You stepped into the common room and exhaled quietly. The floor was littered with papers, ink-smudged notes curling at the corners, and odd little objects—some half-finished experiment, no doubt—balanced on books and armrests like they belonged there.

As Sherlock’s roommate, this was nothing new. Chaos was practically part of the lease. But still… you’d spent most of yesterday coaxing him into cleaning. Not nagging, exactly—just suggesting, persistently. And he had cleaned. For maybe three hours.

Now it looked like the room had exhaled too, and undone it all.

“Good morning,” came his voice, low and just a little rough around the edges.

He was sprawled across the sofa, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lazily across his stomach. His shirt was wrinkled, partially untucked, and his hair was an untamed mess that somehow still looked intentional.

His eyes met yours—steady, unreadable—and you could tell he was studying you, even if he didn’t say it aloud. You hadn’t exactly woken up at your best. Last night’s wine still lingered in your system, in the slight fuzziness behind your eyes.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t fared much better. His gaze lingered for half a second too long before sliding away, as if he’d lost the thread of a thought.

“I see you’ve already undone all of yesterday’s progress,” you said, arms folding across your chest.

He didn’t move, just let out a soft breath—almost a laugh. “Order never lasts long in this flat,” he murmured. “But I suppose you already knew that when you moved in.”

You didn’t answer right away. He watched you in that quiet way he had, like he was always collecting data but didn’t yet know what to do with it.

“You could at least pretend to try,” you said.

His lips twitched. “I could,” he agreed, eyes flicking to yours. “But we both know I’m not terribly good at pretending.”

There was a beat of silence. Not tense, exactly. Just full. He looked at you like there was more he wanted to say, but he didn’t. And you didn’t press.

Because with Sherlock, things rarely came easily. They unfolded—slowly, carefully, like a mystery you weren’t sure you were meant to solve.