Doctor John Watson returned to 221B Baker St in a very bad mood.

To his surprise, his flatmate hadn't managed to blow up the street in his absence. A suspicious glance around the room told him that everything was as he had left it. At first glance it seemed like a normal flat: a fireplace, two armchairs and a couch, books sprawled around the room... But on second glance one would notice the countless science experiments in the kitchen, mail being pinned to the mantel with a knife, and the human skull stacked on top of a pile of books.

In other words, it looked like normal.

"You took your time."

John turned around to see his flatmate sitting in one of the armchairs, his blue eyes skimming through the book in front of him. For once, Sherlock Holmes seemed calm and... well... normal, which was something that Sherlock was not. John looked at him suspiciously, as if he would be able to find something wrong with this picture, but his curly brown hair was as wild as usual, and his black suit and dress pants were impeccable.

"Yeah, I didn't get the shopping," John finally said.

That finally caused Sherlock to look up from his book, his expression shocked. "What?!" he protested. "Why not?"

John glared. "Because I had a row," he snapped. "In the shop. With a chip and PIN machine."

Sherlock lowered his book slightly, his expression more amused now than annoyed. "You... you had a row with a machine?" he repeated.

John just grimaced. "Sort of," he admitted. "It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?"

Even though it seemed like he had plenty more to say on the topic of the chip and PIN machine, Sherlock nodded towards the kitchen. "Take my card," he offered.

Sighing, John headed in the direction that Sherlock had indicated and saw that his wallet was on the table. "You could always go out yourself, you know," he pointed out. "You've been sitting there all morning; you've not even moved since I left." Sherlock didn't reply as John picked up his wallet and started going through it. "What happened about that case you were offered- the Jaria Diamond?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Not interested," he replied. He placed a piece of paper in his book as a bookmark and closed it with a loud snap, putting it on the endtable next to him. "I sent them a message."

Just as John found the right card, the doorbell rang downstairs, and he froze. "Oh, no," he groaned. He glanced at the time and groaned again. "Max is here already!"

Sherlock gave him a confused look. "Max?" he repeated.

John glared at him. "I've told you about this!" he snapped. "She's an old friend of mine who's coming to visit." Sherlock's blank look told John that he hadn't heard of this before. "She emailed last week and I told you about it... multiple times?" Sherlock's expression didn't change. "She's the reason why I went out for food on a Tuesday morning?"

Finally that seemed to jar something in Sherlock's mind, because he nodded and picked up his book again. "Ah," he stated. "Right."

John started sputtering angrily, but before he could reply, Mrs. Hudson walked in. "John, there's a young lady who wants to see you," she said. "Maxine Arthur?"

He nodded, trying to compose himself. "Yeah, she's a friend," he told her.

Mrs. Hudson beamed. "She's pretty, John!" she gushed. "You lucky man!"

John groaned. "No, no, Mrs. Hudson, it's not like that," he corrected. "Our parents knew each other, that's all. We grew up together."

"It was purely platonic, even though I think we talked about dating at one point. But that was when we were in primary school, so it doesn't count."

The three people in the room turned around to see a young woman standing in the doorway. Her dark mahogany hair was tied up in a tight bun, and she was wearing a formal grey blazer and black dress pants, as well as a pair of black heels that made her a fair bit taller than John. But her stern outfit was contradicted by the easy grin on her face and the sparkle in her warm blue eyes.

"Max!" John greeted happily.

Her grin widened, and she pulled John into a hug. "Hey, Johnny," she said.

John pulled back from the hug but kept his hands on her shoulders, looking her up and down. "My God, you've grown up!" he exclaimed. "You're supposed to be shorter than me!"

Max laughed. "It's the American air," she teased. "The heels probably did it, too."

Mrs. Hudson beamed. "I spent some time in America!" she said. "You're American?"

"Obviously not."

Everyone turned to where Sherlock was still sitting in his armchair, reading his book once again. Max seemed surprised to see him there, as if she hadn't even noticed his presence in the room before he had spoken.

When he was sure that he had the attention of everyone in the room, Sherlock looked up from his book. "She can't be American because she and John grew up together, and she also said primary school, which people don't say in America, so that means she was born and raised in England," he told them. "It's also equally apparent that she recently spent time in America, based on her accent and slang, and that she's only moved back recently."

Max smiled at him. "Are you a linguist?" she asked politely.

Sherlock scoffed as he turned back to his book. "No," he stated.

When no other explanation was forthcoming, John sighed. "Max, meet my flatmate Sherlock Holmes," he said. "He's a consulting detective- the police come to him with cases. He has a mind trick thing."

"It's not a mind trick," Sherlock interrupted, clearly irritated. "I observe and I deduce, that's all."

Max nodded to Sherlock. "That's impressive," she commented. Sherlock didn't bother to reply.

John cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, I had a slight problem at the store-" he started.

"He got into a row with the chip and PIN machine," Sherlock interrupted.

"I got into a row with the chip and PIN machine," John admitted shamelessly, "so I need to run out to buy the groceries again. Do you want to come, Max?"

Sherlock gave John an irritated look from over the top of his book. "Obviously not," he snapped. "She's just come from a job interview and she's tired. I thought you were supposed to be the nice one here, John."

John blinked, obviously confused. "Oh... uh... right," he said. He glanced at Max. "Do you want to stay here until I come back?"

Max smiled regretfully. "Yeah, that would be nice," she admitted. "My feet are killing me."

He nodded, even though he seemed a bit uneasy about the idea of leaving Max and Sherlock alone immediately after they first met. "Right," he agreed. "Right. Sit down, make yourself at home. I'll be right back." He pointed at Sherlock. "Be nice." With that, he turned and headed down the stairs.

For a second, the flat was silent, but then Mrs. Hudson squealed. "Oh, this is so exciting!" she exclaimed happily. "You know, it's really not often that the boys invite a friend over. I'll go bring up some tea and biscuits!" Still smiling happily, she hurried out of the flat.

And that left Max and Sherlock.

Max took a seat in the second armchair, the one that she assumed was John's. Despite the fact that she was now sitting right across from Sherlock, he still didn't acknowledge her presence.

"How did you know I just came from a job interview?" she asked.

Sherlock looked up from his book, seeming mildly annoyed. "It was fairly easy," he told her. "Based on the way you were standing in heels, you're rapidly forming blisters, which means that you don't wear heels often. So this means that you were preparing for a special occasion, most likely a one-time event. That hypothesis is also supported by your makeup, which is carefully done but clearly not a habit, based on how you smudged your eyeliner multiple times while applying it, which is something that wouldn't happen if you use makeup regularly; therefore, once again a one-time special occasion. So what would this occasion be? A date? Spending time with friends? Doubtful; you wouldn't wear a blazer, and you definitely wouldn't be meeting before..." He trailed off and glanced at the time. "10:23 in the morning on a Tuesday. And yes, this appointment would have to have been before you arranged with John to meet here because you made plans with him, and it can't be later in the afternoon, because if it was then you wouldn't be wearing heels so soon when clearly you dislike them; also, you clearly didn't dress up like this to meet with John because, as I said before, you wouldn't be wearing a blazer to a date with a friend. So, by ruling out a personal matter, this has something to do with a job. Now, a job; based on your outfit, I would say that your type of work is done in an office setting with regular hours. So did you have a business meeting? Most likely not; a business meeting that would require you to dress up would most likely be over a meal, and 10:23- well, it's 10:24 now- is nowhere near breakfast or lunch. Of course, you could have had brunch, but the point is moot anyway because after a business meeting you would still be at work, not meeting an old friend at his flat. Then what other job-related position would call you into the office in the middle of the day in the middle of the week and leave you with nothing to do afterwards? A job interview."

Max was silent for a second as she processed that, but then she grinned at him. "You're right about the heels," she commented. "Do you mind if I take my shoes off?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why would I?" he challenged.

Taking that as permission, Max took off her heels and stretched out her toes. "Ah, that feels better," she sighed. She glanced at Sherlock again, but he had already turned back to his book. "I suppose you also know where the job interview was?"

Sherlock scoffed, still not looking up from his book. "Obviously," he said. "There's a paper sticking out of your bag with the Bibliotheque logo on it." Max glanced in her bag, then hurriedly shoved the paper further in so that it couldn't be seen. "Based on the fact that Bibliotheque is one of the leading graphic design companies in the UK I would say that you were in America for university, most likely the Rhode Island School of Design, which is widely known as the best college for graphic design in the world. You've just finished your degree and therefore moved back to London."

Max nodded. "Right again," she agreed.

He rolled his eyes. "Simple," he said. Finally, he looked up at her, his blue eyes pinning her in place. "Tell me, what's it like living in such a small brain as yours?"

She blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?" she asked.

Sherlock didn't even seem fazed. "Oh, not you personally," he told her. "Everyone's an idiot. What's it like? It must be so boring, not noticing things."

Max grinned, not offended in the slightest. "Well, I seem to have noticed one thing that you haven't," she said. He raised an eyebrow. "The next time you try to hide a sword under your chair, make sure the light doesn't glint on the blade." He glanced under the chair and saw that she was right. Irritated, he nudged the sword out with his foot and picked it up. "Am I allowed to ask why you have a sword?"

He grimaced. "One of my clients was very irritated when I refused his case," he answered. "They left this as a... souvenir."

It didn't take much for Max to read between the lines.

Max laughed. "You're lucky John didn't see it, or else he'd blow up," she told him.

He scoffed. "He wouldn't see it," he replied. "He doesn't look." He looked at her with a strange expression. "You have an eye for detail."

She shrugged. "It comes with being a graphic designer, I guess," she commented. "I draw, too, so..." She looked at him curiously. "How did you and John meet? You're not the usual type of person that he spends time with."

Sherlock casually leaned the sword against the side of his armchair, as if he did it every day. "We both needed a flatmate," he replied. "We were introduced by a colleague. Then he started solving crimes with me."

Max grinned widely. "Hold up," she said. "John helps you?!"

He shrugged. "I find it productive to voice my thoughts aloud while working, and talking to a human being attracts less attention than a skull," he pointed out. He nodded towards the skull on the mantle.

Suddenly, before Max could reply, the door to the flat swung open and Mrs. Hudson walked in with tea and biscuits. It seemed like she was going to join them, but when she saw that Max and Sherlock were actually having a polite conversation, she beamed happily and left them to their own devices.

Max looked at the skull suspiciously. "Is that actually a real skull?" she asked.

Sherlock gave her a look as he took a biscuit. "Why wouldn't it be?" he challenged. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "Be quiet. I'm going to my mind palace."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't question it.

000

Half an hour later, Max hadn't moved from her seat in the armchair, but Sherlock had grabbed a laptop and was now looking through it. The flat had remained quiet ever since Sherlock had asked for silence, the only sound being Sherlock's typing and Max as she chewed on the biscuits that Mrs. Hudson had left out.

Suddenly, the stairs started creaking loudly as someone began to climb them. Sherlock didn't even look up, but Max turned around just in time to see John walking into the flat, struggling with a handful of grocery bags. "Oh, so you didn't kill each other," he remarked. "I'm impressed."

Max rolled her eyes. "Oh, give us some credit, Johnny," she said. "I actually found Sherlock a delightful person to talk to."

That caused both John and Sherlock to stop what they were doing to look at her. John's expression clearly said that he thought she was crazy, and Sherlock seemed startled, as if he had never heard anyone call him delightful before. Actually, now that she thought about it, he probably never had.

"Is that my computer?!" John suddenly demanded.

Max turned around to see John glaring at the Sherlock, who had gone back to typing on the laptop. Sherlock didn't even look up. "Of course," he replied.

"What?!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock shrugged. "Mine was in the bedroom," he said simply.

John glared at him. "What, and you couldn't be bothered to get up?" he challenged.

Max rolled her eyes. "John, relax a bit, will you?" she requested. "Part of having a flatmate is sharing everything- take it from someone who was in a dorm."

But her words didn't seem to have any affect on John, who was still giving Sherlock a death glare. "But it's password protected!" he protested.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "In a matter of speaking," he replied. "Took me less than a minute to guess yours." He glanced up at John. "Not exactly Fort Knox."

John huffed irritably. "Right, thank you," he said sarcastically. He walked up to Sherlock and snatched the computer from him, closing the lid just as Sherlock pulled his fingers away. He put the laptop on the ground next to his armchair and sat on the arm, wrapping his arm around Max's shoulders. "I bought vanilla ice cream for you."

Max's eyes brightened. "You didn't!" she exclaimed excitedly.

John grinned. "I did," he agreed. "We'll have some later."

Sherlock looked up sharply. "I thought we agreed that all the vanilla ice cream was mine!" he protested.

John frowned at him. "When did we agree on that?" he demanded.

Sherlock gave him a look. "We did," he stated with certainty.

"No we didn't," John said.

"We did," Sherlock retorted.

John crossed his arms. "You're being ridiculous!" he exclaimed. "Max is a guest! Apple pie with vanilla ice cream is her favorite dessert!"

"But the vanilla ice cream is mine!" Sherlock insisted.

Max looked from Sherlock to John and back again, a small smile on her face as the two flatmates argued. "Do you do this all the time?" she asked.

"When he's being an ass, yes!" John protested, irritated.

She laughed. "That's hilarious," she declared. She stood up from the chair. "Where's your bathroom?"

John gestured to the hallway opposite of the kitchen. "First door to the left," he told her.

Max nodded. "Got it," she said. She walked in the direction that he had indicated, but she stopped when she reached the bathroom door. "We should go out to lunch later, all three of us." She grinned at them then headed into the bathroom.

John slid into the armchair and sighed wearily. He reached towards the endtable and grabbed the letters that were stacked there. "So, it seems like you made quite an impression on Max," he commented.

Sherlock scoffed but didn't reply.

"How did you like her?" John prompted.

Sherlock shrugged.

Sighing, John accepted that he wasn't going to get an answer from Sherlock. He started flipping through the letters, frowning as he counted the number of bills that he had received. "Need to get a job," he muttered.

"Oh, dull," Sherlock declared, staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression.

John sighed and tossed the pile of letters back onto the table. He glanced at Sherlock, then back at the bills on the table. Sighing again, he leaned forward in his chair, shifting awkwardly. "Listen... um... if you'd be able to lend me some-" he attempted.

But he realized that Sherlock, as usual, wasn't paying attention, and he glared at him. "Sherlock, are you listening?" he demanded.

"I need to go to the bank," Sherlock suddenly declared.

Without any further warning, Sherlock stood and headed towards the door, grabbing his long ulster coat as he did so. "Wait, what about Max?!" John protested. "And lunch?!"

Sherlock paused on his way out the door. "She can come with us," he offered.

"We can't just leave her in the flat-" John started, but then he realized what Sherlock had said. "Wait, what? You're not going to put up a fight?"

Sherlock shrugged. "She has good eyes," he said. "She can see all the little details if she tries, sometimes things that I don't notice- not that she knows how to use what she sees, but still, she may be helpful." He shot John a pointed look. "And I appreciate her talent of being able to refrain from speaking for an extended period of time. So yes, she can come."

"I can come where?"

The two men turned around to see Max standing in the hallway, a grin on her face. She had changed into a casual pair of jeans and a purple T-shirt, and had also taken her hair out of her bun and washed off her makeup; the new outfit made her look younger, more relaxed.

Sherlock didn't even seem to notice that she had changed. "We're going to the bank," he told her.

She grinned. "Awesome," she declared. "Let's go."