John Watson's War

Chapter One: The Good Shepherd

Saturday morning and John Watson clattered down the stairs of The Grove house, calling as he went, "Harcourt, White - get up boys, let's get breakfast and go out! It's a gorgeous day!"

"Get up?" James Harcourt, a slender, blond young man in Harrow-grey trousers and a blue jumper, stood at the foot of the stairs with his tea, grinning at the shorter boy barreling down towards him. "I've been up for an hour, Watson - maybe you have the time to take a little day-holiday, but that doesn't mean we all do. I've got more reading than could possibly be decent this early in term. Sixth form is going to be a right holy terror, I can already tell." John pulled up next to him, and Harcourt gave in to the temptation to ruffle his hair - the smaller boy always reminded him of a small, eager puppy, even as they both approached eighteen. "Don't you have work to do?"

John took the mug of tea out of his friend's hand and swallowed its contents quickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. "It can wait - come on, Harcourt, how many more free days are we going to have for the rest of our lives?"

"My tea! Bastard!"

"Too slow - you know how I am about my morning tea. But good God, man -what kind of girl are you, taking it with that much sugar?"

"Oh, Harcourt likes everything sweet." John looked up just in time to catch White's straw hat, coming at him fast from the top of the stairs. "Especially that girl Mary, from the cafe in town. Work? He's planning some skirt chasing and can't take the charming Mr. Watson with him, messing up his chances."

Harcourt snatched the hat from John, and sent it flying at the boy coming down the stairs, who caught it neatly.

William White arrived in The Grove front hall with a mischievous look in brown eyes set deeply under heavy brows. He was short, but stocky, easily outweighing both the other boys. "But I do have work, and must have breakfast. And tea, since you, Watson, seem to have drunk all the available tea in the room."

The three made their way out of the cavernous front hallway of The Grove, watched over by dark portraits of Headmasters past and lit only by the sunlight pouring through the front windows, and into the equally cavernous dining hall, already full of boys of various sizes and shapes in their blue jumpers, carrying armloads of books. "Good Christ," John said, looking over the crowd. "The first formers get smaller every year, don't they?"

"Ha! Half of them are taller than you, Watson - you were the smallest first former I've ever seen, and you haven't grown that much." White led them through the press to the sixth formers' table, which they were still getting used to.

"You're hardly taller than me," John said as he sat down.

"Yes, but I'm bigger." White tucked his napkin into his collar and picked up his fork. "God, I'm starving."

John reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup, added a bit of milk and brought it to his lips. "That fact is undeniable - both facts are undeniable - you are bigger than me, and always starving."

"My mum says I'm a growing boy," White commented, taking several rashers of bacon off the serving plate.

"Growing sideways, anyway." Harcourt sat down next to John, snatched up a piece of toast, then poured more tea into his empty mug. "And yes, I am going into town - briefly - to see Mary, but I still do have a lot of reading and I am not going to get behind this early."

"Oh, to hell with you both," John slurped down more tea. "I'm going for a walk and to hell with getting behind. This is it, boys. After this, all work and no play and we will certainly be dull."

"Fine talk for the man who has already been accepted into pre-med. The rest of us must blunder through as best we can in your academic shadow," Harcourt commented, his mouth full of toast. "I think that at least would keep you working on your sciences and maths today, Watson. I'll go into town, you go for your little stroll, and I'll meet you later in your room to study. Or out on the grass, if you insist on being outside."

"Actually," said a voice behind them, a woman's voice, "He'll be doing neither."

The boys turned to find Mrs. Hudson, their Matron, standing behind them with her hands on her hips. "I'll be needing Mr. Watson's help today - there's a new boy transferring into your form and Headmaster has asked specifically for Mr. Watson as his Shepherd." She put her hand on the boy's blond head. "You are just so good at it, John, making the new boys comfortable, you can't blame him."

John slipped sideways a bit 'til Mrs. Hudson's hand rested on his cheek. "But Maaaatroooon...I wanted to get outside today." He pouted cheerfully. He adored Mrs. Hudson - she had been the one who helped him settle in as the scholarship boy of his form, helped him learn that all the boys weren't rich prats bent on taking him down a peg. "Just be yourself, John," she had said that long ago night at the beginning of his first year as he knelt in front of her in her rocking chair, weeping with his head on her lap. "Be yourself and you'll find the people who appreciate who you are."

She had been right, of course, though there had been some run-ins with prats and bullies before Harcourt and White came along with their much more down-to-earth ways, and much more accepting friends. They didn't care that he didn't have designer clothes or the nicest computer, that he couldn't go on ski vacations with them, or that his school uniforms were second hand - though they did like to rib him that they were a bit oversized.

As he moved up in school, he gained the respect of many of his classmates, not only for being good at academics and brilliant at rugby, but also for being kind. He was always going out of his way, especially for the younger students, to make sure people were comfortable and happy at The Grove, and at Harrow. He was well-liked by his teachers, but no-one considered him a suck-up or a pet. Just a decent young man with a good head on his shoulders and a solid moral base. And for that reason, he was often called upon to Shepherd - to help new students find their feet.

Mrs. Hudson smiled down at him. "You're a good boy, John Watson. The new boy will be moving into the room across the hall from you, and we are counting on you to take good care of him. He's rather…" she paused, "challenging. Very, very bright, from a good old family, but I think he's a bit...lost...right now. Headmaster and I think you'll do him a lot of good."

"Anything for you, of course, Mrs. Hudson." John grabbed her hand and planted a saucy kiss on it. "When does he arrive?"

"Oh, I think he's already up there, actually, you naughty thing." Mrs. Hudson smacked John's head, lightly. "When you've finished your tea, you should go up and say hello, see if he has everything he needs, perhaps take him on that walk you wanted to have, around the grounds, or in town."

John poured himself more tea, and looked around for a second cup. "I'll bring him some tea, then. That's always a good way to break the ice."

"That's fine," said Mrs. Hudson, "but remember to bring your cups back down - I'm tired of finding empty ones scattered all over your room!"

"Yes, Matron." John stood with the two cups in hand. "Harcourt, White, do you want to come up with me?"

"No, not now," Harcourt wiped his hands and stood up as well. "I'm off to town."

"And I'm off to the library," White pushed back from the table, his lap covered in crumbs. "Lots to do. But we'll see you later, then, John?"

"Well, certainly by dinner," John stepped away, but Harcourt stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"And we still have plans to study later, yes?" the taller boy asked.

"Indeed - must get to those sciences and maths - doctors have to know all that. Let's get together after dinner in my room, and you can meet the new boy."

Harcourt frowned. "I suppose. I hate when you have to Shepherd - I feel like I never see you."

"Oh, don't be a baby. It's just for a bit, til he's sorted, then everything back to normal. I'll see you tonight. Oh, Mrs. Hudson - what's his name? That might be helpful."

"Of course," Mrs. Hudson smiled. "That would be helpful. Sherlock, dear. His name is Sherlock Holmes."