I found this super awesome video on JohnLock; to be honest I just recently got into the fandom so I hadn't really thought about writing fics on Sherlock just yet, but after watching that specific video, it was inevitable, I had to do it!

The video's name is "The dating game" and it tells the story of Sherlock Holmes, a dating consultant.

I tried to develop that idea, but I still wanted to maintain their main personalities so I'm not sure how this is looking so far, so if you have any observations feel free to do so, as I love comments and like improving.

Meet Dating Consultant Sherlock Holmes

"So you are telling me there's such thing as a dating consultant?"- the disbelief was lacing his voice because, really, who had ever heard of such a thing?

"I only heard about it through my neighbor"- the woman sitting besides answered.

They really were not bothering to keep their conversation at a private volume, because John could hear everything they were saying even if he was sitting a few seat away from them on the tube.

"You mean the freak that has a thing for that ugly girl in the bookstore next to the train station?"- the man asked and for some reason John felt a strong dislike for him.

"Yeah, well, he went to this guy and now they are dating!"- said the woman almost in shock.

John wasn't sure what was more irritating, the tone of their voices or the fact that nobody else seemed to be finding their conversation offensive.

"Well apparently the consultant is a little bit of a freak himself if you ask me"- the woman continued: - "His website says he can read anyone's personality like an open book!"- she exclaimed and it was only then that a couple of the commuters seem to show some interest in the conversation.

"And what's his name?"- the man asked curiously.

But John didn't get to hear it since the mechanic voice on the speakers announced he had arrived at his stop. He didn't care terribly, it wasn't like he needed any help in that department.

When he emerged from the stairs leading up from the underground, he was greeted by a rare sunny day in the streets of London.

He was 7 or 8 block away from his horrendous flat, but he really couldn't afford a taxi right now. Money was tight. One would think that they would give him a little bit more of money over the trouble he went through, but no. And finding a job as a "war journalist" - as they call them - with a leg injury (Allegedly psychosomatic, at least that's what his therapist said) and a little bit of PTSD was no easy task.

His cane made no noise on the pavement and it bothered John terribly, it almost felt like he was leaving no sign of his passing, no sign of his existence… Being a journalist he was always the witness of everybody else's passing in life, but who would remember him?

Maybe he did need those anti depressants his therapist had been trying to prescribe; but they just made him feel so useless.

Without noticing he had already reached the park that was two blocks away from his place, in a couple of minutes he would be… Home? No it wasn't home, it wasn't even a flat. It felt more like an oversized cup board with a sink.

"John? John Watson?" - the familiar voiced pulled him out of his musings as he turned around to find his old college mate, Mike Stamford: - "I know, I'm fat"- he said extending his hand towards John understanding his look as a sign of confusion, it wasn't. John knew immediately who he was just by his voice, what he did not expect was to find that voice in that place since, last he had heard. Stamford had moved to another city looking for a job.

"Mike, hello, how are you mate?"- John asked shaking the extended hand and forcing himself to smile since he knew he was frowning, he was always frowning lately.

"What have you been up to? I heard you got kidnapped by a group of terrorist in Afghanistan?" - Mike asked bluntly, but then again that was a common trait amongst journalists.

"Yeah, being kidnapped by terrorist in Afghanistan" - John answered just at bluntly, because what else could he answer.

"Let's catch up over a cuppa. I don't have to be back to work for over an hour now"- Mike asked with a sincere smile on his face; John didn't really wanna go back to his place, so why not indulge in some coffee?

"Sure mate"- said John and started following Mike to a nearby coffee stand.

After exchanging the common pleasantries of catching up with someone you haven't seen in awhile, John now knew Mike worked at their old University as a journalism professor, was happily married (That was a shocker!) and lived a pleasant life; in turn Mike found that John had made it back from his terrible experience in Afghanistan in as much of a one piece as one could be after being in war and was currently stuck in a horrible place.

"Why don't you ask Harry for help?" - Mike asked bluntly, everybody knew John was not in good terms with his sister, but she was, after all, his sister.

"Nah, I really rather not" - John answered feeling a strange pang in his left shoulder; it had been cold the past couple of days, so maybe it was a remnant of a discomfort on a shoulder injury acquired during his captivity in the war.

"How about a flatshare?" - asked Mike and fished out in his pocket for his mobile, he had gotten a text.

John snorted in disbelief: - "Who would wanna share a flat with me?"- he asked rhetorically, but was surprised to see that Mike seem to have an answer to that as he laughed.

"You are not the first one to say that to me today" - he answered to the unasked question putting his mobile away and standing up, knowing fully well what was going to happen next.

"Who's the first one?" - John asked curiously and stood besides his friend.

"Follow me and I'll show you" - the other man answered and started walking ahead knowing fully well how curious his friend was, he would follow.

They walked less than two block and wandered into St. Bartholomew's Hospital, John found it strange, since they had nothing to do in such a place, but followed his friend anyways.

On the empty and poorly lit hallways their steps resonated in an ominous manner, but John wasn't sure why he liked the sound.

"Right here John" - Mike said pulling him out of his thoughts and into a room with blinding white light. It was a lab and in between the clutter of everything that a lab should have was a slender tall man peering on a microscope.

"Mike, can I use your phone?"- the still unnamed mas asked not even bothering to look up.

"Sorry mate, ran out of battery. Try the land line?"- Mike said finding a seat next to the entrance, John trailing behind him.

"I prefer to text" - answered back the man and finally pulled back from the microscope and John finally saw his eyes; very strange, they were gray? No, perhaps blue? Or green?

"Here, use mine" - said John without much thought while pulling his mobile out of his front pocket and already extending it to the stranger. He noticed - not sure why he should, but he did - that the other man took the phone being offered without making any human contact whatsoever.

"He's an old friend of mine, John Watson"- Mike added as a knowing smirk played on his lips.

"Afghanistan or Irak?" - he asked offhandedly quickly texting whatever he needed to text and handing back the mobile just as quickly - again no touch, and why would John even want to feel the other man's skin on his.

"How did you know?" - John asked with a confused frown on his face; the man was still standing very close and his eyes were so close he could see them very clearly: - "heterochromia iridis" - John mumbled without realizing it.

The other man looked at little surprised and - dare John say it? - pleased with the interaction.

"I sometimes play the violin and keep to myself for days on an end, would that bother you?"- he said making his way back to the microscope were his coat, a black belfast, and his scarf: - "Also I'm quitting smoking, I can get rather cranky at times. Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other"- he added as he removed his belfast from the chair and started putting it on.

"Flatmates? Who said anything about flatmates?" -asked John turning to Mike: - "Did you talk to him about me?" - and Mike simply shook his head in the negative, with that quite annoying knowing smirk.

"I did, I mentioned Mike about how difficult it would be to find a flatmate and here he shows up with a friend of his who just made his way back from Afghanistan. It wasn't that hard to deduce"- he said in a long winded tirade while tying his scarf around his neck and buttoning his coat.

"How DID you know about Afghanistan?"- John asked a little peeved; this guy was getting on his nerves.

"I've got my eye on a nice little place near Central London, together we should be able to afford it. Let's meet there tomorrow evening around 7 o'clock. Sorry I gotta go, work calls."- he said passing John as he made his way to the exit of the room.

"Is that it?" - John asked more than a little upset now: - "We've only just met and we are gonna go look at a flat? We don't know a single thing about each other, I don't know where we are meeting or your name."- he added with that frown that was now becoming a regular feature on his face.

"I know you are a journalist that recently got back from Afghanistan. What do they call you? Yeah, war journalist"- the taller (because it was very obvious to John he had at least a couple of inches on him) man started his tirade: - "I know you have a brother who is willing to help you, but you won't go to him; maybe because he's an alcoholic, or maybe because he just walked out on his wife, maybe both" - he took a small pause and gave him a one over with his piercing eyes, but John didn't feel in the least bit exposed, if anything he found it… the word escaped him. But at least he wasn't the lonely fly in the wall nobody noticed, the man took a breath and continued: - "Your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite right I'm afraid"- and then his eyes landed straight on John's, and that did made him feel a bit naked: -"Enough for now I guess" - he added and made for the door handle, but paused once he had opened the door, half of his body already outside already and turned to John again: - "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 22iB Baker Street. Afternoon"- he said and for some unknown reason he winked.

And John stood there, not quite leaning against his cane, but not quite standing upright; Mike had said something along the lines of him always being like that, but John wasn't paying much attention.

When he walked into his place that evening he didn't even bothered to turn the light on and crossed the room in three long strides to his desk, were his laptop rested.

"Sherlock Holmes"- he said as he typed on the search engine,not quite sure why he needed to say it out loud, but it had somehow filled in the poignant silence of the darken room.

The light from his laptop screen illuminated the whole room as he clicked on the link for the page that read "The Science of Seduction".

The only other tab opened on his screen was his blog, still open at the new entry - as it had sat for the past three weeks - the cursor tauntingly blinking at him. It had been a suggestion from his therapist but… nothing ever happened to him anymore.