Sunday, 19 February 2012
06:57:38 PM (GMT)
For about a week after Sherlock's note, John Watson barely looked at the dark figure
who already seemed to know him better than he knew himself. A boy in the upper 6th,
a prefect named Greg, consoled him that he was like it to everyone, and that if he
was ignored, he'd stop, but something nagged at John's mind. Something that he hated
Sherlock for, but... He was oddly intruiged.
Sherlock didn't particularly mind being ignored by John. He was used to it, after
all. But before the scholarship student had been introduced to the popular kids,
there was a small part of him that had hoped- No, not really hoped, but wondered,
certainly, whether he might actually find someone to engage in intelligent
conversation with. But no. As per usual, he was left eating his meagre lunch in the
corner, on his own.
Every evening, he walked home alone, discarded even by his brother, who could have
easily waited for him, since he only attended the neighbouring university. This
particular Thursday evening, however, something was different. The gate was left
slightly open. Mycroft would never do that... Far too much of a perfectionist for
Sherlock slid through the gap in the gate, closing and bolting it behind him, and
listened to the crunch of gravel as he took long, confident strides towards his front
door. Again, the mat in front of the door was out of place. Kicked by a left foot
and not corrected. He frowned, entering his home and immediately looking to the coat
room. An extra blazer. Too small for Mycroft or himself. He would assume it was
one of Mycroft's friends, but they were just as rare a breed as his own. Followers
were more accurate. Yes, probably a follower. A small, left handed follower, with a
military background and blonde hair.
He shook his head, his long dark curls bouncing as he walked up the stairs three at a
time, draping his own blazer over the banister. It would annoy Mycroft later, and
he'd put it away, saving Sherlock the effort. He paused outside his door, though.
The door was open. He always left it closed.
"Mycroft, get out or I'll tell Mu-" He stopped in his tracks as he entered his room,
face to face with a rather startled looking blonde boy, and his brother lounging on
his bed, a cup of tea in his hand.
"Afternoon, Sherlock. You're late. Caught up with Anderson again?"
"John Watson." Sherlock said. The first words he'd said to the boy since, well...
John shifted on his feet, taking a step back from Sherlock, "Yes, sorry..."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, looking over him quickly, "Anderson sent you? If he has
more homework for me, I'm not doing it. But you're not here with homework... You
want to ask me something? About that time in maths?"
John stood perfectly still, his heels together, and his mouth hanging open, "How did
"Never mind Watson, you'll not understand." Mycroft said, getting up with an
exaggerated groan, and strolling out, closing the door behind him. John swallowed,
shaking his head to clear it.
"Sorry... Yes, I wanted to ask how you knew? Greg told me you do it to everyone
before they can get a chance to like you, which is why you're always..."
"I knew because I notice things."
"People can be incredibly revealing without meaning to be. It's rather annoying,
actually, since I just state the obvious, and everyone gets offended... People can
be so dull..." Sherlock trailed off, dropping his bag on the floor, in amongst the
rest of his organised chaos.
"Well... It was Afghanistan, if you still wanted to know... Last October."
"Thought so, I just wasn't sure enough to say. So how's your sister?"
"My sis-? I never said anything about her..."
"I know, but you're borrowing her phone, aren't you? You dropped yours? And you
didn't look as smart as you should on your first day, so clearly someone, an older
sister, in your case, told you what not to do. She was popular too, wasn't she?"
"That's.... That's amazing..."
Sherlock frowned, picking up his violin from its case and plucking a quick D minor
scale. "That's not what everybody else said... But then, nobody else got past more
than a few sentances without telling me to piss off..."
John couldn't be sure, but there may or may not have been a small smile of
satisfaction tugging at the corners of Sherlock's mouth as he played a few bars of
music. It could have been because he'd got everything he'd said about John Watson
More likely, the fact that he had got through a whole conversation, as opposed to the
usual three sentances.
Last edited: 19 February 2012