Welcome To 221B

Author's Notes:

f I get any questions about it I will start to go into the reasonings behind this fic, but for now it's strictly for my own pleasure and I won't go into that here.

Enjoy if you wish!

John limped up the stairs, trying not to grunt with the effort. The woman in front of him turned around, hands fluttering about kindly.

"Oh, take your time, dear! There's no rush, honestly..." It was sweetly meant, and John took it how it was meant, trying not to focus on how long it was taking him to climb the bloody stairs. Eventually they made it to the hallway above, and the woman - Mrs... Hudson? Hanson? Something like that - led him down and to the right.

"Now, these apartments are a bit smaller, you know," she said, talking quickly, with a warning tone of voice. She didn't want him getting his hopes up too high, he could tell.

"Well, I'm only one person, and I don't take up too much space," he said, forcing a smile when she looked at him, before she turned around to continue leading him down the hall.

"Of course, it all depends on Sherlock. There's no point in having anyone Sherlock doesn't like try to take a flat, I should know, I finally gave up on the idea," she continued. John's leg was giving him a dull ache that spread up to his hip. He gritted his teeth against the pain and limped faster. "...it was ridiculous of course - just a tantrum - but I can't throw Sherlock out, you know, it would just be..." Mrs. Hudson was still rambling. "...Anyway, it might work out with you, and your situation and all." She looked at him kindly.

John really wasn't paying attention at all by this point, but he managed another smile and a quick nod, and then they turned a right corner and were facing a white door with no lettering on it but "220 B". Mrs. Hudson knocked quickly. "Sherlock? I brought up the new one."

For a moment, John considered taking offense at being called "the new one," then realized that as he was the new one, it really wasn't worth it. The door swung open just a crack to reveal two bright silver eyes which raked him up and down like an x-ray, taking him in with a quick glance before a voice quickly said "He'll do."

The door closed in their faces, and Mrs. Hudson looked at him gratefully. "Oh good. Well, Sherlock won't bother you, and that's a relief. Let me show you the flat and then you can decide if you really want to take it."

John nodded, and raised an eyebrow behind her back as she led him further down the hall, as if nothing strange had happened at all. John, on the other hand, felt that normally people did more than simply look at you if they were going to decide whether they liked you or not.

They took another right and John started to make a quick scan of the layout in his head, just so he wouldn't be stuck trying to find his own flat - should he take it - which he would. It was the only one he could afford. God bless Mike for mentioning it to him, even if it had been with a roll of the eyes and meant sarcastically.

They were on the second floor of a large building - hence the "B" part of his address - but as the building architect seemed to have been interested in Mayan temples or something of the sort, the bottom level was much larger than the top, giving those on the upper level only room for two flats, back to back. It was a strange way to lay out a college dorm, but it hardly mattered. These dorms were rarely used by students. Mrs. Hudson was considered the resident supervisor and manager, but that didn't mean much considering that most of the boarders were professors or doctors of some sort and didn't really need much looking after. John suspected there would be quite a bit of fussing after him within the next couple of days, simply because she didn't have anyone else to fuss over.

The hallway had split at the top of the stairs, so he supposed if they'd taken a right instead of a left at the top, they could have taken the short way to his door, since the halls seemed to just make a square round the whole second floor. He hoped the rooms had skylights or something, otherwise he was going to find his rooms depressingly dark. As it was he supposed they would find out, because they were stopped in front of another white door, this one labeled "221 B".

Mrs. Hudson flipped on the light, and John limped in, taking a sweeping glance of the place. "I did take a bit of time to clean it," she said quickly, "But I didn't take out the furniture since I thought I'd ask if you wanted it. If you don't like it I'll just have some of the fellows up and - "

"It's fine, Mrs. Hudson," John interrupted her before she could continue. "I don't have much, it'll be nice to have something to sit on."

"Oh. Well, then, I'm glad about that. You just take a rest and look through the place then. I'll be right back up with biscuits." She left the room, and John noted that he'd been right. Lots of fussing.

Most of the furnishings were old, the type of heavy solid wooden furniture that had been far more common in the Victorian era. John guessed that perhaps Mrs. Hudson hadn't moved it all out because it was too heavy for her and she didn't want to bother any of the doddering men downstairs. Oh, well. It suited him. Strong and stuck in one place. He muttered and hit his leg with his cane.

He noticed a door open to his right and entered it to find a small kitchen and laundry room. A closet door was to one side - he tried it. It was locked, so he made a note to ask Mrs. Hudson for the key and limped back.

The main room had a fireplace, and several skylights, for which he was grateful. The skylights would add light, but lose heat, which would be remedied by the fireplace.

He moved into the bedroom, which was small, but decent, and had a large four-poster Victorian bed in the corner. He supposed for its time it was incredibly posh and ornate, but now it just kind of looked sad in the corner. Comfy, though, if one added lots of pillows.

A large wooden wardrobe was against the wall as well, far bigger than his clothes could ever fill, and there was another closet door, which was locked again. He rolled his eyes, limped back into the sitting room, and immediately made use of it by sinking down into the worn leather sofa, looking around and imagining his medal box hung above the mantel. Mrs. Hudson bustled in with some biscuits. "What do you think, dear?" she asked, setting the tin down on the coffee table and putting down a mug of tea that he hadn't asked for.

John nodded. "It'll work."