grin.
‘Guinea pigs?’ Mrs Hudson sounded incredulous. ‘Well, I suppose they’re in a cage, yes?’
‘They are,’ I assured her. I usually let them run free in my apartment when I was at home but didn’t think she needed to know that. They weren’t vermin, didn’t carry diseases and didn’t particularly care about cables and wallpaper. ‘My nieces left them in my care when they moved to New Zealand.’
Her face softened a little. ‘I understand. That was very nice of you. They shouldn’t cause any problems.’
‘None at all,’ I said in a firm voice.
We said our goodbyes and promised Mrs Hudson we would provide the requested documents by the end of the week, and she in return promised to let us have her decision shortly. Sherlock took his leave and Tony and I made for the pub.
‘So,’ Tony said after a while. ‘Do you think you’ll get along with him?’
‘I can’t see why not. He seems an all right bloke. But I get what you meant about him being eccentric. That thing of his, you know, throwing facts about yourself into your face, that may take a while getting used to, but I think he’s a good one.’
And sexy as hell, I thought. God, I liked how he moved, and he sure knew how to wear his trousers. He had the kind of lean, angular build that looked bony at first glance, but as I’d seen him half out of his clothes this morning I knew better.
A thought occurred to me. ‘I didn’t tell him I’m gay.’
Tony shrugged a shoulder. ‘Sherlock doesn’t label,’ he said. ‘To be honest, I don’t even know which team he’s on. Why, do you fancy him?’
‘He’s not bad,’ I said evasively. ‘But that’s not why I said it. Should I mention it when we sign the lease? If we get the flat, that is.’
‘I don’t think he cares. If he doesn’t already know.’
‘How so?’
‘That thing of his, as you called it? You haven’t seen half of it. He can tell by the way your shoes are tied what song you heard last and whether you prefer cornflakes or toast for breakfast.’
‘You have got to be kidding me.’
‘Oh no, I’m not,’ Tony replied earnestly. ‘He’s probably deduced you’re gay the second he laid his eyes on you, quite possibly this morning at the practice, and I wouldn’t bet against him already knowing about your guinea pigs when you walked into the room.’
I snorted but Tony nodded solemnly. ‘You’ll see.’
‘Ah well,’ I said. ‘It can’t be that bad. What will you have, Stamfs? I’m buying the first round.’
Two weeks later we signed the lease, and my life with Sherlock Holmes began.
CHAPTER FOUR
It started out nice enough. The morning I moved into 221B Baker Street was a typical English spring day, grey and overcast, but dry, thankfully.
It didn’t take long to haul my belongings upstairs and put bed, sofa, and shelves back together, and when my helpers took their leave, I promised the next pub night would entirely be on me, which earned me cheers and warnings to start saving.
I knew they’d hold me to my promise, but that was all right. Not one of them had developed sudden back problems, nobody’s family had had to face an oncoming plague, nobody’s cousin thrice removed had died – they’d promised to help and had all shown up on time. Well, all but Karim who was travelling, as usual, but I didn’t hold that against him as his job often required him to travel at short notice.
Sherlock had mentioned he was going to move in the day before me and, when we arrived, there was indeed some stuff in the living room, but he wasn’t around and remained absent long after the lads had left.
I’d have liked to talk things through with him – what was to go where, who’d use which space in the fridge, in the freezer, in the bathroom cabinet; would we mix our cutlery and crockery or would this be a ‘my space – your space’ kind of arrangement?
Well, I’d start unpacking, and if there were things he felt needed further discussing, then discuss them we would.
About half of my wardrobe was taken up already and I raised my eyebrows as I inspected the extent of the invasion. ‘Borrow a third’, or so Sherlock had said. Well, well.
I glanced over the row of suits and jackets that lined the rail – classic colours, most of them, dark blues, greys, even a pinstripe. From what I’d seen of Sherlock so far, I would not have taken him for a suit person. But then, we’d only met on three occasions, and I had no idea what he did for a living. He could very well be a freelance consultant working for the banks and law firms – the business district crawled with them, and they came in all shapes and colours.
My clothes, shoes, books, CDs and DVDs were out of their bags and boxes and sorted into shelves and wardrobe in no time. I’d been in the military for too long and had moved too often to hoard a lot of things and hoped this would change. Not the hoarding part but the moving around bit. I was tired of packing and unpacking, and I was quite ready to settle down for a while, and this flat looked nice enough to make it my home for the next couple of years.
I really hoped Sherlock and I would get along because I wasn’t too keen on living by myself. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know what to do with myself, but I liked having company, I liked shared meals, I liked a chat over breakfast.
Loud squeaking brought me out of my musings and back into reality. The guinea pigs. I had forgotten all about them for a moment. They were still sitting in their transport box and were probably fed up and hungry so I quickly got their cage ready.
‘Welcome home, boys,’ I said, taking them out of their box. ‘You’ll bunk with me until I’ve decided on your spot.’
No reply. They vanished into in their little house, muttering to themselves, probably pouting and cursing me out.
The kitchen was next. The table was occupied by a microscope, something that looked like a Bunsen burner and – were these preparation slides and dishes? Was Sherlock a hobby chemist? If that was the case, we would definitely have to sit down and talk because experiments and food? Not a good combination if you ask me.
The cupboards on the wall were empty when I opened them for inspection, as was all other storage space. A few plastic boxes sat in the fridge, but the freezer was empty. Fine. I’d just spread out as I saw fit and start cleaning.
‘John, why on earth are you scrubbing the bathroom?’
I started. Sherlock was standing in the bathroom door with an expression on his face that was half puzzled, half accusing.
‘Because it’s too dirty for me to want to use it?’ I offered and wiped my wet hands on the towel. ‘Hello, Sherlock.’
‘You really don’t need to do that. I’ve arranged for a cleaning squad to swing by tomorrow.’
‘A cleaning squad?’
‘Well,
