Chapter 3
Okay, so it took forever for me to update this. Therefore, looooong chapter. I couldn't think of a great first "case" for Sherlock and John to investigate together so sorry if it sounds sort of weird/inaccurate/boring. Really, I'm open to any suggestions for an actual mystery! Hope you enjoy :)
The last few minutes of class dragged on excruciatingly, but finally the bell rang. John jumped from his seat and piled his books together, quickly dashing out the door.
All John could think about through classes was the strange meeting that morning with Sherlock Holmes, and the invitation to help investigate a "case" had spiked his curiosity even more. John hurried down the hallway to meet the other boy outside of the school, and with his mind elsewhere, crashed into someone else walking in the opposite direction.
Papers flew. John's books were knocked out of his arms and onto the ground.
Bending over to retrieve them, he looked up and saw Sarah Sawyer, the girl from chemistry. She was frantically grabbing at spilled papers too, and when John finished gathering his things, he stood to help her.
"Thanks," she replied, brushing a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear as John handed her a stack of notes.
"Don't mention it," John stated, heart picking up a little.
Sarah squinted. "I know you. We've got chemistry together... and your name's John," she finished triumphantly.
John nodded and chuckled. "Yeah, I know. You're Sarah."
It sounded stupid, but he didn't know what else to say.
She laughed. "Well, thank you again, John." She emphasized his name a little with a smile. "I have to go, I'm meeting my roommate... see you tomorrow?"
"See you tomorrow," he agreed. He was sure a small blush was beginning to creep onto his cheeks.
Sarah walked away, turning back once to grin at him, and John could only manage to wave back. He stood like that for a few moments after she was gone, playing back the encounter in his head.
John remembered what he had been in such a hurry for, and took off again so as not to keep Sherlock Holmes waiting.
-x-
John arrived by the front gates, slightly out of breath from running.
Sherlock was leaning up against the wall, wrapped snugly in a long, dark overcoat and checking his mobile. He glanced up when he saw John approaching, and John glimpsed a brief look of surprise on his face before he pushed off the wall and started walking.
John followed his lead, jogging slightly to keep up with the taller boy's stride. He was just about to open his mouth when Sherlock spoke.
"You've got questions."
"Where are we going?"
"Crime scene."
John was still surprised, even though he'd been told it was something like this. He walked in silence a few more moments before piping up again.
"This morning... how did you know all that stuff about me?"
Sherlock stopped walking, and John nearly ran into him. "Was I right?"
"Yes, but I don't see how you could-"
He continued his quick pace. "I simply observed. First off, I noted you were expelled from your previous school. Obvious, there would be no reason for someone of a middle-class family like your's to attend Saint Bartholomew's, besides expulsion or scholarship. If it were a scholarship, you wouldn't have been registered so last-minute, so the latter it is.
"Your grades are important to you, however, you're in the highest classes, so why else would you be kicked out? This traces back to your injuries, primarily the limp. You've fractures due to rugby I assumed, but what about the scarring that looks to be intentionally inflicted by another person? Put two and two together, fights took you out of the school. Not bullying; there are obvious signs you know how to defend yourself in a fight. I picked that up from your spectatorship of Anderson and I yesterday; you saw his lack of defense points, am I correct? But you never looked for an opportunity on the offensive side, because you're reluctant to fight.
"And finally, your brother Harry, I assume younger based on the handwriting, left a note stuck to the back of your coat with his phone number, he must have thought you'd find it eventually. I believe it's still there."
Sure enough, John turned and saw a quickly scrawled post-it with Harry's name and mobile number.
"...shit."
Sherlock grinned. "So I was right then? About everything?"
John quickly ran over the small speech in his head. He realized he should have felt offended, freaked out, or violated in some way, but it only stunned him. He found himself answering the taller boy.
"I was expelled from my last school," he began slowly, "...because of fights I didn't start..."
Sherlock beamed smugly.
"...and my younger sister, Harriet, goes by Harry."
His face fell like a child's, and immediately turned into an angry scowl.
"I knew there would be something, there's always something."
John hesitated. "Well, other than that, it was spot-on. How do you get that from just 'observing' though?"
"The power of deduction."
John snorted.
Sherlock scowled again. "Excuse me?"
"'Power of deduction'? Are you some sort of superhero? Or detective?"
"Consulting detective, actually. The only one in the world, I invented the job myself."
John chuckled. "You're seventeen."
"Sixteen."
"Sixteen. What detective work could you possibly be doing at a boarding school?"
Sherlock smirked. "For example, the case we're investigating right now."
He stopped walking and John noticed they had reached the small beach of a lake with a dock stretching further over the water.
Before John had a chance to ask, Sherlock got to work explaining.
"The night before classes start, every year, the older students throw an extravagant party on this end of school grounds. Jack Downing, a year twelve, came to me yesterday explaining that after having a bit too much to drink, he went to stand on the dock and clear his head. A group of other students found him, and as some sort of joke stripped him of his shoes and jacket, and pushed him in the lake. No one was hurt, but Jack's pride sent him to me to find the culprits and report them, so that Jack may seek revenge as seen fit. I thought I'd come by today to find any evidence leading to a suspect."
John considered this for a moment. It seemed like legitimate detective work actually, and again he was mildly impressed. "So what we're doing now is looking for evidence?"
"Exactly. Anything that might lead to the offenders."
"...like those?" John pointed to a small pile of beer bottles that looked as if the owners had carelessly attempted to conceal them amid the grass and rocky sand.
"Excellent." Sherlock walked over and crouched by the bottles, examining them closely. John wasn't sure how observing beer bottles could lead them to a student, but having just been stunned by the "powers of deduction", he had no room to be doubtful.
"More over here," he pointed out, also crouching to examine the litter.
Sherlock seemed intent on examining each bottle. It was when the boys found and studied a third pile of two bottles laying by a ridiculous checkered hat (John believed it was called a deerstalker) that he drew himself up to announce a conclusion.
"Three to four boys in total. Only one of them physically pushed Jack, though," he explained, pointing at the single trail of footprints leading to the dock. This trail came from the bottles by the hat.
"Left-handed. The smudge marks indicate each bottle was carried left-handed, as well as put down and picked up. What's more-"
Sherlock bent over and scooped up the hat, smirking-
"Blond. Desperate to cover up a bad haircut."
John grinned. Sherlock held the deerstalker out to show him, and there were tiny hair clippings from a recent cut wedged in the seams of the fabric.
"How hard can it be to find a left-handed year twelve with badly cut blond hair and an alcohol problem?"
"We also have his shoe size and approximate height and weight."
"Not to mention the fact that he has terrible taste in hats."
Sherlock snickered. "Really," he began, twisting it about in his hands. "It's got two fronts. It's like some sort of death frisbee." He tossed it to John, saying this, and John laughed, catching the ear hat with ease.
John knew Sherlock was not an ordinary boy. But even if John thought what he needed right now was normal, this was much more fun. Crimes, mysteries. It had only been one day, but John knew he needed Sherlock Holmes.