John looked up at the towering façade with a small shiver. His fear was irrational, he knew, but it settled in his stomach like a heavy weight. It was just another school, after all. He'd been to enough by now to understand how the routine usually went. He went in, introduced myself to a few people, met his roommate, and went through the motions of going to class until it was time for his inevitable departure.
That was the life of a military brat.
Listen here, he told himself sternly, marching up the front steps, you have done this a dozen times before. There is no need to be nervous.
But there was, in a sense. This was going to be his last school. John made that deal with his parents years ago. He could spend his last year before University in the same place, no matter where his Dad was stationed. If he made a poor impression here, he was stuck with it.
The thought was not boding well.
BakerAcademy was not exactly prestigious, but not bottom rung either. John's family wouldn't have been able to afford it if it weren't for his small scholarship. It wasn't anything fancy, just a small grant that military families could apply for. It covered some of tuition and a little room and board, just enough to get by on.
Other students were milling around the beautifully manicured front lawn, already in the cliques they established first year. John trudged through the groups, keeping his head down, happy, not for the first time, that he wasn't exactly the kind of bloke that drew a lot of attention. He was on the short side, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He didn't stand out in a crowd.
John hoisted his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder and pushed the front door open, stepping into a clean, brightly lit hallway lined with classrooms and offices. He studied the map in his hand to make sure he was going in the right direction before marching forward, heading deeper into the school.
"Hey," someone called, a deliberate attempt to catch someone's attention that John instinctively ignored. "You! Hey! New guy!" John looked up reflexively this time, searching for the source of the voice. He smiled politely at the husky student that had called out.
"Yes?" John asked politely, shifting from foot to foot. He'd sprained his right ankle badly a couple months ago and his leg was getting stiff under the weight of his backpack and duffel. He just wanted to find his room and set his things down.
"I'm Mike," the boy, who looked John's age, said with a jovial smile. John smiled back more genuinely, liking the guy instantly for his genuine expression. "Mike Stamford. Mrs. Hudson sent me to intercept you before you got lost in this bloody labyrinth."
"Mrs. Hudson?" John asked, adjusting his bag again and trying to ignore the uncomfortable pain in his leg.
"School counselor," Mike said, gesturing for John to follow him. "Nice lady. I'm her office aid. She sends me to do errands for her sometimes, but I usually just end up getting force fed tea and biscuits." Mike patted his round stomach. "It's been adding up, I'm afraid."
He laughed loudly, and John joined in hesitantly. Mike continued confidently down the corridor and John followed close behind.
Mike had been right, after just a few moments of following him John was already lost in the twists and turns of the academy.
"This school is alright," Mike continued, smiling and waving at people he knew. "There's better, I'm sure, but she holds her own. The food's good and most of the professors know what they're doing, although our music department is a bit weak and our football team is atrocious. Can't stand some of the underclassmen, but most of our last year is nice. Lot of fun blokes to hang out with, at least. Ah, here we are." He stopped in front of one of the office doors, identical to every other door John had seen so far. He had no idea how he was going to recognize it again.
Mike opened the door without ceremony and ushered John inside. It was a pleasant room, with cream colored walls, wooden floors, a vase of flowers on a desk, and a pink upholstered arm chair where students sat as they spoke to their counselor. Mrs. Hudson herself was nowhere in sight until Mike cleared his throat loudly.
A grey haired head popped up from behind the desk, startling John so badly he nearly lost his balance.
"There you are dear," Mrs. Hudson said, smiling at John as though he was a long lost grandson. "Sorry about that! I was just looking for a pen I dropped. I'm always losing things I'm afraid." She extended her hand to John and he shook it, surprised by the strength in her grip. Her hands looked deceptively frail, but there was steel in her eyes that John instinctively admired.
"John Watson, correct?" she asked. She gestured to the arm chair. "Have a sit, dear. Mike, could you sort through some of the files in the back and get out Mr. Watson's room assignment and schedule? I'm afraid it's a bit a mess in here, dear," she said, leaning over the desk to speak confidentially to John. "Mike's a bit lacking when it comes to cleaning up, to tell you the truth."
"I can hear you!" Mike informed her from his position six feet away. "Here we are! Watson, John." He handed the file to Mrs. Hudson, who pulled out a few brightly colored papers that she examined briefly, her face lighting up at one of them.
"Oh, you'll just love your roommate," she said, smiling brightly at the paper. "One of my favorite students, actually," she whispered, as though it was her greatest secret.
John accepted the papers and put them with his map and the orientation information he had received in the mail. "Will that be all?" he inquired politely.
"Oh, goodness no!" Mrs. Hudson said, her hands suddenly a flurry above her desk. "Where are my manners? I've completely forgotten to welcome you to the school." She settled down and gave John a warm smile. "Normally we don't make a fuss for new students, but I glanced at your transcripts and my heart went out to you, poor dear. Nine different schools in four years? Well, I thought that they must not have given you a good welcome if you hadn't stayed, so I thought it best to greet you myself and make sure that you don't start itching to get up and go before you've gotten a chance to settle! I want you to come to me if you ever need help, or if you just want a spot of tea and a biscuit! My office is always open."
"Resist the biscuits, mate," Mike advised, leaning in and stage whispering to John. "I swear she puts something in them. They're too addictive to be legal."
"Oh, stop it Mike!" Mrs. Hudson said with a laugh. "Go and show John where his room is. And be sure to introduce him to his roommate."
"Yes ma'am," Mike said with a laugh. John left the room in high spirits. If everyone at BakerAcademy was a friendly as Mike and as sweet as Mrs. Hudson, he wasn't going to have any problems here.
"Let me see your room assignment." Mike took John's offered paper and read it quickly, his expression first one of shock before it dissolved into mirth. "So that's who Mrs. Hudson was talking about! Makes sense, of course."
"What?" John tried to get another look at the paper, as though the unfamiliar name would suddenly mean something to him.
"He's…a bit eccentric, your roommate. Honestly, you're the first person administration has tried to bunk with him since last September. After what happened to the first one… I mean, I think he's a good guy, but…"
Uh oh. John wasn't liking the sound of this.
"I actually think you might get on," Mike finally decided, seeming surprised at his own thought. "I hope so, anyway. For your sake."
"What?" John repeated, the happy feelings draining from his body.
"Let's see," Mike continued, ignoring him. "Hall B, room 221. Second floor. Not ideal, but it's a real nice dormitory, if I remember correctly. I haven't been there in a bit, but most of the lads are jealous that the school freak gets it all to himself."
"School freak?" John asked, the derogatory label a shock coming from Mike. Mike blinked, as though he wasn't aware of what he just said.
"Oh, ignore that," Mike said hastily. "I didn't mean it, not really. I do like the bloke, I swear. It's just what some of the other guys say, it tends to rub off. He's actually really interesting. He calls himself a detective. Seventeen years old and he's decided that he's a detective solving crimes."
They made a sudden right and continued down another corridor lined with doors. This one was filled with a bustling crowd of students, most of them with luggage of their own.
"Dorm Hall B is just through here," Mike said, pushing his way though the students and forcing his way over the threshold of the open double doors. "There we are." Mike pointed to a small plaque on the wall that confirmed their position.
"Room 221," John repeated, looking at the numbers next to the doors.
"We'll have to go up," Mike said, gesturing to the staircase at the end of the corridor. "Come along then." Mike set off again, and John followed the best he could, but at this point the stiff pain in his leg had created an awkward limp.
"This school is a lot bigger on the inside," John commented as they started up the staircases. Mike laughed.
"Yeah, deceptive like that, isn't it? Looks like your average academy on the outside, and on the inside it's a freaking marathon just to get to your classes on time."
They reached the landing of the second floor, and from there it was a brief stroll until they reached room 221.
"This is it," Mike said, slightly winded from the trip up the stairs. He knocked lightly on the door and there was the sound of glass shattering. "Oh dear," Mike said before the door opened.
A humorless young man regarded Mike with vague annoyance before zeroing in on John with boldfaced curiosity. John stared back, too startled by the intensity of the gaze to look away. The boy was tall, much taller than John, and lanky. He arms and legs seemed too long for the rest of his body, and he was thin and pale enough to look as though he was suffering from a long term illness. Dramatic cheekbones cast shadows over an otherwise gaunt face and silver eyes focused on John as though he could see right through him. John gulped, fidgeting. The stranger ran an elegant hand through tangled black curls before stepping aside.
"Well, come on then," he said, his voice deep enough to make John double take, trying to equate the rich timber with the nearly skeletal boy in the doorway. "I suppose you're the new roommate."
"John Watson," John said nervously, edging his way past the young man carefully.
"This is Sherlock Holmes," Mike said, waving at Sherlock.
"Hi," Sherlock said flatly to Mike, seeming bored with the social interaction already.
Mike grinned at John and shrugged. "Well," he said, "I'll just leave you to it then." Mike waved and set off back down the hallway with a slightly forced spring in his step.
John turned towards the room and stared at it appreciatively. It was much bigger than he was expecting, more than enough room for two beds, two dressers, and two desks. Sherlock had also managed to cram what looked like an entire chemistry set onto one table and a full bookshelf between his bed and the wall.
John set his stuff on the other bed as Sherlock shut the door. He took a sleek cell phone out of his pocket and began tapping away busily. John sighed. He had been hoping for a little get-to-know-you conversation, but it seemed that wouldn't be the case. Instead he sat down and began to stretch his leg.
Sherlock huffed in irritation for a moment, shaking his phone.
"Alright?" John asked, watching his new roommate in fascination.
"Battery died," Sherlock muttered, tossing the phone onto his bed.
"Do you need mine?" John offered without thinking, taking his out of his pocket. Sherlock looked at him, blinking in grateful surprise, and accepted the device mutely.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked after a moment of silence.
"What?" John jumped at the question.
"Your father. Where was he deployed? Afghanistan or Iraq?"
John froze, staring up at Sherlock with a combination of confusion and a little fear. "Afghanistan," he said at last. "How did you…?"
"Here," Sherlock said, handing the phone back. "Feel free to unpack your things, just don't touch my stuff."
Sherlock moved to the chemistry set where he stooped down to begin picking up small pieces of glass, the source of the shattering sound.
"What's that?" John asked. Sherlock looked up at him in annoyance.
"An experiment," he said shortly. "I do them from time to time. I hope you won't mind."
"I don't," John said honestly. "So long as you don't expect me to understand them."
"Oh, I don't expect you to," Sherlock said flatly.
John bit his lip. "Would you mind telling me how you knew-?"
"While we're on the subject," Sherlock interrupted, "I also can go days without speaking and I have a tendency to play the violin when I'm thinking. Do you think that will be a problem?"
John blinked, trying to keep up. Sherlock spoke at a mile a minute, and John was having issues following him.
"I don't have anything against the violin," he said at last.
"That's good," Sherlock said, chucking the glass into a bin and starting out of the room.
"Where are you going?" John asked as Sherlock opened the door.
"I think I've left some toxic chemicals in the dining hall, I thought I'd retrieve them before a potentially grievous mistake was made. Did you need something from me?" Sherlock asked, looking annoyed.
"It's just-" John sputtered, trying to put his thoughts into words. "We've just met, we know nothing about each other, and we're going to be roommates for the next year. I just thought we'd introduce ourselves a bit."
Sherlock sighed and closed the door again. "Fine," he said, turning to face John completely. He looked him up and down. "You're a military brat. Your father was stationed in Afghanistan. You have an older brother you don't get on with, probably because he parties too much and you disapprove of the lifestyle. You injured your foot badly a short time ago, your doctor told you it should be better by now but a small limp persists, probably psychosomatic, so it's likely that you're having other problems at home and the injury is taking some pressure off of you, although whether its sympathy or physical inability that's doing the trick, I'm not sure. Now if you don't mind I really have to leave before some idiot takes a fancy to drinking the caustic chemicals I've left sitting around. Have a good morning. I'll see you in orientation." With that, Sherlock opened the door, winked and walked out.
John exhaled very slowly and put his head in his hands.
This was going to be a long year.