I have to apologise for the lack of updates this past week - I literally didn't have any time until now: I had work upon work to do, plus I started driving too so I had lessons for that as well. But, here it is, Chapter Four as been uploaded! I have to thank those who have added my fanfic to Story Alert - I just hope you keep liking my story!
I'm going to try and update more often, but it is hard to juggle my AS level work and planning and writing this. I'll also try and get the pace up a bit more; I looked over my earlier chapters and I fear it may be going a bit slow? Also, please tell me if Sherlock (or any of the other characters) aren't in character? That's my worst fear!
Anyway, enjoy! And maybe review, too?
Chapter Four
As soon as they reached the courtyard outside the library's only exit, the early September sun emerged itself from the morning cloud and its rays glinted down through the masses of browning trees. Students were still taking advantage of whatever sun there was to lounge on the grassy knolls and squares around the campus, most studying already but some were merely relaxing in the less concentrated sunshine.
Sherlock and John turn round a stone corner, heading towards the campus café. After Sherlock's explanation, neither spoke though the silence wasn't awkward – unlike most both Sherlock and John usually experience. Every so often, John would glance over at the taller one of the two, and he could feel his intrigued emotions be painted across his face, but he couldn't resist. He had never encountered someone like Sherlock – a high functioning sociopath. Did that even exist? He'd have to research it… though that didn't how this stranger knew about his failed attempts of asking Sarah out on a date. And how did he even know about Sarah? John looked down at his hand. The smudge hardly resembled her name, and he was sure he wasn't even in any of their lectures together. It was so strange, but brilliant at the same time –
"Oh, my God, I am so sorry!"
They had rounded another corner, causing Sherlock to slam straight into a slim brunette wearing a red beret and a floral tea-dress. She'd a long-fingered hand clasped to her mouth and her brown eyes were wide with shock horror. Sherlock was down on the ground, not harmed in any way at all, just shoving the books and papers back into his satchel that he had dropped in the collision. John watched the brunette as she quickly got to her bare knees and helped Sherlock with the oodles of notes and scribbles.
"Oh, it's quite alright," Sherlock managed to reply, glinting at a slight smile. He knew exactly who the girl was, of course. "You know, those cigarettes, the other night, were rather different."
The brunette finally looked up at Sherlock – and she recognised him immediately. The same hair, the cheekbones, the same eyes. Her eyes flickered up to John, and then back to Sherlock's, before grinning back and giving a little shrug with her shoulders. "They're just funny little things from Paris. I don't think you can get them in England."
"No, I didn't think they are available," Sherlock took the papers out of the girl's helping hands and stuffed them also into his bag. They rose together, and Sherlock took this chance to hold out his hand – the second handshake he'd started today. Maybe he was actually getting good at 'meeting new people'. "Sherlock Holmes."
The brunette took his hand. "I'm Ivy Coates."
John looked between both Sherlock and Ivy. It didn't take a genius to know that neither knew the other before – but they had met each other briefly. He didn't know when or for how long, but it still felt he was intruding on a meeting between very old friends. He didn't have long to ponder about this because Sherlock abruptly turned and began to introduce him.
"This is John Watson," Sherlock watched – with, was it jealousy? – as Ivy shook John's hand and they beamed at each other.
"Nice to meet you," Ivy said, politely. "So are you two on the same course?"
John opened his mouth to reply but Sherlock was faster. "No, John's studying biomedical sciences, and I'm doing biological sciences."
John stared at Sherlock, again feeling his emotions being painted across his canvas. Confusion this time – he definitely hadn't mentioned his course since he had met Sherlock, so what details had he 'deduced' in order to figure that out?
Ivy gave one slow nod. "Oh, right. Listen, I am sorry for bumping into you – I just hope you haven't lost any of your notes –"
"It really is quite alright," Sherlock's voice had the tiniest twinge of annoyance in it. He didn't like repetition.
Ivy seemed to get the picture shot another sweet smile to both of the young men in front of her. "Oh, well – "
"Me and John are going for coffee, do you want to come?"
Ivy blinked and opened her mouth. "Oh, erm, I… I've got a class on actually," she hastily stammered. "Maybe some other time. It was nice to meet you two, though." And with that, she shifted her own satchel's strap on her shoulder and hurried off, her brown tousled waves swaying slightly with every step, the floral dress whipping at her thin legs, elongated by the low t-bar heels she wore.
Sherlock found his eyes watching her as she walked away. She had lied to them; she didn't have a class or a lecture on. She seemed to be more complex than he originally thought on the first night. He tore his gaze away, mentally shaking himself, and continued his pace next to John.
…
The café wasn't too packed. Sherlock and John managed to find a table free near the entrance after ordering their drinks – a milky tea for John and a black coffee with two sugars for Sherlock.
"How did you know about which course I was taking?" John suddenly blurted out. He instantly regretted it – surely Sherlock didn't like being asked constantly how he came to is conclusions.
But Sherlock smirked. Smugly. John could tell he was more arrogant than the usual student. "Your choice of books. It wasn't a difficult leap," he took a sip of his coffee before bitterly mumbling something like, "It never is."
John stared down into his mug of tea. "I suppose you know all about that Ivy, too?" It was meant to sound like casual conversation.
Sherlock's smirk flickered, but he didn't drop it, and he also stayed silent. Instead, he switched his gaze over to the door where three other students were entering. The first boy had a bulky build with short brown hair, and was wearing a rugby top. A scrawnier young man, also wearing a rugby polo, was following him, with black hair, a pale complexion and a bony hand wrapped around the third student's – a girl with a facial expression of a bulldog chewing a wasp.
The bulky one looked around, and caught his eye on Sherlock. He grinned and walked over to the table, with a very slight limp. Sherlock kept his eyes on him, but remained relaxed and continued to take the occasional sip of his coffee.
"I didn't expect to see you here, Sherlock," the young man's deep voice towered over the rest of the low hum of conversation in the café.
"Sebastian," Sherlock greeted him, with another tint of annoyance in his own deep voice. "How's the rugby? I hear you injured your ankle." The annoyance was dipped in sarcastic.
Sebastian laughed heartily. "That's right, you're doing your thing. Oi, Anderson! Get a load of Sherlock Holmes."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly at Sebastian, as the scrawny one joined Sebastian next to the table.
"No thanks, I'm straight," he sneered, nodding towards the sour girl. Sebastian laughed again before turning towards Sherlock once more.
"Go on, Sherlock, do your trick on Anderson here," Sebastian jeered, "I'm sure he has more than one secret on show."
"It's not a trick," Sherlock calmly commented. He placed his mug down on the table and stared at the three newest participants of his company with an extremely bored expression lingering on his face.
"This guy here can tell if you've been shagging the night before," Sebastian turned to explain to Anderson and the girl. "So you and Sally better be careful –"
Anderson knocked Sebastian on the arm forcefully while the girl nervously rubbed her nose and stared at the floor. Sherlock watched them as if it was a piece of theatre.
"He probably just watches, Seb," Anderson jeered, glaring down at Sherlock's bored face.
Sherlock's facial expression flickered again. "Well," he began, "I'll just have to be careful not to walk in on you and Sally… or perhaps maybe you and your other girlfriend? She doesn't come to Oxford, does she?"
Anderson's scorn hastily wore away and, instead, he was wide-eyed in horror. "How the fuck do you know that, freak?" He abruptly turned to Sebastian. "Have you been talking, Seb?"
Sebastian shook his head quickly. Sally's cheeks were glowing red.
"No, your smell was the one who did the talking, Anderson," Sherlock stared at him.
"My smell? I'm wearing deodorant!"
"Exactly, Sally is wearing the same, but that still doesn't cover up the under layer of perfume," Sherlock felt another smug smirk. "It's not perfume from Sally, so there must be another woman – not one at Oxford by the way you were publicly displaying affection with Sally. I'm guessing it's Sally who's the 'other woman'; she didn't seem too surprised to find out about your other girlfriend."
Anderson was glaring at Sherlock in a way that John thought he was going to lunge himself at Sherlock in rage. He poised himself, ready to break up at brawls that were going to happen, but instead, Sebastian placed a firm grip on Anderson's shoulder and steered him away from the table and towards the exit. Sally hurried behind, obviously hoping no one had heard the recent dispute.
Sherlock didn't linger too long on the events and went back to sipping his coffee. He did, however, notice John staring at him. "What now?"
John opened his mouth, but then closed it again, cleared his throat and began again, "Is it because of your sociopath thing that you're incapable of normal human interaction?"
Sherlock merely stared down at the table and bit the inside of his cheek. "Tell me, John, what is normal human interaction?"
