Joan's first tour of her future apartment came less than twenty minutes after her lunch with Mary. The fact that she had eaten beforehand had probably not been among the wisest of ideas, but Joan had no idea what she was in for when the apartment door to #221 swung open.
There was a list of horrors Joan was expecting, after all, a college undergrad only had so many reasons why they would run through over a dozen roommates. She had guessed the apartment would be messy, perhaps even quirky, but she hadn't expected to be met with a wiry young man of about her age in what appeared to be protective gear for soldering something.
Joan blinked, taking a step back. "I'm sorry, did I come at a bad…time?" she asked, tripping over the last word.
Sherlock Holmes pulled back his face mask, revealing an long face, deep set eyes, and expressive features. He pursed his lips, and then fiddled frantically with the mask in his hands, before he leaned forwards. "Ah, no. I should think not. Just an experiment," he explained, thrusting out a hand. "You must be Joan Watson. I'm Sherlock."
Stepping over the threshold of the apartment, she took his hand and shook it. When she let go of his hand, Sherlock immediately went to wipe away sweat from his brow.
"Yes, we had a meeting scheduled for this afternoon…" Joan filled in, raising a brow as she glanced around the breezeway. There were many things she had been expecting, but what she could see from the door didn't fall under any of her expectations. Sherlock stepped back, broadening her view, and Joan raised a brow in shock.
The wallpaper of the hallway was a light patterned brown, and the lamps that lit it looked old enough to have once been gas, but were rewired to be compatible with electricity. Stacks of books lined the hall, and a small figurine of a painted dog guarded the tallest stack. A haphazard poster had been pinned down the hall, and when Joan's eyes landed upon it, Sherlock followed her gaze. He blinked in surprise, taken aback by the poster which detailed various alcoholic drinks and their compositions.
"Previous roommate. Loud chap, not really suitable for my research methods. Left a few of his things around…" Sherlock explained, confusion sinking into his features before he shook his head, and then rocked forwards on his feet. "Shall we then? There's a living space, and then I can show you your private bedroom."
"Sure," Joan nodded, hitching her bag's straps further up her shoulders. "Lead the way."
Spinning on his heel, Sherlock began to walk forwards, winding his way past the hall. Joan sidestepped a stack of fallen papers, and then followed, watching her footfalls.
"There's not much, I'm afraid, but it should do nicely for any pre-medical student such as yourself. The sitting room we have has a television, which I'm afraid due to my latest tinkering only seems to pick up Spanish television cable, a large couch, small kitchen, and several bookshelves," he said, gesturing into the room. Joan leaned past him, and walked through the entryway, taken aback by the unnatural size. Space was at a premium in the City, and here Sherlock Holmes was, sitting on quite a fair bit of it. She could see how so many previous roommates wouldn't complain about the location for the price.
"It's…lovely. A bit messy, though."
At this, Sherlock twitched. "A messy house and a clean mind. I'm sure we'll get along splendidly so long as you don't attempt to reorganize the shelves."
Leaning forwards, Joan examined the titles. "Is there a method of organization I should be aware of?"
"Absolutely not," Sherlock said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth on the final 't'. "General spatial proximity from one book to another keeps them easy enough to find which means that keeping them organized is what keeps them accessible."
Joan gave a slow nod. "Right…do you think you can show me the room?"
Pulling away from his shelves, Sherlock nodded and dropped his protective mask onto the couch before he led her further down the hall to the two doors facing each other. One door had a blank wood surface, and the other was affixed with a small gold plate 'B'.
"That," Sherlock said pointing to the 'B' plate, "Is my room. And this," he said gesturing to the blank door. "Will be yours, Miss Watson."
Pushing open the door, she peered inside the empty room. "The A room?" she asked calmly.
Sherlock shrugged. "I rather think it should be whatever you want to label it. Welcome to 221, Joan."
Question: Should they be Columbia or NYU students?