Chapter Text
From an early age, Sherlock preferred his own company; he discovered early on that his peers saw him as odd, and adults weren't comfortable in his presence, especially after that disastrous 7th birthday party, which he hadn't really wanted. Not really. But sometimes, as he walked though London on his own, he would see groups of people, obviously happy; laughing, smiling, arm in arm; or simply spot a couple leaning into each other, moments from a kiss, and suddenly miss the simple camaraderie that other people take for granted. Then he would chide himself, how could you miss something you've never had and probably would never have. He would shrug down into his coat and walk until he could out think his loneliness, then return to Baker Street and sleep for two days, or until Lestrade texted him with a case.
John, for all his apparent social niceties and above average 'normal' qualities, would rather be at home, well, perhaps not 'home', but somewhere peaceful where he could be still, reading a book, his feet in someone's lap, than in a rowdy pub among 'friends' as he was that Friday night; he pushed back from the bar and nodded a good night to his companions and walked out into the rain. He pulled up his collar and sighed, not looking forward to going back to his bleak bedsit. He had been one of those people who could fit in anywhere, could make friends with anyone, but at heart was a loner. He had learned from early on not to trust anyone, as the people who were supposed to love him, take care of him, support him had let him down over and over until he simply decided not to need anyone...geez...can you be anymore of a whinging arse? He shook his head and stepped onto the sidewalk where he was almost run down by a tall, elegant bloke who muttered a gruff, "Sorry." He'd obviously been walking for hours, John had never seen anyone so wet in his life.
"Hey, uhm, this may sound presumptuous, but my bedsit is just on the next street, do you want to uhmm...oh never mind..."
"What?"
"You just look wet and miserable, I can make a cuppa while you warm up...just thought...bad idea..."
"No, uhm, I mean, yes. Hell, I'd like that very much...Sherlock Holmes."
"John Watson."
They fell in step, in spite of the height difference and John's limp, and silently made their way through the night.