A/N: This is the first fanfic I've written, so don't be too harsh :) this chapter is short because I'd like to see the reception it gets before I post more. Enjoy, R&R!
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson managed their way through the crowd of high-strung teenagers towards the entrance of the school. The final bell had rung just moments prior, signaling the beginning of summer break. The excitement was thick enough in the air to almost become tangible. The students roamed in packs, vying towards the door to be freed from the mundane repetition of studies and classes in favor of seven weeks of unscheduled bliss. John shared this electric anxiousness along with his classmates. Sherlock, however, carried on with his usual air of nonchalance and boredom.
John let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he turned to Sherlock and said "It's about damn time for classes to be out. Feels like we've been in year eleven for ages. This summer, Sherlock Holmes, will be the best summer of our high school careers. Don't doubt that for a bloody second."
Sherlock smirked "So, she finally replied to one of your text messages?"
"Nothing gets past you, Holmes."
Molly Hooper was carrying a sizeable stack of books that had previously had a home in her locker that were now destined back to the bookshelf in her bedroom. About half of them were gifts from teachers, wishing her well in her next year and asking her to please visit and keep them up to date on her progress. Molly didn't want to admit that she had become a bit of a teacher's pet. As she attempted to steer through the bustling hall, a shoulder came into forceful contact with her back, sending the books in her grasp flying to the ground. Her face reddened from embarrassment while she gathered all her books back into her hands. If this was any sign of how her summer would be, she would rather just sleep it through.
"No! Sherlock, you idiot! You're supposed to flank me while I scope the room for the enemy team! Bloody hell, that's the third death this round that you could have prevented!"
"I don't see why it matters; it's merely a video game. Meant to pass time. Not enough mental stimulation playing the way you prefer. Employing accounted-for military tactics into the strategy makes it more interesting."
"Yeah well your strategy seems to be 'how many times can I make sure John Watson gets shot?'"
"Merely a casualty. It's not real nonetheless. As if you would ever find yourself shot at in a war."
"What's that supposed to mean? I could very well be shot if I went to war!"
"You have all intentions of becoming a medical man. Army doctors statistically suffer from less gunshot wounds than most other field-related occupations in a war zone."
"You're a right git, you know that?"
"I've been told."
John stood from his position on the floor and headed toward the kitchen. "I'm about to make a sandwich. You want one?"
"No thank you." Sherlock muttered as he felt a vibration in his pocket.
You know where to find me. Come and rejoin the game.
John walked into the living room with two plates when he noticed Sherlock wasn't there. With a sigh, he put the sandwiches in baggies and left a note for his mother.
With Sherlock. Don't worry. Ill check in before dinner. Love you.