Date: August 5, 2013

My new Flatmate!

Last week, I finished my master's thesis in Science and passed(big surprise). I am now on a month-long well-earned vacation. Or, what I expected to be a vacation. It has not turned out QUITE that way.

It started when I moved out of my flat. It was too small, too much light, sometimes too dark, too noisy and too quiet.

Fortunately, I quickly came across an ad for a rather perfect flat in Baker Street. The landlady's a lovely old spinster, Mrs Hudson, and I'm sharing it with another intellectual. But that's not the best part. Besides the violin, and how quiet he is, the best part is how eccentric he is. Those who know me, would as I have, see this as a perfect pair. And we are, in more than one the sense that I also get to solve mysteries for Scotland Yard, as an assistant consulting detective, AKA Sherlock's assistant. But I know he sees me as his friend. Everything's hunky dory so far.

Signed, Celina Parker, Master of Science.

August 5th, 7:30 PM

Sherlock and I were sitting in the living room, watching Fawlty Towers and not really paying attention, drinking our evening tea. Sherlock put down his cup, and two minutes later, crossed his legs. I looked over at him, and narrowed my eyes. Sherlock never crosses his legs. Once, his brother, Mycroft made him "it's good form, Sherlock", and he said it gave him a cramp. He may have been slightly exaggerating, but still. The explanation was obvious.

"You need the loo?" I asked.

"Mrm," was his mumbling response, which meant "Yes/No why does it matter?", the standard for when asked an annoying question, with a potentially "incriminating" answer.

"It's perfectly natural to need to pee, you know," I reminded him.

"I know," he scoffed at me, turning his attention away from his bladder and onto the show on the telly.

"So why won't you go?" I asked.

"Couch is too comfortable. I just consumed the tea, bladder response is too early," he explained.

I responded like a scientist.

"Well, the material in the cushion, re-fluffs itself as a result of you getting up. And the fact that you need a wee right after having tea makes sense. It's activating your already full bladder. It's not just the tea you need to get rid of", I explained.

Sherlock nodded but stayed sitting. I, however, had had enough of him abusing his bladder irrationally. Luckily, I am naturally very strong, and has maintained it the many times Sherlock has come from the station on a day I've been home, and collapsed, so I've had to catch his fall. Pulling up my sleeves, I stood up, went in front of him, and lifted him out of the couch, put my hand around his waist and dragged him to the toilet.

"In. Your bladder will thank you after," I commanded nicely. He went in and wee'd to audible relief.

I sighed and shook my head at him upon his return.

"Repeat that twice more, and I'm taking you to the doctor," I warned. He stuck his tongue at me, and we kept watching.