Prologue; John Watson
The specific detail of Saint Bartholomew's counselor's office from the tiniest prick was not very important until you sat in the soft chairs made to comfort you; in which they really don't and have you feel awkward and to want to leave. For John Watson to memorize the room was astounding to himself, yet it was nothing special everyone who had been in this room could memorize everything once they sat in that chair. But John didn't know that.
John Watson was short, shorter than some girls even, and he had blonde hair that cut short in an almost kept way. He did not slouch and he sat up straight looking his superior in the eyes. His stolid gaze was not unnerving, but it seemed that he hung onto every word you muttered; sometimes he wasn't and just doing this was pure habit.
John sat in the awkward and soft chair, and in front of him was James Sholto, his counselor that seemed to be in a neutral state at all times, as he had always been whenever John saw him. It must have had something to do with the fact that James Sholto was once in the army.
"So John," Sholto started looking at a notepad he had situated on his desk, "How're you feeling today?" Sholto looked up at John for a brief second to see that John had broken eye-contact with him and had looked down at the notepad; only for a second, but Sholto had caught it.
"Fine, absolutely fine," John told Sholto, who had written that down in the notebook. Nothing relaxed John now, he was on his alert. His cane next to him, he had his hand itching to touch it.
Sholto did not take notice, of course, he was more focused on John. "Its been a month, John, but does your leg feel better at all?" He investigated further into the crevices of John Watson's mind some more, invading his brain.
"Oh, well, you know..." John stopped, his face turning absently towards the computer screen with a picture of Sholto being huddled around many other men in the same sort of outfit as him. He situated himself to stare at the background picture, ignoring Sholto's looks of concern.
"It must still hurt now and then, am I correct?" the counselor questioned. He got a nod in response before continuing to question further to the topic of the day he wanted to hear, "Have you been keeping up with your blog page I set-up for you last week?"
John stiffened then shook his head. "I have nothing to write about," he honestly recalled his boring, normal life, "I did, once, think about writing about our sessions, but then it wouldn't be private. Harry suggested I write about the things I did with her when she was home, but... They just weren't adventurous enough to talk about. They were actually quite boring."
John's voice was throaty and tight when he spoke. He didn't even expect himself to give away so much information. It probably had something to do with the fact that Mr. Sholto was friends with his Uncle William in primary school, so John felt comfortable saying that. He liked Mr. Sholto, he honestly did, but John did not like anyone while he sat in that chair.
"Something is better than nothing, John." Sholto sat up more in his chair. It seemed as if John Waston was actually opening up to him, venting about his problems instead of wasting both of their times by sitting there and doing nothing. It was a brilliant way to end John's last time in Saint Bartholomew, in a town called Northumberland, and went to a room with a soft chair meant for comfort and did everything but.
As John was in his room, boxes still packed up and cane next to a pair of crutches he used months ago, and all the while he could hear his mother's shuffling and his father's large strides coming from the floor above. He had gotten the satisfaction of having the entire basement to himself and could hear everything. He thought of himself as a spy, or rather the ears of the house.
He and his family had arrived in a home in a place called Bakersfield - not to be confused with Baskerville; the place not to far from Bakersfield. It was really large, not too far from London, either. It was the ideal living place for families like his.
The town itself was welcoming, but seemed it had its flaws, but they were all normal to have in this type of community. In fact, it was so normal, John had though he had dreamed up either a cold nightmare or a beautiful dream; either would have been better than to find it to be a reality. Bakersfield is where he would now eat, drink, sleep, and go to school at.
John opened a box as he heard his mother talk about the school to his father again. He bothered not to listen, as he had heard it all before and read it from the brochure that was printed and put on photo copy paper, and took his blankets out and set up his mattress.
It had been the most joyous of rides, really. John had never wanted to just do something new like, oh, jump out of the car window while his parents listened to an America woman speak about sex and chastity, perhaps? Don't forget to add lots of religious concepts as well, though that was just a bonus feature.
So John got to sleep, a well-deserved sleep, even if he were in Bakersfield.
Author here jut to say, this is a set of chapters to describe the ridiculous adventures of two teenagers. Their escapades being nothing more than for my enjoyment. I will update a new adventure (I'm not saying chapter; I'm saying adventure) up in a week or just a few days after, perhaps. It depends on how fast, or slow, I get this story done. For now, enjoy this prologue.