'Only a week," John thought to himself, ignoring the dull roar of noise on the parked bus. It was like this every year. Loud, before they even started moving. With a sigh, he placed his head back on the sticky seat and placed in an earphone, deciding it'd be best to appear like a loner until they actually arrived to camp.
John opened his eyes to see a group of students out of the bus window that he didn't recognize. He raised his eyebrows curiously, even though he didn't know everyone in the band by name, he at least knew their faces, which concluded these children were indeed not form band. He took a closer look at their instrument cases and noticed that they were carrying string instruments. Ah, yes, the orchestra was to come to camp as well this year. He gave a small laugh before looking around and adjusting his baggage. He noticed that there were few open seats left on the bus, his being one of them.
The student sat back in his seat again. The orchestra students were the only ones left to be boarded, so that meant that he was more than likely going to have to sit next to one. He inwardly cringed at the though, the orchestra- band relationship wasn't the best, when was it ever? The orchestra kids were stuck up and they always seemed to play very, very flat. John had to admit, his band mates weren't always the most pleasant of people, but at least they knew how to play in tune.
Sherlock sighed and slid a hand in his pocket, the other calming his curls. He half listened to the teacher talk, half played with the ball of lint in his pocket, due to it being much more interesting. Once the annoying hum of the teacher's voice was gone, he picked up his instrument, violin, and carried it by his side to the bus. He was a bit bummed about having to spend a week at band camp- seeing that band kids weren't the most enjoyable to be around, especially on a two hour bus ride. He took a step onto the bus, the smell of annoying teenagers and swear hitting him like a brick wall, causing his nose to crinkle as he walked down the aisle to find an empty seat about half way down, placing his instrument down. "May I?" He asked, though he was already seated.
John felt the seat shift next to him and he turned to find a rather tall student sitting beside him. He eyed the case at their feet, oh great, a violinist. Just his luck, he was stuck next to a /violinist/, he mid as well be placed next to a flutist. "I'd rather you didn't, but I guess that's not going to get you to move." He muttered under his breath, giving the other a bit of an annoyed look. "Why do you string pansies even bother coming up to camp? As far as I can tell you're not going to be doing anything that you can't here."
Sherlock scowled, disregarding the insult and retorting back. "Just my luck being put next to a trumpet, also," His green eyes flicked across the other man.
John, being the teenager he was, scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean? And how do you know that I play trumpet? For all you know I could be a tube or a saxophone." His voice rising in pitch at the end.
Sherlock shifted in his seat so that his torso was facing John as well, "Please, you're such a terrible liar. You have oil and grease stains on your pants, matched with the bruising of your lips you're obviously a brass player. The bruise is too small to be a trombone or bigger, and too big to be a French horn. Of course there's the possibility that you play a melaphone, with a trumpet mouth piece, but your attitude is more than enough to tell me you're a cocky trumpet. If I had to say, I'd say you play first trumpet music as well. The violinist pulled his lips up in a smug smirk as he watched the other react to what he just said.
John stared and allowed himself to blink a few times, his mouth a bit a jar. He wanted to snap back about Sherlock profiling him. Everyone always assumed he was a saxophone player due to his loner tendencies. Without thinking John opened his mouth. "That was brilliant," He smiled slightly but let it quickly fade. "I'm John." He said hastily, turning his head to look out the window.
The curly haired teenager turned his torso so that he faced the seat in front of him once more. He bent down towards his violin case, unzipping an outside pocket and fished out his sheet music and a pen. He scribbled ties into the music and grace notes when he saw fit. Without looking up from what he was doing and answered John, "I know. Sherlock Holmes, I'm currently a junior and if I'm correct, which I'm almost always am, you are too." In a flourish of frustration he scribbled out a whole phrase of music. "This composer must have been dropped on his head as a child, this music is obviously amateur."
John rested his chin on his hand and watched as the city slowly faded and turned into country, turning his head slightly to look at Sherlock. "I'd like to say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'm scared if I said that your ego would eat you alive." John gave a slight smirk and played with the hem of his jumper sleeve, looking over the taller male's side to see his sheet music. "Looks rather boring. No accents or crescendos, how do you live with music like that?" Poor John didn't understand that dynamics were always added last. "Are you a bloody mind reader or something?"
Sherlock couldn't help but to chuckle at the other's comment. "Please, my ego is only big because it deserves to be so. Look at that, I sound like your every day trumpeter at the moment." He shuffled through his music sheets, the notes all appearing dull and predictable; a soft subtle beginning, the swelling middle, and then a retardando combined with a decrescendo to give the illusion of fading away. It was just too predictable, he'd played the same style time and time again and he was tired of it. "No, I'm not a mind reader; I would hope that you don't believe that, even if you're an idiot. I'm simply observant, it's just most people don't take the bloody time to do so." With a huff he balled a sheet of music and threw it out the slightly open window of the bus. "I swear the amount of idiots and amateurs is stunning."
John frowned slightly. "Right." Was all he said as he turned back to look out the window, he was trying not to snap. "You know," He started, "Just because I'm a trumpet doesn't make me stupid, I'm actually pretty smart, ta." That was really the only time he let his accent bleed through, pouting slightly. He felt out smarted, and though he hated it, he found the other's intelligence /brilliant/.
The violinist unfazed by John snapping at him responded just as he would any other time. "Nearly everyone is stupid. Unlike you I don't judge intelligence on what instrument one plays. I judge one's intelligence through observation and minimal conversation." He scoffed turning to look over at John. "Most people are idiots though; I would say all the teacher's in our school haven't the slightest idea what they lecture about every day. You know what they say, 'Those who can't do, teach,' And it's very apparent that the people here in America do not do at all, I've yet to meet anyone whom interest me enough to actually hold a proper conversation." Sherlock sighed, running his fingers through his curly hair. "You should see some of the people that I have to interact with while I'm at work. It's absolutely dreadful."
John scowled, turning his shoulders to look at the other, realizing he had an accent and talked badly about America. "You're not from here are you?" The blond questioned, pulling out his cell phone, seeing they had about an hour left of their ride, time flies when you're having fun right? "You? With a job? I'd love to see the list of people you piss off a day," John snickered and slid this phone back into his pocket, ignoring a few texts.
"Of course I'm not from here, I would assume that that much would be blatantly obvious, especially with my accent," He looked at the time over John's shoulder, "Is your relationship with your older brother tense?"
He looked past John, to the passing lavender fields. He accessed his mental map that he had memorized with the intention of knowing where he was going to be staying for a week, "Oh I tend not to bother people, I do have enough self-control so that I could keep my job. I would absolutely hate to be out of a home. Actually, now that I think about it, for some off reason quite a bit of girls constantly come in when I'm the barista, I don't see why though. It's odd,"
John scrunched up his face at the comment, tightening his lips into a line. "So where from?" He moved his phone out of the other's view, back into his pocket. He didn't like talking about his family, but oddly he felt he could talk to the other. "My sister makes some stupid decisions, things are tense," He couldn't help, but to laugh softly at the thought of Sherlock in a barista outfit, "Maybe they want you to make their ears bleed with your violin," John chuckled and rested his head against the window, eyes closing as he thought about how thankful he was to get a week from home.
"London," Sherlock stated simply, not giving any more details, "What about you? Baskerville? You sound northern," He took out his own cell phone to check the time, it was almost three P.M, they should be arriving soon, at least according to the itinerary that he had formed prior to leaving. Travel time being an approximate two hours and having left at one.
"Loads of people make stupid decisions, but I suppose that I can understand the tension," Sherlock thought of his own older brother and their rocky relationship, "It's definitely all conditional. Now wait a moment, but my violin playing is more than exceptional. You must be mistaking the cause of the ear injury with your bloody trumpet squealing. I swear, you can't claim that you can play a note if you never play it in tune,"
John laughed softly and shook his head, "Small town, about an hour from Baskerville, close enough to hear the stories," The male looked over to Sherlock, really looking over him for the first time, taking in his long cheek bones and oddly tamed hair with miraculous curls. His deduction skills weren't the only thing about the man that was brilliant. "Hey I play first trumpet, I sound bloody good," He scoffed and looked out at the passing cars, "What cabin are you in?" He darted his eyes to the other, trying to do the same to him as he'd done to John. "Oh, and London's beautiful, bit busy, and crime filled, but nice I guess," The blond chuckled and tapped The Thieving Magpie Overture on his thigh, seeing as how it was what was playing in his headphones.
The violinist scoffed, "Just because you play first trumpet it doesn't equate to 'bloody good'. I could play third music if I wanted, but that doesn't mean I have little ability. Besides, I've heard the band playing before, it actually hurt to hear it. Do you even know what tuning and blending is?" He scrunched his nose at the memory, "I must admit though, anything is better than having to listen to a clarinet player. Oh and I'm in White Pine by the way,"
John scoffed and rolled his eyes, annoyed. He could barely hear Sherlock over the roar of the bus, though he retorted back, "Excuse you, I'm very good at my instrument," He scoffed, and mimicked some trumpet fingerings as he nodded, suddenly showing off a half smile, "That's my cabin too."
The dull murmur of the bus had grown a bit louder as the rest of the students had realized how close to the camp they were. Looking out the window, one could see that the road had turned to simple gravel and the amount of greenery and trees had grown. Sherlock had bent down to pick up his case so it would be ready in his hand when the bus would stop. When he was sitting up straight again he found himself looking at the face of a student with short black hair that was slicked back.
"So Johnny boy, found yourself a boyfriend?" He taunted in an off putting sing-song voice.
"Shouldn't you be off kicking puppies or something Jim?" The blond scowled at him, before returning his gaze back to Sherlock as Jim began to speak again.
"That's not until four I'm afraid," the black haired male gave an innocent smile and patted the trumpet player's head, causing John to scowl. "And looks like your boyfriend and you will be cabin mates with yours truly," His voice was still sing-songy.
"He's not my boyfriend," John mumbled,"
Sherlock sent a glare towards the short haired male, "Moriarty, perhaps you should check your testosterone levels, your voice is unnaturally high, even for you. Perhaps the karma that I don't believe in has finally caught up to you,"
Moriarty chuckled, blowing a small bubble in his chewing gum before he responded, "Oh please Sherly," He reached out a hand to caress the mentioned boy's face, earning an annoyed eye twitch, "If I already knew that I could pass the test easily then why should I waste my energy actually taking it?"
"You shouldn't flatter yourself. If it weren't for me you'd still be in the tenth grade. You're lucky that I didn't report you," The curly haired male gripped the other's wrist, pushing it away from his face.
John laughed slightly, Moriarty always had a rather high voice though people at the school were too scared to tease him about it, seeing as Jim could be rather scandalous. John's face scrunched up when Moriarty touched Sherlock, not that he cared. Psh. Though he did find himself a bit curious about the test that they were talking of. John looked over at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow in question, figuring that was enough for the other to catch onto his clueless curiosity.
"Boys please, not here," John finally intervened, placing a hand lightly on both of their chests with a scowl, he didn't want them to cause a scene on the bus, especially considering how close to camp they were.
Moriarty chuckled, shrugging off both Sherlock and John before sliding back into his seat. Sherlock huffed and slumped back in his seat, glancing over at John, "You seem confused, do you not know of Jim and I?'
"Honestly I have heard of you before, but I've never… indulged in your company until today," The blond answered before hesitantly adding, "Are you two blokes… together?"
The curly haired teen scrunched his nose at the thought, "No, relationships aren't really my department, and especially not with James," He cleared his throat before continuing, "Him and I are both skipping our sophomore year, we took a test on the last week of school to finalize it,"
John's face scrunched up as James sat back into his seat, turning back to Sherlock with a rather dumb founded face. John had attempted the test, but his grade had fallen terribly short, so Sherlock and Jim must be geniuses to manage to skip a grade, it was impressive honestly.
The blond laughed softly at how disturbed Sherlock seemed at the thought of James and him together. "Bloody Hell, you're only 15?" John's face paled, he's be 18 in December and Sherlock towered over him with height and intelligence! He held back a pout like face as he tuned to glance out the window and saw the camp in the distance. Sally Donavin could be heard laughing from the back of the bus, causing him to sigh. He didn't exactly have the best relationship with the people in the back of the bus. He shook the thought out of his head and turned back to Sherlock, "Maybe that's why you're so bad with people," John chuckled, teasing the other.
"Please, if I so chose to I could be a very good people pleaser, it's just that I don't care enough to do so all the time. And, actually I'm 16 going on 17, I started school late." Sherlock followed the other's gaze out the window. The bus was slowing down, eventually pulling to a stop in the small parking lot. The taller male stood up, violin case in hand, "I suppose this is where we get ff. I suppose it was a pleasure to meet you," After a moment of thought he quietly added, "Nicer than when most people meet me," With that he started down the narrow aisle, shoving a few people on the way.
John collapsed in his cabin, choosing the closest bottom bunk and letting his suit case and bag fall beside him on the floor. Two of his cabin mates had beaten him to their temporary home and chose a bunk next to his. Greg Lestrade, who was drum major this year was on bottom, and Samson Anderson, a rather terrible clarinet player, found himself on the top. John ignored the chattering between them, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them to find Sherlock standing over him, causing the blond to jump.
"Top bunk. Now," Sherlock uttered, waiting for the other to move. When John stayed where he was Sherlock repeated himself, this time adding, "I know you can hear me, get up."
"Why should I? I'm your senior, you should do what I say, and there are three other bottom bunks for you to choose from," John retorted, too tired from the bus ride up to even move into a sitting position.
"If age had anything to do with who had to listen to who then we would all have to obey the every whim of the elderly, imagine a world like that. Now get up or you'll never hear the end of it," The curly haired teen stated, dropping his luggage to the ground, kicking it under the bed.
With an exasperated sigh, John stood up and crawled up to the top bunk. Once he was collapsed onto the upper mattress the door opened once more, revealing an annoyingly gleeful Moriarty prancing in with a much calmer Sebastian behind him. Sherlock spread out his bed sheets before taking out his music sheets from earlier to look over.
"My, won't this be interesting?" James said in his sing-song voice, wiggling his eyebrows as he looked around the room.
John huffed from the top bunk, fixing his sheets onto the rather flat mattress as Moriarty spoke. It would indeed be a very interesting week. John scoffed, everyone knew of Sebastian and Jim's… relationship of sorts. They were constantly on again off again, due to the fact that tests weren't the only thing that James cheated on. So it came as a bit of a surprise that they would be put in the same cabin, unless a threat was involve somewhere along the way.
"Johnny boy's on top I see. What's wrong Sherly, don't enjoy the top?" His voice didn't sound so sing song, but on the edge of serious as he smirked to the rest of the cabin, settling into his bunk, which happened to be opposite of Sherlock.
The violinist scowled at Moriarty, he shifted his body so that he was angled more towards the wall. His green eyes narrowed at the sheet, "If memory serves me properly, you're the one that doesn't enjoy top," He grumbled under his breath.
"Boys," John stopped their arguing and hopped down from the top bunk to grab a pair of basketball shorts and his Army shirt that he had gotten from his older brother before looking at the other five males.
"We have dinner in twenty minutes, I'm going to go shower, catch you guys later," John waved before adding, "And play nice," He made his way out of the cabin, shaking his head. It would most definitely be a long week.