When Sherlock met John golden light was filtering through the curtains of 221B Baker Street. It was a beautiful day, but rather than enjoying it, small, round-faced Mike Stamford was currently pacing through is flat.

Well, technically it wasn't his flat yet. He still needed to find himself a flatmate to afford it and Mike wasn't really helping. All he had done was bring in a new client for him. The man with the sand blond hair was sitting opposite him, silent ever since Mike had started his babbling.

Sherlock wasn't listening and didn't care about the things Stamford was arguing so he rolled his eyes at the man in vain and focused his attention on the man opposite him, who was fondling his phone.

He was clearly a military man. The way he held himself, the short hair cut. The limp is clearly psychosomatic and there is a tremor in his hand. He had been back from his military service for a few months as the still existing tan line leads to presume. This again leads to the assumption that he had been deployed abroad which only leaves the options Afghanistan or Iraq.

The calloused skin on his left index finger indicates-because of the affected area-holding a scalpel, doctor then. Further evidence gives the fact that he knows Mike, so both probably trained at Bart's.

The engraving on his phone says `Harry Watson From Clara xxx´, family problems then as he is looking for a flat share.

There also were clear signs that he hadn't yet adjusted to civilian life. Still he wanted a normal life a loving woman and children of his own.

To find a match for John Watson would probably take Sherlock a week at most. It would only take one try, he always just needed one try and John Watson would head off into his normal life.

"Shut up, Mike", Sherlock growled and the chubby man did a little jump. Silence fell and Sherlock rose from his chair.

"So, John you are looking for a match then. It will only take-", Sherlock began, but John cut him off.

"No, actually Mike mentioned that you were looking for a flatmate." A tiny flicker of a smile played around the man's lips and Sherlock was stunned. He had not taken into account that the man would want to be his flatmate. It had not been the most likely thing after all.

His facial expression had slipped into showing utter surprise, Sherlock was sure, but he composed himself after is misstep, waving it off as if nothing had happened.

"Flatmate, then.", Sherlock stated and forced one of his more sociable smiles onto his face. John was still showing a mixture of discomfort, but also curiosity in his body language.

This let the corner of Sherlock's mouth turn upwards in a smug, half-grin. Maybe this Watson fellow wasn't as bad has he thought.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?", he asked and John looked totally perplexed. Surprise and amazement flickered over his face. His mouth tried to form words, but he didn't get out a single sound.

This again made Sherlock sigh internally. It didn't really speak for his intelligence and Sherlock would have liked to snap at the man for his stupidity hadn't John interrupted his thoughts.

"How do you know about Afghanistan?", John asks, but Sherlock just waves his hand in a dismissive manner and focuses his attention back on more important topics.

"How do you feel about the violin? I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days? Would that bother you? ", Sherlock asks, his eyes focused on Mike who is dancing from one foot to the other.

Clearly nervous about something. By the tent in his jacket pocket he is going to propose to Dolores this evening. Another affirmative is the sweat on his hands. He is happy then and does care about her; otherwise he wouldn't be this nervous.

Another smug smile appeared on Sherlock's face upon seeing that he has been right again.

Match-making record spotless. Not that he had needed to care much. He knew he was right. He was always right, but people tended to doubt him and his mind frequently.

His phone chimed and he went to retrieve it from his pocket. It announced a new text from Molly. Probably another break up then, but she just wouldn't let him help her.

"Sorry, gotta dash. Molly needs me.", he announced and went to put on his coat. He had his hand on the doorknob when John once again raised his voice.

"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't even know your name and suddenly we are flatmates.", John said still sitting in the red armchair.

"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.", he looked at John's outstretched leg and raised his eyebrow.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes. Welcome to Baker Street Doctor Watson."