Hi. Thank you for being one of the few to click on this fic! This is supposed to be an eccentric take on a super cliché story concept which I thought would be perfectly fitting for a Johnlock AU. Before I start rambling, enjoy!
Cheers erupted through the pitch black hall. Each voice resonated off the stained brick walls. Permeating the air, the pungent odour of adolescent adrenaline accompanied the stench of 50 or so years of spilled lunches merging in a nauseating fusion. Stifling heat rose with the anxiety building up within the students. A sudden light burst onto the stage which appeared to be collapsing on itself, warped with splinters and dents; creaking in agony under the weight of a simple drum kit. Even so, the aging school's guests, the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, marched to centre stage before beginning their performance, as the awkwardly serious looking drummer began with much precision…
…
"Just shut up already!" Out of annoyance, a scalpel found its way into being lodged into the door to one of the science labs. Not a single workbench was vacant of some variation of experiment; eyes submerged in hydrochloric acid; lungs being continually pumped with helium; spleens with multiple slits carved in. The list of experiments was most likely endless; if you could think of any experiment to be conducted on biological components, likelihood is it has at some point in this very room. It had long since been disregarded by the faculty due to various impracticalities and the fact that one of their smartest and most eccentric students had practically moved in. After moments of shuffling and grunting, a mass of unruly brunette hair rose from under the crumbling desk farthest from the victim-door. Cerulean eyes glared at the chunk of blunt metal before, with a reluctant grumble, the boy trudged over to the door to retrieve his scalpel.
"Just shut up with the recycled lyrics, stolen riffs and psychotic fangirls already!" His left eye began twitching in agitation as he plucked the utensil from the already splintering wood and returning to his previous location before launching it again. His annoyance couldn't be repressed any longer, the agitating notes resonated infuriatingly within his head; each lyric surged at his brain cells until they slowly withered away in agony. He decided, before his only likable feature dissipated, to pull out his violin from the storage cupboard by the old chalkboard which was now adorned with various equations and more visibly, sheet music. With superhuman haste, the victim of such relentless attack by distasteful music began playing so zealously in attempt to eradicate the viral auditory poison that seeped through heavily stained tiles from the hall which unfortunately resided underfoot.
…
After what seemed like the longest performance of his life, the drummer excused himself from the classroom that had been assigned to them as the school's equivalent of a greenroom. It appeared to be a shabby music room full of damaged monitors, pianos with keys missing and gaping holes in the walls which seriously concerned the drummer. Darting through hallways, the awkwardly mature boy ran in search of a quiet classroom. It was lunch and all the classrooms seemed to be full at this time. As much as it would be easier to go to one of the classrooms behind the school that were isolated from the main building but he didn't particularly feel like being assaulted by savage, hormonal teenagers today!
After finding himself reunited with the main hall which was now filled with the music of some amateur students, almost unnoticeable music began to reach his ears. There wasn't a music room, from what he saw, anywhere nearby which flooded him with curiosity. Although the head teacher explicitly said to stay on the ground floor, the band member ignored the nagging of his conscience and began climbing the scuffed and damaged stairs. No wonder guests were forbidden to leave the ground floor; the banister had large burn marks engraved in, chunks missing and what he understood to be blood the further up he went. As violin music grew closer, any sort of music room in the school increased in distance from him piquing his curiosity even further. From what he noticed, from here upwards was all science rooms however one door especially caught his attention. "SAFETY HAZARD" in sloppily scribbled letters was printed onto the door in permanent marker which seemed awfully suspicious since the music appeared to be at its loudest here.
Cautious fingers swiftly swung the door open and in a frenzy of crashes and fast paced movement, the band member managed to avoid contact with the scalpel that hurled itself towards his face. A few unfortunate hairs sprinkled to the ground before the teen opened eyes which had scrunched shut out of surprise. Teal met Cerulean as both boys stared at each other in bewilderment.
"Doesn't anyone ever learn to read?" The voice broke the painfully extended silence.
"Sorry I just heard- Wait, what are you doing in an off-limits lab?"
"What does it look like? I'm avoiding the school's annual Big Gig," the irritated voice answered, swerving around the invader to retrieve his scalpel. The pristine wooden instrument remained in his hand with the bow tucked into one of the belt loops of his trousers which was rather strange for the drummer.
"This classroom is off limits."
"For someone who has spent very little time in a secondary school, you're rather observant." The drummer seemed rather awestruck at the statement. How could this boy, who he's only just met and barely said a word to, know something like that? Was this person a fan? Could his band acquire such eccentric fans?
"Please return to your designated room before I'm not so generous with my aim," he added, running his hand through wild, chocolate locks.
Before even thinking, he'd already entered to room. Regrettably so, it would seem.
Gazing around, all he could see were mutilated organs disguised as experiments and what he could see to be bullet holes in the wall. In all honesty, this boy didn't appear threatening. He was just your typical anti-social teen with not so typical hobbies.
"Hi, I'm John," he greeted, offering a hand for a handshake which wasn't even noticed since the teen had started peering into a microscope, clearly infatuated with what was presented to him on the slide.
"Sherlock." Once again, cerulean met teal, this time accompanied by awkwardly polite smiles.
I originally planned this fic to have multiple chapters but I probably won't be able to finish it due to loss of motivation (much like my others) which means it will remain a one-shot unless people show an interest in this AU. If you want to find out what happens next then either review or message me so I know people actually care about how it ends then I'll start producing regular chapters. Reader support means there will be more Johnlock and a proper story-line. Again, it means a hell of a lot to me that you've decided to read this fic so please, continue being the super awesome person you are! -Ashe