We sat in a circle on the floor, completely quiet, attention fixed on our director as he prepared to tell us what play our class was going to perform at the National Theatre. We were all anxious to know what mess we would be getting into, the shambles of the previous class' rehearsals fresh in our minds. (Last year's class had put on Chicago. Rehearsals were absolutely atrocious - and they were meant to be the best of the best. It turned out to be a pretty good show, mind you.)
"Now." I looked up and met the eyes of Mycroft Holmes; tutor, director, and sarcastic asshole extraordinaire. There was a subtle hint of excitement in his voice, but his face was impassive. "For our production this year I have decided to do an old favourite of mine-" He was cut off by a dry snort from across the circle. I looked over and caught the hint of a smirk flash across the lips of his younger brother, Sherlock. There were rumours that Sherlock only got accepted into the class because of Mycroft's influence, but having seen Sherlock act I knew he got in on pure talent. Mycroft shot a glare in Sherlock's direction before continuing, "-not to mention one of my brother's, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I expect everyone to audition for a part." There was a chorus of groans. I rolled my eyes, although I couldn't deny the disappointment rising in my throat.
"Is there a back-up?" Anderson asked from next to me. Stuart Anderson was one of those guys who lazes about constantly but performs extraordinarily well. He could play assholes and villains particularly well; perhaps because that was what he was like off stage. We had attended the same high school, and we had been in the same drama class. Nobody could deny that he was very talented, despite his obnoxious personality. He had showed everyone that when he had played Othello a few years back.
Mycroft fixed him with a piercing gaze. "No. I expect you all to participate, regardless of your beliefs regarding transsexuality and homosexuality. When you are on stage, you are not yourself. All of you should know that by now."
"So, if we don't get the part we auditioned for, do we become a chorus member?" Sally Donovan asked.
"Yes, you will become one of the transvestites, that is correct," Mycroft half smiled at the crestfallen faces of his students. "Auditions are next Thursday. You are expected to sing the song of the character you wish to play on the list I am about to hand out, and act a scene of my choosing. You should be warned, these scenes will not necessarily be from Rocky Horror." He passed a stack of paper to Sarah Sawyer, another very talented woman. The paper set off around the circle, and muttering broke out as people grudgingly picked their desired parts. Across the circle, Mike Stamford locked eyes with me and raised his eyebrows. I looked at him quizzically.
"Go for Rocky," he mouthed. I blinked at him, and he laughed. I rolled my eyes good-naturedly and shook my head.
"I will see you all next Thursday," Mycroft said, standing. We all followed suit and he flashed a quick smile at the class before ushering us out of the room. Everyone broke into conversation at once, and Mike came up to me, clapping me on the shoulder.
"Rocky Horror, mate!" he laughed, his rounded face bright. "Oh, this will be bloody brilliant!" I made a noncommittal noise, and Mike sighed.
"John, we've known each other since we were kids, right? Just 'cause there's people around doesn't mean you can't talk to me, mate."
"Be-being around people ma-ma-makes it worse," I hissed, facing him.
I had a verbal stutter. A really bad one. I'd had it since I started talking. My dad had refused to let me go to a doctor and try and get rid of it, saying it was a part of who I was. Mum had hated the stutter, sometimes saying she didn't want to live with an illiterate and incomprehensible bastard. She and Dad had fought constantly, and eventually they got a divorce. I stayed with Dad when I was in high school, but my older sister went between parents before she turned 21 and moved out. I'm 19 now and, well, the upshot of it all was that the stutter never got better. The reason I took up acting was because for some odd reason when I wasn't being myself, it went away. That was the best part.
We walked along the street towards Mike's car, Mike rambling on about nothing in particular until he muttered a gruff, "Oh, sorry mate..." when Sherlock Holmes stalked past us, head held high. I scoffed.
"Just be-because his br-brother is the owner of th-the damn c-class doesn't mean h-he's bleedin' royalty," I said softly. Mike chuckled, looking at Sherlock's retreating back.
"Well, he's pretty much a queen anyway," he replied, making me laugh. I liked my laugh. Well, it was more of a giggle if I was being totally honest.
"S-so am I, th-though." I was still giggling. Mike grabbed his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car, and we both got in. "G-God, I h-hate him."
"Sherlock? Everyone does." Mike started the car, put his iPod on shuffle and put on his seatbelt. "Apparently even Mycroft does."
"Th-that's awful," I murmured. I knew what it was like to have a family member hate you.
"He's got talent though, hasn't he?"
"I-is the sky b-blue?" I countered. Mike laughed, tapping his fingers on the wheel.
"Did that bloke end up calling you?" he asked. Mike was constantly making sure my gay high life was up to scratch.
"Y-yeah, but I d-don't want t-to see him ag-again," I told him. "K-kind of a dick."
"He looked sweet!"
"Y-you have a very s-strange definition of the w-word 'sweet'," I laughed. "Be-besides, he reminded m-me too mu-much of James."
"Oh God, that'd kill any boner, eh?" Mike winked at me. "How d'you mean, reminded?"
"Th-the eye colour, th-the sarcastic sense of hu-humour, and the w-way he styled h-his hair..." I cleared my throat and sighed. "Can't d-date someone who w-won't turn y-you on."
Mike nodded and then we drove for a minute in comfortable silence before arriving at my dad's. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
"Th-that you w-will." I closed the car door, fished my keys out of my pocket and let myself into the house. Running up the stairs to my bedroom, I pulled the list of characters and songs out of my jacket pocket and ran my eyes down it.
Brad Majors - 'Dammit, Janet'
Janet Weiss - 'Ta-Ta-Ta-Touch Me'
Dr. Frank-n-Furter - 'Sweet Transvestite'
Dr. Scott - 'Eddie'
Riff Raff - 'Time Warp'
Magenta - 'Time Warp'
Columbia - 'Time Warp'
Eddie - 'Hot Patootie'
Rocky - 'The Sword of the Damocles'
I sighed and made my way over to my laptop, going over the list a few more times before finally looking up Rocky's song. A bunch of music videos presented themselves, and I pressed my fingers to my slightly aching head. No going back now.
Thursday came around, and I knew Rocky's song off by heart. I was humming it when Mike came to pick me up, and smiled as I realised he was listening to his chosen song.
"H-Hot Patootie?" I asked, grinning. "You're g-going for E-Eddie?"
"Vocal range, mate," Mike shrugged, turning the song off. "Plus we kind of look alike."
"H-how much re-research did you do?"
"Enough that I found blooming fanfiction," Mike sighed. "At least I know the song."
"A-At least you w-won't be w-wearing no-nothing but gold sp-spandex."
"I know you'd go for Rocky!" Mike exclaimed. "Let's hope your Frank-n-Furter is good, eh?"
"I'm f-fine with an-anyone," I replied. "I have no choice - kno-knowing Mycroft, th-this will be f-filthy." Mike snorted in agreement and stopped the car. We got out and found everyone in groups.
"Go to the group for the character you are auditioning for," a snooty guy in an ostentatious bow tie informed us. All of sudden I felt a prickling at the back of my neck, and spun around to meet Sherlock's cool gaze. He was standing with five blokes who were in Mycroft's other classes, and as far as I could see they all seemed to be auditioning for Frank-n-Furter.
"If you are going for Brad, you're too late," he informed me coolly.
"Greg's going for Brad," Mike said, avoiding Sherlock's gaze. I knew Mike felt intimidated by the younger Holmes, and quite frankly I didn't blame him.
Sherlock's face relaxed slightly. My heart gave an unusual flutter, and I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Lestrade has a good chance," he said, and turned away with a nod. Mike grinned at me and made his way over to the Eddie group. I walked to the bunch of Rockys, suddenly realising with a sinking feeling that this was a terrible idea. I looked down at the ground, not acknowledging anyone. Time dragged on. Finally the Janets went in, then the Frank-n-Furters, and I watched Sherlock go in. My subconscious wished him luck, and I slapped my subconscious across the face.
Eventually they called everyone auditioning for Rocky into the room, and we all sat down. Mycroft was very organised. The seats were separated into his various classes, and you sat on the chair with your name on. You were called alphabetically, so as usual I was last. Eventually my name was called, and I walked in on shaking legs. Seated behind a desk was Mycroft, Anthea, our musical director, and Irene, our choreographer.
"H-H-Hello," I stuttered, and Mycroft gave me a sympathetic half-smile. "I-I'm Jo-John Wat-Wat-Watson..."
"Go ahead, John," Mycroft said calmly. I took a deep breath and centred myself. When I started singing, my voice shook a little, but it soon got stronger. In what seemed like an incredibly brief amount of time, the song was over.
After that, I was ushered into the theatre, and I sat next to Mike, fingers still shaking. He grinned at me and patted my shoulder reassuringly. Mycroft walked onto our stage, holding a thick black folder stuffed with paper.
"You were all excellent in your singing auditions, and now I want that excellence to roll over into our acting auditions." Mycroft's voice was loud and clear, his decisive tones commanding immediate silence and respect. "And I expect proper audience etiquette from each and every one of you."
Anthea came on stage and called the first group of people up. They were given a scenario and told to improvise. A lot of the groups were, for want of a better word, shit. Some had no chemistry. One of the girls from my class transformed from an amazingly talented drama student to a desperate teenager. Mike went up with Greg and a girl from Mycroft's Monday class - Kitty, her name was. I vaguely remembered her dating Moriarty's twin brother. They were all amazing, and I felt slightly put out. When Mike came offstage, he was beaming. More groups went up and finally my name was called; along with Molly Hooper's, a girl I used to attend school with, and Sherlock Holmes. Of course.
I walked up with my head down, trying not to let anxiety get the best of me. Once on stage, I felt myself change. I straightened my back and the shaking stopped. You aren't yourself, you are new. I fixed Mycroft with a level gaze, and his lips quirked slightly.
"Sherlock, you have just walked in on Molly and John together in bed. You are free to choose the relationship." Mycroft leaned back in his chair. Sherlock walked into the wings, giving me and Molly time to set the scene. Molly took a deep breath, looked up, and suddenly kissed me. As unexpected as it was, I reciprocated. She pulled away when Sherlock made his entrance.
"What the hell is this?" Sherlock choked. He was completely in character, his usual stony indifference replaced with raw anger. "Oh God, John! I can't believe this, I trusted you!"
"Trust goes both ways, Sherlock." My voice was snide, the new character taking over. "Who knows what- no, who you're doing whenever I'm away."
Sherlock looked hurt, but still angry. For a face that was usually so blank, it was undeniably odd to see it displaying such a wide variety of emotions.
"How dare you?" he hissed, stepping closer. "How could-"
"How dare he?" Molly finally spoke. "How dare he? Perhaps if you were a proper boyfriend, he never would have come over! How dare you, Sherlock! You cherish a boyfriend, you love him. You don't let him be shared and you certainly hold him above all others! Don't you dare think even for one second that John's to blame for all this!"
Sherlock was obviously surprised at the power in Molly's usually timid voice, and instead of breaking character he incorporated it into the scene.
"You have no right to tell me how to make a relationship work," he snarled. Molly threw her head high, her brown eyes meeting his in a cold stare. "You don't know anything!"
"I told her everything, Sherlock!" I cried. Angry, upset, heartbroken. "So don't you dare speak to her like that." There was so much power in our scene, and everyone in the audience was quiet. I stepped out of the "bed" and stood near Sherlock. "Molly, maybe you should go."
"Call me, John," she said quietly, and walked offstage. Sherlock's face changed, and he looked pained, almost tearful.
"Is there a chance?" His voice had changed too; soft, vulnerable.
"I don't think there is."
"John." Sherlock sounded so hurt. I reached out and cupped his face, despite our height difference. "Please. Let her go. I need you."
"No, you don't," I answered with a sad smile. Sherlock closed his eyes, his hands reaching up to cover mine.
"Please." His voice was so low I could barely hear it. My heart constricted painfully and I had to remind myself that this wasn't real, that I hated Sherlock Holmes. "Please, I love you."
"I loved you too," I replied, dropping my hands. His eyes opened, and if any casting director had seen those tears, how incredibly real they looked, he would be hired on the spot. "Goodbye, Sherlock. This was... nice."
"Nice?" Sherlock gasped in disbelief. "John-"
"There was never enough," I said, straightening my back. Time to finish this. "And apparently I was never enough." I went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Taking a step back, avoiding eye contact, I walked offstage. The audience burst into applause; not the polite clap the other groups had received, but proper theatre applause. I came out of the wings to do my bow, and looked at Sherlock. His mask was back in place, but he looked at me and there was something kind in those incredible eyes.
"Nice job," he whispered.
"Th-th-thanks," I answered, taken aback.
"That was beautiful!" Molly said when we returned to our seats. "And I'm so sorry about kissing you... I don't know what came over me..."
"I-It's okay, M-Mol," I smiled at her. "I-it got s-s-something out off Ho-Holmes."
She returned my smile. Mike was sitting in the row behind us, and he leaned forward and clapped my shoulder enthusiastically.
"Holy crap!" he laughed. "That was brilliant! You and Holmes had the best chemistry! And the kiss you got from Mols... If you don't get cast as anything I'm going to riot!"
"Sh-shut up, Mi-Mike." I elbowed him, and he did; but only because Mycroft had walked onstage to tell us that we would receive texts informing us of our allocated parts next Thursday. After praising us on our impeccable audition etiquette, he dismissed us. Everyone except Mike and I started talking at once. We stayed quiet as he drove me home, and once I got in I smiled the whole evening. I texted Harry about the audition, and she sent me back an enthusiastic reply.
I went to work on Friday, went to a football game on Saturday with Dad, and looked into RADA and LAMDA and even NIDA in Australia. My life continued as usual for the rest of the week.
On Thursday, a week after the audition, I received two texts:
John, very good audition, I am proud of you. And I am happy to inform you that you have been cast as Rocky. We will rehearse on Tuesday and Thursday, and our first performance is October 10th. I will see you next week. - MH
Congratulations on getting Rocky. I look forward to working with you. -SH
My heart did another weird flip when I read the initials. Sherlock was texting me. Maybe he texted everyone, like Mycroft had? And why did it matter? I decided to text Mike.
Hey, Mike, I got Rocky! What about you? And did Sherlock text you?
Congrats, J! I got Eddie. No, he didnt. Looks like u got a secret admirer ;)
I smiled, but my insides were in knots. I was so conflicted. Being Rocky meant I had to be very intimate with a male co-star - which I didn't mind, seeing as I was gay - but from what it seemed, Sherlock was playing Frank-n-Furter. Again, I had to remind myself I hated him... but my heart began to argue with my head, and suddenly I wasn't so sure.