A/N: I apologize for any historical inaccuracy in here. I did some research on this, but only what I could find online.
Synchronization
Chapter 1
Four years.
Sherlock eyed the contract presented to him with disdain. Was he truly considering signing the thing?
He had not been terribly surprised when approached at the bar by a recruiting sergeant, as they often preyed on the men they believed had enough reason to want to drink their problems away. He had been approached several times himself, both in disguise and out of, but most often, he merely sent them away. This one had been irritatingly persistent, and, too frustrated to care anymore, he reluctantly allowed the man to take up the seat next to him.
He'd begun by simply ignoring the man, hoping he would eventually take the hint and find some other poor sod who would sign his life away. Unfortunately, that had not been the case.
"I've no interest in spending this lifetime following orders," Holmes had finally stated, cutting the man of midsentence.
There was a slightly wry touch to the sergeants smile, and he nodded his head in understanding. "I understand. However, many things have changed in Her Majesty's army. Tell me, how is your wallet, sir?"
"My finances are hardly your business," the response was cool, though with an undercurrent of ice that made the man raise his hands in offer of piece.
"Of course, of course." He opened his satchel, flipping through papers until he removed the one he was looking for, setting it before Holmes. "I simply wish to bring some details to your attention. You see, I have here a contract for four years, only four, sir. With it comes a starting pay of a shilling and two pence per day."
Holmes snorted, taking his mug and sipping it. "I could make twice as much laying bricks, if not more."
"Ah, but your days rations are free, and neither will you have to pay for your shelter."
These were the words that brought the aspiring detective to a pause, his eyes flickering to the man. He had few worldly possessions, and those he did have, Mycroft had once offered to hold for him whilst he was attending his University. Perhaps the offer still stood. He'd no family to care for, and if he was not paying for a roof over his head, nor food, he could save a hefty sum of money, even with the meager pay.
Four years.
Four years until he could play the violin, or run his experiments. Four years of pain-staking boredom and routine, following orders. But the amount he could save in that time, he could really, truly start his business, without the help that his brother now refused to give. It was a shorter time, he believed, than he'd be able to manage whilst there in London.
Sharp grey eyes flickered to the sergeant, who offered him a pen.
Was it really worth it? Risking his life in this war, the boredom he knew he'd face, all to become the world's first private consulting detective?
Sherlock took the pen and signed his name.
