There is a post on tumblr that I keep seeing, floating around. It is a picture of houses that are almost set right up against each other. Two windows have roof underneath them that jut out and meet the opposite window/roof. The idea wouldn't leave me alone. Maybe this has already been done for this fandom, but I haven't seen it if it has been. Take note that this is completely AU, although I will try to keep characters in character as much as a teen!lock fix will allow.
As usual, the disclaimers apply: I don't own Sherlock, BBC or Arthur Conan Doyle verse, nor any of the characters of titles. I make no money off of this.
Here goes.
Chapter One
Sunsets
Sherlock had never been the one to make friends. It wasn't that he didn't want them, or that he couldn't have made them believe he was their type of friend to hang out with- no, he just couldn't deal with the pressure. He'd never needed anyone else, and when he had, Mycroft was his go to. Sherlock was content, or rather-comfortable-with spending his evenings alone, doing research or working on new projects. His bedroom was a menagerie of different projects, which he cycled through every couple of weeks. Beside his bed were the plants and other growing things that needed sunlight, or heat. On the desk were stacks of schools book, propping up various projects and experiments he was working on. In another corner sat his telescope, and a violin. The wall opposite his bed was lined with books, illustrations, and maps. Upon seeing his room, one would either conclude that a.) Sherlock was a very proficient 17 year old, who loved science and probably kept to himself because he was deemed "geeky," or, b.), that his parents spoiled him and he probably had a group of snobby friends at the private boys school he no doubt attended. What there was no doubt about, however, was that he had plenty to keep himself entertained with. That is why, when the neighbors next door moved out, Sherlock didn't miss them. They had a son and a daughter around his age, but they were incredibly boring and typical.
So, when the new family moved in, Sherlock's curiosity was only peaked as far as to inquire to Mycroft about what kind of people they seemed to be. Mycroft had shrugged and continued reading the paper without looking up. That was good enough for Sherlock. That evening, he opened his window and popped out the screen. Setting it aside, Sherlock crawled out onto the roof with his book. Sitting completely still, he breathed in the smells and sounds of London in the evening. Around him, in the surrounding streets, he could hear voices murmuring and people yelling to each other. Somewhere there was a dog barking. Beneath him, and slightly over, he could see the family bustling about in the house. The wife had the kitchen window open and he could smell their dinner cooking. Something good, judging by the smell. There was a boy, and a girl. Around his age. Sherlock settled in against the corner of his roof, opening his book to the dog-eared page he'd left off from.
It was a good fifteen minutes later before Sherlock realized he was being watched. Casually turning his page, Sherlock's eyes darted upward. He saw the figure, standing across from him in the next house's window. The boy quickly turned away, busying himself with a box. Sherlock's eyebrows raised as he watched the boy. His mind fired a hundred miles a minute. The boy was obviously going into the medical field, judging by the two-foot model skeleton hanging beside a pile of books, no doubt lesson books. He was well kept and made his bed. He moved slowly, predictably, but surely. So he was active. Sherlock watched as the girl entered his room and they conversed. The boy started using hand motions, shaking his head. Sherlock frowned as the girl wiped hastily at her eyes. He hated crying people. They were always so irrational. Crying helped nothing, did nothing to better the situation in any way whatsoever. He watched as the boy reached around his sisters shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze, rubbing her back for a moment before releasing her and turning back to his box. She left a moment later. Sherlock jumped when the boy turned toward him, stopping when he saw the returned glance. Sherlock sighed as the boy made his way to the window.
"Hello."
"Hello." Sherlock kept his voice monotone, hoping to disinterest the newcomer quickly.
"I'm John. John Watson. I guess we're neighbors, now."
"Mmm. It would appear so." Sherlock closed his book, looking up at the boy. He had dirty blond hair, with green eyes and broad shoulders. John smiled, the silence becoming awkward. After a moment-
"What's your name, then?"
"Sherlock Holmes."
"Nice to meet you, Sherlock." John looked at him, cocking his head to the side. "You sit out there often?"
"Only when it suits me."
John nodded. "Good to meet you, then, Sherlock." He nodded, and went to close the window. As he was turning, Sherlock noticed the jumper John was wearing. On it was a particularly familiar emblem. "Hey." The boy turned back to the window, eyebrows raised expectantly. Sherlock motioned toward him. "You going to Chelmsford for studying, then?" John, perplexed a moment, looked down at his top, then back up to Sherlock.
"Yeah, actually. Why?"
"Twelfth year?" Sherlock asked. John nodded. Sherlock smirked. "Wonderful. We're in the same year." Sherlock stood up, stretching his back, and the began crawling back in through his window. He waved a farewell at John and inserted the screen back into the window. Picking up his violin, Sherlock began to pluck at the strings until his mum called him down that evening. He would occasionally catch sight of his new neighbor, and he entertained himself making deduction about the boy and his family until he had exhausted every revenue. He wasn't sure what, but there was something different about this one. Something not so dull- and that really was something.
((Short, but I don't have a lot of time right now. Just had to get it started so I can have an idea of what I'm working with. Please R&R! I live on feedback. So. Go for it.))