Welcome to my first story ever. It starts off with Sherlock/Irene, but don't worry, that doesn't mean there won't be any Johnlock later on.
"Are you ready to go?" Irene asked, eyes shining with soft excitement in anticipation of their coming adventure. The soft waves of dark hair cascaded over her shoulders from beneath her knit hat, flowing softly on either side of her face to frame it. Her striped cardigan clung nicely to her soft curves, her jeans fitting like a second skin. She stood in the doorway of the Holmes' home, shaking her car keys in the air.
Sherlock looked up from his book, lips pressed into a soft pout. He sat in an armchair near the entrance of the house, legs crossed, jeans straining tight over his toned thighs. "You're early," he murmured, rising from his seat and setting his book on the arm rest. He strode up to the shorter woman and laced an arm around her, pressing his lips to the fabric of her hat.
"I knew you'd be ready an hour before the time we agreed on," she replied, leaning into the touch absently, "No use in making you wait. Have you said goodbye to your family yet?" Irene looked up at Sherlock, brows raised slightly.
He thought for a moment, tracing his memory back to just a few hours previous. He'd told his mother he'd be leaving in the morning last night, yet somehow she'd seemed unaffected. There was no point in telling Mycroft, not really. "Yes, we can go now." Before Irene had a chance to protest, Sherlock stalked down the long hallway into his bedroom and returned with his luggage. Most of his things were already in his dorm; the only things he had left to bring were his clothes. He walked past his girlfriend and into the cool autumn air outside, popping the trunk to her car and adding his things with hers.
Giving a resigned sigh, she knew Sherlock hadn't spoken to his family, Irene closed the front door and joined the ebony haired boy inside her vehicle. They slipped onto the road silently, neither of the two saying a word. Irene drummed her fingers along the steering wheel as she drove, every few minutes eyeing Sherlock who sat besides her in the passenger seat. There was no doubt Sherlock was excited, who wouldn't be? They were off to Uni, finally getting away from all the troubles at home. Just she and her boyfriend.
With closed eyes, Sherlock leaned against the window, temple pressed against the cold glass. After years of dull people, idiots, and semi-adequate education, he'd finally be able to get away from it all. And the greatest part of all, well maybe not the greatest, but pretty close, was that Irene would be there with him.
Irene and Sherlock had been dating for over a year. He'd never had much interest in any of the girls in school, he still didn't. But, one day towards the end of his third year, a lean, sultry, and devious girl walked into his biology class and, besides the origin of her clothes, he couldn't read a single thing about her. She fascinated him to no end and by the start of the summer holiday, he'd somehow wound up in a relationship with her. She was intelligent and knew the way his mind worked, something no one else had even tried to comprehend. Now, there they were, half an hour away from Winter Rhodes Uni, ready to embark on a new chapter of their lives free from the dull ruts they'd fallen into.
"Okay, Mum, no need to hover," John laughed as his mom hugged him for far longer than necessary. They stood inside his dorm room, in the midst of a mess of boxes, looking like a mother dropping her child off at school for the first time. "Really, Mum, it's fine. I'll be home for Christmas! You can't miss me if you never go." He let his arms fall to his sides, making a face at his sister who stood in the doorway mocking the scene.
"Oh, you've finally grown up. You're not my little Johnny anymore," his mother sighed, eyes on the brink of tears. She finally pulled away, but not before pressing a long kiss to his forehead. John closed his eyes, cherishing what was probably the last of his mum's kisses for a long time.
"I love you, Mum. You too, Harry," he said when they finally made their way out the door. The two women answered back for the millionth time as they faded into the huddle of people who stood in the quad.
Finally alone in his dorm room, John turned to it, enjoying the silence that echoed inside. It was decent sized, the walls painted an off-white, with two beds, each with their own desk. The room was already cluttered with things and boxes that obviously belonged to his roommate; they were thrown all over the room in sporadic clusters as if their owner thought he had the room to himself. He picked up a book off of the desk, Encyclopedia Britannica 1887. John snorted, who would want such an outdated encyclopedia? He set it back down and surveyed what appeared to be a human skull sitting on top of the mini fridge in the corner. Shuddering, he decided to leave it alone and walked himself to one of the beds and threw himself back, blond head crushing against his pillow. He closed his eyes, trying to fade out of the present.
I finally did it, he thought to himself, I've managed to get to Uni. No one had ever thought he'd make it that far, they all thought he was stupid for some reason. Yet, there he was, John Watson, on his way to become the doctor he'd always wanted to be. Unfortunately, the only way he'd been able to pay for his education was through a rugby scholarship, so he'd be spending a lot of time doing that; he prayed it wouldn't interfere with his studies. John laid there, thinking of all the things he'd experience at Uni and wondering of the roommate that was bound to arrive soon.
"Don't worry, I don't need any help settling in," Irene teased, lips drawn into a smug grin, "Not that you were going to ask, but I'm just letting you know." The brunette stood up on her toes to meet the taller boy's lips and kissed him. "I'll see you later for dinner," she smiled, not giving him any indication of a choice, and walked away, rolling her luggage behind her.
Sherlock watched her for a moment, observing the way she walked with such a confident strut, even now that they were in a foreign place. Finally, as she disappeared into the Cheshire building, he turned and walked toward his own dorm. He'd specifically requested living inside the Baker Estate and the strings his brother had been able to pull ensured it. It was the oldest living quarters on campus and still held its Victorian architecture. Most students shied away from the building, for some reason being more drawn to the newer buildings. It was logical to an extent, he supposed; Baker Estate was also the farthest building from campus.
Finally, he reached his building and walked in, climbing the stairs to his room, 221B. He walked in, stopping in the doorway as he watched a limp figure in his bed, breathing steadily. What was he doing in here? Sherlock surveyed the room, two extra bags and and several boxes all piled up in the corner. Roommate? How could he have a roommate? Hadn't Mycroft insured that he'd have the double room to himself?
"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock growled, voice dark and brows knitting together. He still hadn't moved from his position in the doorway; he was too angry to walk any closer.
John jolted awake, sitting upright and frightened by the startling shout. He eyed the tall boy in the doorway; he was lean with dark curls laying neatly against his very defined face. His eyes were the palest blue John had ever seen, and at the moment, they looked anything but friendly.
"Um, hey," he started, mentally kicking himself for sounding like such a dork, "I'm John Watson, your roommate." John rose from the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The boy in the doorway seemed no less menacing, even the buttons on his shirt laid dangerously tight against his muscular chest.
"I'm not supposed to have a roommate," Sherlock glared, finally deciding to walk inside. He set his bags down by a lonely chair against the wall and sauntered over to his desk. "Why did you touch my book?"
John squinted, looking down at the encyclopedia, "Oh, I uh, I just wanted to see what it was. Wait, how did you-"
"Don't ask stupid questions if you intend to stay," Sherlock interrupted. He pulled out his phone and clicked away at it, intending to find out what was going on.
A roommate, really? Seems a bit low, even for you, Mycroft. I wanted the room for myself. SH
Finally looking back up at the blond, Sherlock let his eyes roam over his short figure, taking notice of every detail. "You mother will miss you, why don't you go back?" He asked coldly, turning to sit on the opposite bed.
John stared for a moment, repeating the words in his head, specifically ignoring the last part. "What do you know about my mum?" He crossed his arms and locked his jaw, trying to make himself look bigger than he was.
"She's obviously very attached to you and was very saddened by your departure," Sherlock replied, uninterested.
"How would you know?"
"There's a small fraction of a kiss mark on the edge of your cheek. Not the right colour for a girlfriend, and not the right spot for just a random hookup, not to mention it's the only marking of lipstick. Had there been more spots of the makeup then it would be easier to deduce a young female counterpart whom you enjoyed, but this is not the case. And then there's the fact that there are small traces of mascara left on your temple, so she was crying, sad obviously. It couldn't be a sister because you're wearing a hideous jumper you obviously hate, given by the way you're pulling at the neck; it's too small and itchy, a gift you received several years back then. It could be an aunt, but a mother is more likely." Sherlock spoke at the speed of light, barely taking a breath through his deduction.
John stood silently, gazing in awe. Sherlock took the silence as anger rising in the other, people always got upset upon hearing his deductions. He didn't even bother looking at his so called roommate.
"That was amazing," John finally said, letting his guard down and smiling. He took a seat on the edge of his bed, not taking his glance off of the boy whose name he had yet to learn.
"What?" Sherlock asked, eyes shooting up at the compliment. No one ever praised his deductions. Irene said they were clever, but she had never particularly enjoyed them. Yet here was this blond, John was it?, who had just said it was amazing.
John gave a confused look, why was it such a shock that he had complimented the other? Surely he knew of the extraordinary gift he had. "I said it was amazing. I would have never seen all of that."
"Most people don't say that," Sherlock grimaced.
"What do they normally say?"
"Piss off."
John sat silent for a moment, brows furrowed, and when Sherlock glanced at him, they both erupted in laughter.
There was a small vibration in Sherlock's pocket; he reached inside and pulled out his phone, reading the text on the screen:
I thought one would keep you from blowing the building up. But if you really insist, I'll have him moved elsewhere. M
He thought for all of two seconds before quickly typing his answer:
No, I could use a roommate. SH
"I'm Sherlock Holmes," he finally introduced, a small, genuine smile on his lips, one normally only Irene could pull from him.
Thanks for reading the first chapter of my first ever story! Reviews are greatly appreciated! I'll have a new chapter up soon!