"I'm here about the flat?" I questioned politely. The woman in the door smiled even wider and waved me in.

"It's right upstairs, darling, you go on ahead. Sherlock!" she yelled, comfortingly patting my back.

"Busy!" a loud voice yelled back.

"Go on up, I'll bring some tea," she offered, nudging me towards the stairs before disappearing.

Lovely.

The hallway was dark, perhaps even to a degree you could call dim, but in no way uncomfortable. If anything, it actually helped create an even cozier atmosphere.

The narrow steps lead upstairs to another door, and I knocked after taking a deep breath.

Within seconds, the door swung open, and I was greeted by a blond man smiling.

"You're here about the apartment?" he said hopefully.

"Why else would I be here?" I asked, attempting to lighten my nerves with a little humor.

"I would have preferred the murder of a close relative of yours," a man from behind stated, the blond man quickly apologizing.

"He doesn't mean that," he assured me, although it didn't do much; "I'm John Watson, doctor John Watson."

"Pleasure meeting you, doctor John Watson. I'm Cassandra Harrington," I introduced, shaking the hand he had reached out.

"So, why are you looking for an apartment?" he asked me curiously as he led me through the door and into a cluttered living room.

"Her roommate is moving. Probably to live with a boyfriend. Obviously," a man lying across the couch commented without opening his eyes.

His suit and generally long body made him somehow seem misplaced, lying across the small couch.

"How did he know that?" I asked dr. Watson with my eyebrows raised in surprise.

"It's... A thing he does," he explained; "He can tell things about people by looking at them."

"That's... Not very comforting," I admitted; "So no one can keep anything secret around him?"

"Why? What do you want to hide?" he asked, opening his eyes and sitting up to look at me.

"Well, I murdered three innocent people, I'd rather people didn't find out," I answered sarcastically, but giving no sign of it. He narrowed his eyes at me.

"You're lying," he stated.

"How do you know?"

"There aren't that many innocent people in London," he answered, once again leaning back on the couch.

"Not anymore, anyway," I added before turning to John.

"I'm sorry, I thought this was going to be like, a showing of the apartment or something?" I asked unsurely.

"Why would that be necessary? We already know you'll be staying here," the other man interrupted, still just observing with eyes I couldn't help but notice beautifully contrasted his skin.

"He's really annoying, huh?" I asked dr. Watson, who sighed deeply.

"He's... Sherlock," he ended up replying.

"That's a girl's name," I stated carelessly.

"What is your name?" Sherlock interrupted. I turned to look at him.

"Cassandra."

"Too long. Won't work. Cassy."

"Are you... negotiating about my name?" I asked in disbelief.

"No. I'm deciding."

"Well, I've decided Sherlock is a bad name altogether, so I'm just gonna call you Paul," I decided, making dr. Watson laugh loudly behind me.

"John! Tell her she can't do that!" Paul complained, John too busy laughing to reply.

"Looks like John is agreeing with me, Paul," I commented.

"Alright then. Cassy," he added smugly.

"Alright then, Paul," I replied, before turning to John who was finally composing himself.

"I will say," he started before taking a deep breath to maintain himself; "I was nervous about Sherlock living with someone else, but I think you'll be able to hold yourself."

"Oh yes, definitely. Otherwise, I'll be able to hold him by his neck until he stops being a twat."

From the corner of my eye, I could notice Sherlock looking at me.

"She's being sarcastic, Sherlock," John assured him before turning to me again; "He's not great at detecting sarcasm."

"Nonsense. I'm good at detecting everything," Sherlock disagreed.

"Alright. Let's put that to the test then. Deduce me, Paul," I challenged, sitting down in a chair across from him.

He looked me up and down, his eyes scanning every part of my body before finally focusing on my eyes.

"You need a new place because your roommate is moving out, probably to live with their significant other, you don't like that because you don't like your friend's boyfriend. You have siblings, but none you talk to. Your parents are wealthy, but you don't particularly like them, and even though you pretend to dislike me I amuse you. You're going to move in here, not because you can't afford a place of your own, of course, family money, but because you're upset about your friend moving in with her boyfriend and you need a distraction. And you know that's something I can provide. Correct?"

"Cool party trick," I complimented, making him scoff.

He glanced at me before looking away again, and then looked at me again.

"How much was right?" he questioned again.

"Is it my turn?" I asked instead.

"Your turn?" he asked.

"Well, surely I get a go, as well," I commented, looking between him and John.

"Alright. Deduce me," Sherlock decided, his face becoming emotionless.

"You're a sociopath. High functioning-" I continued before he could interrupt, even though his mouth was already open; "Not a psychopath. You've been called psychopath so often throughout your life that you see that as a curse word, but it's also your biggest fear. You work with the police, so obviously you've worked with some messed up criminals, and those are the real psychopaths. The difference between them and you is that you're a sociopath. Calling you a psychopath takes the one difference away, and you're secretly scared that you're like them."

I looked at him with a smile before continuing; "Of course, you also somehow wish you were a psychopath because you see emotions as a weakness, which is why you try to hide them, but you do still occasionally experience them and you're worried they might not be so bad, and not knowing doesn't feel nice for you. You need to feel smart, and you rely on other people knowing that, which is why you constantly show off. You're not just impolite, you're not just being rude, you're doing it on purpose. I've only just stepped in, but you need to show me that you're smart, and you need to show that you don't care about anything, because god forbid you did. Of course, being smart is something you need to prove to yourself, as well, because you have the same amount of self-confidence as a dog that's just been scolded. You've been nagged on your entire childhood, so now you need to prove your worth, which is also why you dislike your family. On one hand, you have a god complex about your brain, on the other, you think you're entirely worthless to other people, so you try to prove your worth to them by using your brain. Because if you stopped, if you were just normal for a second... They'd have no use for you, and they'd leave. That's your biggest fear," I finished. No one said a word as Sherlock and I met eyes.

"Was I right, though?" he asked.

"Classic example of what I mentioned. You didn't hear half what I said because you're too worried you were wrong about your deductions about me, and it kills you that you don't know if you were right," I replied.

"That was... How did you know all that?" Dr. Watson asked shocked.

"Pretty easy to tell," I admitted, turning my attention to him; "Psychopaths are born like that, they genuinely speaking have no empathy. But your friend does, emotions, too, so obviously it was environmental factors that did it, 99% of those cases it's relatives that does it, and it only makes sense he wouldn't hang around the people who constantly looked down on him, so he clearly doesn't have much contact with them."

"But... What about, how, how did you know people called him a psychopath? How did you know that bothers him?"

"Most people don't know the difference," I shrugged; "Which makes sense, considering the pop culture around the word psychopath and on the fact that it and sociopaths go under the same category, technically speaking, it's just called antisocial personality disorder now. And he clearly wants to show he's different than the psychopaths out there because he does, in fact, have emotions. Besides, aggressive reckless behavior, overly strong connections to very few elected people, problems with following the law, all symptoms of sociopathy. Psychopathy is something entirely different," I explained.

"That is... Amazing," John decided; "How did you know all that?"

"I like psychology," I stated with a shrug.

"But, how about the reckless and aggressive behavior, problems with the law?"

"Well, I'm basing the reckless and aggressive behavior on his behavior, because it has been both aggressive and reckless since I stepped through that door, and the law thing was just a guess. It's a common symptom, and, well... There's a literal sword lying over there," I admitted, nodding to the dining room table; "Also, I cannot believe you have a sword. Like, an actual sword."

"Sherlock! I told you to put that away!"John complained, quickly getting the sword and leaving the room. I looked at Sherlock, whose attention was fully on me.

"I do need a new place because my roommate is moving out," I told him, obviously surprising him a bit; "Not to live with her boyfriend, but no, I'm not overly fond of where she's going. My parents are wealthy, I do not talk to them more than necessary, and yes, I am going to move in here, because yes. I do think you're pretty funny," I admitted to him.

"Why did you tell me that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Because it bothered you not to know," I explained; "I'm not exactly out to make you feel bad, Sherlock. I know you can get upset, no matter what you say, and I don't want you to be."

John returned (swordless, sadly), before sitting down in the other chair in the living room.

"So. I'm moving out in three weeks, to live with my girlfriend. You'd be able to take my room after that," he explained.

"Sounds great. Thank you, Dr. Watson."

"Oh, please, it's John," he commented, looking up as the woman from earlier entered through the door, a tray with two cups in hand.

"Oh! You're still here!" she said, sounding almost surprised.

"Yes. You said you'd bring up tea, remember?" I asked, glancing unsurely at John who pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Well, of course, I remember, I just thought Sherlock would have scared you off by now. I'll go get another cup," she assured, getting ready to go back down.

"Oh, no, I'll be heading out in a minute," I told her, smiling politely at her before she left. I stood up, took my jacket under my arm, and looked at Sherlock.

"Plus. He's not going to scare me off," I added with a smile before leaving.