So sorry for the slowness. I'm thinking updating three stories simultaneously will be too slow. I'm going to start updating whenever I get a chapter of any of them finished. That should speed things up… and only mildly confuse me when posting. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

John dumped his shopping bags on the counter and gapped. There were books stacked vertically on the bookcase, with no thought to how they were blocking John's books from view. There was a box filled with manila files by the couch, and several similar files were leaning haphazardly on the nearby arm of the couch. A coat rack sat at the edge of the kitchen by the door, and a rather long and heavy looking coat was hung there with a scarf to accent it. Leaning over slightly, John saw the recently vacant second room of his apartment had been taken over and was now filled to bursting with random artifacts and clutter. Somewhere in there he could even spot a bed.

And sitting perched on the opposite arm of the couch from the files, dressed in a comfortable but fitted fine suit was Sherlock Holmes. His collared shirt was maroon, his slacks and jacket dark blue pinstriped. His violin hung securely from his fingers, as did the bow. He seemed completely at ease, and he smiled in greeting to John.

"Sherlock," John began slowly. "What are you doing in my apartment?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock asked, setting his violin down. "I'm your new house mate."

"House mate?" John asked, skeptical. Sherlock waved a hand to swish away the idea.

"House mate, dorm mate, flat mate, roommate, whatever you want to call it," he said. He walked over to the counter with grace John hadn't really seen in him during their first two encounters at the college. He looked into one of the bags and smiled again. "Honey ham. Lovely."

"Hey hey," John interrupted, pulling the addict away from the counter. "Those are my groceries. They aren't for you. And what do you mean you're my new roommate? You found out I was getting one yesterday. I didn't even tell you which complex I lived in."

"The brilliant thing about having a brother like Mycroft is that he can arrange for anything to happen, and I do mean anything. As for where you live, that was hardly brain surgery. I simply looked into the only file with your name in the medical majors." Sherlock turned from the kitchen and went to the bookshelf, where he rifled through things and looked busy.

"You hacked into my academic file?" John asked. He held his hands up. "No. No, don't answer that. I don't want to know. Just tell me one thing, straight."

Sherlock's nimble fingers stopped shuffling through books and pages and slowly withdrew to his sides. He looked over at John and slid his hands into his pockets. His eyes shifted a bit, and then he nodded and looked right at John.

"Anything," he agreed.

"Why are you doing this?" John asked. Sherlock shrugged and headed for the couch.

"You said you needed a new dorm mate. This isn't technically a dorm, but I thought I was as good as any to fill the position. I've been needing a new place to live anyway. Your place seems nice enough." Sherlock lifted his violin back into his arms.

"Enough? Your brother can make anything happen and you chose 'nice enough' to live in? Look, I can't do this," John said, shaking his head and his arms. "This is my semester to get in the eyes of the med schools. I can't afford to have a drug addict, distracting roommate."

"Will you please stop saying that," Sherlock's voice boomed out surprisingly loud. He looked upset, but then his eyes softened and he let out a low breath. "Test me for a month, John. If you can't handle me, then I'll move out and you can have the whole place to yourself. I'll ensure the rent is paid each month. But like it or not, my name is on the lease and it took nearly an hour to move all of this in here. So…"

Sherlock stepped into the kitchen, over to John by the bags. He stepped too close for normal personal boundaries, and he flicked his bow to the side. His eyes looked smug, testing.

"Can you handle me for a month?" he asked. He took a deep breath that nearly caused their chests to touch. "John Watson?"

"Oh God, yes," John was nearly begging before Sherlock could finish his name and before he could realize he was doing it. John sucked in his next breath, backed off from Sherlock, and shook his head. "I mean, of course I can. I can handle anyone for a month. It's just a month, yes?"

Sherlock looked curious and yet somehow pleased. "Unless you decide otherwise when the time comes."

John's heart pounded painfully in his chest. He had no doubts he was tinting red. He rubbed his brow with his sleeve and let out a heavy breath. He'd gone and half moaned out his consent. Why? Just because Sherlock had been so close he could feel him breathing? Just because he said John's name, close and in that deep voice of his? John mentally cursed himself and threw his eyes around the room as he stuttered for something to say. His eyes landed on the bookshelf and he froze.

"I-Is that a real human skull?" he asked. Sherlock's eyebrows peaked and he turned to check. Good. Attention off John.

"Ah, yes," Sherlock agreed, walking over to it. "Old friend of mine. Well… when I say 'friend'…" He trailed off and shot a smile and a wink over at John. John frowned and blushed deeper. Sherlock couldn't possibly mean what had just smacked John like an iron pillow.

"Right," John murmured, keeping his eyes low. "Excuse me. I need to take care of some business."

He walked past Sherlock, past the living room, and into his bedroom. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it. The groceries were still on the counter, but he couldn't be out there any longer right now. God, at this rate Sherlock would know in less than a day.

Sherlock was on his best behavior the next day. John was trying to pretend the previous night's meeting hadn't happened, and Sherlock was doing his best to try and pretend to be completely normal. He had put the groceries away the night before when John had not reemerged from his room. Well, he'd tried to at least. While Sherlock was a great detective, housekeeping was not one of his skills, which was evident when John found the peanut butter and honey in the bread box and the bread sitting on top. At least Sherlock knew which things belonged in the fridge and which belonged in the cupboards.

The next morning, John was due at the clinic for a double shift at about ten, but he was up and ready three hours early. Part of him had actually thought Sherlock would still be sleeping, even though nothing about Sherlock seemed normal in the least.

John slipped out of his room quietly and frowned at how the kitchen light was still on. Sherlock must have left it on after putting away the shopping. He grabbed a bagel and was about to put it in the toaster when Sherlock's door opened and he could literally feel Sherlock noticing him.

"Oh, John, you're up early," Sherlock said. At least he sounded groggy.

"Yeah. Early shift. Gotta run. I'll see you tonight," John said, gripping his cold bagel and grabbing his bag. He made for the door while Sherlock stood bemused.

"Wait. About last night- John," but then the door swung shut behind the med student and he heard no more.

Maybe it was rude. Maybe it was petty and childish. Maybe, but John was safe for now, so he'd deal with the consequences later. Right now he had to figure out how to occupy himself for three hours until his shift started. John walked toward the bus while he looked down at his bagel. He'd never been one for uncooked bagels, but he also didn't want to carry this all the way to work. He slowly bit into the cool bread and frowned. It tasted like disappointment.

John wasn't disappointed in the bagel. He wasn't disappointed in Sherlock. He wasn't even disappointed with his three hour break before work. He was disappointed in himself. He'd let his emotions get ahead of him last night and then let them carry him off this morning as well. He'd been tactless and tasteless. He'd run like a coward. Yes, he could always handle it later, but somehow the churning in his chest said he should have done it now.

With a deep breath, John tried to console himself. He'd missed his chance this morning already. He should let it go, move on. He'd speak with Sherlock this evening. They would have a good chat to clear the air… and so long as John remembered to lock his door every night, everything would be fine.

God, but it being Sherlock would only make things worse.

"So… I'm all set?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm alright now? I can go home cured?"

John shook his head a little to bring himself down from space. He smiled apologetically at the beautiful woman sitting in front of him and nodded.

"Yes. Yes, of course. You're completely healed up," John said. Sarah stood up from her chair and smiled. John couldn't help but admire her looks. She was average, mostly, but he was making a point to notice the beauty in her. He refused to admit it had anything at all to do with Sherlock.

"Thank you, Dr. Watson," Sarah said, grabbing her purse. She paused there and frowned nervously down at her hands. "So what are your plans for tonight?"

John sighed and rubbed his right temple. "I have to have a serious discussion. Someone just moved in with me, and we had a bit of a misunderstanding last night."

"Oh? About what?" Sarah asked while she pulled on her gloves for the chill outside. She was pretending not to care, but her eyes kept drifting over John inquisitively.

"Um… There was an issue with personal space… sort of," John said, dancing around the real issue. He really didn't want to get into this subject right now. He wasn't even around Sherlock, and the man was invading his conversations. Was Sarah wearing perfume?

"Oh. Well…," Sarah began but tapered off. John frowned curiously and then something clicked in his mind.

"Oh no!" he exclaimed. "Not like that. No no. It's my new roommate. He's got no personal boundaries."

"Oh!" Sarah blushed, a sure sign that John had guessed correctly as to where her mind had gone. Was it a bad sign that he caught it so quickly? Was his mind going there as well? He wouldn't look into it. Instead he shook his head to cast the idea away and smiled apologetically.

"No, no. I'm unattached. You uh… You want to grab a drink sometime? Maybe tomorrow night?" John asked, nervously rubbing the back of his left arm.

Sarah beamed. "Yeah, sure. Sounds great. I'm free about eight. Is that alright?"

"Perfect." John clapped his hands together and smiled wider.

With a bit of a nervous goodbye they parted, and John leaned heavily on the room's counter afterward. He'd just asked someone out. More than that, she'd accepted. What was it 'they' always said about once in a lifetime chances? Oh right. They only come around once. This was John's chance to finally get a girlfriend and to stop worrying about Sherlock. Gah, and there he went again, intervening on John's thoughts. God, even in John's mind, he couldn't escape the annoying rudeness.

Which reminded him – he really did need to decide how he was going to clear all this up with Sherlock. He needed to lay down firm boundaries or this would all be a huge disaster by the end of the first week. Firm boundaries. Clear the air. Firm boundaries. Clear the air. He just had to keep those two goals in his mind. And try as he might, he could think of little else all day at work. He was so nervous on the ride home that he almost wished he had another disappointment bagel.

John stepped off the bus, looking over a piece of paper with ideas on how to start this conversation. He'd written it between patients and on the ride home. He hated every bit of pen or pencil on it. None of it worked well, and he doubted it would work any better on someone like Sherlock.

With a deep breath, John headed up to his apartment, dumping the paper in a bin on the way up. The apartment was surprisingly dark and quiet when he walked in. In fact, he almost thought he was home alone, that Sherlock had gone out, but when he flipped on the lights he saw Sherlock easily.

The well off detective was not very well. He was laying on the couch, holding his arm and mouth open like a constant sigh. His eyes were open and moving about the ceiling like he was watching a movie. Around his arm was a string of rubber, and John didn't look past the needle dropped on the carpet beside the couch.

"Sherlock," John scolded, walking over.

"If it isn't mister horny pants," Sherlock greeted in a much more chipper tone than ever before, although he somehow sounded strangely bitter.

"You can't lay on my couch and get high, Sherlock," John said, bending down to grab the needle. Sherlock's hand snapped out and caught his wrist just before his fingers could touch it. He was surprisingly accurate.

"Why not? It helps me think," Sherlock said. His eyes were partly out of focus, but he stared at John as though he had the vision of a hawk. "Maybe you should try it sometime. Clear that head of yours."

"No. I don't think so," John said. He shook his head and tried to pull out of Sherlock's grip, but it was useless. "Sherlock, let go. That hurts."

"Don't touch my needles," Sherlock partially hissed. He released John's wrist and dropped his head back into the couch pillow, sinking into the hold of his high once more. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice John was there anymore as the pre-med student stared disapprovingly and then exited to his room.

Damn. John had hoped to have a smooth conversation tonight, but Sherlock was too high to care. One thing was certain, though. Sherlock had definitely caught John's emotions from last night. 'Horny pants?' Was Sherlock eight years old? Still, this meant Sherlock would have the wrong idea for another few days. Tomorrow night John had a date with Sarah, and then classes started up again. Great timing, World.