Wow. Okay. I've done oneshots of John and Sherlock before, but never a full-fledged fic before. This is going to be a new experience! Any feedback that you have to offer would be much appreciated. :D One thing I will say is that each chapter is going to be told from either John or Sherlock's perspective (still in third person, though). It changes every chapter, so hopefully it won't get too confusing. I'll always mark who's perspective it is. Hope you enjoy!~
Chapter One - John
John Watson sighed as he lugged his heavy suitcase up the stairs of the dorm building; his new home for the next year. Students were scurrying about with their parents at their heels. For once, John was relieved that his parents were dead. They would have hated this.
"Excuse me," He mumbled as he pushed past the crowds gathered around Mrs. Hudson, the resident director for their dorm.
It took forever for John to reach the dorm room that he had been assigned: 221B. He was relieved that he had been assigned to a room on the second floor instead of the sixth. Walking up two flights of stairs was much less miserable than walking up six.
John sighed heavily and dropped his bags. He looked around the dorm room thoughtfully. So this was home. His eyes came to rest on a tall, lanky figure standing on the other side of the room.
"Er, hello." He said awkwardly.
The boy on the other side of the room turned around. John's heart threatened to stop beating in his chest. The boy was gorgeous; absolutely gorgeous. Dark curls tumbled down from the top of his head, bright eyes bore into John, and muscular abs were threatening to tear through the ridiculously tight shirt that was tucked into equally tight pants.
"Hello," The boy repeated in a smooth, deep voice that sent a shiver through John, "Sherlock Holmes. You must be John Watson."
John had realized at some point during his junior year of high school that he was bisexual. That particular detail was currently coming to haunt him in the form of an unbelievably attractive roommate. Still, he didn't want to scare off his roommate, Sherlock. He didn't know how Sherlock would react upon discovering that John was bisexual and the very last thing that John wanted was to make things weird on their very first day living together.
He slowly nodded his head, feeling his face redden. "I, uh, John, yeah." He stammered awkwardly.
Sherlock smirked at him before turning around to resume unpacking. John scowled at the ground, irritated with himself. He was being so obvious. At least Sherlock was kind enough to pretend not to notice.
"Ah. Hello. Sherlock, have you introduced yourself to your new roommate?" A snobby voice came from the doorway.
John whipped around to see a tall man sporting an expensive suit and a pompous expression. He quirked an eyebrow and looked from the man to Sherlock inquisitively.
"Yes, Mycroft; I have. John, this is my insufferable brother, Mycroft. Mycroft, I suspect that you are already familiar with John Watson." Sherlock drawled in that voice of his, gesturing from Mycroft to John with what appeared to be a violin bow.
"Of course. It is a pleasure, John. Now, Sherlock; I have spoken to your resident advisor. His name is Gregory. He has promised to keep a watchful eye on you, as has Mrs. Hudson, who you are already familiar with. Even if you manage to get past Gregory and Mrs. Hudson - which I do not doubt - I have entered into an agreement with a number of your peers. I won't bore you with their names; just know that I will be receiving regular updates." Mycroft droned, sneering at Sherlock and largely ignoring John.
Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "Yes, alright, Mycroft. You've made your point. I'm sure that John is very intimidated -"
John gave an involuntary snort. Sherlock's mouth twitched into a smile before he continued speaking.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to unfinish packing and I'm sure you have a number of cakes to consume."
John tried to surpress a laugh while Mycroft scowled.
"Oh, Sherlock. I do hope that you grow out of this surly attitude. It is exhausting. John, I hope that you have more luck communicating with my younger brother. In the more likely event that he is equally difficult for you, here is my private phone number. Do not hesitate to call." Mycroft stated, handing John a business card before nodding his head curtly and exiting the room.
John turned to look at Sherlock with raised eyebrows. He had never met anyone with such a controlling sibling before. To his surprise, Sherlock was now focused on a large stack of books piled on his otherwise bare bed.
"Overprotective brother?" John prompted, hoping to get a decent conversation out of his roommate.
"Mmm." Sherlock agreed absently, turning around to resume unpacking.
John rolled his eyes and let out a silent sigh. Resigning to a date in which his gorgeous roommate did not pay any attention to him, John turned and began to unpack his own bags.
The silence was suffocating. John's mind was racing with questions and speculations on whether or not he should bother pursuing his unbearably attractive roommate. Sherlock did not seem very open to any type of flirtation. Friendship, then. John would just have to settle for friendship. The blond snuck a look at the clothes that Sherlock was unpacking and finally spoke up.
"Are you going to apply for the business school?" He asked, noticing the amount of suits hanging in Sherlock's closet. John couldn't help but hope that Sherlock would be required to wear his tight-fitting dress clothes relatively often. Even if they were only friends, John could appreciate the suits. They left very little to the imagination, which benefitted John immensely. He had never had a very good imagination.
"No," Sherlock looked over at John in surprise. Noticing that John's question appeared to have been prompted by his wardrobe, Sherlock scoffed. "I am a man of impeccable tastes. That has nothing to do with my area of study. I am a criminology major."
John glanced down at his ratty t-shirt and suddenly felt extremely inadequate. Sherlock seemed to realize this and took a step forward, his eyes fixed on John. John cleared his throat nervously.
"How strange," The taller boy rumbled as a smirk crossed his face.
"What's strange?" John challenged, fidgeting uncomfortably.
"You are." Sherlock responded, his eyebrows furrowing a bit, "You see, but do not observe. I, on the other hand, cannot help but observe. John Watson: eighteen, baseball player, orphan, and reluctantly gay." John scowled. Sherlock noticed. "No? Hm. Bisexual, then. Yes, that makes much more sense. And you lived with your brother for a bit before coming to school."
"What? No! How did you -?" John demanded, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed and exposed. He didn't know how Sherlock had found out so much about him, but John did not like it one bit. He felt as if he were standing completely naked in front of an all too critical Sherlock.
Sherlock just rolled his eyes in what seemed to be complete frustration. "I told you - I observe things. You must be eighteen if you were permitted to sign in without a legal guardian. You clearly play baseball, as you have a number of baseballs and gloves in your bag. As for the orphan deduction; the lack of parents could mean a number of things, I suppose. You might resent them, you might prefer a bit of freedom, or they might simply be busy. However, over the course of the last hour you have placed a number of pictures of your parents around the room. That indicates that you do not have a strained relationship with your parents, making their absence a bit more meaningful. They could be busy, still. Then there's the age of the photographs. There are tears around the edges and the ink is a bit faded. The frames are significantly younger than the pictures. This signifies a sentimental attachment. You might simply like these pictures, but from the way you cringe when looking at the picture near your closet does not support that theory. No, you treasure those pictures because you can never take another. Your parents are dead, making you an orphan. Now, your brother. I suppose there are a number of petty details pointing to his presence, but the easiest way to explain it to your rather slow-paced mind is the presence of the card off to the left of your textbooks." Sherlock explained quickly, not taking his eyes off of John as he spoke.
John stared back, his mouth falling open in owe. Sherlock smirked.
"How could you possibly know that I'm bisexual?" John finally choked out, feeling his face burning.
Sherlock looked at John in a way that made it perfectly clear that John's question had an extremely obvious answer. John's stomach twisted as he stared down at his shoes. He had thought that he had managed to mask his attraction to Sherlock fairly well. Evidently that was not the case. Now he would have to endure the embarrassment of Sherlock's smug acknowledgement for at least the rest of the school year.
"Right," John mumbled awkwardly.
"So everything was correct?" Sherlock asked, seemingly oblivious to John's embarrassment.
John shrugged, wanting nothing more than to drop off the face of the Earth. "Harry is my sister. Short for Harriet."
"Your sister!" Sherlock looked furious with himself, "Ah, I should have known. Oh, Mycroft would never let me hear the end of it if he had heard."
"Are you kidding?" John demanded incredulously, "Your brother would give you a hard time for that one thing? Sherlock, that was…" John shook his head in disbelief, "that was amazing."
"Do you really think so?"
John was gearing up for some sort of witty remark when he suddenly saw the look on Sherlock's face. He was not fishing for another compliment, as John had originally thought. On the contrary, Sherlock seemed surprised. John wondered when Sherlock had last heard a compliment. It must have been some time ago. John's snarky response died on his lips.
"Yes, of course. That was absolutely incredible." John assured him with a small smile.
Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "That's not what people usually say."
"What else could they possibly say?"
"Fuck off."
John couldn't help but laugh. Well, it was more of a giggle, really, but John wouldn't admit that. It wasn't too hard to believe that Sherlock could rub people the wrong way. From what John had observed, he did seem to be exceptionally difficult.
Sherlock smiled a bit before resuming his unpacking. John did the same, his heart hammering in his chest.
Every so often, John would allow himself to sneak a glance in Sherlock's direction. The taller boy looked confused as he hung up a poster of the periodic table of elements, placed his expensive suits in his closet, and sifted through a large filing cabinet that John was fairly certain they weren't allowed to have in the dorms.
John wanted to continue the conversation in order to find out more about Sherlock's talents and why he was so bewildered by compliments, but instead forced himself to continue unpacking silently. He was determined not to drool or stare in Sherlock's general direction. He had clearly embarrassed himself enough for the day.
Once John had finished throwing his unfolded clothes in his dresser, stacked his overpriced textbooks under his bed, and connected his crappy laptop to the campus internet, he realized that he was starving. John turned to face Sherlock for the first time in a few hours. He swallowed hard, his face already burning with embarrassment.
"Hey, uh, I think I'm going to go to the dining hall now. D'you, uh, I mean, would you want to come?"
Sherlock turned to look at John in confusion. "Why are you inviting me?"
John immediately felt awkward and terribly like the overly clingy version of himself that he had been trying to stifle.
"Oh, er, well, we're roommates. Roommates usually eat together, don't they? I mean, if you don't want to, ah, don't worry about it. I can just go by myself." John mumbled miserably.
"No; I suppose I should go if roommates are supposed to eat together. I don't want Mycroft to hear anything that might cause him to check up on me. There is no point in going to the dining hall, however. Students and parents alike will be flocking there for their last meal together." Sherlock mused.
John shifted on his feet and swallowed hard. "Yeah, well, uh, we could always go find a restaurant nearby."
"Yes," Sherlock agreed immediately, "We'll go to Angelo's. I know the owner."
"Yeah, okay." John agreed eagerly.
Sherlock gave him a bemused look before putting on an oversized black coat that looked way too warm for August weather, and approaching the door. John followed at his heels, resenting himself for how eager he was to get closer to his horribly attractive roommate.
As Sherlock had insisted, the pair wound up at a place called Angelo's. And, as Sherlock had said, he knew the owner. He seemed to know the owner very well, in fact. The owner quickly ran over to the pair the second that they set foot in the restaurant.
"So nice to see that you have met somebody," The owner, Angelo, cooed, beaming at Sherlock as he led the pair towards the back of the restaurant, "I've got just the table. No one will disturb you and your date. I will go get candles; very romantic."
"Oh, no, I'm not his -" John tried to explain, but Angelo darted off too quickly to hear his protests. Sherlock didn't seem to notice the exchange and calmly took a seat at the table.
John plopped down across from Sherlock, deciding to act equally nonchalant about being mistaken for a couple. When Angelo brought over a candle and a bottle of wine, John didn't even try to protest. He simply ordered a plate of spaghetti and pretended to receive an important text that required his undivided attention. At least there was wine.
"Just the wine for me. Thanks, Angelo." Sherlock said, sparing Angelo a forced smile before staring across the table at John. John looked up in surprise.
"You're not eating anything?"
"No," Sherlock looked confused by John's question, "digestion only slows me down."
John snorted as Angelo made himself scarce. "Right, then. Is that why your brother is so worried about you? Don't take care of yourself?" John had been dying to know the reason behind the older Holmes brother's behavior, but had not known how to bring it up until now.
Sherlock smirked a bit. "No. I doubt my eating habits are of any concern to Mycroft. He is much more focused on my 'crippling drug addiction'." He responded, using air quotes to emphasize the fact that he thought Mycroft's concern was completely absurd.
John's eyes widened. He had not realized that his roommate was a drug addict. That was certainly going to make dorm life more interesting. Living with his alcoholic sister had given John enough experience with addicts to know that Sherlock's drug habits were going to cause problems in the future. John wasn't exactly sure how to respond to Sherlock's confession.
Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be boring, John. I am fine; I just need to quiet my mind every so often."
"I'm not - I mean, I don't care," John spluttered defensively, "Your girlfriend must worry about you, though. Doesn't she ever ask you to give it up?" Yes, John was being catty. He knew that he was. He just couldn't help it. He hadn't meant to sound quite so pathetic, but the question was now looming over the pair like a massive elephant in the room. John wanted to know whether or not Sherlock was straight and whether or not John had even a tiny chance with him.
"Mmm, girlfriends. Not really my area." Sherlock remarked, taking a rather large sip of wine. John's heart began to pound against his chest.
"Got a boyfriend, then?" Oh hell, Sherlock already knew about his attraction, didn't he? There was no point in dancing around the question that had been haunting John all day long.
Of course, Sherlock probably did have a boyfriend. How could he not? He was hands-down the most attractive guy that John had ever laid eyes on. His boyfriend was probably equally as devastating, if not moreso. John just hoped that Sherlock would take pity on his poor, sexually frustrated soul, and conduct his love affair outside of their dorm room.
"No." Sherlock's voice cut through John's self-pity.
"No?" John had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he had nearly forgotten the question that Sherlock was answering.
"No, I do not have a boyfriend." Sherlock clarified with a bemused look.
John bit down on his tongue to keep from smiling. Sherlock didn't have a boyfriend! That was great news. Even if John stood no chance with Sherlock, he did not have to worry about some Adonis walking in and out of their dorm room and making his life miserable. That certainly had to count for something.
"Right, okay. You're single. Just like me." John's tongue darted out and licked his lips on its own accord.
Sherlock noticed and rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. "John, I should warn you. I consider myself married to my work."
What the hell did that even mean? They were both eighteen. What could possibly be so time consuming? Nothing, of course. Sherlock was making an excuse for the lack of attraction on his part. John may not have had much dignity when it came to the tall, dark, and genius roommate that he had been given, but he had just enough to save face when being rejected.
"What? No, er, I wasn't trying to ask you on a date. I was just…" John shook his head and gulped down the rest of his glass of wine. He was going to have to learn to lie better in the presence of Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock stared at John for a moment before shifting his attention to the other occupants of the restaurant. He was undoubtedly deducing every little detail about their lives while they remained blissfully unaware. John was just relieved that those bright eyes were not focused on him anymore.
"So, John," Sherlock stated after about ten minutes, finally returning his sharp gaze to John, "how do you feel about the violin?"
From that point forward, the boys fell into a relatively comfortable conversation. Once they had decided on the parameters of Sherlock's violin playing, Sherlock deduced a bit more about John - though his deductions were relatively harmless this time, focusing mostly on John's favorite foods, books, movies, and where he liked to go on vacation - and John asked Sherlock questions that the taller boy never really answered. They fell into an easy camaraderie; one that they would never really emerge from.
After dinner, the boys thanked Angelo for the meal before starting back for the dorm. As they walked, John tried (unsuccessfully) to learn more about Sherlock, while Sherlock smirked a bit and gave the most vague answers he could. John didn't mind very much. He just liked talking to Sherlock.
Once the boys reached their floor, they quickly realized that there was a floor meeting being held without them. The RA - Greg - stopped giving the lecture that he had clearly been in the middle of and turned to look at Sherlock and John inquisitively.
"Oi. You the ones living in 221B?" Greg demanded, glancing down at the clipboard in his hands.
"Obviously." Sherlock muttered, leaning against the wall instead of sitting on the floor among the other residents.
In an effort to appear unaffected by his roommate's good looks, John plopped down next to a mousy girl while Sherlock began to inspect his peers. The mousy girl immediately spared John a wide smile.
"We're in 221B, yeah. This is Sherlock and I'm John Watson." John explained, affording the RA a sheepish smile. He was thrilled that the entire hall had seen him enter with Sherlock. They all probably thought that John was closer to Sherlock than he was. Good. The mousy girl next to him was already eying the lanky genius.
"I'm Molly." The girl whispered as Greg resumed his speech on the importance of knocking.
"John." John introduced himself, shaking Molly's smaller hand.
The rest of the meeting was spent listening to Greg drone on and on about the various rules that came with living in a dorm. Molly would occasionally whisper something to John in an effort to make the meeting less miserable, but John was in his own special sort of hell. He was forcing himself not to stare at Sherlock, which was so damn hard when the boy was leaning against the wall with his ass parallel to John's eyes. John deserved a damn Oscar for acting as though he was oblivious to that particular detail.
Once the meeting was over, Sherlock immediately returned to the room. Not wanting to seem nearly as desperate as he was, John remained in the hallway to talk to Molly.
"So you live with Sherlock?" Molly asked as the hallway filled with chatter, glancing in the direction of 221B curiously.
John nodded. "Yeah. Bit of a nut job, really. I don't know how I'm going to make it through the year."
Okay, talking about Sherlock behind his back might not have been the most mature thing that John had ever done, but he couldn't help himself. Molly was clearly interested and John had no idea whether or not she was Sherlock's type. He was selfish, he knew that. He just couldn't bring himself to care.
"Is he really? He seemed a bit distant, but I thought he just might be shy. Do you know much about him?" Molly questioned.
"Not really, but I'm not sure if anybody does. He's a bit of a puzzle. The only thing he's really told me is that he's a criminology major." John replied, hoping that the mention of such a low-paying career would send Molly chasing after a business school shmuck.
"Criminology? Wow. That sounds interesting, really."
"What sounds interesting?" Greg inquired, approaching the pair and immediately placing himself between Molly and John.
"Sherlock is majoring in criminology." Molly answered with a smile. John nodded his head, unhappy with how interested Molly was in everything Sherlock-related.
"Ah," Greg responded, clearly not so interested in talking about Sherlock. John was glad. The less competition, the better. "What are you two majoring in?"
"Pre-med." John shrugged, knowing that his answer was not nearly as important to Greg as Molly's.
Sure enough, Greg turned to look at Molly with a much more interested gaze.
"Biology." Molly answered, her face reddening slightly.
"Oh, nice," Greg immediately responded with a wide smile, "I'm a criminology major like Sherlock, but I've got loads of biology classes to take before I get my degree. Actually, I've taught a few bio classes myself. This year I'm the TA for Anatomy 101. Are either of you taking it?"
"Hey, yeah, I am. I think Sherlock might've mentioned something about taking the class, too." John replied, mildly surprised that he still had some relevance in the conversation.
It was clear that Greg was interested in Molly. From what John had seen, Greg couldn't go more than five minutes without looking at her. His eyes had narrowed when John had lingered behind to talk to Molly, clearly thinking that John shared his interest in Molly. If only Greg knew how very uninterested John was.
"Me too!" Molly chimed in excitedly, beaming up at Greg as though something truly exciting was happening.
"Really? Great; I guess I'll see you all in class, then. Do you know anything about anatomy yet?" Greg asked, not taking his eyes off of Molly as a pleasant grin broke across his face.
"Yeah, I worked in a morgue back home." Molly replied.
"Whoa, really? You must have some pretty interesting stories." Greg prompted, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall in a subtle attempt to move closer to Molly. John just barely held back a chuckle. Still, he pitied Greg. He knew what it was like to vy for an unappreciative crush's attention.
"Well, I don't know anything about anatomy," John lied, "And if there's one thing I hate, it's spoilers. Anyway, I'm wiped out and not really in the mood to talk about corpses. Night, guys."
"Goodnight." Molly and Greg chorused. It was obvious from Greg's smile that John had made the right move in leaving the pair to share corpse stories together. John chuckled to himself as he returned to 221B.
John was planning on talking to Sherlock some more, maybe even encouraging him to play something on the violin, when he entered the room. Unfortunately, Sherlock did not share those plans. The dark-haired boy was curled up in his bed with earphones in and a book pressed to his face. He clearly did not want to be disturbed.
John nodded to himself, deciding to wait until Sherlock removed his earphones to try and initiate a conversation with his roommate. He changed into his pajamas, knowing better than to try to remain out of Sherlock's sight. The boy would not have looked if his life depended on it, John knew that.
Sherlock still had not removed his headphones at this point, so John climbed into his lofted bed and checked Twitter in an attempt to wait for Sherlock to become available for conversation. As it turned out, John would fall asleep before Sherlock even considered removing the earphones.