Mary showed up at a quarter to seven. John had been putting the finishing touches on their food and Sherlock was playing the violin when they heard a knock at the door.

"That's her," John said with a smile as he wiped off his hands. "Sherlock? Would you mind pouring us some wine while I go answer the door?"

"Anything for you John," Sherlock called back, placing his violin on the counter and reaching up to retrieve some glasses from an overhead cupboard. His now-untucked dress shirt rose a bit, revealing a pale sliver of skin that John's eyes were momentarily drawn to before he turned and left the kitchen. He smoothed down his hair and pulled at the hem of his jumper before opening the door. Mary greeted him warmly with a hug and a kiss on the lips, and John took her coat and hung it up while she made her way into the kitchen.

"Hello there," John heard her say, "you must be Sherlock."

"And you must be Mary."

John walked into the kitchen in time to see Sherlock hand Mary a glass of white wine, and found himself smiling at the sight of them. He hadn't realized until now, but he was quite nervous at how this night would play out. Sherlock didn't seem to be the most amicable of people, despite how cordial he acted towards John, and if he didn't like Mary or vice versa, John was sure that dinner would not be an enjoyable event.

However, by the time the three of them had sat down at John's dinner table, John and Sherlock sitting across from each other and Mary sat on John's left side, it seemed that the two of them had taken quite a liking to one another. They chatted happily about Mary's family and Sherlock's work with Scotland Yard, and though Sherlock had hardly touched his dinner nor his drink, he seemed to be in good spirits as he listened to Mary tell a story from her childhood about an old teacher she had who used to work with the circus.

Hours passed before anyone even thought to look at the time, and when John did happen to glance at the clock on the wall he was shocked to see that it was nearing midnight. Normally he wouldn't have said anything, but he did have an early shift at St. Bart's the next day. He stood from his seat and cleared the table while Sherlock and Mary talked, but by the time he reached the sink a pair of large palish hands took the dirty dishes from him. John looked up at Sherlock, who simply smiled and nudged John out of the way with his bony hip.

"I've got this," he whispered. "You go kiss your lady friend goodnight." He winked at John, then turned and started washing the dishes. John numbly walked out into the living room, where Mary was putting on her coat. She smiled when she saw him, and tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen.

"I like him."

"What?" John asked with a smile on his face, stepping forward to take one of Mary's delicate hands into his. Mary suppressed a laugh and lightly swatted at John as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. "I said I like him." John let go of her hand and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her left ear, pausing to cup her cheek. "It'll be good for you to have a little more testosterone around." John dropped his hand, then reached behind her to unlock and open the front door.

"What do you mean by that?" Mary turned and looked over her shoulder at the awaiting cab. Funny, John didn't remember anyone calling for a cab.

"I mean you've been spending too much time with just Molly and me. Every guy needs a good male friend, you know that. It's a scientifically proven fact." They shared a laugh, and John heard the sound of a car horn blowing. He glared over Mary's shoulder before leaning in to give her a tender kiss. She pulled away with a smile and waved over her shoulder as she climbed inside the cab. John closed the door as the cab pulled away, and turned to see Sherlock sprawled out on the couch, violin in hand, absentmindedly plucking at the strings.

"She seems nice," he said. John paused on his way to his bedroom and stared down at Sherlock.

"You think so?" Sherlock nodded his head and ceased his plucking. John watched as his slender fingers began to gently caress the instrument, and his tongue darted out to lick his slightly chapped lips. Sherlock's hand stilled, and John's eyes snapped up to his face. When he saw the smirk Sherlock was giving him he felt his face flush and he looked away. John ignored the sound of Sherlock's deep laughter as he walked down the hall into his bedroom. He could hear Sherlock begin to play a song on the violin as he closed his bedroom door. He changed into his bedclothes while listening to the sweet sound of Sherlock's violin, and even after he climbed beneath his sheets the music continued on. He lay there for several moments trying to decide if he enjoyed the soothing music or hated it for keeping him awake.

He considered asking Sherlock to stop playing at least until he got to sleep, but remembered something Sherlock had told him during their first meal together: he plays the violin while thinking. If there was something on Sherlock's mind this late at night, John wasn't going to interfere. So, he closed his eyes and put a pillow over his head, imagining that he was in the kitchen once again with Sherlock standing behind him, playing the 'soundtrack to dinner' as he'd previously called it. He was asleep within minutes.

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John eventually had a key made for Sherlock, so that he could come and go as he pleased without the need for forced entry every time John wasn't home. John spent his days as he always did: working at St Bart's and occasionally going out with Mary after work. In the evening he and Sherlock watched crap telly and shared stories about how their days went. Sherlock always had the more interesting stories to tell, so eventually it got to the point where he would talk while John started on dinner, and when Sherlock got tired of talking he would get out his violin and play.

They rarely ate in silence, and due to the excessive amount of talking in between bites dinner usually encompassed several hours each night, and John was always quite knackered by the time his head landed on his pillow. Of course, Sherlock had gotten into the habit of playing is violin at the same time John went to bed, so it always took John a moment to fully and completely fall asleep. He viewed it as a mild inconvenience when compared to everything else Sherlock had brought into his life, all of it benignant.

On the days John wasn't working, Sherlock brought him along to Scotland Yard and various crime scenes to assist him with his work. Though rather than assist John usually ended up just singing praises of Sherlock's deductive prowess while everyone else rolled their eyes and jotted down notes. Every now and then John would serve as a sort of defender for Sherlock when he felt someone was insulting him; Usually it was that woman with the curly hair that John had grown an intense dislike for. Sherlock never said anything, but John could tell he was grateful for the barrier John provided from her verbal abuse.

Afterwards they would go out for dinner at various local restaurants before returning to John's flat, where they spent the rest of the night watching television. They tried playing board games on several different occasions, but each game had ended with Sherlock damaging the game and disappearing into the bathroom to sulk.

Though he found Sherlock's temper tantrums strangely endearing, John had made it his mission to find a game that Sherlock might actually enjoy playing. One night after they'd wrapped up a particularly thrilling smuggling case John surprised Sherlock with a game of Cluedo. He was sure Sherlock would like it; It was a murder-mystery game, after all, but when Sherlock saw John walking towards him with the box in his hands and a hopeful smile on his face, he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Really John, haven't you given up on this little endeavor of yours? Why can't you just accept the fact that I don't like board games?"

"Oh come on Sherlock, humour me." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, who stuck out his bottom lip, and laughed.

"Don't you think you're acting a bit childish?" John sat down on the floor in front of where Sherlock was perched on the sofa and pretended to glare at him.

"Says the man who threw my Monopoly board out the window two weeks ago." John smirked at Sherlock, and noted that the usually ivory-colored skin of his cheeks was now tinted with a rosy hue. Their eyes met for a split second and Sherlock gave a heavy sigh as he pulled himself down onto the floor beside John, peering over his shoulder at the box he held in his hands.

"What have you got for me this time?" John struggled to ignore the fact that Sherlock's chin was basically resting on his shoulder and tilted the box so Sherlock could clearly see the top. Sherlock's groan was loud in John's ear due to their close proximity, but rather than be annoyed by it John just laughed and nudged Sherlock in the side with his elbow.

"Come on, give it a try."

"But John-"

"Please?" John turned to look at Sherlock, searching his eyes for any sign of honest annoyance and finding none. Instead, Sherlock's usually cold eyes softened and he sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"Oh John," he said, "I can never say no to you." They shared a smile before John opened the box and pulled out the instructions. Sherlock unfolded the board and began setting everything up according to John's direction.

Half and hour later Sherlock was holed up in the bathroom and John was extracting a butcher knife from the game board. He placed the knife on the kitchen counter with a sigh, then carefully folded up the board as to not exacerbate the damage any further, and placed everything back inside the box. He put it with the rest of the board games and went to check on Sherlock.

He knocked on the door and received no response, which was strange because Sherlock almost always yelled some sort of expletive at John before opening the door and stomping into the living room. John knocked again, and heard shuffling on the other side.

"Go away John," Sherlock said quietly, his voice sounding a bit off. Now worried, John tried the handle and found it to be unlocked. He opened the door and walked inside, letting out a surprised yelp when he saw a naked Sherlock bent over, pulling off one of his socks. John immediately backed out of the room and closed the door, bracing himself against the wall, thanking his lucky stars that Sherlock had been facing away from the door. He heard the door open and turned to see Sherlock, now dressed in a silk blue robe, leaning against the wall beside John with his arms folded across his chest. John's eyes glanced downward briefly and he was relieved to see that Sherlock had tied the robe tightly around himself, and tried not to smile when he saw that he was only wearing one sock. He heard Sherlock chuckle quietly.

"John, my eyes are up here."

John forced himself to make eye contact with Sherlock despite how awkward he felt, and when he saw the smile on Sherlock's face he found himself smiling back, though it was mainly out of sheer embarrassment.

"Sorry," he finally managed to say. "About...that." Sherlock shrugged and his smile widened.

"I'm not embarrassed John, so you have no reason to be. Nor do you have a reason to apologize."

"Right, sorry." Sherlock chuckled and placed a hand on John's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. John stared down at Sherlock's hand for a moment, his mind unable to form a coherent thought. After a while Sherlock removed his hand and strolled back into the bathroom, and seconds later John heard the shower water begin to run. John remained in the hallway for a moment longer, unsure as to why he had yet to move. He heard a quiet, mellifluous sound floating out from underneath the door with the steam, and realized that Sherlock was in fact singing in the shower. John leaned closer to the door to hear better, and let out a quiet laugh when he realized Sherlock was singing in French. After several minutes had passed and John realized just how creepy it was to be listening to his flat mate shower, John made his way to his bedroom and changed quickly. He slid underneath the duvet and tried very hard not to think about the fact that he had now seen his flatmate naked and heard him sing, shutting his eyes so tightly he saw stars.

John tossed and turned for an immeasurable amount of time, and the last thing he remembered before drifting off into the sleep was the quiet sound of a violin.

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Quick little note here: thanks to everyone's who's been reading this! Your votes and comments mean a lot and make my day. I hope no one's been disappointed so far with this, and I promise it'll get better :)