I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story.

Sherlock ignored Mycroft the cat's loud whining outside the door as he looked over the pair of trainers. Why would his new friend give him these? What made them so special? He turned them over using his new phone to do some research on them using the brand name. They came up as limited edition shoes from twenty years ago. The shoes were well loved and heavily used owned by a boy with large feet for his age, given the traces of pen on the tongue. The shoes were more worn on one side so the owner had weak arches; there were traces of mud on the soles from Sussex overlaid with mud from London. The owner wouldn't have let his shoes stay filthy; he whitened them when they got discolored, so he never got the chance to clean them. He changed the laces four times and left behind traces of skin where his fingers touched the laces so he had eczema. Why was this important?

"Carl Powers." He breathed, the answer leaping out at him.

The first case to ever capture his attention and the first he failed to sole because people wouldn't listen to him. The boy died in a freak accident in the pool, but when they checked his locker his shoes were missing. Nothing else just his shoes and even as young as he was Sherlock was able to see that the accident and the missing shoes were connected. He was right all along, Carl Powers never had a seizure, he was murdered. So why would M give him the shoes now? There had to be a connection between the shoes and the murder or there would have been no reason to give him them. His eyes were drawn back to the laces and he smirked, no there wouldn't be a reason, unless the shoes held the answer.

He took samples from the laces, deducing that they were the most likely place to find traces of the poison. Carl Powers had eczema so he would have had medication to fight the symptoms. If someone wanted to poison him his medication would be the best way to do it. He waited as his equipment did its job his mind being drawn from one mystery to another, mainly Mycroft's newest spy. He didn't know how John had reacted to his deductions and at the time he didn't want to know. Previous experience made him lean toward the idea that like everyone else he'd encountered John was unappreciative of his deductions. He'd need to meet John again to deduce how best to deal with him.

John Watson as he already knew was a soldier recently invalidated from Afghanistan in desperate need of funds. His hands had callouses in line with a soldiers and a doctors. Mycroft had been complaining about him neglecting his health, a doctor would be a reasonable choice to keep him healthy, and he refused to recruit Mike as the man had a family to provide for. So John Watson was unlikely to have a family to support. He turned the problem over in his head a probable answer beginning to form, though it would take a conversation or two with his new flat mate to be certain of it. With that he turned back to the case at hand grateful that Mycroft had finally ceased his yowling and had run off.

John woke the next morning to a rumbling weight on his chest and wide green eyes obscuring his vision. He jolted sending a ridiculously fat orange tabby cat running and yowling with displeasure. It stopped just far enough away from the bed that he could see it glaring up at him without sitting up. He rubbed his chest where the cat had clawed it in its efforts to escape from him. He reached down grabbing his cane from where it had fallen to the floor and the cat bolted from the room. He hefted himself up and walked over to the dresser to look through the drawers. He was a bit disturbed by the fact that whoever was in charge of buying things had gotten him an entire wardrobe of clothing that was to his taste. He wasn't sure how or why they decided that they went and got him new everything and at the moment he didn't want to know.

He gathered up the dressing gown that was hung on the back of the door and walked downstairs hoping to take a quick shower before he figured out what to do with his time. He found the shower and put it to use enjoying the hot water without the fear that it would go off at any moment or turn cold in an instant. He didn't take too long, he did have a flat mate and he didn't want to piss him off too much by using all the hot water. He pulled on the dressing gown, shaved, and brushed his teeth, before he decided to explore what would be his new home for the foreseeable future. He limped back up the stairs to his room, got dressed, and decided to have breakfast before he began to explore his new surroundings.

John limped into the living room looking around and deciding that it had potential. It looked like someone forgot to clear out their rubbish when they moved, though he doubted that was the case. His roommate was probably just messy. The room was filled with boxes and papers and clutter, and that was just the normal stuff. There was also a skull and a stuffed bat on the mantle and a cow skull wearing headphones on the wall, which were a bit odd, but fitting somehow. Even so it was cozy; there was something reassuring about the thrown together look of it, and it wasn't as intimidating as he feared it might be. There were two large windows open wide to let in the strangely strong scent of greenery and wet earth. There was a comfortable looking red armchair and a less comfortable green one and a fireplace that had been used and cleaned recently.

The comfortable lived in feel of it was preferable to the stiff clinical environment or overly opulent guest house he'd pictured signing the papers. In a clinical environment he knew he'd never be able to relax, those sights and smells would only bring to mind his work, work that he was no longer capable of doing. In an opulent guest house he'd be so far out of his comfort zone that he'd never relax even when he had the opportunity to. This however didn't remind him of work or make him feel out of place. In fact it was almost homey, though the lack of other people was a bit disconcerting after spending so long surrounded by other people.

He limped into the kitchen grateful that it was right beside the living room. He ignored the chemistry set on the table and looked through the cupboards. He didn't find much in the way of breakfast; actually he didn't find much but dog food, cat food, and a half drunk carton of milk. He grabbed one of the cans of cat food glaring at it as though it was the reason there wasn't any food in the kitchen.

"Mrs. Hudson will be by soon." A baritone voice called out and John turned to face Sherlock, who was standing in the doorway wearing the same clothing he had been wearing yesterday. "She usually brings by my meals and whatever I don't eat usually finds its way into the fridge. If you'd like to cook for yourself or if you want to have something on hand you can talk with her. I prefer to use the kitchen as a second lab so I don't keep much food in here, except for what belongs to the animals."

"I can tell." John said putting the can back on its shelf. The cat hearing Sherlock's voice came out of hiding to trot up to Sherlock rubbing against his legs while it seemed to give John dirty look.

John looked down at the cat amused with how it rubbed against a disgruntled looking Sherlock while meowing up at him like it was asking for something. "So what do you call them?"

Sherlock leaned down and picked up the cat allowing it to settle against his chest. "This is Mycroft, he is clingy and annoying so I named him after my brother."

Thank yous to everyone, who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited. John is currently still in a state of transition and it does affect his energy levels, he's more tired now because of it.