A/N: Hello again, here is chapter six, chapter seven is on its way too, again real life is taking for too much of my writing time so I try and write as much as I can, I beg for your patience.
It would be very lovely if you reviewed
cheers from idso..
The train ride felt shorter than it was; John had finished his book shortly before they reached London St. Pancras station. Sherlock grabbed his own bags and rushed out of the train. John exited the train and looked around the train station. It was massive, very tall, and slightly Victorian looking—you know, like it was made of Meccano.
"Come along John" Sherlock called out. John shook himself mentally and rushed after Sherlock. They headed out to the front gates near Kings Cross Station rather than the tube lines. John looked perplexedly at his dark haired friend but Sherlock spoke before John could voice his question.
"I'm not that keen on the tube, especially in this hour and time of year so we're taking a cab." He smiled at John. "Much easier when one is carrying luggage as well." Sherlock yelled out for a cab and got one instantly.
"Belgrave Place please," Sherlock said to the driver. The ride was twenty minutes due to the Christmas traffic. John was gaping out of the windows trying to take in everything; as they neared their destination John could certainly see the houses getting more and more expensive. They turned down to the Mall and John recognized it from his school trip to Buckingham Palace—they reached the house within five minutes of passing. After exiting the cab and gathering their bags, Sherlock paid the driver.
"You, you live near the Queen?" John asked aghast.
"Yes," Sherlock answered nonchalantly.
"Right."
John followed Sherlock up to the house; it was a white Victorian town house—he recognized from the period dramas his sister and mother forced him to watch as a boy. John looked up and down the road itself, it was adorned with the same sort of great Victorian town houses, all aligned with very expensive cars—Bentley's, Rolls Royce's, Mercedes, and the occasional sports car. Sherlock rummaged in his coat and produced a single key and then walked to the door. They entered a large hallway adorned with paintings, sculptures and grand flower arrangements.
Sherlock headed for the stairs and beckoned John to follow; they reached the landing and stood at the beginning of a long corridor with doors on either side. Sherlock entered the third door on the left; John followed him inside and looked around. A large four poster bed was in the centre of the room, a large wardrobe flanking one of its sides—John expected that if he peeked inside he might just see Aslan there. On the other side of the bed was a large, antique looking chest of drawers, a door leading into the en suite bath in original art deco style. John gawped as he glanced around the room at a total loss for words; Sherlock sent him a nervous look.
"I hope it is satisfactory John, it is not the largest of the guest rooms, but it is directly across the hall from my own room. I thought it would be more convenient, but if you want the master guest room I…er" John stopped Sherlock with a raised hand.
"It is absolutely amazing Sherlock. It's bloody well bigger than the entire first floor back home!" John sent him a warm smile, trying to express his deepest gratitude towards his dark haired friend.
"Ah, well I, er…I'll leave you to settle then. There should be loads of towels ready in the bathroom if you'd like a shower. I thought we might go out for an early dinner since you've only had a sandwich on the train."
"That sounds great, thanks Sherlock!"
"Great, if you need anything I'll be right across the hall."
At that Sherlock left the room and John eyed the enormous bed; he made sure he was totally alone before sprinting towards it and jumping onto it—as one always does when one is presented with such a bounce worthy bed! John laughed at the ridiculousness of it all; Sherlock's family was just so unbelievably posh, very much unlike his own working class, drinking beer-out-of-a-bottle sort of family.
John unpacked his things quickly (not that there was a hell of a lot to unpack) and went to the bathroom. He eyed the enormous bathtub and smiled.
"Oh, another time baby." He went to the ludicrously art deco adorned shower instead. He gave a slight involuntary moan as the soothing hot water caressed his body and washed away the smell of travelling.
He dried himself off with a huge fluffy towel, embroidered in gold was the Holmes family crest. He dressed himself in a pair of dark brown jeans and a green t-shirt; he draped his black jacket over his arm and went over to Sherlock's room and knocked. Sherlock's voice called out enter, John went in and closed the door behind him.
"Hey Sherlock I th—" John stopped dead, "Oh, Jesus Sherlock, I'm sorry!" John turned and looked the other way. He had found his dark haired friend in nothing but a pair of tightly fitted briefs bending over his own chest of drawers. John could feel a blush creeping over his cheeks and he stood looking firmly at the door.
"Why are you apologizing John?" Sherlock asked in a perplexed tone.
"Because you are in your pants Sherlock, almost bloody well naked!" John cried out.
"I am not naked, besides we are both acquainted with the male form, therefore it should not matter whether or not I am naked." Sherlock said in a matter of fact voice.
"Yeah, still Sherlock, bit awkward mate." John turned to look at Sherlock, trying to keep his gaze on his friends face but he couldn't help himself from sneaking a peak at his friend's physique. Sherlock was long in all his limbs and thin, far too thin for John's liking. Sherlock had a light sprinkling of dark hair on his chest, and from his navel down to his, well you get the picture; from what John could see Sherlock's gentleman's area was as the rest of him, long and thin.
Sherlock dressed himself in black slacks and a white button up shirt, topping it off with a black blazer—John looked down at himself in comparison.
"Are we going somewhere posh? For I, er, might need to go change then." John blushed slightly as he diverted his gaze to his shoes.
"Oh no, not at all John, this is how I normally dress. It is what I feel most comfortable in." Sherlock smiled. "You look perfectly fine John." John sighed in relief, watching as Sherlock grabbed his key, phone and wallet.
"Ready when you are John." Sherlock said while straightening his clothes. John gave a nod and followed Sherlock out of the room, downstairs and outside.
Sherlock locked the door the turned to John, "I have a small Chinese place in mind, just a few streets away. You can always tell a good Chinese place by examining the bottom third of the door handle." Sherlock glanced over John, "I know you have slight problems with your legs, so if you'd like we could get a cab instead of walking."
"No, no I'd rather walk. They're not that bad at the moment, but thanks for the consideration mate." John gave Sherlock a pat on the shoulder.
They walked on, Sherlock talking about the neighbourhood; he pointed out an alley saying that was the first place he got beaten up when he was a kid. John wondered how many times his brilliant friend had been beaten up because of his enormous brain and decrepit social skills. All the houses they passed were, in John's standards, posh and incredibly so. Sherlock kept on talking about this and that in the area and then suddenly went quiet, looking carefully at John.
"You are very quiet John, I er, I hope I am not boring you." Sherlock looked down at his shoes and then at John.
"Oh no, no not at all Sherlock, I am just taking it all in. Your childhood memories, the buildings, the fact that I am in bloody London at Christmas time, without my parents knowing; I've never felt so free! And I feel like a proper teenager, doing rebellious stuff. I've always been careful Good-boy-next-door-Watson, but look at me now." John smiled so bright it radiated around him. He looked over at Sherlock and saw that he too was beaming.
They walked on a little further before they reached the restaurant. Once inside they were greeted at once by a waiter.
"Ah, Master Sherlock, long time no see!" The waiter said in a thick Chinese accent.
"I have been away at school Cho, a table for two please." They were ushered to a table in a secluded corner. They ordered and got their drinks very quickly. John thought it odd, especially since the restaurant was very busy. Sherlock's family must be well known and well connected he thought. The waiter, Cho, came back with a tea light lantern and placed it in the middle of the table.
"More romantic for you and your date Master Sherlock." He bowed and walked away before John could contradict him.
"So, do you usually bring your dates here then?" John giggled, glad Sherlock joined in.
"Only the good ones." Sherlock joked on. John giggled into his hand as their food arrived.
"Thank you Cho." Sherlock smiled lightly at the man and began to poke at his food while John gulped down some water and began shuffling down his dinner. He didn't realize how hungry he was before now. After about fifteen minutes of silent eating, John noticed that Sherlock hadn't really eaten anything off of his place. He sighed.
"Sherlock Holmes, eat! We've had a long day and you need to keep your body going, fuel up mate! Or do I have to forced feed you again?" John gave Sherlock a most stern look. Sherlock saw the seriousness in John's eyes and began to eat his food.
"There's a good lad." John smiled and finished off his meal. Sherlock ate most of his food and gave John a pleased now kind of look which John reciprocated with a smile.
Sherlock paid for the meal, once again insisting that he made his mother pay. John should be feeling bad, and he did just bit, for making Sherlock pay, but somehow he didn't care anymore.
"So Watson, what would you like to do now?" Sherlock asked as they left the restaurant. John pondered this, it was about eight in the evening, but he was knackered.
"I don't know, just heading back to the house and chill in front of the telly? I'm just exhausted after a day full of experiences and new impressions."
"Of course John, telly, a cuppa, then early bed today for an early start tomorrow then?" Sherlock smiled.
"Sounds just the ticket."
The boys walked back to the house in silence, comfortable silence that is. John was taking in the splendour that was London by night. He peered into the windows of homes they passed, catching glimpses of regular family lives—decorated houses with happy-family families enjoying the buzz of Christmas. He had never really had that. He'd had nights of stressed dinners followed by rows, drunken relatives, and spending the rest of the night in his room reading or playing on his computer.
John was far too deep in his own thoughts to have noticed they had reached the house; Sherlock unlocked the door and beckoned John inside. John had only seen the first floor, well some of it, so he took in everything when he saw the inside of the room they actually entered. It was a huge kitchen; everything kept in stainless steel, white tiles, and everything it its own place. It was a bit clinical for John's taste but he thought the Holmes family wouldn't usually cook or spend any time in the kitchen.
"Mother has the servants with her to wherever she is so we have to manage ourselves John. There is a lady, Mrs. Hughes, who comes to clean and wash when needed, so tea?" Sherlock spoke as he filled the kettle.
"Please let me Sherlock, you don't have to do everything yourself, just sit down and tell me where to find the stuff I need."
Sherlock sat down on one of the bar stools and directed John around. John handed Sherlock his cup once finished; they left the kitchen and headed through the hallway.
"You know what, I don't really fancy watching telly tonight, can't we just go and chat in your room? I'd very much like to see it properly, see if it's filled with disgusting experiments too." John smiled. Sherlock nodded and walked upstairs.
He hesitantly went inside his own room, sitting on his bed with his cuppa in hand. He took a sip, good god John could make a decent cuppa. He watched as John looked around.
It was as large as John's guest room, but very Sherlock. Large bookshelves adorned a back wall, completely stuffed with books, a large wooden desk was absolutely covered in papers, books and weird stuff in glass jars. John sat down next to Sherlock on the bed and drank his tea.
"Do you find it nice to be back home Sherlock?" John asked politely.
"Home, well this is defined as my home, though I've never had an emotional bond with it as one usually has with the place they call home. It's better to be here then at St. Barts, no bullies, no annoying teachers, just peace and quiet, and good company."
"Ah, cheers Sherlock." John raised his mug to Sherlock.
John quietly finished his tea and then rose to his feet.
"Well I'm off to bed, I'm knackered. Thank you for a great day Sherlock, what time tomorrow?"
"Well, how about a lie in? Sleep until you wake, come knock on my door, I usually don't sleep, not much anyway, and then we can decide what to do. Does that sound agreeable?"
"You don't sleep? God I'm too tired for that conversation. Good night Sherlock and thanks again for a fantastic day." John smiled and Sherlock reciprocated.
He placed his mug on Sherlock's bedside table and went over to his own room. He changed into his pyjamas and lied down, he fell asleep immediately.