John awoke long after his 8 o'clock alarm rang. A nightmare about the accident that happened a few weeks ago had disturbed his sleep. He exhaled hot air into his hand and worked to get his breathing under control. He climbed down the bunk. John was glad to find that his roommate wasn't there to witness the situation, but then the question struck. Where indeed was Sherlock?
The young man scratched his head, making his way to the closet-sized bathroom. He sighed. "Bedhead." He jumped in the shower to tame his frazzled hair when he heard the door slam. There was no one there when he got out. It was twenty minutes till chemistry class. John pulled on some black trousers and a pencil check shirt. It took him a minute to tie his father's blue and red, thin yellow-striped tie. He checked his watch and hurried out the door with his satchel after shrugging on his brown jacket. He was looking on the map to find the room when Sherlock appeared beside him in different clothes from yesterday.
"Morning."
"Hey."
He was working on a cup of coffee and handed one to me. "Coffee?"
"Ta."
"Rough night."
"Sorry?"
"Dark circles under your eyes. You look a bit tired."
"Hmm. I'm fine." John took a sip from his coffee. Cappuccino with no sugar. John burst out in chuckles. "Okay, how?"
Sherlock smirked. "Basic psychology. You enjoy simple comforts, yet you're also practical and reliable. Coffee with a bit of milk not too much, no sugar most likely."
"Seriously?"
"No. I checked your Twitter account."
John laughed, shaking his head. "Tastes good."
"Mmmh."
"Now...You take your coffee black. Three maybe two sugars?"
"And how do you deduce that?"
"Don't think I didn't hear the door this morning. You left the coffee mug on the counter. Must've had a late one if you're going to have two coffees within the hour."
"Really good, John."
"Thank you."
John and Sherlock hung out in the hall until the class started. "What were you doing last night?"
"What do you think?"
"I want to say you went to a party or meet a...girl."
"But?"
"You left in a police car last night, so I dunno...involved in an investigation?"
"Consulting."
"I don't understand."
"I'm an unofficial consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job."
"Meaning?"
"When the police are out of their depth - which is always - they consult me."
"A teenager."
"That's where 'unofficial' comes in."
John scoffed. "Even if that is the case, the police don't consult amateurs."
Sherlock looked askance at John with a slight smirk. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I agreed that it was absurd that something so simple as knowing how to drive would've prevented you from breaking your leg. You look surprised."
"Yes, how did you know?"
"I didn't know. I saw."
"The way you favor your right leg, says recent injury. An accident. You're fit, but not enough as you'd be if you played sports. What caused the accident then? Car accident, telling from the state of that Austin you were dropped off with. Your limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't rely on the cane as much at times, like if you've forgotten about it, so must have been quite a while ago, and it's at least partly psychosomatic. The reluctance with which you looked at the flights of stairs and your features were enough for me to read your amused regret."
"You said I had a therapist."
"You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course, you've got a therapist. Then there's your sister. A young woman similar to your age whom you called Harry dropped you off here. I know because my car was parked behind yours. The way you interacted said sister, and you're not too close either otherwise, she would've stood to assist you in getting out and settling in. Maybe you don't like her drinking, maybe there's more to it."
"How can you possibly know about the drinking?"
"You smell faintly of drink, but you look quite healthy and aren't currently suffering a hangover, no signs of dehydration, weight loss, or odd pallor, etc. I've seen you looking around the medical building this past year when I was applying; presumably a medical career is what you have in mind. Less likely for you to indulge in large amounts of alcohol, so it must be someone close to you who does. Your sister. Clear signs on her appearance as well as the multiple scratch marks around the keyhole. Every time she goes to put the key into the handle, but her hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's car, never see a drunk's without them."
"You also said I can't drive."
"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. The accident that occurred sometime in the past was most likely a car accident, in which you were involved, thus you broke your leg. The Austin is your sister's car, but she must've been drunk when driving it. An empty wallet, bad phone signal, financial straits, or other must've prevented you from calling a cab. Had you known how to drive you wouldn't have allowed her to be in the driver's seat in the first place. Conclusion: you can't drive, and you think it's silly about how it might've prevented the accident. There you go, you see? You were right."
"I was right? Right about what?"
"The police don't consult amateurs."
A few long seconds of silence pass as the pair work through the near-empty coffee cups.
"That...was amazing."
Sherlock's face goes blank as he absent-mindedly glances about before turning to John. "You think so?"
"Of course, it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary."
"That's not what people normally say?"
"What do people normally say?"
"Are you sure you want me to use profanity now, John?" He smirked and rose an eyebrow.
John chuckled.
Sherlock smiled. They walked further from the classroom to throw their cups in the bin.
"Did I get anything wrong?"
John's cane clicked on the floor as he walked. "Harry and I never get on, never have...The accident was about three months ago, still hurts a bit, and it was after a camping trip. Can't drive to save my life...and Harry is a drinker."
"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."
John smirked.