Tatterdemalion Scrawling

Purveyor of Finest Nonsense

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Fic: Sherlock Holmes' Diary - January
Title: Sherlock Holmes' Diary - January
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC), Bridget Jones' Diary
Pairing: Unrequited Sherlock/John, One-sided Molly/Sherlock, Mycroft/OFC
Rating: PG - Language or whatever I suppose.
Word Count: 7,000. Ish.
Summary: Sherlock Holmes keeps a diary. No one is supposed to know about it. He's pretty sure Mycroft does though, the fat nosy git.
Notes/Warnings: This is a fusion for Sherlock and Bridget Jones' Diary so there will be similarities. Many thanks to [info]oxfordtweed for ye old beta, this one is all for you, dear.

January 1st. Cigarettes 7 (All out of bathroom window) Fantasies involving burning horrible couch-bed thing 600 (per hour) Christmas chocolates consumed 3.5kg (but still early)

1000 Woke up on Mycroft’s couch. Hate his couch-bed thing, too short, woke up a hunchback with one leg wrapped round neck. Don’t understand why he couldn’t just pick me up from Montague Street, but apparently cannot be trusted to go to Mummy’s horrible New Year’s dinner under my own steam. Not allowed to smoke at all, have been sneaking them out the bathroom window. Tubby will never guess. Made tea and took to bathroom for crafty cigarette and less crafty shower. Mycroft knocked on door.

“Can you shower after your cigarette? You know how the smell upsets Mummy.”

Hate him.

1030 Mmmm. Milk Tray for breakfast. Best thing about Christmas, especially since Mycroft is eating half a grapefruit. Offer him orange creme. Eat it in front of him when he refuses. Glorious.

1330 Dinner at Mummy’s predictably ghastly. Sat next to Uncle Chadwick, who is basically Mycroft in twenty years time. Red-faced and jowly, he likes to drink red wine and Scotch and smoke enormous cigars. Predict he will be dead in five to ten years, hopefully whilst on top of much younger mistress (new hair cut, ghastly paisley green shirt, tan in effort to look younger, tan line where wedding band has been put back on in slightly different place, small smear of red lipstick on ear and brown hair on lapel (Aunt May wears a vicious shade of pink that permanently stains your cheek and has been bottle blonde since 1990)). Having finally troughed his way through a plate of Sunday roast that weighed more than me, and about half a trifle, he could finally turn his attention to more pressing matters.

“So, nephew, found yourself a nice girl yet?” Oh god.

“No...” I muttered, instantly about thirteen again. Across the room Mycroft was engaged in conversation with Cousin Millicent, who, despite name, is one of the least heinous members of our family. Hate him.

“Can’t wait forever, old boy.” Why can he not just use my name? “All the good ones will be taken. Look at Jilly over there.” Cousin Jilly married at twenty-five to some Tory crashing bore and has been pumping out babies ever since, like grotesque Gatling gun. Also does yoga, works in publishing and active in PTA. She caught me staring and smiled, dark hair perfectly in place. Hate her.

“Excuse me.” I mumbled and dived out. Bumped into Cousin Freddie outside bathroom.

“You’re next to Uncle Chadwick, aren’t you? Hard luck dear. Here.” She handed me a Silk Cut.
“Thanks.” I practically ate the proffered cigarette. By the time I got back, Uncle Chadwick was expounding on why we shouldn’t give into the damn foreigners coming into the country. Others round the table were nodding righteously. I considered throwing myself out of the window just as Mummy wafted across the room with a watery-eyed woman.

“Sherlock, cherie- ” She wrinkled her nose. “Have you been smoking again? I do wish you wouldn’t; you know how I hate it...” Oh lord, I recognised that tone. She was about to introduce me to one of her friends’ children in the wild hope I might become instantly attracted to her and take her home in order to create twenty fat grandchildren for her to spoil.

“No, Mother. I’ve given up.” And where the hell did that come from? I like smoking.

“Oh, really? That is good news. I’m so pleased, dear,” and she pulled me down into a hug. “You won’t need these any more then, will you?” She’d taken the half-packet of Benson and Hedges out of the inner pocket of my suit jacket. How does she do that? “This is Charlotte Fitzgerald, Sherlock; she’s Herbert and Miriam’s daughter. I thought you should get to know each other.”
I looked her up and down.

“You’re a primary school teacher and the class pet is a rabbit. You own two cats. You once visited India and retain a fascination with the country and it’s fashions, and probably its food too. You drive a Mini, you like cosy nights in on the couch and long walks, and you are having an affair with... Your boss? Yes, definitely. You should dump him, he’s never going to leave his wife.” Her eyes bugged out, hands clutching at nothing (traces of Plasticine under fingernails, poster paint on sleeve of cardigan, three different types of animal hair but more cat than rabbit, Indian style of make-up, bright clothes, slight smell of curry powder, keys sticking out of pocket, romantic ideals along with love-bite badly hidden by concealer allow extrapolation on affair, boss shot in the dark, good one though, office affairs rarely end well). Mummy looked apoplectic.

“Excuse me, must run,” I fled the scene. Feel vaguely bad for dull woman, but really did not want to have another tedious conversation today. Tried to get lost in crowd, spotted Mycroft forging towards me. He looked cross, probably because I got him to move so soon after dinner. Also maybe because Dull Charlotte rushed off in tears. Possibly. Dodged out to hide and caught Jilly popping Ritalin in the corridor. Felt much better and grinned broadly at her. She rushed off, no idea why. Can hear Mummy and Mycroft coming. Hopefully they won’t find me.

1630 Driven home in disgrace by Mycroft, who kept saying things like “You do know you always hide in that cupboard when you get into trouble?” and “India... Really.” and “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” Sanctimonious stuffed shirt. Asked him if he had enjoyed his second helping of trifle. That shut him up.

2200 All cigarettes have disappeared from flat. Hate him.

January 2nd. Nicotine patches 3 (who on earth thought these even worked??) Cigarettes 6 Cases 0 0 0 (bored Bored BORED)

Lestrade called with a case. Solved it over the phone. Why does he insist on being so dull? Must go to morgue tomorrow. Dying of ennui.

January 3rd. Nicotine patches 5 (no smoking in lab) Cigarettes 3 (but mostly Molly’s menthol ones) Experiments 3

Molly all grumpy today, almost bit my head off when I asked for stomach acid and a non-diseased liver. Asked her if it was because speed-dating hadn’t worked (saw the advert on her desk, recent haircut) and she threw a stapler at my head. Brought me a cup of coffee and some custard creams to make it up though. She says I’d like speed-dating, because I’d only have two minutes to ruin someone’s life. Sweet, if disturbingly violent girl.

1530 Mycroft called and offered me a case. I don’t understand why he thinks I would want to take on his boring bureaucratic files, especially since he could probably solve them himself if he’d just lever that well-upholstered bottom out of his office-chair. He told me menthol cigarettes still count, and Mummy would be disappointed. Hate him.

1200 Called Mycroft’s work phone seven times in a row from a phone-box in Clapham and hung up when he answered. Felt better.

January 4th. Nicotine patches 4 Cigarettes 2 (Pretty good) Cases 1

Am taking Mycroft’s case because he threatened to tell Mummy about the time I blew up the Ogilvys’ shed.

January 6th Nicotine patches 3 Cigarettes 10 (It’s my birthday) Presents 5 (realised most relatives don’t actually know where I live)

Mummy sent me a scarf. Mycroft gave me a Blackberry, since then he ‘knows the bill will be paid.’ It’s useful. I hate when he does that. Saved his number under ‘Tubbs’ and felt better. Molly gave me a card with a cat on and a cupcake with a candle in it. Mike Stamford took me out to lunch. Apparently I don’t eat enough. I do wish he wouldn’t fuss so much, but he gave me some very nice gloves. Lestrade sent me a text about a couple of suicides and a cold case. The cold case was quite interesting. He invited me to dinner, but Lestrade has about five children, all of whom are various sorts of mad and small, so I declined. The flat very empty tonight. Feel unusual.

2300 Got out Emergency Box. Haven’t since August last year (Mrs Lestrade’s funeral where Lestrade cried on my coat). Laid out needle, spoon, vial. Then put it all back again. I don’t need it. Not really. Will play violin instead.

0230 Landlord banged on ceiling and threatened actual bodily harm. Philistine.

0300 Can’t sleep. Flat echoingly empty.

January 7th. Nicotine patches 5 (no smoking in lab) Cigarettes 5 (but mostly menthol)

1115 Molly all cross. Apparently microwave is food-only. How was I to know the container would melt into a blob of plastic? Staff room smells of chemicals. Told her she should use the blob as modern art. She threw it at me. Made her tea and custard creams. She told me I was a prick and took three custard creams.

1130 The blob is on her desk.

1145 She’s put a kitten on the blob like it’s climbing it. Maybe she inhaled the chemical smoke.

January 9th. Nicotine patches 3 Cigarettes 10 (but mostly menthol) Speed daters deduced 5 (over ten minutes) Bizarre incidents 1

2200 Molly took me out to her speed-dating thing, and it actually was tremendous fun till the overseer/herder/coordinator/dictator kicked us both out. Molly a little annoyed at that.

“You shouldn’t be, I saved you a lot of hassle. That guy you were with wasn’t serious about it either. He just wanted a quick shag.” She hit me. She’s so violent. We sat in her car outside my  flat and had a cigarette.

“You don’t need speed dating anyway. People rarely enter long-term relationships with that sort of thing.” I flicked my cigarette out the window. “You’re far more likely to end up with someone closer to home.”

And then she kissed me.

2215 It’s not that it wasn’t pleasant but
I could have said something much worse than “Sorry, I can’t do this.”
Molly is so, well
I think that
She certainly drove off fast
Maybe if
Oh for goodness’ sake.

2220 Texted Mike. Then called him when he didn’t answer. He said I gave mixed messages, and I should apologise. What does he mean, I should apologise? I didn’t kiss anyone!

2300 I hope this doesn’t make it awkward for me to be in the morgue.

2310 How does melting a microwave lead anyone on?

2315 And I don’t understand how sharing biscuits could be construed as flirting. Not in this case anyway. I share biscuits with Mycroft. Oh god. Flirting with Mycroft. Does anyone flirt with Mycroft? Seems wrong somehow. Consider implications of Mycroft speed dating. Maybe I should make him a profile on OKCupid.

January 10th. Nicotine patches 5 Cigarettes 20 (Stress) Bizarre incidents 1 (but different to yesterday)

1000 Took Molly a Tesco’s bag full of custard creams. She burst into tears, hugged me, and rushed out.

1015 Texted Mike.

“I need your help, Molly’s gone insane. SH.”
“Did you apologise?”
“She started crying.”
“Blimey. Hell of an apology mate.”
“What do I do?”
“Give her a hankie?”
“Where are you?”
“Outside your classroom.”

Mike says that women are mysterious and complex, and I should be glad she didn’t hit me with the biscuits. When I went back to the morgue Molly made me a cup of tea though. Does that mean everything’s alright again?

January 12th. Nicotine patches 2 Cigarettes 25 Cases 1

Client e-mailed me about some missing accounts in Yorkshire. Looks to be quite interesting. More straightforward than Molly, who seems to have quite lost her head. Keeps looking at me and sighing, and bringing me pens and things. All signs point to infatuation, but I thought the custard creams had solved that. Will deal with it after case. Hate dealing with emotions; needlessly complicated and messy.

January 16th. Nicotine patches 4 Cigarettes 30 (Stress) Flats 0 Annoying Brothers 1 (but annoying enough for seven)

1640 Got back from Bradford to find that in my absence one of my home experiments had fallen over, reacted with the prussic acid on the floor and filled the flat with a corrosive gas that has quite destroyed the wallpaper and carpets, not to mention my nice sofa set. Landlord livid, thought the top of his head would just explode like a volcano but with brains and skull instead of lava and lumps of rock. Have offered to pay with damage, but apparently I am no longer welcome. Something about 4am violin and the smell. Fine. Didn’t like it there anyway. Staying at Mycroft’s tonight. He’s so smug. Have bribed him not to tell Mummy, but have to do dull case about forgery in return. Hate him.

1930 Had crispy bacon sandwich with lots of butter and tomato sauce for dinner. Mycroft had salad. Wiped out frying pan with bit of bread and offered him half. Feel a bit better.

2200 Watched ten o’ clock news with Mycroft, who likes to make sure that his spin is spun correctly. Once read something (a joke?) about how some news-casters don’t wear trousers, since you can’t see them from the waist down. Wonder if this counts for radio presenters too, except they could be naked, or just wearing underwear. Imagine John Humphrys in his underwear shouting at Anne Widdecombe about foreign policy. Would she be in her underwear too? She would feel more vulnerable that way, more likely to answer questions truthfully. Thinking about Anne Widdecombe in underwear makes me wish it was possible to clean your brain like you clean your teeth. So she would be clothed. Being shouted at by John Humphrys in his underwear would be pretty disconcerting if you were clothed. Maybe add a sexual frisson though. Always thought James Naughtie sounded like a porno name. Imagine Libby Purves (another porn star) giving reports on foreign affairs in lacy underwear. Thought for the day indeed.

“Mycroft, do you ever do important phone calls in your underwear?”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“When you call New Zealand, or wherever.”
“Why would I call New Zealand?”
Honestly, he can be so dense.

January 17th. Nicotine patches 3 Cigarettes 10 (Better) Annoying brothers Still 1 (worst luck)

1030 There was a note on the bathroom door. ‘Please don’t smoke in here, it makes the towels smell.’ Hate him. Had cigarette in the airing cupboard instead, and felt a bit better. Note in fridge asking me not to make a mess. He’s so obsessive. There was even a note on the pantry that told me to use the open jam first. I can’t stay here. He’s mad.

January 18th. Nicotine patches 5 Cigarettes 15 (Mindless rebellion)

1100 Mummy called and asked me how the not smoking was going. Found myself putting a magazine over cigarette packet as I told her it was fine. She told me to try harder and to throw away the packet I just hid. How does she know these things? Also said if I hate living with Fatso so much I could come and live with her. Told her that I couldn’t possibly leave London. Also would rather chew arm off then go back home and have to sit through interminable social engagements with elderly women with two last names. Also the butler tells Mummy if I smoke out of the window, which somehow seems unfair.

January 19th. Nicotine patches 4 Cigarettes 9 Pens 10000

1330 Bought Mike lunch and told him about the Mad Post-It Noter, aka my brother. His suggestion was to actually flat-hunt instead of waiting for brother to get sufficiently annoyed and make me move out. Molly continues to be weird. Am drowning in pens. She was wearing lipstick. Custard creams clearly made matters worse. Texted Mike and told him. He told me to fight fire with fire and to stop bothering him in class. What does that mean? I don’t want to wear lipstick.

January 20th. Nicotine patches 5 Cigarettes 10

Took Molly a custard cream and told her to stop bringing me pens because no one could ever use that many pens ever, but that the lipstick made her look quite pretty. She took the custard cream and looked confused, but she didn’t bring me any more pens. Maybe that fixed it?

January 21st. Nicotine patches 4 Cigarettes 9 Annoying Brothers 1 (but works hard)

0830 Mycroft threw out my experiment about the dissolving qualities of different types of soft-drink.

0900 Think I’ll play the violin today.

Midnight Mycroft came out of his room in his pyjamas and threatened to stick my bow somewhere very uncomfortable. How rude, I thought I was playing very well.

January 22nd. Nicotine patches 2 Cigarettes 30 (Mycroft)

0830 Mycroft stole my violin while I was in the shower. Took it to work with him. Texted him telling him not to sit on his with his enormous bottom or accidentally eat it for lunch. Hate him. So distraught and bored had to resort to smoking. However, so distraught about violin that mistook airing cupboard for bathroom. Oops.

January 23rd. Nicotine patches 5 Cigarettes 10 Cases 1

2130 He’s brought a girl home! A real girl! I spied on them from the kitchen, and it’s not that secretary, or a prostitute (wouldn’t put it past him, dirty old man). She’s giggling. He’s giggling. How unnatural. Realised am trapped in kitchen. Oh god, what if they get carried away on the couch. Have to sleep there later. Wonder if could learn to levitate above bed, or cover all the surfaces in clingfilm. Maybe I could rush out and tell them not to make a mess of nice clean sofa. Last time I did something like that Mycroft threatened to push me out the window.

Fatty found me in the kitchen. Obviously thought I was out. Told me to keep quiet and he would take her to different part of the house. I said it was unfair of him to exploit her father issues. His ears were all red. It was brilliant.

2220 How long does it take to get someone into the bedroom? Especially since they’ve guzzled a bottle of champagne since they got home. Mycroft’s put the television on. Hate him.

2300 Lestrade called with a crime scene. Could still hear giggling from front-room. Considered going through window but since my coat was in the hall no other choice. Burst into front room. Tiny blonde woman squeaked and fell out of Mycroft’s lap. Good lord.

“Sorry, must dash. Don’t wait up.” I said, breathlessly. As I found my other glove I could hear Mycroft saying something and then the blonde saying,

“Gosh, and you look after him anyway? You’re so sweet ,” with a sort of breathy intonation that women use when they think being naive and cute will get them somewhere. Hate him.

January 24th Nicotine patches 6 Cigarettes 13

0230 Asked Lestrade if I could stay with him. He smirked and asked me if I would prefer one of the bunk-beds with the twins or the shed. Also that his eldest would never approve. Apparently she doesn’t like me much. Can’t think why.

“It’s because you’re a smug git who makes my life simultaneously harder and easier.” Oh, well, there you go then. Anderson told me not to mess up his crime scene. Don’t know why; he always misses the important things. In this case it was the strip torn from the curtains with the same blade. Idiot. Told him as much; he kicked me off the scene. Heard him shouting at Lestrade about never letting the freak back onto one of his scenes again. Hope he gets eaten by own overalls.

1040 BORED.

1100 Found Mycroft’s stash of historical fiction. He’s such an old woman. These books have the most ridiculous titles.

1105 Ooh, Jack the Ripper.

1730 Mycroft came home (without giggling blonde) and shouted at me.

“I was just reading them! It’s so dull here!” I yelled back.
“I’m not banning you from reading them, just from getting them all out to build a fort. You’re like a child!”
“It’s not a fort! It’s a barrier against fat people!” Obviously.
Then he hit me.

2230 At Mike’s in his spare room. He says he’ll put me up for a couple of days, till I find a new place. Mrs Mike looked murderous. May lock door this evening. Can hear her downstairs. She sounds awfully cross. Told them I would look after Small Child in return (Mike wants a day with Mrs Mike). She said only if I could remember the name. Could have sworn it was Christine. Turns out it’s Simon.

January 25th. Nicotine patches 6 Cigarettes 3 (small child)

Took Small Child- Simon- to Natural History Museum in the afternoon, so that Mike and Mrs Mike can have day off. Women kept smiling at me, including desk woman, who had to be at least as old as the dinosaur skeleton.  Simon seemed to enjoy himself, even though had to carry him round last part because his feet hurt. Bought him a stuffed pterodactyl apparently called Terry. Went to cafe for lunch, had chips and cream buns literally size of small child’s head. Walked back through park. Tested theories of centrifugal forces and inertia in playground. Also fed the ducks. Had ice-cream. Mistake as ice-cream seems to instantly laminate child with layer of the stuff that makes Sellotape sticky. Found wet-wipes and applied liberally. Women with prams kept smiling at me. Most disturbing. Went home on Tube, because Simon insisted. He likes to watch the people, apparently. We watched an old couple going home for dinner, an enormous black man wearing a frilly pink dress, and I showed him how to tell the difference between a plumber and a bricklayer. We had Chinese food for dinner and then I told Simon about water displacement whilst he had a bath.

2030 Put child to bed because he fell asleep into warm milk. Wiped most of it off though.

2330 Mrs Mike annoyed about bathroom, despite the fact that water mops quite easily off tile. Apologised, because the melon did make more of a splash than I thought it would. Her lips went all thin and her nostrils flared and it was kind of fascinating, but Mike pulled me away, though I could have sworn he was trying not to smile.

0300 Simon just woke up screaming about the dinosaurs. Turned out he didn’t actually like the animatronic dinosaurs. I thought they were a bit naff; he thought they were coming to eat him.

January 26th. Nicotine patches 6 Cigarettes 3 (small child) Flats looked at 5

0830 Was eating Coco Pops with small child when Mrs Mike slapped the small ads in front of me.

“I’ve underlined some good ones for you,” she said, and smiled. Well, her lips turned up.
“Can we go to the park again today?” Simon piped up.
“Maybe, dear.”
“Was asking Sherlock.” I blinked. The child was looking at us solemnly. “Want to fly again.”
“What?” That was not a good tone. I stared at the want ads. Maybe I could teleport to one just by wishing. Or maybe Lestrade would call. I’d take anything.
“Sherlock showed me how to fly on the swings.”
“Did he now? Well, that’s nice. Is that why your trousers were torn?”
“No, that was the roundabout. We span really really fast, and if you sit in the middle you don’t fall off, but I wasn’t quite in the middle.”
“Really.” Mike had just shuffled in and was staring. I tried to telepathically explain. He was looking at his wife in the same way the bomb squad looks at unattended baggage.
“Uh, what did I miss?” he ventured.
“I’m looking at flats!” I interrupted. “Ooh, look, there’s one. Must fly, maybe later, Simon.”

1230 In horrid greasy spoon. Hate all flats. They’re all happy until they ask why you’re living at your friend’s place. Then suddenly someone else has shown a lot of interest thank you so much for coming, buh-bye now.

1240 Mycroft texted: “Why not just buy a place?”

1245 “Because then I’d have to be as boring as you.”

1250 I wonder if Mrs Mike has cooled off yet.

1300 221B Baker Street. Why is that familiar?

1305 Of course! Mrs Hudson. Such an interesting case. Going over for afternoon tea.

1315 Called Mike. Mrs Mike is apparently ironing. Ask him if that means its still not safe. He said I should consider immigrating, especially since Simon won’t shut up about dinosaurs and apparently wants to be a pterodactyl when he grows up. Told him might have found a place. He cheered. How rude.

1600 Meeting with Mrs Hudson mostly successful. Flat great, if a bit oddly set out. Kind of like that. Already got a deal on some cheap furniture, Mrs Hudson will provide rest though, because most of it will be difficult to get up the stairs. She fed me fairy cakes and asked me

“So why are you living with Mister Stamford?”
“Disagreement with my landlord.” It suddenly felt like the time I got sent home from school for fighting and Mummy said “And what exactly did you say to Perkins Minor before he hit you?”
“Oh really?”
“There was a small matter of some rent that slipped my mind... And an experiment sort of... Exploded. But really, it’s nothing. Come on, Mrs Hudson, please?” I tried to look as harmless as possible. She sighed and gave me a very Mummy-ish look. The one that says she can see right through me. I hate it.
“Well, there are two rooms you know,” she said, stirring her tea. “You could get a flatmate. You know, to remind you on,”
A flatmate! Who on earth would live with me? Even I don’t like living with me much, there are always bills and things and the milk’s always off because, honestly, who can keep track?

1900 Spoke to Mike.

“I found a flat.”
“Huzzah! When are you moving in?”
“As soon as I can find a flatmate.”

January 27th. Nicotine patches 5 Cigarettes 5 (small child) Flatmates found 0

1030 In desperation, called Mycroft, despite the fact that he is a fat bullying git. He doesn’t know anyone he dislikes enough to be my flatmate. Hate him.

1330 Took Simon out for lunch and dropped by the morgue. Remembered animatronic episode and wouldn’t let him into main room. Got Molly to come out and see us. She seemed quite taken with Simon, and gave him three custard creams. She says that she doesn’t know anyone looking for a place.

“Wait, are you as messy at home as you are here?” She was watching Simon carefully pull a custard cream apart and lick the icing off. “And you’ve taught him your custard cream murdering ways.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” I said, haughtily. “And that’s a perfectly acceptable way to eat a biscuit.”

“Thought so. Definitely don’t know anyone. You’re a menace and you can’t eat biscuits properly.” Preferred her mooning over me. Went to the park and showed Simon how to get proper lift on a see-saw, and we found a duck-nest. There were no eggs in it. Simon fell over. Oh well, a little pond-slime never hurt anyone.

1600 Actually doing paperwork for the Yard. Lestrade almost fell over when he saw me.

“You never do the paperwork. Not unless I tie you to the chair usually.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, crossly.
Text from Mike: “You’d better find a flatmate soon. Missus fit to be tied.”
Text back: “I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was dripping. I’ll pay for the carpet. And the wall. And his jacket.”
Lestrade was looking over my shoulder.
“Ah, the true story comes out. Who on earth was mad enough to leave you with a small child?”
“Shut up.”
“And no, I don’t know anyone who needs a flatmate.” I glared at him. He laughed. Hate him.

1900 I now have twenty-one of Lestrade’s IDs. It’s barely even a challenge any more.

January 28th. Nicotine patches 6 Cigarettes 15 (Moving) Flatmates 0 Cases 1

0900 Mrs. Hudson has let me put all my things at Baker Street. She still wants me to find a flatmate though, since she refuses to just remind me when the rent is. “I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper.” Whatever that means.

1000 Lestrade put me onto interesting case. Wife is convinced brother-in-law killed husband.

January 29th. Nicotine patches 5 Cigarettes 7 (Well) Flatmates 1? (Don’t want to discuss it)

1240 Text from Mike: “May have found you flatmate. Old friend from uni. Missed lunch for this so don’t mess it up!” God knows who it is. Some dull middle-management type I imagine. Text back: “Fine. Will be as charming as you like.”

1400 Oh my. Sitting in Molly’s office with soothing cup of tea. John Watson. Oh my.
I didn’t mess it up.
I think. I mean. Oh no.
He’ll come I think. Why wouldn’t he?
I mean, oh lord. Here’s the thing.

1430 Mike came in. “What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Liar.
“If that’s you trying to be charming I’d hate to see what you’d be like driving someone off!” He folded his arms.
“I just- look, it’s fine. He’ll come. He might even stay.” Mike gave me a long look.
“Well, he’d better. The missus’s eyes still glow red at the mention of your name.” Not a joke.
Got John Watson’s number (oh my) off Mike. Wonder if it would be stalker-ish to text him right now. Probably.
Molly came back.

“He seemed nice...” she volunteered, and then saw my face. For some reason I’ve never really been able to hide my face from women as well as I can from men.  “Oh dear. That bad? You didn’t do the deducing thing did you? You did, didn’t you?” She fetched out the custard creams. This was a whole packet emergency, apparently. “Well, you said he’d come back. And I’ve yet to see you wrong. Except for that time with the intestines and the intern.” Molly is so lovely. Like sister or similar. Imagine if Molly had been sister instead of Mycroft. Much quieter childhood probably. Less fat nosy gits sticking their nose in all over the place. Not that Mycroft is my sister. Imagine Mycroft in a dress. Surprisingly clear image, actually. Wonder if it’s normal to imagine brother with breasts. I mean, not in a sexual way. Tried to look at reflection in window to see what would look like as a girl.

“What are you doing?” Molly was watching me.
“Wondering whether I have the bone structure to pull off a bob.”
“No, you’d look much better with it long. Or short. It’s too curly otherwise,” Molly reached out and pulled my hair down straight like a bob, and then up on top of my head. She was right.
“I’d be a good girl.” I told her.
“I would hate you if you were a girl. Far too pretty.” Molly dropped a fistful of curls.
“I would hate you if you were a boy.”
“I’d actually have to fancy you, and you’re far too good for me.”
“Oh shut up.” But she looked pleased.

1730 Oh my. He texted me. He texted me. John Watson in my phone. “7pm odd time to see flat. Would prefer about five? Can get dinner to properly discuss things after. John.” Should I text him now? Or wait? Which would be cool. Don’t want to seem creepily infatuated. What should I say? Too eager and he’ll think I’m sad. Too laid back and he’ll think I’ve changed my mind.

“That would be great, don’t mind as long as you’re there.” That’s weird.
“Dear John, I would be delighted” What?
“Johnny!” No.
“Hi John. Would be super to meet” Oh god have turned into yuppie. This is ridiculous. Am grown man. Capable of texting other grown man.
“That would be fine. SH.”
Oh god that was really snotty. He’s going to think I’m terrible.

January 30th. Nicotine patches 5 Cigarettes 15 Flatmates 1 (Hurrah!) Flats 1 (Hurrah!) Cases 1 (Hurrah!) Annoying Brothers Still 1 (Huh)

1430 Molly told me I wasn’t allowed in the lab until I stopped being so jumpy. She was the one who snuck up on me, she shouldn’t do that when I’m holding coffee. I’ve always had the instincts of a cat in a mouse-trap factory. Don’t see why that would be a reason for cat to have heightened awareness. In fact, surely presence of mouse-traps would allow for laziness, since cat would not have to hunt mice and things. Anyway, the whole point of lab coats is that you can just bleach them. She’s so unreasonable sometimes. And violent.

1650 Doctor John Watson, retired army medic (oh my) still hasn’t arrived. Hunched in cab so not forced to wait on doorstep or with Mrs Hudson, like she is my Mum and it’s the first day of school. Hope he likes the flat. Will have to be at my most charming. Oh, here comes a taxi. Must be cool. Charming. Nice.

1715 A case! Couldn’t come at a worse time though. But four suicides. Can’t pass it up. Could take John with me. Like a date. What kind of date is a crime scene? Dates should be dinner, and movies and things. Dull though. Also, when at the cinema with a date, there are no visual cues. Should one take their hand? What if they were only reaching for popcorn and you just grab them? They might think that you didn’t want them to eat any more popcorn. Then they’d get all offended because you think they’re fat, or that you didn’t want to share. Or if you try to do that arm over the shoulder thing and poke them in the eye, or in the ear or just misjudge the whole thing and smack them in the face. Maybe if I take him out for dinner afterwards? Then it follows the date format, right?

1745 “That was amazing.”
“Quite extraordinary.” Oh my.

1815 Hate Anderson. Hate Donovan. John looked completely ridiculous in stupid overalls. Should leave him in jumpers that means he looks harmless even though he’s not. He thinks I’m extraordinary.

1825 “That’s fantastic.” Oh my. Lestrade raised his eyebrows at me in a meaningful way. I now have twenty-two IDs.

1840 Knew I could find the suitcase. And John Watson (oh my) thinks I’m extraordinary. What am I forgetting? Oh. The date. Oh no...

1900 I have the measure of you now John Watson. (Oh my.) Well, it probably will end up being dangerous.

1915 Text from Mycroft: “He seems fine. Keep him.” Fat annoying interfering kidnapping bureaucratic pea-brained fat GIT. What does he know?

1945 Took John to Angelo’s for second half of date. Was possessed by unhelpful demon.

Him: "You have a girlfriend?” Promising.
Me: "Girls not really my area."
" do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine." Even if I did I would have dumped him by now because you think I’m extraordinary.
"I know it's fine." Wait, what are you doing?
"So you have a boyfriend." SAY NO.
"No." Good.
"Oh, okay. So you're unattached then. Just like me. Fine, good." Just like you. Chorus of angels please.
"... John, erm...” Wait, what are you about to say? “I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work.” Wait. Abort. “And while I'm flattered...” Abort abort. “I'm not really looking for any-- " Abort abort abort. OH GOD why aren’t you aborting?
"No, no, that's not what I... no! I'm just saying... it's all fine." Great. Well done.
“... Good. Thank you." No. Not good. Extremely ungood.

2030 Lestrade is such a git. He knows about the Emergency Box under the bed. Luckily Anderson couldn’t find his own bottom without a map.

0245 John Watson shot a man. I owe him my life. And that’s fine. He thinks I’m extraordinary.

0300 “Married to my work.” Shoot me now. Please.

0310 John Watson thinks I’m extraordinary.

0315 Wonder if I was actually right about pill.

January 31th. Nicotine patches 3 (John disapproves of more) Cigarettes 0 (John) Flatmates 1 Need for a cigarette 30000000000000000000

0830 What do you do when the perfect man is sleeping on your couch? Apart from watch him from the kitchen table.

0832 He’s all curled up like a puppy or kitten. Must do something nice for Mike soon.

0837 Texted Mike. “Do you need a baby-sitter any time soon? Completely free.”

0940 Should I make him some tea? He’s moving about more. Maybe he’s waking up.

0942 Mike texted. “LOL” What is that supposed to mean?

0948 “Are you watching me sleep?” Realised watching flatmate sleep, even from kitchen, is odd behaviour.

“No.” Smooth. “Made you tea.”

“Is it always like this?” Wave takes in mess from phony drugs bust (Emergency Box was moved. Bless Lestrade, not as stupid as he looks) and detritus of last night’s Chinese (we arrived too late to actually eat at the restaurant).

“Usually it’s tidier.” I smile. I think I look a bit scary when I smile or something. Must have a look in mirror soon.
“I’d certainly hope so.” I love it when he smiles. His eyes crinkle and his mouth goes all curly.
There’s a moment of silence where he drinks tea and I watch the sun shine through his hair. He thinks I’m extraordinary.
“Well, I suppose I can bring my stuff today. There’s not a lot of it really.”
“Really?” Hope I didn’t sound too eager.
“Uh, sure.” I did sound too eager, now he’s worried I’m some sort of mad person who will boil his pet rabbit. Great. He stretched and twisted his spine. “Not spending another night on this sofa, that’s for sure.”
“Are you alright?” Showing concern is normal, right?
“Yes, just a little stiff. Not twenty-four any more I suppose.”

1200 Mike’s helping him move his stuff across. I’m sitting in the dent he left on the sofa. That probably is weird. Dangerously obsessed. Mycroft texted. “Congratulations on not scaring the poor man off.” Hate him. Sent him entire alphabet, one letter a text. Felt better. Should tidy up. Do not want John to think am slob.

1215 Mrs Hudson came up looking worried. Apparently my cleaning sounds like the ceiling’s about to give in. She helped me dust and put some books away.

“He’s nice, isn’t he?”
“Who?” As though I didn’t know.
“That Doctor. I’m glad he’s staying.” She patted my arm companionably.
“He thinks I’m extraordinary.” Traitorous mouth.
“That’s nice, dear.” She patted me on the back and left me in the middle of a pile of books.

1345 Would kill whole world for cigarette. Except John Watson. Although he would not approve of killing whole world to satisfy addiction. Maybe if I just killed China. Would he still think I was extraordinary?

1530 John came back  just as was about to sneak out for cigarette. All his stuff appears to be two boxes and a suitcase.

“I’ve got some stuff in storage still,” he explained. I helped him up the second flight of stairs. Second bedroom not as big as mine, but just the right size for John. I opened the curtains. Not much light. Maybe if I rigged a mirror he could have more light. But what if he doesn’t want more light? He might be blinded, or only be able to sleep in full dark, or the mirror would beam his image to the outside world. Maybe I could put up another mirror that would show the first mirror so I could see it from my room. Wait, that might be bad.

“Sherlock,” he said. “What are you staring at?” Oh god what do you say to that? “Go make some tea.” Delightfully strict, but amused at the same time.

1739 He’s sitting in his chair reading. It’s definitely his chair. It’s perfect. Does this mean all chairs are made for one specific person, and they’re just waiting for that one person? The one true chair. What would happen if they never found that one person though? Think about the number of chairs in the world as opposed to the number of people. For example, we have four kitchen chairs, as well as the sofa- would that count as more than one chair? Bet it could fit several people on. Or one Mycroft. Does that mean sofas are like the polygamists of the chair world? Wonder if I could test this. Obviously have found John Watson’s chair. Maybe I could get him to sit in a different chair. Would that work? How would I get him to sit in a different chair without making him aware of the experiment.

“Sherlock, what are you staring at?”
“Do you think sofas are polygamists?”
“What?” What?

2030 He’s fallen asleep in front of the television. In his chair. And he thinks I’m extraordinary.

2114 Found a tag under the sofa. It said 100% POLY. That proves it then.

2124 “Sherlock, what on earth are you doing under my chair?”
“Looking for the 100% POLY tag.”
“Under the chair. Which is why I was under there.” And he just looked at me. Think I may be a little hysterical.

oh my sweet crepes

I love you

Love you too bb. Glad you liked it. :p

*giggles like a...giggling thing* Love this, looking forward to the other 11 months :p

I don't know what happens after the 16th April you know.

Oh my god. This is hilarious. The chair paragraph is perfection.

Thanks. ^^ I liked writing those bits, he's so bonkers.

I've said this before, but I love Sherlock and Molly's relationship in this. It's wonderful.

I'm quite proud of it. I like Molly, she's secretly amazing.

Dear Lord this is amazing and hilarious. Love the Bridget Jones style diary keeping from Sherlock. Wasn't sure it would work but the way you've written it, it really does. Cannot wait to read more.

Also, Hebert Fitzgerald - I see what you did there!

You do? I don't know who that is. Probably. I don't know.

So glad you liked it though, thanks so much for reading!

This is absolutely great. I am eager for more. For some weird reason it reminded me of me Rhys's diary, part of which reads:
Me and BJ played in the back yard. I buried BJ and Harry made me dig him up.

That was his diary about age seven. Mycroft is Harry. ;)
So glad you liked it, thanks for reading. ^^

This is awesome. It is hilarious, and had me giggling out loud.

I loved the Molly/Sherlock relationship and Sherlock babysitting- brilliant.

All of which, is me asking for more please. =)

Haha, glad you liked it dear one.

That is an absolutely great start :) And it definitely made my day a bit better.
Can't wait to read more

So pleased you enjoyed it. Thanks so much for reading. ^^

o.o This is all so sudden. <3

ADORE! So completely ADORE!

Couldn't make it through Bridget Jones' Diary (the book, not the film, I managed the film. And the sequel. So I'm not a complete failure as a woman) but I would read this until the end of time itself

(Shouldn't it be 31st)

Should we expect 11 other installments? Well, maybe 2 more for now...

At least four more, as soon as I can get onto it.
So chuffed you like it, still get a little fangirl spasm whenever you like my stuff.

This is FANTASTIC and the fact that there may be more makes me want to weep with joy, you genius, it's just amazing okay okay

Haha thanks so much, so pleased you liked it. #wordscannotdescribe

It was extremly hard not to burst out laughing while reading this at work. :-))) Your lovely fic goes to my memories right away. Wonderful job!
There will be more, right?

Um maybe. Thanks so much for reading, especially at work. I wrote this mostly at uni, so I'll allow it. :p

I love this. It has taken a rubbish day and made it better, and I really hope that there is more coming.

Yay, I'm so pleased. Always nice to make someone happy. :) Thanks so much for reading.

That was a blast! Snorted with laughter a lot, but I think Sherlock entering Mycroft as "Tubbs" in his new phone made me snort loudest of all. Do hope you continue with this!

Haha so glad you liked it. Thanks for reading, completely overwhelmed.

Love this so much! I especially adore Sherlock saying mad things then panicking and second-guessing himself, and John just taking it in stride, like you do.

He’s sitting in his chair reading. It’s definitely his chair. It’s perfect. Does this mean all chairs are made for one specific person, and they’re just waiting for that one person? The one true chair. AWWWW.

John Watson/Chair = One True Chairing dude.
So pleased you liked it. Thanks so much for reading and commenting. :)


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