for? Obviously if there was something funny, I'd missed it. And now here he was handing back my phone and going over to a chair. Is he leaving now? "A--a-afghanistan." I say taken back, but trying to figure all this out. "I'm sorry but, how did you know?" ((I assume no interruptions as you made no mention of Molly or anyone like her there. Unless you want a completely random Molly interruption in which case MollyHooper55 can start.))

Molly Hooper filed the rest of the paper work oh her dead co-worker and stood leaning on the desk in her office. She sighed, How foolish she'd been! Asking Sherlock to coffee. Molly wiped off the small amount of lipstick shed put on for him. She slowly walked down to the office kitchen and made Sherlock his coffee. Black, two sugars. She shifted, tired from being on her feet all day, and added the sugar to the coffee. She walked upstairs slowly, careful not to spill a drop of Sherlock's coffee.

She opened the door without looking up, "Sherlock, I have your coffee," She walked over to hand it to him with her head down. She put the coffee on the table top next to him and looked up to walk out. She jumped upon seeing John and Mike in the room as well. She gaped at them for a moment before turning and working with some chemicals in a back corner, blushing, embarassed.

Then all of a sudden, another woman enters. She's interacting with him, so she knows him and bringing him coffee, she must know him well. Oh. I can see another reason why he wouldn't be that interested in having me around. And now again I'm standing here feeling awkward. Also, she called him something but I couldn't catch what it was. She jumps when she sees Mike and I, must not have been expecting us. Then she just goes off to a back corner? It makes me feel sorry for her, she was embarrassed but really I didn't mind that she came in. She seems nice.

Sherlock glanced up again as Molly came in, bringing his coffee. Finally. Took her long enough, he thought to himself, but put on his best fake grin.
"Ahh. Molly. Thank you." He crossed the room and took the coffee, sipping it as he walked. She always made a pretty good coffee actually.

He put the cup down on the side as he put on his coat.
"How d'you feel about the violin?" He called across to John. "I play it whilst I'm thinking. And sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He grinned.

(Oi. Really don't feel well. But that's all right. More worried about other people being unwell) Molly. So that's her name. Hmm. He was grinning at her, but I could tell it was fake. I've often done that myself and seen other people do it, so I know. Wait wa- What the hell?! It takes me a few minutes that he's talking to ME and not Molly. Why was he asking me how I felt about the violin? Plays it while he's thinking and sometimes he goes silent for a while, would that bother me? What?! Potential flat- I'm completely lost for words. I stared at him, then looked at Mike. I started to get a little angry. "Bloody hell, Mike. You told him about me? That's hardly fair, considering you didn't tell me anything about him." I said to him.

'What? Flatmates?' Molly thought to herself as she worked in the back. She was getting jealous that Sherlock was asking this girl, whom she assumed he'd just met to be flatmates. She'd longed for the days when he would ask her to share a flat with him and thought of how lucky this girl was. Molly quickly pushed these thoughts from her head. 'Its not my place' she thought to herself firmly. She kept her head down and focused on her work as she listened carefully for the girls response.

(Already responded,luv. Nowwe're justwaitingfor Mike/TylerAshcroft's response.)

Mike sat quietly in the background observing the proceedings between John and Sherlock. He gave Molly a little smile when she came in with a mug of coffee for Sherlock. Such a pleasant girl and very competent too. Bart's were lucky to have her.

He suddenly realised that John was staring quite angrily at him accusing him of unfair play. “Didn't say a word to him about you.” he protested mildly holding his hands up.

Mike's response along with his protesting and his holding his hands up in defence was still not quite convincing. I stared at him long and hard, the look of seriousness on his face. I then went from staring at him to staring in awe at the man. "Then...then who said ANYTHING about flatmates?" I asked struck and very lost.

Sherlock shrugged and gulped down some more of his coffee, enjoying the incredulous looks he was receiving.
"I told Mike this morning I was looking for a flatmate, now he turns up with an old friend just back from Afghanistan," he shrugged. "Not difficult."

He quickly put on his coat and grabbed his scarf, looping it round his neck ready to get going.
"Got my eye on a nice little place. Central London. Meet there tomorrow at 7. Sorry, better dash, think I left my riding crop in the morturary." He stalked off towards the door.

I was going to ask how he knew about Afghanistan, but he interrupted that. Wh--Nice little place, Central London? MEET him there? WHAT??? I am completely confused. Just utterly dumbfounded. Yep. He's going. Hm. The coat and scarf... Rather nice, I guess. Left his riding crop in the mortuary...O--kay then. Not really knowing what to say, I ask "Is THAT it, then?"

Sherlock was about to walk out of the door when John spoke again. He paused and hung back a little, looking at her.

"Is that what?" He asked, slightly confused. He thought he'd made it all perfectly clear.

Was HE confused? It sounded like it, but he couldn't be. He actually turned back and looked at me, though. Is that WHAT, huh. "We've only just met and you're asking me to look at a flat with YOU?" I say trying to get the jist.

"Yes," Sherlock sighed, approaching her a little. Was it really that difficult to understand.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"

Again, something when he was approaching me. Or maybe I was just imagining things. Yeah, that had to be it. But then, the look on his face as he rose his eyebrow and just casually put his hands into his coat pockets. Oh god. I seriously had to restrain myself from laughing not only at the question, but the way he said it. So I just smirked a little. "We don't know anything about each other. I don't know where we're meeting tomorrow, I don't even know your name." I responded

Sherlock smirked and took another step towards her. Oh, he enjoyed this part. He really enjoyed this part.

"I know your an army doctor recently 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, possibly because you don't approve of his drinking, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. I also know your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic. Quite rightly, I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

He grinned and made his way to the door, pausing halfway out to look back and add, "the name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He winked, then waved to Mike. "Afternoon!" And a second later he was gone.

Still smirking to himself, he made his way back down to the mortuary and grabbed his riding crop, before catching a cab back to Montague Street to finish packing the rest of his stuff.


((Omg I did the whole deduction without checking the script...*squee* pleased with myself. XD. Enjoyed that! I won't replicate every line exactly and obviously the story'll go off in different directions, but I really couldn't resist on that one!))

[[It's all right. That. Was. Amazing!!! Great job! Yeah, I'm trying not to go entirely off the script. Even though I have each one down pat. Siggh. Seriously, you're amazing.]] I saw the smirk. The feeling I thought I had before rises as he comes closer. No.I'm just making things up. What was he going to- What the...Bloody-- Hell? How does he know about the war? And my sister. He meant my sister, I don't have a brother. And my...my what? My LIMP is PSYCHOSOMATIC??? That means I'm stressing myself out so much, it's causing pain in my leg. No. No. That's preposterous. My...THERAPIST? How the bloody hell... I stir uncomfortably. And then he goes to leave. Comes back. He... Bloody. Hell. He's gone.I. AM. utterly. lost. and dumbfounded. [[And Tyler, this is your last part as Mike. So if you want to do it, DO IT! You've been doing a great job! You're amazing too! And thinking about what you said, will get back to you on that.]]

Mike was enjoying watching this. He felt guilty for knowing what was going to happen. But, hell, John needed to see what Sherlock was like first hand, for herself, that was the only fair thing. He gave Sherlock a nod and a smile as he stuck his head round the door and bid him a polite 'afternoon' and sketched a wave. That went well, he thought, as Sherlock vanished. Very well, in fact, as he had even winked at John.

John looked stunned. "Yup, he's always like that." Mike smiled.



(( Good job Sherlock. You too John, looks like we are all going off memory and will be good improvising as well. ))

((All right. Just letting you all know I might not be posting for a while, pretty much this whole weekend. I'm in a play, last night was opening night and then we went and had dinner and I didn't get to sleep until about 12:43 am. Then our next is tonight then we have a cast party and God knows what time I'll get home by and to sleep. And Sunday will be a ruddy mess, too much going on all at once and it's the last show. I don't really care about the Super Bowl but there are events circling around because of it. You all are genuinely amazing, I love playing with you, and hope to get back to posting as soon as I can. And as soon as I post this, I'm going back to bed. Catch. You. Later.))

((All right, all right! I'll post NOW! STOP GUILT TRIPPING ME, SHERLOCK. Not you, literally. More of I have you guilt tripping me in the back of my head. And I didn't want you all to think I was choosing my show over you. So here. Are you satisified, Sherlock? Oh wait no...You aren't. Oh well.))

I just stood there for a while, not knowing quite what to do or say. But then I just said "Well. Goodbye, Mike. And it was nice meeting you, Molly." Left St. Barts and went to the place I'd been staying at. I sat on the bed, thinking. Then I check my sent messages. "Coated tetanus on the paws of the cat. SH." What the...

I shake my head. I have better things to be thinking about. Like my meet up with Bill. Ohh. John, calm yourself. Doesn't do to get your hopes up or make him think your whole life depended on this. I dress up, which I hardly ever really do. And when I do, it doesn't look that good and really isn't that dressy at all. But this is going to be a big moment for me.

Within a few hours, I go to the Criterion. I find Bill sitting at the bar and I go up to him. He smiles and looks excited. "Ah, Johnny Boy! Here she is!" he says. I blush a little. That's his nickname for me, ONLY for me. "Come on, let me buy you a pint." "All right. Can't say no to that." I say with a chuckle and sit next to him. "Oi. Six pints." he says to the bartender. "Six? Bill!" I say exclaiming. He laughs. "Oh come on, John. Live a little. I guarantee you haven't lived half as much since you were invalided home. Sorry about that, by the way." he says. I feel a tinge of sadness. "Yeah. I haven't. And...it's all right. You...don't have to be sorry." I say a little quietly. The bartender brings them over, Bill pushes three over towards me. "So, three pints each? At dinnertime?" I ask with a smile. "Time is an illusion, John. Dinnertime is...doubly so." Bill says with a touch of arrogance and starts to down one. I join in. God, the way it feels to have it running through my system. Nothing like it in the whole world.

"So. What did you have to tell me?" I ask casually and stopping for a moment, he holds up a finger; drinks the whole thing down in one go; sets it down with a breath of air. "I'm gay." he says. I'm a little confused. "What?" I ask trying to make things clear. "I said I'm gay. As in I like other...men." he says plainly. "What?! Bill, what are you talking about?!" I say taken back and not understanding. "Oh, I've been gay the WHOLE time you've known me. During the war and all that too. That's what they sent me off for. Messin' around with the chief sergeant. Then I got in with Ted. Ted, he said you weren't gettin any attention from any of the fellas. Most of them were gay too, was the problem. So he thought it would be funny if you thought you were getting attention, but it was really from a gay bloke. It was a bit fun, I admit it, playing straight. Johnny Boy." he says with another laugh, but almost cold. "You are the most lovely girl I've seen ere' Oh, John you're so amazing." So...so all of that was---a lie??? All of it? He...never...liked me. It was all...pretend. Sh--- I quickly drink the rest of my pints and a feeling comes into my stomach. I hold it. "Oh God, I feel sick." I say and run off.

My system starts to crash down. I start to get real off-centered. Luckily, I had enough pocket change for a cab to my place. And so I get in and manage to get...sick. Make it to the bathroom in time. Then I about fall out of the bathroom and onto the floor. I work my way slowly onto the bed, reach for the gin and tonic over on my bedside table, and gulp it down. I start to relax and process what just happened in my head. The blunt way he put it that he was pretending, that he was gay, that it was a joke. Laughing. Everyone laughing. I feel moisture on my face and that's the last thing I know.

Until the morning of the next day. I wake up, manage to keep myself from tumbling out of the bed when I physically get up. Ugh...massive headache. I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror. God, I'm a ruddy mess. I wash off my face with some warm water on a washcloth and brush out my hair. What would...Sherlock Holmes think if he saw me like that? I chuckled at the thought and washed off my hands. Then I walked back into the main room and got on my laptop. Who exactly is he, anyway? I type in his name in the Quest search. Rubbish stuff about movies with some actor, two tv series, books. Rubbish. Then a website. Abductive Reasoning. ((Hope you don't mind that I changed it. That's my title for his website in the fanfiction. And plus, if we're going to have the Other Sherlock, we need a different website title.))

I decide to look at it since it seems the most reasonable. Huh. Well, THIS is definitely a load of rubbish. There's no way he can identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb. I shut it down and close my laptop. Then I finish getting ready. Put on a dark blue shirt, and a cream sweater over it. I put on my coat then head out the door. ((Sorry about that. You can do everything that happens to Sherlock beforehand, improvise or whatever you want.))

Anthea sat back in the luxurious leather of the departmental car she was ensconced in and quickly typed a text then pressed send. They had been tracking Watson all evening. After leaving Barts she had gone home, although how anyone could call that ratty flat home Anthea was at a loss to answer.

Outside the Criterion. Watson is currently drinking herself blind with a man named Murray. A

She waited for the reply while watching out of the tinted windows. As she watched, Watson emerged, leaning against the doorframe in an effort to stay upright. She looked... wrecked, to be honest, and Anthea was sure it was not simply due to the alcohol. Of Murray there was no sign.

Watson has left the building. A

Please follow closely and maintain watch for interested parties. MH

Will do. A

Anthea flashed off another text and some moments later the door opened and a blast of cold air made her shiver. She turned to look at the dark-suited blond man who slid into the seat beside her. He carefully maintained a respectful distance.
"Ma'am," he murmured, pale blue eyes regarding her expectantly.
"What did you learn?"
"Watson met the man identified as Murray and he bought her drinks, three pints. They had a little discussion concerning his sexual orientation, to be precise."
"That's what I require, James," She replied. "Precision. So, in the interests of precision, do tell me, what were the details?"
"Not a lot. He launched into an admission of being gay. Apparently this distressed her."
"Interesting."
"He confessed to being involved in some ruse with someone called Ted. Apparently the man thought it would be a huge joke to lead Watson on, making her think Murray was interested in her, when in fact, as a gay man, he wasn't."
"Did he say what the motivation was for this?"
"No. It sounded as though there was none beyond looking for something to laugh about. She was the butt of their joke, that looks to be about all. Bloody childish if you ask me."
"Childish but potentially devastating. It will be interesting to see how this plays out. Any bets as to whether she'll have topped herself by morning?" James was regarding her with a frown.
"She's plastered, she's been dumped, but I think Watson is made of sterner stuff," he opined.
"I hope you're right. You know she owns an illegal handgun?"
"Can't say she'd be the first ex-soldier to do so. You want me to keep an eye on her?"
"No. You've done your bit, James. If I need you, I'll call."
"Fair enough. This isn't exactly a challenge to my skills, after all. I could be out blowing up a small country or jumping off a train..."
Anthea smiled a little indulgently. "Well, if the good doctor survives this knock-back then she'll have proven she's got the guts for this job. I await the outcome with baited breath."
"Trial by ordeal, then?"
"Survival of the fittest."
"God, you are a heartless cow...I think I knew your mother..."
Anthea actually smiled. "So glad you approve. My mother, God rest her, actually liked you. Goodnight, James. Give my love to Mallory." She watched him get out and cross the road, arm out to hail a cab, but actually offering the first one that pulled over to John Watson, who was by this point leaning ineffectually against a lamp post and failing miserably to get the attention of a cab driver. James then effortlessly hailed another taxi. Once he was safely ensconsed inside, the cab drove off in the oposite direction.

Anthea tapped on the glass. "Follow Watson's cab, please," she instructed and her driver pulled smoothly out into the evening traffic. She flashed off another text.

Watson now in cab headng home, three sheets to wind. Dumped by supposed boyfriend, Murray. Am monitoring. A

In no time, an answer came back.

Thank you. We shall see how our erstwhile doctor bounces back from this setback. Keep me informed. MH

((a long one while you are away, to keep this going. Hope you like Big Brother in the background and also the use of certain personnel...enjoy))

Sherlock packed the remainder of his possessions into the back of the taxi, glad to finally be rid of Montague Street and his intolerable landlord.
"221B Baker Street please," he ordered to the driver, jumping in and closing the door.

Less than half an hour later, they were pulling up outside a heavy black door with gold embossed letters. Sherlock's new home. And hopefully John's too. Once she came and saw the place, he was certain she'd agree to live there. It was very nice, and in a perfect spot of course.

He knocked on the door and waited for the landlady, Mrs Hudson, to answer. He'd spoke to her earlier on the phone so she was expecting him to bring his stuff round, and he wanted to have a quick word with her about getting a small rent reduction. She did owe him a favour after all.

Mrs Hudson's morning had been a full one of cleaning the house. The upstairs flat, 221B, thankfully hadn't needed much doing as it had been cleaned after the last tenants had moved out but she had checked it was fit for Sherlock and whoever he intended to share it with. Sherlock, ooh he was a funny one but she was fond of him and extremely grateful to him too for his help with her problem with her late husband. A little reduction in the rent was quite in order.

At the knock on the front door she threw her mop down and walked steadily up the hall. Smoothing her dress first she opened the door. “Sherlock!” she cried happy to see him and beyond him she saw the taxi driver hauling a trunk out of the boot. “Ooh, come in. Bring you things in.” she opened the door wide for the taxi driver to drop things in the hallway.

“I've got the flat ready for you. It is nice isn't it?”