Welcome to Baker Street

6. Family strife

One week later, Giulia has settled down in Baker Street. She attends university lectures every morning, then goes back to the flat and cooks something for her flatmates—basically for John, since Sherlock seems to think that oxygen counts as a nutrient. She studies in the shared living room, which can be a peaceful heaven or a messy hell, depending on the circumstances. Sometimes, Sherlock just lies on the couch for hours without moving or even uttering a sound, deeply sunk in his thoughts, lost inside the corridors of his mind palace Those are the good days. More often, however, John and Sherlock are busy receiving crowds of clients. Those poor people are forced to have a seat between their armchairs and tell their stories while the two men decide whether or not to take their cases. Sherlock always raises hell, is rarely satisfied, and usually kicks them out unceremoniously. Those are the usual days.

Today is a good one, though. Sherlock is lying down with his eyes closed, and John sits thoughtfully in his armchair, rubbing his forehead with the back of a pen.

"Why is it always so difficult? I'd like to finish this bloody thing, eventually," he grumbles, slamming the newspaper on the tea table.

Giulia raises her head from the books. "What's the matter?"

"Just a crossword puzzle. I try to complete this sort of game every day, but they aren't easy at all." John shoots a hateful look at the paper.

"Can I give it a try?" she asks politely, stretching out her hand.

He gazes at her, confused. "You think you can beat a native speaker in crosswords in his language?"

"Crosswords are only 20% about language skills and 70% about general knowledge."

"There's still 10% left," he points out pedantically.

She smirks. "Intuition."

He hands her the newspaper with a sceptical look.

"Let's see: Greek Titan forced to support the sky on his shoulders. Easy, it's Atlas." She takes the pen from his hand and writes the definition.

"There's another blank space," John says, surprised it barely took her ten seconds to get one answer. "Something about astronomy. I don't have a clue."

"The brightest star in the constellation Lyra," she reads out loud. "I thought it was Sirius, also named the Dogstar, but it doesn't fit." She rolls the pen between her fingers, completely focused. Then a triumphant smile widens on her mouth as she jots down four letters.

"Got it. V-E-G-A. Vega. There you are." She gives back the paper with a wink.

"You simply got lucky. I had nearly completed it," John complains disheartened.

"Can't you two be quiet for just one second?" Sherlock loses it suddenly and springs to his feet.

Giulia turns to him with a mortified look on her face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Too late," he spits out scornfully and marches out of the room, stepping nonchalantly on the coffee table.

"Don't worry about him: he's just nervous because he can't find a proper case," John explains with a grimace.

"But a thousand clients visited him during the past week," she protests.

"Nothing interesting, in his opinion. He is still waiting for a good murder to come up," he finishes the sentence and frowns. "It didn't sound good, did it?"

"I've learnt not to ask questions and pretend I didn't hear anything." She shrugs innocently. She has learned that inexplicable murders and mind-boggling enigmas are a very common source of excitement at 221 Baker Street.