Chapter 2
A boy was sat on his bed, cigarette in one hand, mobile in the other.
"Um, hello."
The boy turned his head and stared at John. He was tall, slim and had a messy black mop of hair. He said nothing, however, just turned his head back to his phone. John closed the door behind him, walked over to the spare bed and sat down, noting that his bags had not yet been brought up for him.
"So, I heard you've been living here alone and I just want to say - sorry- it must be a bit of a pain in the arse to now have to share with a stranger."
The boy lowered his phone and smirked.
"Mycroft told you about me?"
"Um, yeah."
"I imagine he explained how you shouldn't bother trying to make friends with me because of how infuriating I am?"
"Um, sort of."
There was a sudden knock at the door.
"John? It's Mycroft. I have your luggage."
John could have sworn he heard the boy tut.
"Oh, okay, just hold on a sec."
John opened the door for Mycroft, who proceeded to dump John's heavy bags on his bed.
"Thank you."
"Not a problem. Sherlock," he said, inclining his head coldly to the boy.
"Mycroft."
Mycroft looked around the room is disgust. There were stacks of paper and books on every avaliable surface and the curtains were almost fully shut.
"Oh, dear brother how can you possibly live in this state?"
"Wait, w -hold on, you're brothers?" John asked.
"Yes, unfortunately," Sherlock droned.
"We prefer to keep our distance," Mycroft said, "now, I shall let you two get better acquainted."
Mycroft left with a particularly loud slam of the door. John fidgeted awkwardly in the new silence.
"So-?"
"-John, please do not feel the need to attempt conversation. I trust you will make friends on the rugby team but I do prefer to keep to myself, which is probably in your best interest aswell."
"What? Who said anything about rugby?"
"I did. You were on the team at your old comprehensive school."
"Wait, what, how the hell did you know that?"
"I didn't know. I noticed."
"What do you mean-"
Sherlock leapt up from the bed before John could finish his sentence and put his cigarette out in an old ashtray.
"I'll leave you to unpack your things, put them wherever you like. Move some of my things if necessary but I ask you not to go looking through it all, I imagine you'll find some of it rather alarming."
And he left John to stand in silence. He waited for a while rethinking what had just happened, thinking about how cold Sherlock's turquoise eyes were and how rugged he looked in his somewhat over-sized shirt and skinny jeans. His voice had been so deep and he spoke every word as if he couldn't care less about what he was saying. John could definitely see why people weren't keen to share a room with him. But how could he have possibly known that John was on the rugby team at his old school? Or that he was planning on doing the same at this school? Mycroft must have given him the information, and that was the only explanation.
Silently he unpacked his stuff. He found it rather convenient that two drawers and an underwear drawer had been left clear, and how the wardrobe was the neatest part of the room, with Sherlock's clothes taking up only half of the rail. Did he specifically leave space for John? That seemed unlikely. Upon his search for clothing space he had accidently pulled out Sherlock's underwear drawer, to find an array of navy and black briefs, all from different designers. Feeling that this was an invasion of privacy, John slammed the drawer shut.
It didn't take long for him to unpack all of his things, it wasn't like he brought any furniture with him. After his bags were emptied, he decided to straighten up the piles of text books and random bits of paper Sherlock had strewn everywhere. The room immediately looked much better.
John heard noise growing louder in the corridors of the student dormitories, all boys, of course, the girls' rooms were in a different building. He checked his watch to see that it was quarter to 6, and John had been briefed in a letter that dinner was to be in the hall at 6 o'clock. To be honest, he was really quite hungry. Deciding that he could follow the other students to the hall, he left room 221B, locking the door behind him.
All the boys were walking through the corridors in small groups, making John feel extremely lonely. A couple of people just pointed at him, knowing he was the 'new kid.' There were only a couple of people willing to actually talk to him.
"You're new, aren't you?" a dark haired boy asked as they walked through the corridor.
"Um, yeah. John Watson."
"Greg, this is Philip," he said, indicating to the boy walking next to him.
"I hear you're stuck sharing with Sherlock Holmes?"
"I wouldn't say 'stuck,' he seems..."
"Like a pretentious wanker?"
"He's not that bad."
Greg sniggered, "wait until you get to know him properly."
"Where is he, by the way? Will he be in the hall?"
"Doubt it," Philip said, "rarely eats dinner, actually I don't even know how he's still alive."
"Nah, he lives off coffee and fags."
John frowned, the more he heard about Sherlock the more sympathetic he became.
"Does he have any friends?"
"Does who have any friends?" A female voice came from behind them. They were in the hall now, grabbing a plate and standing in line for the buffet.
"Sherlock Holmes."
The girl laughed, "jesus christ no, we talk to him now and again and he has a couple of girls trailing after him, but he's far too much of a dick to have any actual friends. Sally Donovan, by the way, you're the new boy?"
"Yeah, hi."
"You settling in okay?"
"Um..yeah, fine."
"You're just saying that, how was he when you met him? Did he do a little analysis?"
"What do you mean?"
The queue was moving fairly quickly, John was talking whilst helping himself to some sausages and mash.
"Sherlock likes to 'deduce' people, it's what he's known for, the freak. He'll look at you and tell you more about you than you know yourself."
They found seats in the far corner of the room, and John had to almost shout to be heard over the noise.
"And, is that a bad thing?"
"It is when he tells someone their boyfriend or girlfriend is cheating on them."
John scoffed, "is he ever right?"
"He's never bloody been wrong about a thing."
John finished his dinner in silence whilst the other three chatted about their holidays. He was getting a strange sense of interest in Sherlock, and frankly felt more excited to be living with him than an boring person. After they had eaten, Greg, Philip and him went back up to the dorms.
"What do you have first thing tomorrow?" Philip asked.
"Chemistry," John said, having memorised his timetable for tomorrow.
"I've got that," Greg said, "d'you want me to wait for you in the morning? You know, show you how to get there and stuff."
"Thanks, yeah, that'd be good."
"Well, good luck, John, try not to punch him," he said with a wink, then he and Philip left for the dorm they shared. John twisted the doorknob but it was locked, meaning Sherlock wasn't back from - wherever the hell he went. When he got inside, John went straight to his laptop to e-mail his mum about his first day. He wasn't planning on telling her about Sherlock, because it was pointless, but just so that she wasn't worried. The day had actually been much better than he had expected, and he was feeling pretty optimistic for the first time in a long while.