The Reality That Doesn't Exist

Once the door was open, Sherlock gave Mrs Hudson a quick grin before starting to move his boxes and bags out of the taxi, the driver giving him a bit of a hand, for which Sherlock made sure he had a large tip.

It took about five minutes to get everything into the hallway.
"Thank you," he gave the cabbie his cash, then told him he could get going. It woudn't be a problem for him to carry the stuff up from here.

"It's perfect Mrs Hudson, thank you," he smiled, quickly moving things up and down the stairs and filling up the living room with his piles of junk. He unpacked a few of the books on the shelf and gave his skull pride of place on the mantelpiece. "Much better than my last place."

Placing a large box of case files down on top of the desk, he paused to rest his arms for a moment and turned to his new landlady. "I've got someone coming to look at it later, but I think she'll agree once she sees it. Anyway, I was meaning to ask you about the rent. Maybe we could knock off say...a hundred and fifty...?"

He knew it was a little ambitious and quite cheeky to ask for so much, but it was always best to start high when bartering, then you could allow yourself to be knocked down to a more agreeable price to the other party.

Mrs Hudson laughed at Sherlock's cheeky grin and took one of the lighter bags upstairs while the taxi driver and Sherlock brought everything inside.

“Oh dear.” she exclaimed as her new tenant placed a human skull on the mantlepeice. It looked real. She was mollified that Sherlock liked the flat so much though.

He had a sharer lined up perhaps too. “She? Oh.” Ah, of course. How nice. Of course he would need a bigger flat. “Yes, that's fine, of course it is.” she beamed gently.

The reduction Sherlock asked for was quite a sizeable one when you considered that it was a large two bedroom flat in an excellent location and the rent included maintenance. It was Sherlock though. She smiled.

“A hundred and fifty off then but you pay for any damage young man.” she spoke firmly and tried to look stern about the proviso.

“I'll get you two keys cut ready for you and your friend when she comes.” she promised with a radiant smile.

((MAHolmes, LOVE the Big Brother thing. I keep thinking, James? Who could it be if it isn't James Moriarty, which I KNOW it isn't? So you've got me really going now! In case anyone cares, cast party was fun and then it wasn't... But that's all right, I can come here and this is probably better. And Sherlock Holmes, you ignored my thing and just walked right past me...So I edited that. AHEM.))

It was only a while till' seven. I checked my phone for the time. I felt like walking so I could get my strength back from last night. I knew better than that, I scolded myself. And yet, I never listened. I found the address and knocked on the door. It was a little cold and I shivered just a little, but it wasn't that cold. No.

(( Would it you mind if my John and I post our parallel world to keep pace with what's happening in yours? Do you like the idea? We would love to do that and we can do it quite quickly so that you aren't waiting around for us Thanks ))

((Sure, yeah. Note, you WILL be running into both of us quite soon but we won't actually interact. I'll tell you when. Sounds great. Catch. You. Later.))

(( Yeah, Sherlock was taking round his things first, so I hadn't actually got to the part in the day when he returns later on to meet up with John. Still catching up with you!))


Sherlock gave Mrs Hudson a broad grin and a large hug. He couldn't believe he'd got away with that one. The place really was a bargain for central London.
"You're a star," he exclaimed, kissing her cheek. "And don't worry, I'll take excellent care of the place, and you'll hardly know I'm here."

Once he'd finished unloading his things, he said his goodbyes to the dear old landlady and headed off to settle up the bill with his previous landlord, before returning to Baker Street at the agreed time to meet up with John.

As he got out the taxi, he saw she was already waiting outside the door. He jumped out the cab and walked on over to her.

((Hope you all know I'm practically heading out the door as I type this...ARGH, SHERLOCK HOLMES!! YOU... You make me get so hostile sometimes.)) I suddenly noticed that he was behind me, which for some reason made me jump a little. I guess I was still shook up from last night. "Oh!" I exclaimed. "Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock, please," the detective insisted, clasping John's hand in a firm shake. He wondered whether he should kiss her on the cheek. That was the customary thing to do with women, wasn't it? But somehow it just didn't seem right on this occasion.

"Managed to get a little reduction on the rent," he explained as he knocked on the door. "Mrs Hudson, the landlady, owes me a favour. A few years ago her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."


((Now might be a good time to pause before Mrs H opens the door and cut to our alternate Sherlock and John for a few scenes. I'll make a John post shortly.))

"But what's he like, this guy?" John Watson insisted. He'd just got back from Afghanistan, was in need of a flatshare and his old university chum Mike Stamford seemed to think some bloke named Sherlock Holmes might do the trick.

"You'll see," Mike smirked as they walked through the corridors of St Bart's hospital. John didn't really like the obvious amusement on his friend's face. Maybe he was just winding him up, or perhaps this Holmes was a terrible awful guy whom no one would want to live with.

They arrived in the labs. John instantly spotted a young man on the far side, stooped over a microscope and absorbed in his work. Black curly hair, smart suit. Next, he turned his attention to looking round the lab itself and realised how much it had changed in the time he'd been away.
"Bit different than my day," he remarked casually.
"You're telling me," Mike chuckled.

Just after lunchtime Sherlock was standing bent over a microscope examining a slide when the door of the chemical laboratory in St Barts opened. Sherlock took a quick glance over as Mike Stamford entered with a man. A potential flat-sharer.

A bit different from his day. A man of military bearing but trained at Barts and with a limp. Nothing wrong with that but a little more data needed.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine.” he asked noticing the man looking around the lab.

“Ah, what's wrong with the landline?” Mike asked.

Sherlock sighed briefly as he sat down “I prefer to text.” he answered, which was true. It was quick, convenient and efficient.

Mike thought for a moment and vaguely indicated the door. “Sorry, it's in my coat pocket.”

((Hoorah! Last show is officially over! Phew. Yay for finally being able to drink soda again!!! Sadness for the show being over... It was really fun to do. One of the best ones we've ever done, in my opinion. Oh well. And SH221B, you make me smile so much. In my fanfic, Sherlock decides he needs more data on John so he comes up with the 'phone not having a signal thing' technically on purpose, even though it really happens that way. And sitting here reading this, is just another one of those Oh My GOD! moments. So...I guess I'm stuck on pause till you two are done. Not that I mind much. Paradoxical...))

John stayed silent and observed the conversation between this Sherlock Holmes chap and Mike, and when the latter said he didn't have a phone available to lend him, John thought nothing of digging into his pocket and bringing out his mobile.

"Uhh here," he muttered, waving it in the air slightly. "You can use mine."

Sherlock was pleased about the offer of the use of the man's mobile. Twice in one day someone was doing him a kindness. First Mike now Mike's friend from the past going by the way Mike was at ease with him. He glanced at Mike in askance of an introduction.

“John Watson, old friend of mine.” Mike smiled waving a hand towards John.

“Oh, thank you.” He replied to the offer of the use of the phone being waggled in the air by John Watson.

The detective crossed the room and took the phone from John's hand. Left handed, touch of grey, mid thirties but the lines on his face say he's spent quite some time outdoors, tan lines so he didn't get it sunbathing, A practical, multi-function watch, retro, not cheap, an officer? Army doctor. Looking for a flat-share so not in service now, nor retired with a severance allowance and full pension. Invalided out, recently. So next question “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John handed over his phone to Sherlock, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the introduction from Mike. The man was fairly quick with sending whatever text message he was typing and he took the phone back, slipping it into his pocket.

And then...what? How the hell did he know he was even in the army? Mike must have told him, John quickly realised, glancing at their mutual friend who was smirking and looking quite amused.

"Err, Afghanistan," he frowned. "But how did you - " His next question was interupted by the arrival of a young woman in a white lab coat with medium length mousey brown hair. She was carrying a mug of coffee and walked straight past him over towards Sherlock.

Interesting phone, war hero, wounded in action. Not his leg though. Needs cheap accommodation but is not going to family. Sherlock typed a quick text, shut John's phone down and handed it back to him just as Molly arrived bearing a mug of coffee.

“Ah, Molly, thank you.” Sherlock took the coffee mug which Molly was offering to him observing that her lips looked paler than earlier. He turned to go back to his workstation but paused and turned about. “You removed your lipstick.” he put his observation to Molly.

“Oh, my...I took it off, it wasn't er working for me.” Molly mumbled with embarrassment.

“You should have left it on, your mouth looks small without it now.” Sherlock remarked turning away to sip the coffee. He pulled a face at the taste of the drink. Not her fault the coffee tasted dreadful.

“Er, a body waiting, excuse me” Molly, her white coat tails flapping, shot off through the door to go back to the morgue.
Army doctor, should be fine with my experiments. What else should he know about me?

“How do you feel about the violin?” Sherlock asked while typing at a laptop. He looked up towards John. “Would that bother you? Playing violin helps me think and sometimes I don't speak for days on end. Potential flat-mates should know the worst of each other.” he gave John a catch all smile.

John viewed the interchange between Sherlock and the girl. Molly, was it? He seemed pretty rude to her by his standards but she didn't particularly appear to mind all that much. Maybe they were just good friends and that was the way they bantered together. He shrugged it off and said nothing.

For a minute, John thought Sherlock was talking to the girl, Molly. He glanced round and realised she had already gone, and the strange man was definitely looking at him. He almost laughed it was all so ridiclous. They'd literally just met for the first time, and this Sherlock had already accepted him as a flatmate.

Certainly not him. It must have been Mike. "You told him about me?" He glanced over at their mutual friend.
"Not a word," Mike smirked.
"Then who said anything about flamates?" John asked, looking directly at Sherlock now.

Sherlock began looping his scarf on and pulling on his coat.
Actually he's not bad. He has a mild, kind look about him but stands up for himself well enough, and he's not falling over himself to be liked, thank God.

“I did.” Sherlock thought it was obvious why. “I was telling Mike this morning I'm interested in finding a flat-mate, it's just after lunch and here you are, an old friend of his, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan.” Sherlock turned to look over at John with a half smile. “It wasn't that difficult a leap.” he assured him.

The detective strode towards John heading for the door “It's light, roomy and centrally located. We should be able to afford it between us. Meet you there at 7pm tomorrow. Sorry, must dash, I think I've left my riding crop in the mortuary.” Sherlock smiled slightly as he passed John.

Now, Sherlock thought, I find out if he's interested enough to ask the address.

John just stood there as it was explained to him why it was apparently not that difficult for him to have worked out that he was looking for a flatmate too and he supposed that once it was pointed out to him, it did seem quite simple. Quite clever too though.

The man was obviously getting ready to go and acting as if the whole thing was settled and arranged, telling him to meet somewhere but not even bothering to tell him where.

As he passed him and headed to the door, John turned awkwardly, his hand gripping his cane.
"Is that it?" He asked, bemused. "We've only just met and we're going to go and look at a flat?"

He glanced at Mike briefly, then back to his potential new flatmate. "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name."

Sherlock paused at the door and languidly wheeled round. He liked this man's spirit and was determined not to smile because that could just come across as being rude. He reserved a sharp tongue for people who deserved it. John didn't.

“Problem?” he arched an eyebrow and glanced across to Mike who was sitting apparently enjoying the to and fro.

I could give John Watson a simple answer but let's make it more difficult for me. Three things he doesn't know. What three things do I know?

Sherlock went still and focussed on John speaking quietly. “I know you're an army doctor who has been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you have an alcoholic brother who recently left his wife whom you won't ask for help.” he looked at the offending right leg of John's and the stick grasped in his right hand. Injury to his left upper body because he is left-handed. “and I know you have a therapist who is right that your limp is psychosomatic because you could have had a seat and you forgot about it until now. S'enough for now. Hmm?”

The detective left John to take that in while he went to the door. Going through the door he stopped and poked his head round it. “My name's Sherlock Holmes, the address is 221B Baker Street. And I'm pleased to meet you.” he click-winked to John.

“Afternoon.” he called over to Mike who raised a hand in response and smiled.

Sherlock immediately went downstairs collected his riding crop and then went straight over to his flat in Montague Street to organise removing his belongings to Baker Street.

John was about to open his mouth to protest further when the man launched into the most incredible speech where he pretty much told him all kinds of facts about his life that he'd never expected him to know. He was left unable to say anything else until Sherlock Holmes had gone, then he turned to Mike, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Yep, he's always like that," Stamford chuckled.
"How did he know all that stuff? Did you tell him?" John demanded an answer.
"No," Mike shook his head. "He just...guessed it I suppose. He does that. If I'd have told him, he would have known you've got a sister not a brother."
"Yeah...yeah I suppose you're right." John frowned, finding the whole thing quite amazing.

After that unusual experience, John headed back to his dingy flat and spent the evening on his own, deciding to look up this man Sherlock Holmes on the internet. He had this weird website - the Science of Deduction - where he claimed outlandish talents like being able to distinguish a pilot by his left thumb or something equally ridiculous. He was certainly quite a character, but seemed a nice enough fellow in his own way.

John got an early night, looking forward to meeting Sherlock again the next day.

((Ooh, you two are amazing. Makes me feel quite inferior... Lots of deja vu, I can tell you that. And looks like you're almost where we are, so does that mean we'll get to play again soon? Just asking, not rushing you two or anything. If you want to continue, you may. I shall keep my patience. God, I sound like Mycroft. XD I do like what you're doing and how you two are playing. I had/have a little pre-idea, but I'd like you to do whatever you feel like doing. That's what I care about, is making sure everyone is doing what they want and not just going according to what I've said. That way it's fun for everyone and not Stalin's Russia where I make everyone's life a living hell. I like the originality, so it's not too much like my fanfiction and not too much like the miniseries. Keep up the fabulous play, guys! I enjoy it.))

(( Thanks very much ))

Sherlock managed to move all of his belongings over to 221B Baker Street in one foul swoop with a small van then set about negotiating the rent which Mrs Hudson had agreed to do.

"I was thinking 10% off would be a good answer." he suggested to Mrs Hudson who was surprised to find he wasn't moving in that night. He was working on a case and expected to be out until the early hours of the morning.

"I'd find 5% reduction more like a solution to both our problems." Mrs Hudson replied. "I can't find anyone to take 221C."

"How about a 7% solution?" Sherlock proposed.

"That would be two front door keys you can collect tomorrow then." she beamed happy that both were satisfied.

"You are wonderful.I've invited my potential flatmate to meet me here at 7pm tomorrow. Must dash." He gave his landlady a quick hug and, true to his word, dashed off.

The next evening the taxi driver dropped Sherlock off just before Speedy's Cafe at 7pm. He posted the driver the fare through the open window and was pleased to see John was punctual and had also just arrived.

"Hello." Sherlock greeted John and stepped smartly forward to shake hands with him.

(( OMG 7% solution...did you just do that? Yes, you did. Yes you did and I love it! ))


John spent most of the next day wallowing around the flat feeling a little bit sorry for himself with nothing to do, and wondering what the new place would look like. He was already referring to it as "the new place" in his mind, even though he hadn't even seen it yet. He had to keep his options open, he kept telling himself. It might not be right for him.

All the same, he was very eager to see it, and quite interested to meet the mysterious Sherlock Holmes again, so he made his way there promptly, as arranged, and waited outside the large black door or 221B Baker Street for his potential flatmate.

He arrived almost immediately afterwards in a taxi.

John smiled and held out his hand. "Ah, Mr Holmes."

(( Glad you liked it, thank you. *Has a Sherlock feels clever moment* ))


Sherlock gave John a warm smile. “Sherlock, please.” he requested as he shook hands with John and then stepped up to the slightly faded, black, wooden door with a somewhat tarnished brass 'Georgian' rope decorated door-knocker and 221B, also in brass.

He rapped on the door using the knocker. “A few years ago I helped the landlady when her husband was under death sentence in Florida. So, owing me a favour she'll let us have the flat at an affordable rent.” he informed John as they waited for the door to be answered.

John clasped Sherlock's hand, noticing he had a firm, confident grip. He smiled and nodded, then his expression changed to one of confusion as he heard about the landlady's husband.

"Sorry, what? You uhh...stopped her husband from getting executed?" He queried.


((I think we're just about ready to pick up again with the other universe, maybe after this Sherlock's next post ))