CHAPTER 1.
Rise and shine beautiful people, it's Gossip Girl, here to harken in a new year, a new term and (for many of you) a new start here at Mycroft Academy.
To think it's been a full eight weeks since last you heard from me. What can I say, duty called. While you were all enjoying the summer sun, cocktails and a life of leisure, some of us had rumors to stir, marriages to end and a certain astronomy professor to sack.
Gossip never ceases, so neither can I.
Speaking of astronomy, word on the street is that, in amongst all those new lower sixth students I'll be so eager to knock down a peg or two in the coming weeks, Mycroft is to play host to the son of a rather prominent public figure. Of course, where would the mystery be if I named names, but I'm sure at least this one you can figure out on your own - and, get this, he doesn't quite understand our place in the universe.
Read between the lines, dear readers.
But, alas, time is running short and the school bell is waiting to ring. Be sure to have fun catching up with one another (though I know all there is to be caught up on as it is), and remember: I only live while your lives stay interesting.
Make the first day memorable, Mycroft.
xoxo Gossip Girl.
For John Watson, seeing those imposing black gates, the portal between reality and the academy, it was like coming home.
Summer had been long and uneventful. As was customary, he'd spent time with his brother, Harry, down in Cornwall. They had sun, they had drink, they had women, and they'd had six weeks to lap it all up. Though while his brother couldn't get enough, he soon found himself yearning to be elsewhere as the novelty wore off, like it always did.
As soon as he crossed over from London into Mycroft, the familiarity swept over him, as if he was reunited with a long lost friend. Fellow students bustled about, bags slung over their shoulders, coffees in one hand and phones in the other. Nearly every student to meet his eye offered some form of greeting, were it a simple nod or a full outspoken "hello", and John returned the gesture with a glowing smile he couldn't help but wear on his face.
He strolled up the white steps of Mycroft's main hall, through its bold wooden doors and into the chaos, as old and new students hurried around, desperately trying to get ahold of their new timetables and make their way to first period.
"Oi, Watson!"
John looked around for the familiar voice, and saw Irene standing over by one of the many boards covered in individual students' lesson plans.
"Oi, Adler!" he shouted back at her with a grin, and she beckoned him over with her hand, returning the smile.
"Before you start worrying you're gonna have to dive into that mess," she said as he walked up to her, pointing over at a mass of students fighting to get close to one of the boards, "you needn't bother, as I have already procured yours."
She flashed one of her beaming smiles and handed John over his timetable.
"Why thank you," he said back, glancing over his schedule. "Brilliant! First two periods, I have nothing."
Irene grimaced. "Alright for some, isn't it? I've been landed with double Chemistry and then double Maths, all on a Monday morning. How sadistic is that?"
John laughed and patted Irene on the shoulder, giving her a mock-sympathy look. "Well Irene, what can I say. That's the price you pay for being a smart-arsed bitch with a superiority complex."
Irene gasped, mouth dropping, and slapped John's hand away. "How dare you John!" she exclaimed, hand on heart and feigning injury. "I'm hurt, really I am," she continued, "but, for the record, it's not a complex darling, it's a fact."
John just laughed again, and noticed that the hall had began clearing out as students made their way to their first lesson of the new term. "Look, no doubt we'll catch up at lunch and you can tell me all about your trip round...what country was it this time?"
Irene raised an eyebrow in a shamefully suggestive manner. "Oh, it was La belle France, Watson, la très belle France with its très beaux hommes and their très beaux tans and muscles."
With an eyeroll, John replied "Well, yes, you can tell me all about that at lunch then, but perhaps spare me the gory details?"
Irene winked. "Don't worry, I don't want to make you jealous."
John chuckled before turning on the spot and walking away, calling back "What exactly is there to be jealous of again?"
He smiled as he rounded the corner on his way to the dormitories, and heard Irene protest back at him "John Watson, I swear to God, you are the most dreadful man...!"
Strolling across the courtyard, John remembered how Mycroft even smelled different to the rest of London. Its circumference was covered with a massive stone wall, sealing it off from the rest of the city, and in the academy's little bubble everything seemed more vibrant and more alive to him. The grass greener, the water clearer, the air fresher, the sun brighter... John really did love this place, and his place in it.
He stopped outside the building containing the boys' dormitories, staring at its massive size and seemingly-ancient gothic architecture. It was located in the North-East quarter of the academy's estate, while the girls' dormitories were in the North-West.
"Ah, our Lord and Master returns!" came Mrs. Hudson's voice as she walked out of the entrance to the dorms, holding out her arms.
John walked up to her with a smile, hugging her fondly. "Ah Mrs. Hudson, it's good to be back. Summer was too long."
She released him from her grip and looked him up and down. "I see you've got a bit of a tan there John!" she said, delighted, before she knotted her brow. "Though, you've gotten a bit...thin..."
John grunted. "Yeah, a diet of very little food, a lot of alcohol and next-to-no rugby training can do this to you, it would seem."
Mrs. Hudson crossed her arms and looked stern. "Now, you listen to me boy, just because you're King of the Castle here at Mycroft doesn't give you the right to go off like some crazed playboy out there in the big bad world, you hear me?"
While she meant well, John had a hard time not giggling slightly at Mrs. Hudson's motherly concern. Being head of the boys' dormitories meant she was in charge of keeping them all in check, making sure they kept the place tidy and weren't out of order. What with John being captain of the academy's internationally renowned rugby squad, it also meant she spent a lot of time waiting on John whenever he was bed-bound with an injury. Which turned out to be quite a lot of the time, as John was unnaturally accident-prone.
"It's okay ma'am," he began, "there was no 'playing around' this summer. My brother does enough of that for the both of us..."
Mrs. Hudson made a noise, not entirely convinced, before remembering something. "Oh yes! Your brother called, actually, and he's had someone deliver all your things to your room for you to unpack."
"Great," John replied, "and that reminds me: which dorm am I in this term?"
"You're down the Baker Street corridor, room 221B. It's a two-man dorm. I can't quite remember who you're sharing with, but I'm sure you'll meet him later on this evening as it is," she replied.
John smiled. "Cheers Mrs. H. Anyway, I should probably go and unpack... Two free periods to start the new term with. Not bad going!"
Again, Mrs. Hudson didn't look convinced. "Are you lying to me, John Watson? Playing truant are we? That good for nothing brother of yours best not be putting ideas into your head..."
John's morning passed rapidly. He'd managed to unpack not even half of his things before he needed to head out for his first lesson of the day, double Fitness. He caught up with all the lads in the changing rooms before they headed out and tossed a ball around the field, all amazed at how much their summers had affected their fitness levels - John's stamina had plummeted, and after an hour of ball exercises and gentle jogging he was already beginning to feel the strain. A few weeks in the gym would get him back on form, he thought.
He headed back over to the academy's white stairs at lunchtime to meet Irene, who'd already gone to the trouble of grabbing him a coffee and a sandwich from the deli across the road from the academy.
"Not in the mood for cafeteria food today, are we?" John asked her.
"God no," she replied, looking disgusted. "That stuff's just about edible at the best of times, and besides, it was something with tuna in it today. And you know what I'm like about fish."
John made a face. "I happen to like tuna!"
"Well, that's tough," Irene shot back, "because I refuse to sit here with someone whose breath reeks of death. Besides, I got you that chicken and bacon baguette you're so fond of."
"Oh," John said, raising an eyebrow and unwrapping the baguette. "Well, I suppose I can forgive you," he added with a smile.
Everybody's phones began vibrating and beeping and whirring into life.
Irene's face lit up and she clapped her hands together. "At last, the first GG text of the new term!"
John smiled at her enthusiasm, and checked his own phone. He didn't really pay Gossip Girl that much heed, but he'd still subscribed simply because he would get too much grief off of Irene had he not.
Hello everyone. Enjoy playing catch-up?
I notice some newbies have yet to subscribe to me. Be dears and keep them up to speed, would you? Can't have too much social suicide now, can we?
But did you hear.
The prodigal son has arrived, and with the sun as high in the sky as it is right now, let's hope he's willing to acknowledge its existence today.
Be sure to make him feel welcome, like Drew Barrymore did for E.T., because alien's exactly what you're dealing with.
xoxo Gossip Girl
John looked up from the text and over at Irene. "I read about this new guy on her blog this morning. Who is he? She's not exactly letting on much..."
Irene scoffed at him. "Jeez Watson, how stupid are you today? It's the son of Doctor Holmes. That's the new kid!"
He thought to himself for a moment. "Wait, Doctor Holmes. The Doctor Holmes? As in the the owner of half of London's property? The estate agent socialite legend?"
Irene nodded. "That's the man, though apparently his son is nothing like him. From what I've heard, the Doctor won't take him to any events or social gatherings he has... He's ashamed of him."
"Ashamed?" John asked.
"Yeah," Irene continued, "because his son literally couldn't care less about any of that. He's always scruffily dressed, rude-mannered and ill-tempered. Or, at least, that's what Gary told me."
"Huh. He sounds interesting, if you ask me," John said, taking a bit of his baguette. "Wait, who's Gary?"
"Oh!" Irene put her hands to her mouth and her eyes lit up. "Well," she began, placing her hands on John's knees and leaning in, "he's this rather dashing young man I get to spend the next term sitting across from in Chemistry. Him and his family are always invited to the Holmes' parties, so he's in a great position for all the gossip. And while I listen to him ranting on about that, I get to stare at his perfectly formed jaw and enticing eyes! God, I'm glad women can multi-task..."
John put his head in his hands. "You and the fellas, Irene... I swear, our sex isn't safe with you on this Earth."
Irene gave a wicked smile at that comment, and John just burst out laughing.
John couldn't believe the time when he looked down at his watch and it was already 4:30pm.
The first day back at the academy always seemed to fly by, with lessons not really being lessons, more an excuse for the students to sit around and talk to each other, as well as the teachers to introduce themselves. Having now met his new teacher in Biology and Physics for the year, which incidentally turned out to be the same man, he knew he was going to hate every second of both of them - Dr. Milverton was an old-fashioned piece of work, whose methods of teaching were as dull as his monotone voice. Good thing he enjoyed the subjects themselves, Watson thought, else he may as well not bother attending class.
As he made his way back over to his room, his phone sounded from in his pocket.
Text Message: Irene Adler.
I know who your new roommate is!
Be nice, mister, and try not to be put off like the rest of us.
Adler xx
John wondered what she meant to himself, walking up the stairs to the Baker Street corridor. He must be one of the newer students, he thought, as Irene was acting all mysterious. It was either that, or he'd been landed with someone he downright hated, like that Moriarty guy in his Fitness class.
He opened the door to his room to discover that his bed had been now fully made, and the rest of his clothes from the morning had been tidied away; the work of Mrs. Hudson, no doubt.
The dorms at Mycroft were more like full on studio apartments. Every dormitory had the same layout: a large square room with two separate beds in the top corners, each bed with its own bedside table and lamp; a wardrobe against the wall at the foot of the bed; a desk next to the wardrobe; a large window on the wall in between the two beds, directly opposite the door, which (in his case) overlooked the courtyard. There was a large amount of wall and floor space, which John was always grateful for; photos he'd take over the year would decorate the walls, and the floor space was always valuable for his exercises, and his dirty laundry. He wasn't exactly the cleanest person.
As Mrs. Hudson had chosen to set him up on the left hand side bed, he walked over and sat down on it, staring across at the other bed which had one large, black leather suitcase dumped on top of it. The suitcase was old, clearly a hand-me-down, scratched and used to within an inch of its life, and the arms of unfolded shirts and the legs of unfolded jeans hung out from inside it, as if the clothes had all just been shoved in there and the suitcase closed in a hurry.
For a reason John couldn't explain, he felt the need to unpack it. He figured whoever his roommate was, they didn't seem to be appearing anytime soon, and John thought they'd appreciate it if he unpacked for them.
He got up of his bed and walked up to the suitcase, throwing the lid open and staring at the mess inside. He couldn't believe Mrs. Hudson had allowed whoever this was onto the premises, hating untidiness as she did. He set up the ironing board that was hung behind the door, and got to work ironing each item of clothing from the stranger's suitcase, folding it up and piling them neatly on top of their bed.
"You wear a lot of white shirts and black trousers, mate," he said aloud to himself as he went, and when he'd finished the last shirt, he noticed a small black book at the bottom of the suitcase. He picked it up, checked the inside cover, and saw it read Property of S.H.
"Well," John said out loud again, "I may not know who you are, but at least I know your initials."
"Sherlock Holmes."
John nearly squealed, jumping and turning around lightening fast, dropping the book. The guy who spoke the words was standing in the doorway, wild curly dark hair, a thin almost-gaunt white face. The guy was tall, taller than he was, yet obviously younger, and he wore a long dark trench coat that seemed to swallow his entire body, complete with a red woolen scarf around his neck.
"S-Sorry?" John asked back, still slightly surprised.
The stranger walked in and looked at the folded clothes on the bed. "I see you took the liberty of rifling through my suitcase and disturbing my things. A bit...intimate a thing to do for someone you've never met, is it not?"
John couldn't believe how deep, dark and somehow soft his voice was. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking... I was bored, and yes... Well..."
"Do you do that often?" the guy asked him, and John blinked. "Not think, do you do that often?"
"Uh..." John hesitated. "I'm sure a lot of people would say I do, yes," he finally finished with a smile.
The stranger looked at him, perplexed. "How I envy you," he said.
John stared back at him, looking directly into his eyes, eyes that seemed to see straight through him, clinical and factual, almost cold and robotic. They were different colours, one more green than the other, blue. "Your name," John began, realising he was staring too much, "your name... Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yes," he replied matter-of-factly, "and it would appear, for now, that the address is 221B Baker Street Corridor, Mycroft Academy. I take it you are who I'm sharing my room with? John Watson?"
John blinked again. "Uhm, yes. That's me, hi," he replied, walking forward to shake Sherlock's hand. Sherlock grasped his and shook, and John noted how large his hands were. "H-How did you know my name?" he asked.
Sherlock looked at him like he was braindead. "The man I'll be spending the next year of my life sharing a room with? You expect me not to find out a little about you beforehand?"
John frowned, confused. "But...how did you manage it? I like to think I know pretty much everything and everyone here, yet I couldn't find out that I'd be sharing a dorm with you this year."
"Oh?" Sherlock asked, with a bemused grin.
"Mycroft normally keeps that under wraps," John continued, "until you actually meet the person face to face, to save them from any disagreements or bickering... Y'know, in case people don't like who they've been paired with..."
Sherlock smiled, but his eyes did not. "I knew that about you, the academy's... icon, if you will."
John was sure that, had anyone else said that to him, it would've been meant as a compliment. From this Sherlock guy, however, it felt more like an accusation, even an insult. "What has that got to do with...? Icon..?"
Sherlock looked down at their hands, which still held onto each others'. John followed his look, and quickly broke the grip, embarrassed, digging his hands into his pocket and walking over to sit down on his bed. He looked up, and Sherlock was still staring at him. No, staring into him, this intense and dangerously inquisitive look that made John feel like he was a children's book Sherlock could read effortlessly.
"Every student at this academy and every teacher acknowledges you when you walk past them," Sherlock began, "so it's obvious they all know who you are, and that you've made quite the name for yourself here. The way you walk around this place, comfortable and sure of yourself, you clearly know every corner of it; it's like you're the personification of it. You not only unpacked my suitcase, but you ironed and folded my clothes, and while I'll do my best to make sure I make them scruffy again, you did this like it was the most natural thing in the world. This academy's routine and expectations are a part of you."
John blinked.
"Add to this," Sherlock continued, "that you're the head of Mycroft's rugby team, and that your best friend is the academy's very own "it" girl...not to the mention the frankly alarming familiarity you and Mrs. Hudson seem to share with one another, despite her position in this country's rather medical and impersonal education system... and, well, yes. I think it's fair to say you are a perfect representation and product of this academy."
Sherlock raised his eyebrow at John, as if to say "Did I miss anything?", and John tasted something sour inside his mouth. Sherlock made him sound like such a...robot.
"That's a lot to be leveling at someone you've only just met," he responded at last.
"I like to think my first impressions are unique," Sherlock answered back, before throwing himself camply onto his bed and laying on his back, collecting his small black book that John had dropped on the floor.
John rested his elbows on his knees, and his chin on his hands, glancing back over at the odd stranger. While he could take what he'd said the wrong way and be put off that his personality, to this guy, was simply an extension of Mycroft Academy, he decided he wasn't worth it, and found himself actually admiring Sherlock's blunt honesty.
"You're looking at me again," he heard him say, before looking away and apologising.
"I-I'm sorry," John stammered, blushing. "It's just...well, you're pretty...fascinating."
Sherlock shot him a look that John could only call utter surprise, and he found himself instantly regretting his choice of words. Fascinating? Fascinating? Had he ever told anyone in the world they were fascinating, let alone someone he just met?
"Y-You think I'm fascinating?" Sherlock asked back, his eyes alight with stunned appreciation. "Really? You're not...put off by me?"
John swallowed and took a minute before replying, partly to think of his answer and dig himself out of this hole, and partly because this Sherlock character seemed to have him, well, flustered. "Why would I be put off by you?" he finally asked back.
"Most people are. Most people don't say I'm fascinating." Sherlock smiled, sadly.
They'd only just met, but John had a sudden understanding of the man, like he'd known him for far longer. Sherlock was lonely, and Sherlock was used to rejection. "What do people normally say?" he asked, almost a little too softly.
Sherlock's smile weakened. "Piss off."
They sat in silence for a moment, still staring at each other across the room from their separate beds. For some unknown reason, John found himself chuckling.
"Do I amuse you?" Sherlock questioned him, perplexed.
John continued to giggle. "You do, yes," he replied, "but in a good way. Definitely in a good way." He sighed to himself, and smiled again over at Sherlock. "The robot and the alien, eh?"
Sherlock continued to look perplexed, and then John's phone sounded into life.
"Judging by the twenty or so people out in the courtyard who've also just checked their phones at the same time as you," Sherlock stated, "I gather Gossip Girl is broadcasting again."
"You know about Gossip Girl?" John asked him, surprised.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, standing up and walking over to sit down next to him on his bed. "Of course I do."
John pulled the phone out from his pocket, and the screen lit up.
So, Day One's been and gone. Are you back into the swing of things yet my dear Upper Sixth?
As for all you Lower Sixth, I'm so thrilled to see so many of you popping up on my mailing list. You sure know how to make a girl happy.
I can't believe it's been but a day, and already I have so much to share with you: everyone's favourite scandalous Bohemian has been making her way round France (and through its men); everyone's favourite James has already gathered up more requests for his expulsion than previously thought possible; and our very own resident celebrity, the son of Doctor Holmes, has gone and shacked up with our very own resident sports star in the boys' dormitories.
Now now girls, keep those fangirl squeals to a minimum please.
I hope to see you all bright and early tomorrow morning, gossiping away.
Until then, do your homework, be model citizens, and would someone please tell Mrs. Hudson that cerise is not her colour?
xoxo Gossip Girl
John looked back up at Sherlock, who seemed lost in thought. "Any questions?" he asked.
"Only one," Sherlock replied. "Why has your school bought into this?"
John threw his hands and the air with a smile. "I honestly couldn't tell you. The kids in this school, their obsession with all things material and media... They'll all have watched this show, and decided that they wanted in on the idea, and so some poor bugger's been given the task of spying on the lot of us and letting the rest of us know."
Sherlock grunted. "I suppose it keeps you from being bored."
"Well," John began, "you could say that. The only reason I'm on her mailing list is to check up on what she says on me. It's very rare I'm not included these days, in her texts and on her blog, so I like to know what she's spreading."
"It doesn't bother you," Sherlock asked, concerned, "that the majority of the student body out there know your affairs?"
John shrugged. "Not really, no. Especially when mine are almost always out done by Irene's..."
"Ah," Sherlock sounded with the raise of an eyebrow, "the scandalous Bohemian I take it?"
"How did you...?" John paused for a moment.
Sherlock grinned. "It was hardly a chore to deduce. I remember the headlines earlier in the summer, 'A Scandal In Bohemia'. You can't be as...liberal as she is and not get attention, especially when your mother controls nearly every art institution in the country."
John smirked. "Don't tell me this means you know who else she's on about too then?"
"Well, there's you and me at the end there," Sherlock countered, "how is that not obvious? Though I haven't been here long enough, or this James character simply isn't interesting enough, for me to know anything about him yet. Care to fill me in?"
"James Moriarty," John all but groaned, "or Jim, to most of the student body. A right piece of work, him. Utterly brilliant, don't get me wrong, wickedly clever and a damn fine sportsman..."
Sherlock looked interested. "But...?" he pressed.
"But," John continued, "there's something wrong about him. I mean, he's your standard tearaway student; his parents have more money than sense, he's set for life, so why should he care about an education, and he lets his teachers know this. It's just...it doesn't end there. Things happen around that guy, bad things. No one's ever sure or not if he's involved or not, and he doesn't go out of his way to dispel suspicion."
Sherlock looked away from him then, and John watched as a smile slowly spread across his face. "Sounds like my kind of guy," he whispered.
John was confused. "Wait, what does that mean?"
Sherlock looked back at him. "I'm sorry?"
"You said," John replied, "you said he was 'your type of guy'? What does that... I mean, do you... Are you...?"
Sherlock made a face. "Come on now John, get to the point, don't dawdle."
John was flustered. "No, I mean..! Like...relationships and...stuff. And. Are you... I mean, do you swing...?"
Sherlock's expression didn't change. "Still not following you."
"GAY!" John all but shouted, finally spitting the word out, before recoiling and taking a moment to cool off. "Are you gay, is what I meant."
Sherlock burst out laughing, causing John to all but fall off the bed in shock. "John, really? You thought that's what I meant?"
John made to speak, but kept his mouth shut in the end and let Sherlock speak.
"I literally meant that he sounded interesting," the other guy said, "as in someone I'd like to keep an eye on, learn more about, purely for my own want of understanding people...not that I would actively go out and pursue someone like that!"
John blushed and began spouting apologies.
"There's no need to apologise, John," Sherlock stopped him, "and, besides, would it matter if I were?"
John's eyes widened. "What? No! Of course not! It's all...fine. I mean, really. I have no problems with... It's all good, by me, really."
Sherlock smiled. "Glad to hear it, but you needn't worry. Relationships aren't my thing. The work, the learning, the chase, the adventure...that's where my interests lie."
John smiled back at him, ignoring the fact that he hadn't answered the question.