Being alone is scary, but being alone with your thoughts is absolutely horrifying. You've been pondering for what seems to be hours about your new flatmate, Sherlock Holmes.

He's handsome, unpredictable, and possibly dangerous. But not boring. Anything but boring. You've read so much about the man and the papers seem to have him all wrong besides his skills. He smiles for the cameras, but what he really wants to do is smash them on the ground.

Maybe this would work. Being friends with Sherlock Holmes sounds so... impossible. You've never been accustomed to such a blatant term, and not because you didn't want them, but because you never met the right people to let into your life.

You're snapped out of your thoughts as staggering footsteps make their way up the wooden stairs. You wait until you see Sherlock enter the room with blood pouring down his face and holding a rag to his nose. You slowly get up from your chair and walk over to him, now realizing just how tall he really is.

"I'm guessing he didn't take the news well," you say, stifling back a chuckle.

"What do you think?" Sherlock harshly replies, tearing himself away from you and going to the kitchen.

"Well, I think you had it coming. I mean, who doesn't tell their best friend they need to fake their death? Don't you realize how much that broke him?" you question seriously.

Sherlock tosses the rag into the garbage and wets another before starting to wipe the blood from his face. "It was to protect him and it's not like I thought he would have a breakdown."

"How would you feel?" you shoot back.

"What?" he asks, facing you now that the bleeding has stopped.

"How would you feel if you thought John died and he suddenly reappeared after two years?"

Sherlock stares at you in deep thought before retreating to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Great. A man-child.

You sigh and saunter to the bathroom, open up the medicine cabinet and take out something to help with the headache you're sure Sherlock will have soon considering John probably punched him around ten times. You fill a paper cup with water and kick the bottom of Sherlock's door with your foot.

"Open the door," you say.

After a few minutes of impending shuffling, Sherlock, with a blood-free face but a few scratches, opens the door in his pajamas.

"Take this. I know you probably have a headache from getting your ass kicked," you say as gently as possible as you hand him the cup and tablets.

Sherlock looks at you skeptically before taking them and shutting the door in your face. You're, unsurprisingly, used to people treating you lower than them. You check the time and see it's getting close to midnight, so you click off the lights and head up to your room where sleep welcomes you with open arms.

♖♖♖

The few days later, you walk down the staircase and into the living room where an unexpected sight is waiting.

"Oh, bugger!"

"Whoopsy! Can't handle a broken heart, how very telling."

You snicker at the Holmes brothers from the doorway and they don't spare you a glance as they continue their conversation.

"Don't be smart," Mycroft scolds.

"That takes me back. 'Don't be smart, Sherlock, I'm the smart one,'" Sherlock mocks.

"I am the smart one."

"I used to think I was an idiot," Sherlock sighs.

"Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, until we met other children," Mycroft says.

"Oh, yes. That was a mistake."

"Ghastly. What were they thinking?"

You laugh again and the two of them finally seem to notice your presence.

"Ah, (Y/N). How are you?" Mycroft asks.

"As good as I can be considering I'm living with Sherlock," you joke, walking farther into the room and leaning against the desk.

"Well, rest assured, Mycroft, whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre. Let's play something different!" Sherlock exclaims.

"Why are we playing games?!"

"London's terror attack has been raised to critical, I'm just passing the time. Let's do deductions," he replies, standing and snatching a hat from the desk and holding it up. "Client left this while I was out. What do you reckon?"

Sherlock tosses the hat to Mycroft as you move in front of the kitchen so the three of you are standing in a triangle.

"I'm busy," Mycroft sighs.

"Oh, go on. It's been an age," Sherlock urges.

Mycroft sniffs the hat. "I always win."

"Which is why you can't resist."

"I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled, anxious, sentimental, unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis... Damn." Mycroft gives up and tosses the hat by to Sherlock.

"Isolated, too, don't you think? (Y/N)?" Sherlock says, startling you as you look at him.

"Why would he be isolated?" you question, examining the hat from across the room.

"He?" Sherlock raises a perfect eyebrow.

"Obviously," Mycroft mumbles.

"Why? Size of the hat?" Sherlock questions.

"Don't be silly. Some women have large heads, too. No, he recently had his hair cut, you can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside."

Sherlock flattens. "Some women have short hair, too."

"Balance of probability."

"Not that you've ever spoken to a woman with short hair, or, you know, a woman," Sherlock retorts.

"Stains show he's out of condition. He's sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four..."

Sherlock tosses you the hat and you scan it while continuing. "Five times. Very neatly. The cost of the repairs exceeds that of the hat, he's mawkishly attached to it. More than that. One or two patches would indicate sentimentality, but five is obsessive behavior. Obsessive compulsive."

"Hardly. Your client left it behind. What sort of obsessive compulsive would do that? The earlier patches are extensively sun bleached, so he's worn it abroad, in Peru."

"Peru?" you and Sherlock ask simultaneously.

"This is a chullo. The classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of alpaca," Mycroft explains as the three of you move closer together and you hand the hat back to Sherlock.

"No. Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibers. You said he was anxious?" Sherlock corrects.

"The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous deposition, but-"

You interrupt Mycroft. "-but also a creature of habit, because he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right."

Mycroft looks at you with calculating eyes. "Precisely."

Sherlock brings the hat up to his nose for a quick whiff. "A sniff of the offending bobble tells us all we need to know about the state of his breath."

You chuckle and Sherlock smiles triumphantly before Mycroft cuts in.

"Brilliant. Elementary."

"But you've missed his isolation."

Mycroft furrows his brows in confusion. "I don't see it."

"Plain as day."

"Where?"

"There for all to see," Sherlock taunts and you hold back your laughter.

"Tell me."

"Plain as the nose on your-"

"Tell me," Mycroft demands.

"Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"

"Not at all. Maybe he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated," Mycroft says.

"Exactly."

"I'm sorry?"

"He's different, so what? Why would he mind? You're quite right," Sherlock pauses, putting the hat on his head. "Why would anyone mind?"

"I am not lonely, Sherlock," Mycroft chuckles and you watch them interact with fascination.

"How would you know?" Sherlock whispers before throwing the hat back onto the desk.

Uncomfortable silence arises before Mycroft breaks it. "Back to work, if you don't mind."

"Right. Back to work," Sherlock replies as Mycroft shows himself out.

"Tea?" you ask, walking back toward the kitchen.

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock answers.

Before you can even put on the kettle, your phone vibrates in your pocket and you immediately answer it.

"Lestrade," you say. A few minutes later, you hang up and go back to the living room. "Lestrade needs us on a case. Let's go."

And off the two of you go on your first case as partners.