WARNING: There is violence, abuse, swearing, homophobia and racism
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the band Kansas, the characters, the university or basically anything in this.
The boy was walking through his house, calmly for a weekday when his Father was home. He made himself some lunch, as he has done for himself from a young age, making sure there was extra for his Mother. It was piping hot when the young man poured it into two bowls and walked slowly through the hallway to the front sitting room.
"Thank you John," his mother greeted him with a warm smile, taking the offered soup. Tasting it with a spoon, John sat on the armchair next to her and looked out the front view mirror. "It's a delightfully quiet day, isn't it darling?" The boy's Mother replied with her usual poise and elegance.
"Yes, Mother, it is. Today at school I got a B in sci-"
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" His voice echoed around the room violently. Father suddenly ran into the room waving the boys phone in the air crazily. His stomach dropped. He found it. "I DID NOT RAISE YOU LIKE THIS!" He lashed out and his the cowering boy beneath him in the chair, drawing speckles of blood.
"CHARLES!" His mother screamed in shock. "STOP THIS AT ONCE."
"What, woman? You have emotion for this little freak?" He lashed out again, this time around the woman's face, making her fall out of her chair.
"Dad, please, stop," the boy whimpered, taking another hit to the face. The mans ring cut his cheekbone deeply. "Not Mum..."
"No John. I did not raise you to be scum." He spat at the man beneath him. "You disgust me. You peice of SHIT!" He yelled and dragged John by his reddened ear to his bed, through the everlasting hallways. He fumbled angrily at his belt before lashing it out at the boy. "You are scum like your sister. But she wasn't mine. She was your mothers. She did this to you. This is her fault." He punctuated every word with a whip from the metal buckle, whilst pointing at the boys mother hastily.
"Dad, please. Please stop this," he started crying, choking madly on the tears. Blood was seeping through his top from the beating. It will stop. He will go away. It will stop.
"Am I hurting you, gay boy?!" His father yelled. "But, no. You are Questioning, aren't you? That means I can still fix you." He whipped more and more.
"Please stop." His mother rose up from the doorway and tackled the man off John. The man grunted in pain and forcefully threw the woman off him. He punched her heavily around the head until she stopped struggling.
"LOOK WHAT YOU DID?!" His Father stood up from over the women's limp body, grabbed the boy by his jaw and lifted him up. "YOU KILLED HER."
John sat bolt upright, in sweats. "COME ON! GET UP!" His Father screamed from the doorframe of his room, banging loudly on the door. John flinched at the loud and sudden movements from his Father, "What are you flinching for? Didn't have ANOTHER nightmare did you? I told you to man up. You are a Watson. Watson are not afraid of anything." He said, stressing each syllable.
"Not at all sir," lied John through clenched teeth. "Just..." he selected his words carefully, "you startled me, sir, that's all."
"Right. Man up. Get down stairs." He spat over John.
"Yes, yes. I'll be downstairs in five minutes, Father." He nodded and dismissed himself. John wiped his brow of sweat and trembled out of bed, had he really been that afraid of his own father? She's alive. She's alive, John repeated to himself over and over. He stripped out of his sweat-covered pyjama bottoms and went to his shower. His shower room, like his room, was empty to the point of only necessities like shampoo and a razor or two.
He emerged three minutes later, naked, and stood before his mirror. He saw his old scars on his arms and stomach. John tried to ignore them as he slipped into a formal button down shirt and jeans. Nodding in approval of his appearance, he stumbled out of his room, tripping over three bags.
Downstairs, he found his Father, as usual, couped around the T.V. with a bowl of weetabix; ignoring his Fathers grunts at the screen, he walked past and entered the kitchen. The blonde man made his 'anti-anxiety' breakfast, as his Mother called it, of chocolate spread and marmite toast. When we was waiting for it to pop up, he heard yelling and shouting from the front room. As he went to investigate, John heard the distant pop of toast.
"Idiotic faggots." His Father yelled in outrage at his T.V. "They should be banned EVERYWHERE. Not just in those countries. What about this country? I didn't risk my life so some faggots can get married. They will ruin this country." He rambled. John practically ran out of the room in despair at his Father's words. He always knew that he was extremely homophobic and racist, but that was too far. John didn't understand how someone could be so negative. He remembered a few years ago when Mother was still living with them, when Harry came out to him. He went ape and kicked her out on the street, disowning her for life. He hated his Father for this. His Mother left them a month after. He always abused his mother and him.
He grabbed his toast, decorated it in chocolate and marmite, before escaping the comments by running to his room. John's room hadn't been decorated since Mother moved out, the wallpaper was ripping and turning a disgusting shade of off-white. John started to pack his final things; half a tube of 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner, a few shaving razors, his comfort pillow and the last few shirts. He started to rummage under his bed, knowing his Father would do the same, checking there was nothing suspicious under there. After cleaning out a time-forgotten condom wrapper, a shoebox and lastly a cobwebbed teddy from his childhood. Letting out a sigh of reminiscence, John found his old, private Journal. Flashbacks of being given it by his counsellor in high school and the embarrassment of hiding it from his Father. The man opened it carefully onto a random page:
January 21st: It's been a month since Harry had moved out as Mother said. I heard the arguments, I just don't like to think about it. It makes me feel depressed and scared of my own house. (John had to record his feelings towards each thing that happened to him. Councillor Jane said it would be good for him, this just made John laugh.) My Father has been getting very angry towards Mother lately. It scares me. He started hitting her today and she just left. I wonder when she will come back. It's been four hours now. I want her back.
In other news, today I met a girl today called Sally. She was very pretty and friendly towards me. I wish more people were like her.
John flicked to a new page.
August 14th: I hate the summer holidays at home but Father has been out every day so far. Today I went to the beach today with Sally. She was really pretty and we had a great time. I am so glad she is my girlfriend. I like like her a lot.
John closed the book and cringed at the awkwardness of it all. Had I really been THAT cringey?! John felt an odd rush of sentiment and embarrassment, before he decided to pack it away with him. There was too much personal information in there that if his Father got hold off... Well, John didn't like to think of the consequences.
John picked up the remains of his bags and lugged them down the stairs awkwardly to the car. After dumping them in the back, he slumped into the front of the car, selecting the correct album. Ahh, yes. Monolith, one of Kansas' best creations, the thought to himself as he blasted it out.
"There are some who can still remember
All the things that we used to do
But the days of our youth were numbered
And the ones who survive it are few
Oh, I can still see the smiling faces
When the times were so good
Oh in the all familiar places
I'd go back if I could"
John sang along merrily to his favourite song, People Of The South Wind, trying to take his mind of the day to lead. His Father jumped into the car singing his heart out, making John smile. No matter how many times his Father yelled or hit John, he could never not love his music taste.
"I don't know why you had to go so far away," his Father grumbled in a music interval. John chose The University Of Edinburgh as it was far, far away from his Father, but also because of the prime location in London. A new start, he thought happily to himself.
"Yeah, I don't know either..." He tried to laugh it off before turning back to the song.
"To the people of the south wind
To the people of the southern wind
To the people of the south wind
To the people of the southern wind
Well it's a hard thing to face the music
So I hope that I can always remember
All the crazy times we had to go through
Now it's a dream that is slowly fading
Oh I don't want it to go
All of the memories are evading
And I Want you to know"
Still singing along with his Father, they passed through winding country lanes, the odd U-turn and a dual carriageway. The occasional racist remark from John's Father flew over his head, as he trained them to. A few songs in the album later, he started talking about one of his army experiences which 'made him a man'. The older man described a bomb the size of his torso plummeting towards the army base, only to land a few hundred meters away. The after shock blew three men into the bomb crater and John's Father was one of the selected few to rescue the men. No matter the situation, his Father would always have an army story to tell.
Just as the were passing through a town called Wool, a group of vandals started to spray paint a billboard. John was disgusted at them for this useless attack on society but his Father was fuming. He started screaming abuse, yelling at the one black person, calling them sickening names. John ducked below their line of vision. He could feel his ears turn red. John's Father calmed down marginally once they had passed the group. "Why don't we stop for a coffee?" He piped up.
"No thanks, sir. You may have one but I am quite fine thank you." John replied worryingly, he was still too embarrassed to get out of the car with his Father.
"It's alright then." Father replied, after a moment of consideration, "you sound like her, you know?" He said, suggesting John sounded like his Mother, whom is Father hated. "She was too lazy to come today to see you off. It's disgusting." John only nodded in response, choosing it wise not to argue back. His Mother actually choose not to turn up because she was terrified of the man.
After a few hours of awkward driving and a few Kansas albums, they arrived at the University. John was happy enough to take himself off now and he expressed this, but his Father thought this was the time to do the first 'fatherly' thing in his entire life. He helped John carry his bags to the hall, he dumped them in a corner and left John with only a 'Goodbye', not even a 'good luck' or 'I'll miss you'. The blonde haired man shrugged his shoulders and left to the right hall with guidance.
"Good afternoon students and parents!" A booming voice echoed around the high ceilinged hall. "Welcome to The University Of Edinburgh!" A man, John estimated at about 5 foot 6, walked onto the stage in front of the seated people proudly. John had sat down on the edge of the second row, not wanting to get in anyone's way. "I am Professor Lestrade! I am the head of your year so I have the amazing privilege of welcoming you all here. I see we have an eager looking group here and the year ahead of us will certainly be hard. But don't worry, there is plenty of teachers who are willing to help you through the year at anytime. And fro the parents, we have a 24/7 emergency call line..." He continued and the crowd nodded and clapped at appropriate times. John, alone by the side, noticed two men sitting together. One had receding, ginger hair, the other black, curly hair. John noticed them was because the ginger one received a loud phone call which interrupted the presentation as he left, the other man was left alone, like John, looking rather embarrassed. John turned back to the presentation and after a few extra slides it was over. "Now, if you would find a staff member at the ends of the rooms, they will tell you your room numbers! Get going now, everything you need will be in your rooms, including timetables and classes start tomorrow at a later time of 11 o'clock." With that, the crowd disbanded and dripped out of the room slowly. John, who had been repeatedly pushed to the back of the line, stood patiently waiting for a member of staff. Finally, after a family of five moved out the way, John approached the woman.
"Hello, um... John Watson?" His voice shook.
"Watson... Watson..." She scrolled down the pages of names, occasionally looking at John's showing abs, which left John wondering if she was staff or a student. Either way, John had put her on his bucket list. "Ahh, yes. John Watson. Here you go, room 221." She handed him a key and pointed him in the right direction.
John picked his bags and stumbled to his room. The door was left open a tad and John heard distant moans from inside. Buggering shit... he thought angrily to himself, I've already had a break in. John burst through the door to find the curly haired man from earlier unpacking messily into all the draws.
"Ahhhemmm," John cleared his thought. The man looked up startled and nodded accordingly.
"John Watson, I am Sherlock Holmes. Hello. I didn't think you were coming so I used your draws. If this is a problem I could move my stuff?" Sherlock said calmly.
"Yes please." John placed his bags on the bed Sherlock hadn't claimed. "How did you know who I was?"
"I know a lot of things, John. Best not to ask." He said distantly and continued to unpack various skulls onto his desk. "Like I know that you have an abusive Father, your Mother left you at an early age and a sibling too. Also you are scared of your Father, indicating he abused you. You are ashamed of your family but you don't want to let them down. I know that you want to join the military, possibly as a doctor."
"Amazing... But... How? You know what, never mind. Just forget it." John shrugged it off angrily and started unpacking Sherlock's stuff himself, bored of the man's attitude. "So what about you? You seem to have all the answers about me, but what about you?"
"Me? I am unimportant to the likes of you. I am merely here to study and not make friends, thank you John Watson." Sherlock spat. No matter how badly Sherlock treated John, all John could think about was how attractive he is. His high cheekbones, his curly hair, his colourful eyes.
"Ok, sorry. Jesus." John said disappointedly. He finished unpacking quickly, a trait from his Mother's side, and sat on his bed, open legged, staring at Sherlock. God, he is attractive. Am I still questioning? Am I bisexual? Oh my god. Father would HATE me. He'd throw me out. He would start hitting me again. No. I just... I am just attracted to Sherlock's looks, that's all, John thought to himself.
Sherlock had been out for a few years now, ever since his brother 'outted' him at a family reunion by exposing his attraction to another man. Since then, he had renounced emotions towards people. He didn't want to be mean to an attractive man such as John, but living in such close quarters to him? That's a bad idea. Sherlock had deduced John from the moment he saw him walk through the main gates to the University. He deduced almost everything, except his sexuality. Sherlock usually doesn't consult with finding out such immature things. Feelings are a weakness, he'd tell himself. But John was... Well, a mystery to Sherlock. And Sherlock couldn't resist a mystery.
The day had been mediocre to dull at best for Sherlock. Mother and Father had been away so he hadn't seen them and he took the private helicopter with Mycroft here, he had taken a day off work to help his little brother out. How sentimental, Sherlock giggled to himself. The most fun Sherlock had had today was deducing John and the other delinquents who barely scrapped it in to this university. A bumbling idiot, named Anderson, had tripped him over and called him names, and term hadn't even started. He has discovered that he is smarter than 95% of the teachers and he sees no point of being here. He is only here for his brothers mental state.
He continued unpacking until he observed John staring at him in awe, he looked up just as the smaller man looked away in embarrassment. Sherlock, himself, felt a very human urge to talk to John about his life and so forth, but he reminded himself that he promised himself not to get involved in social interactions.
"So, I suspect you don't like cafeteria food that much?" John attempted to make conversation. "I saw a place on the way here that looked nice... What was it's name... Ahh yeah, Angelo's! Wanna go tonight? I can pay...?" John offered.
"Sounds... OK." Sherlock replied. What's one meal going to do anyway?