John didn't miss how the crowd of teenagers parted for Sherlock, as if he carried an infectious disease. Neither did he miss how his new acquaintance tensed at each sneer, like he was preparing to be hit every time it happened.
John had his duffle slung over his shoulder and he dragged a small, wheeled suitcase behind himself, following closely behind Sherlock.
"Most rooms are double bunks but ours is just us," his tone seemed bitter sweet, John guessed he liked his solitude but not the reasons behind it; he was sure Sherlock would never admit that though.
Sherlock's curls had flattened somewhat in the dank weather; his pale skin almost looked clammy. If that's what the surroundings did to such a beauty as Sherlock, John didn't want to think what he looked like right now. Holmes ducked through a back door that looked suspiciously unused; it led to a staircase covered thickly in dust.
"Um Sherlock, this isn't the usual way into school,"
"Well done, John." His tone dry, "No, it isn't. I prefer this way,"
"Less people," John muttered, starting guiltily when Sherlock replied wryly,
"Quite,"
They climbed four staircases - each turning ninety degrees left to its predecessor - only stopping halfway up for Sherlock to reluctantly take John's suitcase from him when it looked like he was struggling. At the time John argued but was honestly glad; his knee was killing. By the time they reached the top John was panting. He threw a glance at Sherlock to see that the boy had barely even broken a sweat; damn. Not only good looking and insanely clever but stupidly fit too.
'Stop it,' he scolded himself.
The hall looked old, like the staircase and just as unused. Faded paintings swung precariously off of long-come-loose nails. Lengths of wall were coloured in a sickly yellow; improved by the dulling of thick dust.
"How homely," John said brightly, trying to hide his displeasure. Sherlock cast an amused look over a straight shoulder,
"Don't worry, John. This is just an old hall, used for storage now. A secret entrance if you like. We'll be coming to the main corridor soon," Voices, giggling and the general raucous of arriving boarders began to grow louder the further they walked, confirming Sherlock's statement.
"Thanks for all your help Sherlock; I can tell you...don't like people in general so...thank you, I guess." John only got a soft hum in response.
A normal and plain looking door appeared ahead of them, through which Sherlock quickly waved him. To John's surprise, nobody noticed them; it seemed to him that most people tried to ignore Sherlock and any of his affairs: That or terrorise him.
"This way, John," Sherlock looked almost comical striding with his tall, proud gait while trundling John's suitcase behind him.
Part 3
"Oi!"
John started to turn, to search out the voice from behind him, but Sherlock had firmly grabbed onto his elbow, steering the smaller boy through the crowded halls.
"Keep walking, John." There was a sharp edge in his voice.
"Fag," Sherlock flinched, "I'm talking to you!"
"Don't stop," Sherlock whispered and John shoved through the suffocating corridor, face set in a grim line. This wasn't fair, it wasn't right to treat someone like this.
"I said-" a hand clamped down on Sherlock's shoulder, roughly spinning him into the wall and pinning him there, "I'm talking to you, freak." This bully John recognised, he was the second figure to run past his car. "Hello Holmes, how are you doing this fine morning, hey? I'll tell you how I'm doing yeah?" By now the greasy haired boy had his face millimetres from Sherlock's, his mousy brown mop hanging by his chin.
"Why don't you Anderson, I'm intrigued." Sherlock's velvety smooth voice oozed confidence and boredom but John could tell from the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, that Sherlock was- at the very least- unsure.
"What did you tell Sally?" Anderson spat, pulling the taller boy away from the wall and slamming him back again. John watched horrified as Sherlock spluttered; winded. He looked so horridly vulnerable, however something in John told him that if Sherlock wanted to, he could take Anderson tooth for tooth.
"Piss off Anderson! He didn't do anything to you!" John spun around to see a small brown haired girl; she had nothing to her but nonetheless stood straight, hands on hips, glaring icy daggers at the bully- who actually laughed at her.
"In fact I did. Very amusing really-" both defendant and prosecutor ignored Sherlock's arrogant interruption.
"What do you want, Hooper, to save your crush from big bad me?" Anderson pouted mockingly as the girls cheeks reddened, "Too bad he doesn't swing your way. But then nobody does, do they?" Anderson had a very ugly sneer.
"Just...let him go, okay?" She seemed to disappear back inside herself, previous confidence withered and shrunk.
"No, now fuck off and cry over another rejection would you?"
The lanky douche had not just said that. John could just about handle Sherlock being picked on, because if he wanted he could stand up for himself, but picking on a someone so small
and shy trying to be brave? No. John's eyes rose to Sherlock's and he let his bag slip quietly to the floor. They held each others stare a second longer than strictly necessary and then, like over stretched elastic bands, they snapped.
John's hands found Anderson's shoulders and he pulled sharply back, hooking his own arms through the bullies, pinning the bony guy against his chest and releasing Sherlock who- of all things- straightened his blazer and did up the waist buttons.
"Now, now, Anderson, that was rude," his expression turned from civil to murderous in a second flat. And then Anderson was doubled over. John hadn't even seen Sherlock raise his fist before it had slammed into the bully's' stomach. John let go and watched blankly as the boy crumpled to the floor. "You do not talk to Molly Hooper like that, understood?" Sherlock snarled letting a cruel smile turn his lips when Anderson groaned and half-heartedly nodded his head. "Good," Sherlock swooped for the suitcase calling over his shoulder, "Come along, John!" leaving the smaller boy to scramble after him with his duffel.
Behind them the hall burst into chatter like radio static.
"Sherlock," John watched the back of his new acquaintance's head feeling irritated with how little response he was given,
"Sherlock-"
"In here, John." His long pale fingers pushed against John's lower back, directing him into a large room at the end of the corridor. He seemed oblivious to the shiver that ran up the smaller boy's spine. "Would you rather top or bottom?"
John let his eyelids flutter closed and he took a deep breath. That was not what Sherlock was asking.
Forcing a smile he spun around to face his room mate,
"Bottom I guess. Um," as John's gaze washed over the room cluttered high with...well, everything, he heard a faint "Good to know," and as the blush spread over his cheeks he was glad he happened to be facing away from Sherlock.
A desk piled with stacks of paper, a microscope peeking out from behind a tower of take-out boxes.
"Are those-?"
"Organs? Yes. I like to experiment. That won't be a problem?" John felt a little lost. Was this allowed?
"No," he breathed. A set of bunk beds sat in the corner looking incredibly neat and un-slept in compared to the rest of the room. Several shirts hung from the ladder rungs, a school bag was slung carelessly by the door, all manner of coloured school books spilling out onto the boarded floor. The bookshelf was floor to ceiling and at least twenty books across. It's collection was sandwiched tightly together with more lying horizontally wedged above and still there were columns of bound pages reaching waist height around the crammed shelf's base. But what astounded John the most was how the subjects ranged. Titles alternated between battered volumes of 'How to develop a super-power memory', to brand new looking copies of 'Egyptian hieroglyphic translations to Arabic in 30 minutes'. Why Sherlock would need that, he didn't know but at least this boy sounded interesting.
"Where should I put my stuff?" After a moment of silence John turned to see Sherlock leaning against the closed door, hands in a prayer position under his chin, blue green eyes tightly closed. "Sherlock?" No response; great. "Okay, I'll just...grab my case," John eyed where the lean boy had dropped it behind his legs, trying to work out how best to nab it. "Right," he muttered as he reached round Sherlock's unusually long limbs. John tried not to think about how close his face was to this amazing boy's crotch or about how the heat Sherlock's body radiated gave him goose bumps-
"John."
"Agh-" the smaller boy raced to stand straight, cheeks heating immediately as their chests brushed. John could feel the warmth of Sherlock's breath on his face, looking up he found those piercing eyes scrutinising his every movement. 'Oh god,' he thought. John hurriedly tried to scramble back but lost his footing on a- a skull! Reaching out for the nearest way to steady himself, John grabbed two fistfuls of Sherlock's shirt but the lithe boy wasn't expecting the sudden change in balance and fell forward with John down onto the hard floor boards.
Long seconds passed slowly. John lay still and tense under Sherlock, breath stuttering with the shock of his fall and the added weight of the surprisingly heavy Holmes. His fists were still clenched tightly in the white cotton over Sherlock's chest. His room mate's arms were bent either side of John's head, pink lips centimetres from his own, hot breath tickling John's cheek, their hip bones pressing together- oh no. 'Please don't let me be hard-'
"Christ John." That deep baritone so wasn't helping with his... problem.
"Sorry Sherlock...I...god I'm sorry."
"Shut up, Watson." He silenced himself, "Are you alright?"
Taking a quick bodily inventory- ignoring his fastly arising problem! - he whispered a reply.
"I'm fine. Are you-?"
"I'm fine too. Come on then, John," Sherlock's body weight disappeared as the boy sprang to his feet and skipped over to the takeaway boxes, muttering to himself.
Subtly as possible John craned his neck to check himself- he wasn't tented; at all. What the...? Did that mean... John's eyes widened his breathing momentarily ceasing. 'Bloody hell,'
"Do you plan on lying there all day?"
John stumbled to his feet, watching the genius bend over his microscope and couldn't help the grin that split over his face.
Sherlock bloody Holmes was hard for him.
"So, Sherlock, where do you want me to dump my stuff?" John was quite certain he was going to like it here after all
