Author's Note:Nothing much to say really, except that rating may change as the story progresses and this first chapter is for the purpose of introduction/background.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1: The Start of Something New
As my brother will undoubtedly tell you (Mycroft never could learn to stay out of my business), it is of the most vital importance that no matter what, I must never be disturbed in the middle of an experiment. So when there was a loud THUD from downstairs (causing me to add more than the precise amount of glucose to my solution), you can imagine I was annoyed. Well like many other imbeciles, you'd be wrong.
I was livid. In fact so livid, I raced down the stairs to give the source of the disruptions a piece of my mind.
Upon my descent, I discovered the source of the commotion and just as I was about to chastise the doomed individual, I realised the words had just up and left my brain as easily as they had risen to the surface.
This should have been a warning in itself, nothing and certainly no-one, as much as Mycroft certainly tried to, could get Sherlock Holmes to hold back.
After what had seemed like hours, yet in actuality only mere moments, my brain eventually rebooted itself and began to process the scene and for the life of me I could not understand my brain's rash reaction. There was a small Transit van parked outside that I could see clearly see from my vantage point on the stairs (shabby state- indicative of low quality, hired by someone who clearly did not earn enough to go with more respected/higher quality company) half filled with boxes and a boy not much older than Sherlock himself judging by his height (slightly smaller than national average though not to a great extent) who was currently occupying himself with picking up textbooks (biology, bio-chemistry, English Literature and history) that now filled the narrow hallway, the now discarded box off to the side, showing that after several attempts of trying to manuever it in the doorway (flakes of paint matching that of the frame of the door on the scuff marks covering the sides of the forgotten box), the bottom had given out thus the multitude of books that now adorned the hallway.
Despite ascertaining the source of the disruption, I still could not fathom why I had reacted I did upon my arrival at the scene and as in other times of frustration, I let out an exasperated sigh, causing the boy to finally acknowledge my presence. He looked up at me and smiled (unusual, strangers don't normally react to my sudden appearances with such positivity- quite the opposite in fact, particularly when I catch them doing something that they ought not to be. Conclusion: unsure, more evidence needed, not enough data).
He then proceeded to stand up wiping his dusty hands on his jeans, drawing attention to his well toned legs (result of regular sporting activity- most likely football… Wait. Well toned? How did that thought enter my deductions? Irrelevant information. Delete), avoiding the dropped books and came over to me with his hand outstretched and shook my own, causing unprecedented shockwaves throughout my body (must investigate further).
The most alarming and intensely blue coloured eyes I had ever come across before looked directly into my own, seemingly to my core (never felt so open and bare before to anyone, even in the presence of Mycroft who always had an annoying knack of reading me like a book at his leisure) but this stranger's gaze felt different to that of my infuriating brother. Instead of an invasion of my mind, it felt more like I was inviting this boy to see the whole of me which is an unusual phenomenon to say the least.
Just when I felt that there was nothing else about this boy to startle me, he spoke just a sentence introducing himself, which (rather embarrassingly) elicited an unprecedented increase in my heart rate and shivers down my spine which I had to extend a lot of effort into ensuring he did not see my reaction. All he said was: 'The name is John Watson, you must be Sherlock Holmes.'
The words he spoke were neither life changing or astounding, at least that's what I led myself to believe. So why did it feel like, when he opened his mouth to say these words, that the life I knew was being thoroughly desecrated and something wholly unfamiliar and somewhat exciting was being built from the remains? That the world had started turning in the opposite direction? That my polarities were being reversed?
Either way, nothing would ever be the same again.
Author's Note: Reviews are to fanfiction writers as nicotine patches are to Sherlock, jumpers to John and Mycroft to his umbrellas, so please just spare a minute or two to tell me what you think, constructive criticism, the usual?
Thank you!