(Sherlock x Reader) Never trust those who are never truthful

It had been a week or so from the meeting of the Watson's and you thought that it went quite well, disregarding the fact that you thought you'd murdered one of them years ago of course. Not only that but you had started to settle in quite well. Of course there were those moments of madness from your roommate but you seemed to be becoming accustomed to them by now. You always seemed very adaptable to new environments. It was in your job description of course so it was compulsory but you prided yourself on it nonetheless. It did seem to be your speciality.

You had just finished your breakfast when you heard a loud clunk come from down the corridor. It seemed to come from Sherlock's room. Odd, you thought, I heard him exit the apartment last night. You weren't actually supposed to know this of course. You were actually the very reason he had gone out at all last night. He would never tell you that, he was too proud but he had started to take an interest in you and where you came from. However it would ruin his reputation if he told you any of that.

You tiptoed quietly down the corridor to the door that belonged to your roommate and had been shut tight since three days ago. You slunk like a cat, knife in hand (from the knife block of course, you didn't have time to get one of your own personal ones, they were in your room after all), and were ready to pounce. It was the next thing that took you aback a little, the door opened. It revealed a -well what seemed to be anyway- very sleepy Sherlock Holmes.

"Good morning," he said rubbing his eyes to get the sleep out of them, "I'd appreciate it if you would put that knife down, not exactly the welcome I was expecting." His eyes now open, he looked at you fully, his pyjama top was inside out and his hair was all mussed up but you had to admit, he looked rather adorable.

"Ah- oh yes," your instincts immediately turned off, "sorry about that, I thought you were an intruder." You managed to stutter out, trying to abruptly turn back into the roommate he was used to.

"Why would you think that?" He looked at you curiously, he brows knitted together in confusion. You thought he was known to be able to deduce things at that drop of the hat so it confused you a little to hear him this questioning. Surely he knew why you'd think something like that! Unless he had trouble deducing after he had just woken up.

You replied anyway, not wanting to make it seem suspicious, "well...I heard you go out last night and I didn't hear you come back in so I was wondering who it was as I assumed you weren't home."

"You were up at 2?" His expression still the same but he looked a little skeptical about your story.

"I have an odd sleeping pattern and plus I was writing last night," you quickly blabbered out. You hoped he still bought the story of you being an aspiring writer who had recently moved to London to hopefully get published and be an international writer. He originally scoffed at the idea of you being a writer but stopped himself quickly as he realised that you were being serious. Or as serious as your acting could get.

"Oh right, well, morning," he said quickly before quite rudely shoving past you and going to boil the kettle for his morning coffee. What his state of sleepiness didn't explain however was why you hadn't heard him come back in, unless he too was also acting.

"Excuse you too," you muttered as you followed him into the kitchen, not bothering to act like your 'normal self' when his back was turned. You went to put the knife back in the knife block when he turned to speak to you.

"I don't believe you, you know," he took a sip of his newly brewed coffee as he had taken the water from the kettle you had boiled for your tea, the bastard.

"What, why?" Your eyes narrowed, letting your mask slip a little.

"I don't know why but something about your story doesn't make sense, even it can make that much out when I can't even deduce a bloody thing about you," he said the last bit quietly, as if he didn't really want you to hear his confession.

You shuffled from one foot to the other awkwardly, you hoped he hadn't seen through you. That would be the last thing you wanted, he took your awkwardness as an indication that he was right. That much at least was true, you just hoped he hadn't deciphered the rest. If he had, your cover would be blown and your mission would be over. You prayed beyond belief that that wouldn't happen. You loved a good meaty mission with interesting characters.

"You're not a writer are you?" He set his drink aside to focus his full attention on you. His suspicion seemed to be rising.

"No....I-I..." You stuttered. Panicking your mind screamed, Quick think of something! You have to think of something! He'll see right through you! Now! Do it now! "I'm here to see family but I thought that might be a bit pathetic seeing as I'm visiting for such a long time that I've decided to rent a flat out." You rambled, he didn't look convinced so you continued, "My Mother's ill, very ill. She has pancreatic cancer..." You trailed off, looking at your feet in defeat. You hoped that he understood the sob story, you even expected a little sympathy, as if!

He seemed to accept that as a good answer and cleared his throat as to change subjects, "right well, now that we have that covered, I did originally want to ask you something." He picked up his coffee again, his blue eyes still piercing, analysing you. Or at least attempting to.

This caught your attention a bit but you didn't want to make it seem so. You turned and decided to wash up your plates from breakfast, just so you seemed as if you hadn't a care in the world, that seemed to be the best option. Eye contact was never your strong suit in situations like this so this was the next best thing. You weren't really sure what you were supposed to be acting like anymore. Your character had lost all linear normality but you just decided to go with it, he anyway seemed to be going with it, "go on."

"Would you like to come on a case with me?" He said it so outright that it caught you a little off guard, why would a consulting detective need help from someone like you? To him you were sure you seemed uncharacteristic, boring and bland. That seemed enough to put anyone off getting to know you, that why you had decided on this plain jane character. So no one would ask questions and forget about you quickly.

"Why? Surely I wouldn't be of any help?" You turned to face him now, a questioning look in your eyes. You wanted to seem as natural as possible, if that was even able to do with that glare of his looking you down harshly.

"It's just nice to have company on a case, good at solving crimes or not, it'd be nice to have you along. Not to mention that the only thing you do all day is laze about and visit family, I think it'd be good for you." He said truthfully. He was however wrong about one tiny little detail, you never stayed at the flat for more than an hour. You would never tell him that of course but you thanked the heavens that he didn't seem to be that suspicious of you anymore. If he still was then you'd have to report your situation and you'd be moved out. Boring.

"I...uh, sure! I mean what have I got to lose!" And within the hour, you and Sherlock Holmes were out of the door ready and prepared to see dead bodies. Sounds like another normal day in London, well for the consulting detective at least.