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Five thirty. Time to go home. Tonight he couldn't work over. He had to get home and make sure that everything was in order, that everything was alright and that Sherlock hadn't found anything. He was nervous, he couldn't help it. Sherlock was a master detective and if he found out before the time was right, everything would be ruined. This was one Thursday night which would not be easy for him to get through without giving himself away.

"Friday then?" A voice rang from his office doorway, drawing his attention from his thoughts.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry Murray, I'm not really all here." John replied, smiling at his young, promising friends.

"That's fine. I'll make sure everything ready for you."

"Good man."

"It's Sherlock.. isn't it?"

"What?"

"You house guest. It's Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"Alright, just so I know." He smiled at the doctor before he turned, stepping back into the observation room and heading for the door. "Just be careful. We've all worked hard... We're counting on you."

"Don't worry Murray. I wont let us down now."

"Good."

As Murray left the morgue, Watson just remained seated for a moment, trying to convince himself he'd made the right choice. Though Murray seemed alright with this, he could tell the younger man was uncomfortable the idea. Not that he could blame him. It was an uncomfortable situation. As he stood from his desk and packed his bag, he tried to remind himself that this was important. He needed to keep Sherlock close anyways... Otherwise things could go wrong. Very wrong indeed.

The walk home was much shorter tonight without the interruption of a fake mugging. All of his routes were alleys and so the bustle of the London street only barley effected him. He marched his way down the fairly empty stone alleyways, eyes on the ground and thoughts completely elsewhere. He was plotting, remembering and trying to figure out how he was going to send his e-mails without being found out. He would have to move the computer, or perhaps just use it while Sherlock was asleep... He would find a way.

As he stopped up to his door, he ran a hand under his mailbox. There was a key there. Sherlock was inside the house. Good to know really. He took his key from his pocket and unlocked the door, stepping inside and locking it again. He slipped his shoes off and trotted up the stairs into his flat, eyes resting on Sherlock instantly. He was sitting on the sofa with his hands folded over his lap, eyes on Watson.

"Oh, you did get in."

"I did." Sherlock replied. "You're late."

"I'm always late. You'll get used to it."

"You cleaned up well."

"I had to. There wouldn't have been room otherwise."

"I'm glad really." Sherlock gave a half smile. "I wouldn't have been able to move in half as easily as I did with clutter."

"As long as you don't mind the room."

"Not at all." John set his bag down just inside the door to his own room before taking off his coat and seating himself in the chair in front of his computer. He watched Sherlock for a moment, before deciding there were a few rules that needed to be set down to avoid anything going wrong. He was going to have to explain why these rules were in place, but he could manage.

"Alright. Sherlock, you are my friend, but there are a few rules I need to make clear while you're living here."

"Alright." Sherlock smiled.

"You must have noticed I live in the Inner East End of London."

"I have."

"This means the door must be locked when you come in. This is not a request. I do not want to find that door open."

"Alright."

"Rule Two, if you have to go out at night, check out that window first." He pointed to the kitchen window. "Make sure there's no one around when you leave or you will be followed and someone will try to break in. I've made this mistake."

"Again, that's fine."

"Rule Three, do not experiment on my cat."

"I thought that went without saying." Sherlock shifted in his chair.

"Where is she?"

"In the bathtub."

"Why?" Watson began to get up.

"Oh, I suggest you just wait for her to come to you... shouldn't be more than an hour..."

"Sherlock!"

"It wont happen again, Watson. Do forgive me."

"She had better be alright."

"She didn't mind."

"Holmes!" Watson sighed heavily. "Rule Four. Do not use my computer."

"Why not?"

"I have old military files on the computer and they are to stay classified. If it was found out that you had sen them you and I would both be in a massive amount of trouble."

"Fair enough." Sherlock nodded.

"If someone comes to the door looking for me and I'm not home, just send them away."

"Even if you'll be back?"

"Yes."

"Alright..." Sherlock was eying him now.

"The last thing is simple. I leave most every Friday night for a meeting with a group for injured Vets. On those nights I'm almost always out passed One AM, You do not need to stay up to wait."

"Is that everything?"

"That's it."

"Those rules I should be able to follow." Sherlock nodded.

"Good. Then we're all set. What do you want for dinner?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to cook. Dinner?"

"Oh, yes... I'm not sure. What ever you plan to eat will be fine." Holmes waved his hand dismissively.

Watson just shook his head and moved to the kitchen. He routed through his cupboards, realizing a little too late that in actual fact, he had no food. He had been staying at work late frequently and forgotten to do his shopping. With a roll of his eyes he moved for the phone. He was going to have to order food. There really was no other option. Holmes glanced up at him as he ordered Pizza, but said nothing. He was far to absorbed in the next case he had been given to bother questioning the Doctor.

Once the phone was resting back on it's base on the wall, Watson moved back into the living room and seated himself once again. He was going to have to do his shopping between work and a meeting the next day and that he was not looking forward to. He would manage though. As he sat down again his eyes moved to the case file in Holmes' hands. Apparently there was something new for the man to do and Watson was sure it wouldn't be long before he was opening another body for the detective.

"What's the case this time?"

"Something for Lestrade... String of events against officers..."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"There's a group... or several isolated incidents where officers have been attacked here in he east end... And near Charring Cross."

"How many?"

Holmes set the file on the table in front of him and turned his attention to the Doctor. He was interested, of course he was. He was interested in all of Holmes' cases. He smiled at his friend, shaking himself out of his over-active mind.

"There have been six attacks so far. They've sprung up over the last eight months."

"Interesting."

"Very. You haven't heard anything, living around here, have you?"

"No, not yet. I'll ask around."

"That would be most helpful. Thank you Watson."

"Not at all. At any rate the Pizza will be here shortly."

"Alright then." Holmes paused. There was clearly something on his mind, something other than the case. Watson could see it there, but he wasn't sure what it could be.

"What is it, Holmes?"

"Why do you live in the worst area in London for Poverty, if you are not poor?"

Watson sighed. He knew that question would be asked sooner or later. Holmes was far to smart not to notice the obvious elephant in the room. He turned his eyes to the ground, smiling lightly as he considered how to explain his answer. When he was certain of how he leaned back in the chair.

"I grew up on the good side of things. My father was a Military man, a high ranking officer. We had no trouble with funds. When I moved out to begin college I refused to take his money to live on, and so I moved here where the rent was cheap. I have since remained."

"Why remain?"

"I don't know. I suppose I never bothered moving up. I'm comfortable here. It reminds me a little of..."

"Of Afghanistan?"

"Chaos, gunfire, crowds."

"Sounds about right."

"I like it here..."

"Well, alright then."

Some of it was a lie. A bold faced lie. Watson knew it was and he knew that Holmes likely knew it was as well, but it mattered not. As long as it made Holmes stop asking him for a time it would do fine. After all, some of it was true. He did enjoy the chaos, but the gunfire triggered violent nightmares and the crowds only served to annoy him. He did live here for other reasons though.

It was a few more minutes before the Pizza arrived. Watson paid for it,brought it in and got some plates down. The two sat in relative silence, eating together like they had been doing it for years. Watson had 'The Times' in from of him, scanning stories of murder and beatings. Holmes had his case file in front of him, scanning the documents of the same. When the Pizza was gone it was John who did the cleaning. Once the sun had disappeared form the sky, Sherlock stretched.

"I've got to do some foot-work. I shall not return until late."

"Sure. Make sure you lock up wen you leave and when you come in."

"I shall. Sleep well, John."

"I will. Wake me if you need me, my cell is always on."

"I shall keep that in mind."

Sherlock stood, taking his hat from the edge of the couch and tipping it onto his head. He took his coat from the rack behind the door and pulled on his shoes. He smiled at Watson and disappeared down the stairs. Watson was left to watch him go through the kitchen window. When he was sure Holmes had made it far enough without being mugged he returned to the computer chair, deciding it was best to get his e-mails checked before Holmes returned.

He had to make sure everything was set for the meeting.

Description
Five thirty. Time to go home. Tonight he couldn't work over. He had to get home and make sure that everything was in order, that everything was alright and that Sherlock hadn't found anything. He was nervous, he couldn't help it. Sherlock was a master detective and if he found out before the time was right, everything would be ruined. This was one Thursday night which would not be easy for him to get through without giving himself away.

"Friday then?" A voice rang from his office doorway, drawing his attention from his thoughts.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry Murray, I'm not really all here." John replied, smiling at his young, promising friends.

"That's fine. I'll make sure everything ready for you."

"Good man."

"It's Sherlock.. isn't it?"

"What?"

"You house guest. It's Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"Alright, just so I know." He smiled at the doctor before he turned, stepping back into the observation room and heading for the door. "Just be careful. We've all worked hard... We're counting on you."

"Don't worry Murray. I wont let us down now."

"Good."

As Murray left the morgue, Watson just remained seated for a moment, trying to convince himself he'd made the right choice. Though Murray seemed alright with this, he could tell the younger man was uncomfortable the idea. Not that he could blame him. It was an uncomfortable situation. As he stood from his desk and packed his bag, he tried to remind himself that this was important. He needed to keep Sherlock close anyways... Otherwise things could go wrong. Very wrong indeed.

The walk home was much shorter tonight without the interruption of a fake mugging. All of his routes were alleys and so the bustle of the London street only barley effected him. He marched his way down the fairly empty stone alleyways, eyes on the ground and thoughts completely elsewhere. He was plotting, remembering and trying to figure out how he was going to send his e-mails without being found out. He would have to move the computer, or perhaps just use it while Sherlock was asleep... He would find a way.

As he stopped up to his door, he ran a hand under his mailbox. There was a key there. Sherlock was inside the house. Good to know really. He took his key from his pocket and unlocked the door, stepping inside and locking it again. He slipped his shoes off and trotted up the stairs into his flat, eyes resting on Sherlock instantly. He was sitting on the sofa with his hands folded over his lap, eyes on Watson.

"Oh, you did get in."

"I did." Sherlock replied. "You're late."

"I'm always late. You'll get used to it."

"You cleaned up well."

"I had to. There wouldn't have been room otherwise."

"I'm glad really." Sherlock gave a half smile. "I wouldn't have been able to move in half as easily as I did with clutter."

"As long as you don't mind the room."

"Not at all." John set his bag down just inside the door to his own room before taking off his coat and seating himself in the chair in front of his computer. He watched Sherlock for a moment, before deciding there were a few rules that needed to be set down to avoid anything going wrong. He was going to have to explain why these rules were in place, but he could manage.

"Alright. Sherlock, you are my friend, but there are a few rules I need to make clear while you're living here."

"Alright." Sherlock smiled.

"You must have noticed I live in the Inner East End of London."

"I have."

"This means the door must be locked when you come in. This is not a request. I do not want to find that door open."

"Alright."

"Rule Two, if you have to go out at night, check out that window first." He pointed to the kitchen window. "Make sure there's no one around when you leave or you will be followed and someone will try to break in. I've made this mistake."

"Again, that's fine."

"Rule Three, do not experiment on my cat."

"I thought that went without saying." Sherlock shifted in his chair.

"Where is she?"

"In the bathtub."

"Why?" Watson began to get up.

"Oh, I suggest you just wait for her to come to you... shouldn't be more than an hour..."

"Sherlock!"

"It wont happen again, Watson. Do forgive me."

"She had better be alright."

"She didn't mind."

"Holmes!" Watson sighed heavily. "Rule Four. Do not use my computer."

"Why not?"

"I have old military files on the computer and they are to stay classified. If it was found out that you had sen them you and I would both be in a massive amount of trouble."

"Fair enough." Sherlock nodded.

"If someone comes to the door looking for me and I'm not home, just send them away."

"Even if you'll be back?"

"Yes."

"Alright..." Sherlock was eying him now.

"The last thing is simple. I leave most every Friday night for a meeting with a group for injured Vets. On those nights I'm almost always out passed One AM, You do not need to stay up to wait."

"Is that everything?"

"That's it."

"Those rules I should be able to follow." Sherlock nodded.

"Good. Then we're all set. What do you want for dinner?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to cook. Dinner?"

"Oh, yes... I'm not sure. What ever you plan to eat will be fine." Holmes waved his hand dismissively.

Watson just shook his head and moved to the kitchen. He routed through his cupboards, realizing a little too late that in actual fact, he had no food. He had been staying at work late frequently and forgotten to do his shopping. With a roll of his eyes he moved for the phone. He was going to have to order food. There really was no other option. Holmes glanced up at him as he ordered Pizza, but said nothing. He was far to absorbed in the next case he had been given to bother questioning the Doctor.

Once the phone was resting back on it's base on the wall, Watson moved back into the living room and seated himself once again. He was going to have to do his shopping between work and a meeting the next day and that he was not looking forward to. He would manage though. As he sat down again his eyes moved to the case file in Holmes' hands. Apparently there was something new for the man to do and Watson was sure it wouldn't be long before he was opening another body for the detective.

"What's the case this time?"

"Something for Lestrade... String of events against officers..."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"There's a group... or several isolated incidents where officers have been attacked here in he east end... And near Charring Cross."

"How many?"

Holmes set the file on the table in front of him and turned his attention to the Doctor. He was interested, of course he was. He was interested in all of Holmes' cases. He smiled at his friend, shaking himself out of his over-active mind.

"There have been six attacks so far. They've sprung up over the last eight months."

"Interesting."

"Very. You haven't heard anything, living around here, have you?"

"No, not yet. I'll ask around."

"That would be most helpful. Thank you Watson."

"Not at all. At any rate the Pizza will be here shortly."

"Alright then." Holmes paused. There was clearly something on his mind, something other than the case. Watson could see it there, but he wasn't sure what it could be.

"What is it, Holmes?"

"Why do you live in the worst area in London for Poverty, if you are not poor?"

Watson sighed. He knew that question would be asked sooner or later. Holmes was far to smart not to notice the obvious elephant in the room. He turned his eyes to the ground, smiling lightly as he considered how to explain his answer. When he was certain of how he leaned back in the chair.

"I grew up on the good side of things. My father was a Military man, a high ranking officer. We had no trouble with funds. When I moved out to begin college I refused to take his money to live on, and so I moved here where the rent was cheap. I have since remained."

"Why remain?"

"I don't know. I suppose I never bothered moving up. I'm comfortable here. It reminds me a little of..."

"Of Afghanistan?"

"Chaos, gunfire, crowds."

"Sounds about right."

"I like it here..."

"Well, alright then."

Some of it was a lie. A bold faced lie. Watson knew it was and he knew that Holmes likely knew it was as well, but it mattered not. As long as it made Holmes stop asking him for a time it would do fine. After all, some of it was true. He did enjoy the chaos, but the gunfire triggered violent nightmares and the crowds only served to annoy him. He did live here for other reasons though.

It was a few more minutes before the Pizza arrived. Watson paid for it,brought it in and got some plates down. The two sat in relative silence, eating together like they had been doing it for years. Watson had 'The Times' in from of him, scanning stories of murder and beatings. Holmes had his case file in front of him, scanning the documents of the same. When the Pizza was gone it was John who did the cleaning. Once the sun had disappeared form the sky, Sherlock stretched.

"I've got to do some foot-work. I shall not return until late."

"Sure. Make sure you lock up wen you leave and when you come in."

"I shall. Sleep well, John."

"I will. Wake me if you need me, my cell is always on."

"I shall keep that in mind."

Sherlock stood, taking his hat from the edge of the couch and tipping it onto his head. He took his coat from the rack behind the door and pulled on his shoes. He smiled at Watson and disappeared down the stairs. Watson was left to watch him go through the kitchen window. When he was sure Holmes had made it far enough without being mugged he returned to the computer chair, deciding it was best to get his e-mails checked before Holmes returned.

He had to make sure everything was set for the meeting.