Author's Notes:This will be a full length AU fic and will be posted up here as I finish and my lovely, amazing beta, kathecello, cleans them up! Warnings for the whole story: general adult themes, swearing, mentions of child abuse, violence and graphic sex. Rating has gone up.
Hello! Hope everyone is doing well! As always, your reviews light up my day and I hope to keep hearing from you. On another note, it has come to my attention that some of my readers are tumblr users and I have been throwing around the idea of opening a blog for Ashes. It would be open for submissions of art, fanmixes, etc and I would be putting my supplementary stuff up there as well as giving you guys to ask any questions you might have. Let me know if any of you are interested. =] Enjoy the chapter!
How to Build a Heart out of Ashes: Expectations
by: Teumessian
In what seemed like no time at all, the summer days had slipped away from them and before John even had a chance to get accustomed to the idea, he was standing in front of the mirror, slipping a tie with blue stripes around his neck. He'd become used to the red. It wasn't bad, the blue, but it was certainly different, a reminder of the fact that he was entering a whole new stage of his life.
Sherlock, however, was born to wear the colour, and since he'd so rarely worn his sixth form tie, it wasn't so strange to see him in the Uni-blue. John had noticed all this on the first day of autumn term, at the all school meeting, when even Sherlock would have been scolded for not wearing his full uniform. Though, he still in no way wore it every day, John noticed he did wear it far more than he'd worn the red tie. Knowing Sherlock, it was probably purely vanity the whole time.
John was taking a good course load autumn term, including a higher mathematics course and biochemistry. The latter he was lucky to share with Molly. It was also in that class that John met Sarah Sawyer. She was funny; she was pretty, and John was certainly interested. They could easily discuss school and had a lot in common there, as Sarah was a perspective medical student like John, Molly and Mike. Plus, she laughed and didn't look at John like he was crazy when he told her about each of Sherlock's recent social infractions or bursts of genius. Sarah was always interested.
John was very busy once school started. He now only worked one night a week at the clinic, but on top of that he had classes, coursework, revising, rugby and, as always, Sherlock's constant demand for his presence. He'd honestly given up on anything resembling a normal sleep schedule, inadvertently taking a leaf out of Sherlock's book. Though, a habit of forced insomnia hardly set him apart from many if not most University students. However, it didn't mean he had any interest in going up to Hawke Lake in the middle of the night.
"Sherlock, even if we keep a good pace it will take no less than four hours to get there and back," John complained when Sherlock asked him to do just such a thing. "I don't see why we can't just go right after I get out of class."
Sherlock sighed dramatically as they walked through a hallway in the math department.
"That would defeat the whole point! I told you, the entire goal of taking more samples is to see how the oxygen and other chemical levels fluctuate between night and day. Doing it any earlier than 2 am would be absolutely meaningless," he reiterated, rather viciously. "Weren't you listening?"
Honestly, John's attention had been a little divided by the fact that he had been texting Sarah throughout the conversation and he may have missed the logistics of this particular experiment.
"Ah, right," John amended, glancing down to see the blinking light on his phone that meant he had a new message. "Even so, Sherlock, its Tuesday. I have to sit an exam and rugby practice tomorrow."
Sherlock's face twisted with scorn and he was about to say some choice words to reflect these feelings but now he was faced with the top of John's head. He'd looked back down at his phone. John laughed once at the joke Sarah had sent him.
"Well—I—who are you texting?" Sherlock asked, irritated.
John once may have rolled his eyes at the double standard, as Sherlock never put down his phone, but he was so used to such things by now. He hit send on his response and looked back up.
"Sarah," John told him.
Sherlock's eyebrows dipped.
"Sarah who?" he asked, something odd in his voice.
John pocketed his phone.
"Sarah Sawyer," John said, a little confused as to why Sherlock was being so hostile. "She is in the same biochemistry class as Molly and I."
Sherlock's expression didn't soften and John realized it was going to be one of those days. The young Changeling sometimes would just be determined to sulk. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something that promised to be only unpleasant, but he was cut off.
"Hey, John, Sherlock!"
Both boys turned in the direction of the sound to see Greg coming over to them quickly.
"Greg," John greeted, cordially.
Sherlock just stared levelly, but nobody expected anything warmer. Greg looked absolutely overjoyed.
"What's up?" John asked.
Greg's face looked like it might split in half.
"I got the position," Greg said, excitedly. "You are currently speaking to the Captain of the Student Guard!"
"Congratulations!" John said wholeheartedly.
"You're very young to hold that position. Usually it's given to a third or fourth year university student," Sherlock said, with a notable lack of sarcasm that turned a fact into the Sherlockian equivalent of a complement.
Both John and Greg glanced up at him for some telling sign of falseness but he seemed genuine.
"Thank you, both!" Greg said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"So what does such a position offer in the way of perks?" John asked with a smile.
Greg laughed.
"Well besides looking fantastic on a resume, it also comes with a small paycheck," Greg said happily.
"You get keys, as well, right?" Sherlock asked. "To the buildings and things?"
John shot Sherlock a suspicious glance but Greg didn't look phased.
"You are correct, sir," Greg said, pulling a set of jingling keys out of his pocket and spun them around his pointer finger.
Greg looked so pleased, and so did Sherlock… John had no idea why but his instincts were flaring violently. A happy Sherlock on a sulk-day never boded well.
"So how do you plan to use your power first?" John asked.
Greg leaned back on his heels and stuck the keys back in his pocket.
"Oh, I thought I'd just strut about for a few days, maybe scare the pants off a few obnoxious secondary students," Greg shrugged, but with the splitting grin back on his face.
John laughed, knowing full well Greg would never abuse his power—harmfully at least. Then the bell rang, indicating the end of passing period.
"Well, congratulations once more," John said.
Greg was about to thank John when Sherlock did something that made his jaw drop. Sherlock stepped forward and clapped his hand down on Greg's shoulder.
"Indeed, congratulations. That's highly admirable," he said, oh so very seriously, pausing before turning down the hallway.
John was frozen in shock for a moment before lurching away with a hasty goodbye to Greg.
He caught up to Sherlock and looked over at him.
"What the hell was that?" John asked.
Sherlock's hands were in his pockets and he looked disturbingly smug.
"What?" he said, with a pathetic attempt at fabricated innocence.
John shook his head.
"No, stop that. You know exactly what I'm talking about," John said.
They turned around the corner into the main hallway, passing a number of posters advertising the Autumn Ball. Sherlock looked down at him, unhidden glee dancing in his eyes, just behind the composed mask.
"I have no idea what you mean, John," Sherlock said. "I am simply happy our friend has been chosen for a position with such pleasant perks."
Then John saw them as they were pulled from Sherlock's pocket and suddenly it all made sense—the complement, the gesture—because currently, a set of keys were spinning around Sherlock's index finger, a mock of their true owner's earlier motions.
"Oh, Sherlock, you didn't," John groaned.
Sherlock just kept smirking and sauntering down the crowded corridor.
"Why do I feel like this is going to be a reoccurring issue?" John said wearily.
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Don't be so melodramatic, John," Sherlock said, which John thought was a bit rich, coming from him. "Only when he is annoying."
John couldn't fight off the little smirk that worked itself onto his face at his friend's last comment.
"Sherlock, you always think Greg is annoying," John pointed out.
There was a quiet pause. Sherlock glanced sidelong at John; John glanced up at Sherlock. Their eyes met and they broke, slipping into matching fits of giggles. It was probably indecent. It was a good thing neither of them put a whole lot of stock in propriety.
. . .
Dear god, please tell me that is not the sunrise.
John and Sherlock stood atop a grassy knoll about a half kilometre into Baker Forest. The fur on their paws was soaked with morning dew and there was a light chill in the air that made their breath visible as thin clouds that disappeared in an instant. It was still early autumn but the leaves were already starting to morph into fire. The woods would soon be ablaze with them.
Sherlock turned his head towards the horizon and observed the glow spreading over it.
It would appear so. he said, casually.
A groaning whine leaked from between John's sharp teeth.
Christ, I have to work at the clinic to night and I told Sarah I'd show her the gully.
John started moving towards the Institute, harness shifting as he moved. The pouches attached to it contained the objects of tonight's excursion—some tubers and at least 12 separate species of mushrooms that Sherlock said he needed to use for an experiment on fungal growth. The fast approaching sun meant that that they'd now been out the entire night, and John wasn't going to have a lick of sleep to get him through the day. The thought of it alone exhausted him. Sherlock padded behind him, quiet as a ghost, but John was completely aware of his presence.
You promised to take who where?
John glanced back over his shoulder at his friend, whose irritation betrayed him in the form of a particularly vigorous swish of his tale. He'd been so tetchy since classes started. John was fairly sure he was only pretending to forget her name as well.
Sarah—Sarah Sawyer. I promised to take her to the gully with the creek at the bottom, the one with those red flowers we found.
Honestly, John thought it was rather smooth of him and was proud of himself for coming up with such a good idea. It was a gorgeous place and Sarah was sure to be impressed.
John thought he felt a rise in the irritation but Sherlock had been keeping a clamp on his thoughts recently.
That's all the way past Tidwell Hill. It will take over an hour to get there with most shifts. Sherlock spat, as if John was just being ridiculous.
The edge of the sun was visible now, bathing the forest in yellow and orange light, turning John's fur gold and Sherlock into a muted shadow.
Her shift is a Caspian horse. We'll be fine.
Sherlock said nothing until they broke through the tree line, preferring to sulk in silence. John might have to warn Mike to plan to study elsewhere today.
Only when they were pushing their way into their respective changing booths did Sherlock's voice reassert itself.
Caspian pony.
What? John asked as he pulled the quick release on the harness and with a shake it fell to the floor with a soft thump.
Sherlock's annoyed consciousness flickered wildly.
Her shift is a Caspian pony. Caspian 'horses' are classified as ponies, and the term is inaccurate. Their true name is Caspian pony.
Then the presence of his mind disappeared as it was hidden inside a human body. John sighed heavily and wondered what he did in a past life to deserve such an abrasive individual for a best friend.
. . .
"John."
It was dark and warm. It felt so nice.
"John!"
John started into wakefulness. When his eyes snapped open it wasn't dark at all and the fluorescent lights hurt his eyes. Nor was it comfortable. His shoulders were cramped from them lying on the desk at such an odd angle and he became acutely aware of the small amount of wetness that was plastering his face to the desk.
"Uhg…" he mumbled as he rose and wiped his face clean of drool.
Then he realized someone had been trying to wake him and that they were now watching him with a highly amused expression on her face.
"Ah, sorry, Sarah," John apologized, rubbing his hands forcefully over his eyes. "Sorry, I'm such a crap lab partner."
Sarah just smiled and John was glad they were working on a lab now so nobody besides Sarah noticed.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "This is the second time you've fallen asleep in class this week."
John arched his back stretching the cramped muscles, both from falling asleep on his desk and having his nose forced to the ground in search of mushrooms all night.
"I'm fine. Sherlock just had me up all night," he said mid-stretch, so it came out half as a groan.
At this Sarah gave an unusual giggle and when John looked for a reason, he found that a faint blush was dusting her cheeks.
"What?" he prompted, dropping his arms and checking his face for more drool.
She giggled once more and tucked her hair behind her ear. If John didn't know any better he'd say she looked embarrassed.
"Oh, nothing, you two are just the strangest, most adorable couple," Sarah explained.
What.
What?
What!
The statement made John's brain shut down for at least a whole two seconds before it roared frantically back to life.
"I'm sorry, but what? Sherlock and I—you thought—we're not—we were just collecting mushrooms!"
Oh god. If that didn't sound like a euphemism in his own ears… he took a deep breath and tried to sound less like an illiterate buffoon. Sarah looked a little startled.
"Look, what I mean was, we were out in the forest collecting mushrooms for an experiment Sherlock is doing on fungal growth… and we're… we're not a couple," John said wearily, coming to the horrible realization that the girl he'd been chatting up for weeks now thought he was gay—gay with Sherlock.
Sarah wasn't the first one, certainly not, hence John's weariness, but this was a particularly poignant blow for obvious reasons.
"Oh… oh!" Sarah said, blushing once again. "I'm sorry… I just thought… with the way you two are…"
She did look severely apologetic and it was in that moment that John fully committed to the decision to ask Sarah Sawyer to the Autumn Ball.
. . .
The Autumn Ball was a highly celebrated event at the Baker Institute, as it was the only formal ball that allowed all the students, except primary students, to attend as well the fact that it only occurred every other year. The girls all gossiped about it tirelessly, who was taking who, who wasn't taking who, and eagerly awaited the chance to dress up like a princess for a night. The boys debated about who and how to ask. While most weren't thrilled about dressing up, they all fostered the hope to get at least a good snogging at the end of the night. There were posters and decorations everywhere and the school was absolutely buzzing with excitement. Even John was getting caught up in the hype.
As the date of the Ball grew closer, and after he was sure that Sarah knew he was not sleeping with his best friend, John asked her to the dance. He asked her one day when they were finishing a lab. He'd been flirting and working for this for a good while now and was truly happy when she agreed to go with him—rather enthusiastically if he could say so himself.
John told Molly on their way to the dining hall after biochemistry.
"I asked Sarah to the Autumn Ball and she said yes!" John said victoriously.
Molly's eyes widened, and her mouth opened slightly. She looked as if she was going to say one thing but caught herself mid sentence. She didn't look nearly as happy for him as he thought she would.
"What? But what about—" she started. "I mean… who is Sherlock going with?"
John paused and looked down at her odd surprised expression. He wondered why she looked that way. She was in a class with Sarah and John. She had to have noticed him flirting with her. And yet... John stuffed his hands in his pockets, giving up on understanding.
"I… ah, highly doubt Sherlock is willing to go," John said, pursing his lips. "The one time I've brought it up with him he didn't even answer—well he just started firing off about the history of balls and the sociological functions of such occasions—then it got graphic and I sort of tuned it out…"
John looked down when Molly giggled, and he smiled himself, recalling the lightly disturbing event. Then she sobered and glanced up at John, thoughtful expression on his face.
"A little sad, though, don't you think?" she said. "I mean everyone's going to be there and… well, since you've been around it's even strange for him to be alone on a night like that."
John's chest tightened a little at that. He hated the thought of Sherlock alone. It brought up to many of the painful recollections and images that would never be forgotten in the mind of John Watson. Then what initially seemed like a brilliant idea popped into his head.
"I know! Why don't you ask him, Molly? I mean between the both of us maybe we can get him to go," John suggested.
Molly smiled shyly and cast he gaze towards the floor, shaking her head.
"Oh, I don't believe I could be much use there," she said. "Besides… um… Greg already asked me. We're going as friends."
John was surprised but extremely pleased. Greg had been his strongest ally in an operation they were calling "Operation Frightened Rabbit" that aimed to get their friend out of her shell. Obviously Greg was achieving far more than he was.
"That's fantastic! How did I miss this?"
Molly gave him a genuine smile at this.
"Oh, it only happened yesterday so…" she said with a little shrug of her shoulders.
John adjusted his bag when it slipped down his shoulder.
"Well," John said, hitching it up. "I'll just have to come up with another plan."
. . .
Sherlock would never have joined this class if criminals weren't so unimaginative. Both those who thought they had any intelligence at all or those who saw themselves as artists all seemed to share a love of Shakespeare. He decided it would be valuable to become intimately acquainted with his entire body of work as criminals, especially the passionate, seemed to draw upon his work shamelessly. If Sherlock was going to try and be poetic while murdering he would at least be original.
He fought off a smirk as he realized that was the kind of thought that got him highly disapproving looks from John. Not that John had been around enough to judge such thoughts lately, not with his current infatuation with that girl.
"If you scowl so much you are going to get wrinkles," a sultry voice chastised him from the seat to his right. "What are you thinking about?"
Irene Adler leaned forward in her seat, looking over at him with perfectly made up eyes.
"I am trying to deduce what John sees in Sarah," Sherlock said, brows still furrowed.
He was too preoccupied to sustain the past level of hostility he used to turn on Irene. These days he hadn't felt the urge to. It's not like she ever left as he intended when he flung the acid in her direction, and she was not quite as boring as any other silly Changeling child that wandered the halls of the Institute.
And that was the thing about Sarah. If she irritated him more, as Irene did, incessantly, he'd probably have had more respect for her, but she was just so dull. There was not a single interesting thing about her—average beauty, average intellect, average history, average shift… So the fact that something so boring could remove the presence of the one human being that Sherlock could stand to be around, had become used to being around, absolutely irked him to no end. Now John had asked her to that bloody ball which promised her continued presence and distraction. Sherlock was not pleased.
"Is your boyfriend neglecting you?" Irene asked, lips pushed out in a sympathetic pout.
Sherlock scoffed and pressed his fingers into steeples.
"John is not my boyfriend," Sherlock spat at the pedestrian suggestion.
Irene merely smiled and they both continued to ignore the professor who was sending them disapproving glares for not paying attention.
"Surely you understand his motivation," Irene sighed, leaning back. "It's really quite simple."
Sherlock shot her a sidelong glare and yes, he understood. It had never really been a mystery. He had just been rejecting the answer because he didn't like it.
"Sex," Sherlock sneered around the word. "Ridiculous. Dull and idiotic in comparison to the exploits of the mind."
Irene just laughed softly and Sherlock looked over at her, and in his irritation his eyes locked onto a very faint smudge of lipstick below Irene's ear.
"Was she any good?" Sherlock asked archly.
Sherlock knew Irene didn't discriminate but she definitely preferred women. He knew this because she rarely let the men kiss her.
Currently, Irene's eyes widened for just a second before she tracked his gaze and raised her finger tips to her smooth neck to brush the marked spot. Then she smiled, looking more than pleased.
"Very good, Sherlock," she said. "You know, sometimes your brilliance makes me want to take you right here on the desks. I would have you begging for mercy."
A girl with curly red hair glanced back with a concerned expression on her face but neither clever Changeling paid her any mind.
"I don't beg," Sherlock said, voice low.
She leaned forward again.
"Is that a challenge, Sherlock?" she purred.
Sherlock snorted and turned away.
"Hardly," he said, leaning his cheek into his palm.
"Sherlock, go to the ball with me," Irene said.
It was a request he'd heard countless times.
Sherlock, that tie looks nice on you; go to the ball with me.
Sherlock, how was your weekend; go to the ball with me.
Sherlock, I heard you caught the kids putting super glue in the school locks; go to the ball with me.
Always, Sherlock had ignored her. He was not interested. However, today something changed. A response strummed from his vocal chords and he would go to his grave before he admitted it was said with the image of John Watson dancing with Sarah Sawyer in his mind.
"Fine."
. . .
Molly was not present at lunch so naturally the all male company shifted their conversation accordingly. Greg was currently congratulating John on his success at asking Sarah to the ball and from there it had continued with ball related conversation. Honestly, it was getting so close that people were talking of little else.
"And you!" John tried to shift the focus off himself, as it was embarrassing and Sherlock was glaring at him murderously—probably for subjecting him to such an annoyingly loud and boring conversation. "I heard you and Molly are going together."
Greg's face split into another wide grin and he leaned back in his seat.
"Well, someone has to show that girl how to loosen up and have a good time," Greg said.
"Good on you, mate," Mike offered.
"What about you? Asked anyone?" Greg said to Mike who chuckled and nodded.
"Yup! Suzie from psychology. Got her a whole bunch of flowers but they were all wilted before I could even get them to her," Mike chortled.
Both John and Greg burst out laughing.
"Mike, you're such a clod!" Greg laughed.
"Hey, she said yes! That's what counts!" Mike defended.
John was still giggling when Greg turned towards Sherlock.
"What about you? Any pretty ladies catch your eye or are dances not in your repertoire?" Greg asked.
Oh, not good. Oh, poor choice. John braced himself for the inevitable tide of condescension that was surely coming their way.
But none came. Sherlock merely continued to cut his food into reasonably sized bites as he answered.
"I'm going with Irene Adler."
Mike dropped his fork onto the floor, and in Greg's prone position he almost fell out of his seat, having to flail his arms and catch the edge of the table to stop his fall. John's jaw just dropped and he stared, open mouthed, at his antisocial friend, who was apparently taking the most famous, or infamous, woman to walk the halls of the Baker Institute in what was probably its entire history to the Autumn Ball.
