Saturday, 18 February 2012
09:26:52 PM (GMT)
A tall, dark haired boy stood outside the art block, leaning lazily against the wall
as he watched the reception with keen, bright eyes. A boy had entered about ten
minutes ago, a new boy, and he was due to come out soon. Fresh pupils usually only
took about ten to fifteen minutes understanding how the college worked. It wasn't
rocket science, after all.
The boy, blonde and short, came with a scholarship. Chemistry, at a glance. He had
hints of military upbringing- his stature, the way he spoke to people, his humour-
and it was clearly from his father's side. He had a sister. One he used to be close
to, but something had drawn them apart. What? He couldn't tell at that distance.
He was going to attempt to learn the clarinet. Without much sucess though. His
hands were more suited to a saxophone. His mouth, too.
The boy emerged, smiling nervously, and his teacher led him away. Classes hadn't
started yet, and they walked straight past the youngest Holmes boy, who turned with
them, pale grey eyes following closely as the grey haired teacher led the
textbook-laden student towards a group of boys who were laughing rowdily, casting
entertained looks at the dark figure, who was, no doubt, the butt of their jokes.
The boy, John Watson, was introduced, and was clearly quickly accepted into the group
of friends, laughing and joking with them as the teacher left them to it.
Superb. The Watson boy had been in the school for almost twenty minutes. The Holmes
boy had been there for nearly three years, and John Watson already had more friends
than he did.
Sherlock huffed, a small cloud of warm breath condensing in the wintry air around
him, and he turned up his coat collar, striding towards the Science block, listening
to the sound of rowdy laughter behind him, a new voice joining their midst.