The lengths of my chapters are bizarre. OK, so I split this chapter into two, because it just took FOREVER and was like 5,000 words before, compared to the much shorter chapters previously. So the first chapter is a little dull, because nothing much vital plot detail happens- other than the introduction of my Mr Collins character. Now, I wonder who he will be? ;D
John, for the next fortnight or so, found himself unexpectedly engrossed in his work. Both he and Molly had exams in November that it was urgent they prepared for, and they each had their own coping mechanisms. Molly preferred a system of reading their text book, rereading it a few times, making detailed notes on the textbook from memory, making flashcards on those notes, highlighting the most important parts, and finally committing them to memory. John preferred a spot check method of revision, being given questions when he least expected it. Greg would panic for a week before hand, having inevitably forgotten to do any revision before hand, but always do far, far better than either of them. If Greg hadn't been so nice, it would have been annoying.
John leafed through the large textbook, mentally testing himself. It was dull, dull, dull. Particularly when he considered that Harry, Kitty and Mary were out flirting with the bartenders. Mary was often dragged along whilst Kitty and Harry shamelessly flirted with the guys (and in Harry's case, the girls too) who worked at the Meryton bar, which she did not enjoy, but she suffered through for the sake of her friends. John was surprised that Harry had not run out of staff, the number of people she brought back to her apartment. Molly often had to sleep downstairs on Greg and John's sofa, having gotten sick of hearing Harry have wild, energetic sex through their shared wall.
Speaking of Greg, the cautious flirting between him and Mycroft seemed to have escalated somewhat. They'd been out on a few dates together, and Greg had come back from each on a high, grinning like an idiot and unable to string a sentence together.
It was, quite frankly, adorable.
Greg was out on another date with Mycroft, this time to the theatre, and John was fairly sure he wouldn't be seeing Greg till the morning. That was, until he felt his phone vibrate against his leg.
'Hi John. Could you pick me up from Mycroft's flat? Sorry to bother you at this time of night, but I hurt my leg tonight and I don't think I can walk. You're the only person I know with a car- don't worry, though, apart from a twisted ankle, a couple of bruises and a cut on my head, nothing much is wrong.'
John shook his head. Nothing much, then, only injuries that render you unable to walk. Sighing, he grabbed his jacket and his car keys.
John reached Mycroft's flat at around one in the morning, but was unable to find a space to park. He ended up having to park a couple of streets away, meaning that he had to walk through the pouring rain to go and fetch Greg. To top it all off, a large car went past as he was walking and sprayed him with muddy water from the puddles. By the time he made it to the flat, he was soaked to the skin, shivering as Mycroft opened the door to him.
"Hi John," he said apologetically. "Thanks for coming. I would have gone in a taxi with him, but Greg didn't want to trouble me, and- God, sorry. Did we wake you?"
"No, don't worry about it," John smiled. "Where is he?"
Greg was sat on the sofa in Mycroft's apartment, with Anthea and Sherlock beside him. "So how did this happen?" John asked. "Did you fall?"
Mycroft and Greg exchanged a guilty look. "I, er," Greg began. "We were- And I- It was- I-"
"In fact," John interrupted. "I really don't want to know, do I?"
Mycroft and Greg nodded in unison. "John, you look freezing. Stay here for a bit while you warm up," said Anthea. Her words were sympathetic but her tone was not. She seemed more gleeful than anything that he looked so bedraggled in front of her, he couldn't imagine why.
"Thanks." John sat down in a chair opposite the others. He felt awfully like he was sat in court, about to be interrogated.
"So John," Anthea continued smoothly. "Greg tells me you both grew up in Islington?"
"Yeah, we did," he said, not quite sure how to respond.
"And you went to a comprehensive, is that right?"
"Yes," he said defensively. "A very good one."
"Oh, I'm sure," she said, smirking. "Do you like to read, John?"
"Er, yes." He could not be sure of where these questions were coming from or why they were being said. It was oddly chilling. Here was a woman who would make a fantastic police officer.
"Georgiana has a great many books," Anthea told him, as if this was some secret knowledge she was disclosing to him. "But Sherlock has never been much of a reader."
"Irrelevant to my studies," Sherlock said, in way of an explanation.
John swallowed. "I haven't had the privilege of meeting her personally," he said, grimacing. "I'm sure she is a lovely girl."
"She really is," Anthea said. "If I had a daughter, I would want her to be like Georgiana. She is truly talented. You see so many people hailed as 'gifted', but Georgiana is so skilled in every area. She paints, she can make her own clothes- very well, I might add- and she plays every instrument she is given."
John laughed. "I've never met anyone who can do all that."
"Yes, well," Anthea said smoothly. "Perhaps it's a superior gene." She sent Sherlock a look that would have made Lucifer blush, but it did not seem to move Sherlock either way. John was not surprised by Anthea's attraction to Sherlock, but he was by how obvious she made it. Honestly, did she not know the meaning of subtle?
"Yes, well," John said sourly. "We can't all be perfect." He gave Anthea a short, sweet smile, which she did not return. "If you'll excuse us," he said, getting to his feet. "We really should get going. I mean, it's really quite late now, and I have a lot of revision to be getting on with."
"I'll help you to your car," said Mycroft to Greg softly, kissing him softly and tenderly. Anthea's mouth fell open by a fraction, but John grinned.
"I'll help too," said Sherlock, not looking at the newly exposed couple.
"Thank you, Sherlock," John replied politely, unused to such helpfulness from the man. He smiled at Anthea before they left, feeling a little sick for doing so, and Mycroft helped Greg out of the door. There seemed like very little point of Sherlock being there, to be honest, they needed two people at most, one to help Greg and the other to open the car. Still, here he was. Trying to help. Badly.
"So…" Sherlock said finally, the drizzle forming a mist in the air. John could tell Sherlock was searching for small talk. "How long have you been playing the guitar?"
"I would have thought you could tell me that?"
"Four years, give or take a few months."
"Very good," John said smoothly. "Astonishing."
Sherlock paused, turning the corner onto the street where John's car was parked. "Do you write your own songs?"
"On occasion. Believe me; they're not to any great standard."
"I'm sure they are. What are they about?"
John fixed his gaze on the couple ahead of them, Mycroft's arm around Greg's waist to support him. "Love, usually."
"Music is the food of love," Sherlock quoted.
"Love, perhaps. But try and serenade a girl with a song you wrote her after three weeks of knowing each other, that screams stalker apparently."
Sherlock laughed, a noise that even he must have realised sounded false. "I," he started, before swallowing hard. "I'm very uneducated in popular music."
"Surely you must like something?"
Sherlock ran a hand through his now damp hair. "I've been trying to focus on my studies. I haven't been getting out much. Perhaps you would care to recommend some?"
John laughed bitterly, but did not reply. He was not in the mood for Sherlock's sarcasm.
"John? Did you hear me?"
"I did," John said, more venomously than he had intended to. "But I'm not going to answer. You want me to say yes, so I will show you some stuff that I like, and you can mock me later. So no, Sherlock, I won't 'recommend' some to you, I won't give you the satisfaction."
Sherlock looked genuinely taken aback, and a little angry. "I didn't mean that at all, but you seem determined to think the worst of me."
They reached the car. John opened the door without another word to Sherlock. He gently helped Greg into the front seat and shut the door for him. "Thank you both for helping him," he said politely.
"It was nothing," said Mycroft happily. "I'm the one who broke him in the first place." There was an awkward pause, before Greg, Mycroft and John began to laugh. "I, er, didn't mean that quite the way it came out." He knelt down beside the window. "So I'll see you on Saturday at the party?"
"Of course," said Greg happily. "Hopefully my foot will be better by then." He kissed Mycroft quickly again, before Mycroft stood back up.
"Bye," John said with a smile, determined to avoid meeting Sherlock's eye. He got into the car and drove away, sighing slightly as he did so.
Greg was smiling widely, despite obviously being in pain. "Sorry for getting you up," he said apologetically. "I didn't get you up, did I?"
"No, no, I was awake, don't worry." John drummed out a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel with his palms. "So how did this happen?"
Greg flushed. "There was a slight accident involving a kitchen worktop."
John would have screwed his eyes up had he not been driving at the time. "OH GOD. Why did I ask?"
Greg did nothing, except giggle like a fourteen year old girl. "Just because I have an exciting and vibrant sex life. Speaking of which- is anything happening there, at all?"
It was John's turn to blush. "No."
"Well we'll have to sort that out."
"No."
"But-"
"No."
"Just-"
"End of conversation."
Greg shut up rather quickly after that.
If John thought that the next few days leading up to Mycroft's birthday would be dull, he was mistaken. On the Wednesday before the party, John found Mrs Hudson talking to a tall, dark haired man in the lobby of the house.
"Ah, John!" she said, with a somewhat desperate smile. "This is Colin Anderson, my elder sister's grandson. So that would make him, what, my great nephew? Yes."
He smiled courteously at him, and shook his hand. "Please to meet you."
"Colin is a student at the University too."
"Criminology," he said, as an explanation. "I think I've seen you on campus?"
John nodded. "Yeah, you seem familiar. I'm John, John Watson, hi."
Mrs Hudson gave John a pained look. "Colin here is, well, the heir to my 'estate' as it were. I have no children, as you know, and my sister," there was a flash of anger in her eyes. "Well, she's my closest relative. Anyway, it was nice to see you Colin."
"Nice to see you, Auntie. Oh, and John," he turned to him. "I'll see you around."
Colin left, and Mrs Hudson sighed with relief. "Thank God. I cannot stand that boy."
John laughed, unused to seeing Mrs Hudson so unforgiving. "He didn't seem that bad."
Mrs Hudson scowled. "The insufferable little man. If two sisters haven't seen each other for twenty years, it suggests that there is a reason for it. Honestly, I would have put up with it, if he hadn't been so self obsessed all the bloody thing. Kept going on about his bloody flat near Rosing Park, wherever that is, and how well he and his flatmate were doing for themselves. It was like he worshipped the bloody woman- I forget her name, Sandra? Samantha?... Sally! That was it. God help the girl if she has to live with him!"
John was caught between concern and amusement. "He seemed nice enough to me."
"You'd think so, wouldn't you? All smiles and politeness, but it's like he's deliberately styled himself like that. There's a very thin veil of courtesy masking a body filled with arrogance, let me tell you that now."
John shrugged, and went to fetch his post from their pidgeon hole. He'd have to wait until he saw more of Colin Anderson before he judged him.
It did not take long for John to meet Colin Anderson again- suddenly, he seemed to bump into him wherever he went, in the library, in the corridors, even back at the apartment building. From a few brief conversations with him, John had concluded that he was a very grave man, but a polite one at least. Mrs Hudson had a point- everything about him seemed to be calculated, planned ahead to make him come off in the best way possible.
Eventually they ran into each other as John, Greg and Molly were sat together in the campus canteen eating lunch, and Colin made his way over to them.
"Hi John," he said with a smile, glancing around at the group.
"Oh, hi Colin. Guys, this is Colin Anderson, he's a criminology student. He's Mrs Hudson's great nephew."
They all murmured their polite greetings, and Colin sat down beside them. "And your name is?" he said to Greg, his voice a low purr. John wasn't sure he liked his tone.
"Greg," he replied, and John was sure that Greg disliked the way Colin was speaking to him too.
"So, er, Greg," John said suddenly. "Looking forward to the party at your boyfriend Mycroft's on Saturday?"
Colin seemed to deflate slightly, and Greg gave John a thankful smile. "Yeah, it should be great."
"A party?" Colin said quickly. "Brilliant. Can I go?"
They exchanged a nervous look, before Greg said "I'm sure that would be fine."
"Great!" he said. "So you guys live in my aunt's building?"
"Yeah," Greg replied. "She gives us a very good rate for such a nice place."
"Oh, I see," said Colin, in a tone of sympathy. "Money troubles?"
Molly laughed. "Like all students."
"Oh, that's never happened to me," he said, a smug look on his face. "Don't worry, once my aunt dies, I'll be sure to keep the rent down.
John gaped at him, shocked. "She won't die any time soon, believe me! She's tough, your aunt."
"She looked very frail to me," he replied, as if this somehow settled the matter. John frowned. She was probably restraining herself from beating you. "So, what do you guys study?"
"Molly and I are med students, Greg studies History."
"Ah, interesting. I study criminology with my flatmate, Sally."
"Oh, that's nice," said Molly. "Is she with you now?"
"Oh no," he laughed. "She's far too busy, she's doing something else right now."
"I sure as hell wish I was," John murmured, too quietly for Colin to hear, causing Molly to have to fake a choking fit right then and there.
Colin looked down at his watch, uninterested in Molly's sudden asphyxiation. "Well, I've got a class. I'll see you guys later."
He got up and left, leaving his tray where he had been sitting. "What a dick," John glared at Colin's retreating back. "I can't believe he said that about Mrs Hudson. Like he was waiting for her to die so he could have the bloody house!"
Molly nodded sadly. "What's more," said Greg with a grin, "he's violated the self clear policy of the university canteen."
John laughed. "Now that I cannot abide." He picked up Anderson's tray and took it over to the bin to clear it with the others. "I need a break from it all. You guys fancy a drink at Meryton tonight?"
"Yeah, sure," Molly replied. "Not Harry. I know she's your sister, but- God. I need a rest."
John nodded. "Not a problem, believe me."
"Can I bring Myc?" Greg asked.
"Yeah, why not? Mycroft, I like. It's just," his mind flicked to Sherlock Holmes, "others I can't stand."
Does anyone actually know what Anderson's first name is? It caused me a huge dilemma, so I named him Colin for ease… Plus someone on my Twitter timeline was ranting about someone called Colin… It felt like fate. Pointless ramble is over now.
