I don't own Sherlock. But this story is mine, even if I offered no name where it is elsewhere published.

Background: John Watson is a thief and Sherlock Holmes is supposed to catch him. Neither planned on falling for the other.

His flat= 221B Baker street, he didn't actually need a flat mate, he just wanted one.

Sherlock started when he received a text at a crime scene. Anyone who normally would text him where all here so he ignored it, waiting until he was done. The crime was boring and mundane: jealous wife killed her husband's lover and made it look like suicide. At least the crime was a quick one and he could now check his phone to see who had texted him five times in the past 10 minutes. Who was quite surprised to find his phone said The Thief was the person who was texting him, as he knew that particular name had never been set in his phone.

Sherlock gave a little grin and opened up the text messages, not minding that the JHW mystery had just gotten a bit harder. The first one was borderline ridiculous it states in flowery white and red text: Happy Valentine's Day, Detective. The second was more like the thief: You need to do to your flat now. The third repeated the message with a bit more information Some'body' is waiting for you at the flat. Sherlock stared at the phone wondering if it would be appropriate to grin. How had the thief known that he needed another body to test the riding crop on? The last two where You need better flat decorations and A whole row of the wall dedicated to my heists~ I'm flattered Sherlock. He smiled at the image of his blond haired thief lounging in the flat commenting on the décor and level of obsession Sherlock had for each case.

Was at crime scene and didn't care it was Valentine's day. Have you left yet? If not I need milk. –SH

Noticed and got you some milk. Gone –JHW

Pity, we could've have fun –SH

If only I thought gaol cells where fun. –JHW

Your loss. –SH

Pretty sure you mean "the Yard is lost" Now go home and tell me if you like him. –JHW

Yessir –SH with that he allowed the screen of his phone to go black and he put it in his pocket. His step and pace increased slightly, he was now in a hurry to get home. He examined the door of his flat and saw no signs of it being broken into. Mrs. Hudson appeared right inside the doorway as he finished his inspection.

"So glad to see you. A nice man, said he was a doctor, was in earlier with a box for you. Said it was important, I had him put it in your flat." And that explained everything; Sherlock inclined his head showing that he understood Mrs. Hudson and headed up the stairs to the parlor room of his flat. Nothing had been moved or changed except for the chair he never sat in had obviously been used in his absence and there was a cup of tea on the table. Sherlock did not bother to examine the chair for left behind evidence; his thief was too good for that.

This spawned an image of his blond haired thief lounging in the chair with a bored expression on his face. The mental image made Sherlock grin, his thief was a lot more domestic than he normally thought. Sherlock went over to the tea and noticed it was still hot; the thief must have left a little while ago. There was a note tucked under the mug though and Sherlock managed to get it out from under the mug without spilling the tea. It read, "Dear Sherlock, as I'm sure you've already deduced your kind landlady let me in. I left the body on the kitchen table, hope you don't mind. Also made you tea and dinner, you need to eat more. –JHW" At this rate Sherlock thought his thief might as well move in with him.

The tea was made to his exact liking and Sherlock took a sip. It was good tea and he quickly drank it all, not worried about a poison or any other type sedative. His thief was much more honorable then that. Once he was done he moved into the kitchen and just as the note said there was a body on the table. It had been placed as to not disturb his other experiments. The body had been well cleaned and it had died of natural causes. There was another note tacked to the body. Sherlock moved closer and plucked it up, "I'm not a killer (now), just a thief. This body doesn't need returned to the morgue; it is already 'buried'. –JHW" Sherlock was adoring this thief more and more, why could they not have met earlier? There where plastic containers lining the counter and Sherlock knew they contained the preserved organs of the man on his table. Next time he saw the thief he would thank him. No one had ever gotten him a dead body before.

Thank you, no one had ever gotten me a dead body before. -Sh