Chapter Six:
I ate my lunch slowly, my stomach feeling tight in anticipation for what Sherlock had planned for down at the morgue. When Sherlock said experiments, I had assumed he meant in a lab with chemicals and solutions and test tubes, the whole works. But then he said morgue. Morgue. What the fuck kind of experiments is he doing...in a fucking morgue?! Yet, for some reason, I found myself still wanting to go and find out for myself. What the hell, Me?
"Hey, John." A ringing voice said behind me, startling the sandwich out of my hand. I turned around, wide-eyed, and saw Mary Morstan standing there.
"M-Mary! Ha, what a...I didn't see you there." I blabbered, stuttering my words like a fool. But instead of giving me a strange look, Mary giggled and gestured with her lunch at the table.
"Mind if I sit?" She asked.
"Huh? Oh, uh, no! Of-of course! Please, sit!" I exclaimed, standing up and pulling out a seat for her, smiling like a buffoon. But who could blame me? Mary was...well, beautiful.
Mary had short hair, unlike a lot of the girls I have seen around here, and it was the whitest, strangest blonde I have ever seen, but it looked good on her. Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint and she looked rather happy for someone who just left their life-sucking Chemistry class. She wore a blue blouse with black dots that complimented her skin quite well, if I might say. The sleeves were short, especially for this time of year, but let's be honest, isn't this place always cold?
Mary sat down next to me and placed a small green bag in front of her. It looked like a lunch bag and sure enough, she pulled out a small container of yogurt and a spoon. Mary Morstan was eating lunch with me...did this count as a lunch date? God, I shook my head and looked down. I sound like a bloody teenager.
"So, how did you like today's lesson, John?" Mary asked, looking me directly in the eye.
"Hm, well, I thought that it-it was...interesting, and-"
"I thought it was boring as horse shit." She smiled, interrupting me. I couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped from me at her words. If you looked at Mary, you wouldn't expect her to have such a foul mouth, so it seemed hilarious when she said it. And...if I dare say it...attractive.
"Yeah," I laughed. "Yeah, you could say that."
"I'm just glad it's over. I was starving in there. I was about to eat the text-book."
"Maybe you'll just absorb all of the knowledge." I smiled, flinching on the inside at me attempt at flirting. But, Mary smiled and giggled.
"Maybe. I'll have to cook it right, though. Let it simmer a bit in a broth or something." She laughed.
A silence fell between us but it wasn't strange or awkward like most would've been. It was comfortable and with both just...sat there, eating out lunch. It felt very normal, and not at all what I expected hanging around Mary would feel like.
"So, John, do you have any plans after lunch?" Mary asked, her voice dripping with innocence. "I'm free for the rest of the day, so..." She trailed off. Internally, I was jumping around, yelling and possibly punching things to feel manly, but externally, I just smiled and probably looked like an idiot.
"Um, I have a class after this, actually."
"Then what about after?" She fluttered her eyelashes in the attractive way girls do and I felt heat rising in my face as I continued to look at her. At this moment in time, I had completely forgotten about my plans with Sherlock. But who could blame me? I was talking to Mary Morstan!
"Um...uh..."I muttered, feeling like I was forgetting something. (Don't judge me, I'm just a man.) "No, actually, I think I'm free." I smiled, although it was half the smile that I gave before.
"Great! Do you want to meet me at the cafe on campus? After your class?" She sat up straighter in her seat, looking me dead in the eyes again.
"Sure thing. It's a date, then." I answered, feeling happy with myself.
"I guess it is." She pursed her lips, as if trying to hide a laugh, and stood up quickly. "I'll see you then, John. And maybe, if you're very lucky, I'll give you my number." She winked and walked away, her green bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. I watched her as she walked off, mesmerized by everything about her.
I couldn't have eaten my lunch fast enough.
Sherlock made his way to the morgue, walking faster than he normally did, which I guess was saying something since he normally walked fast anyway. He has his messenger bag over his shoulder, complete with all of the textbooks he needed, his research papers, notes, sources, and riding crop. Along with a few chemicals that shall not be disclosed for...legal reasons. Sherlock couldn't process what had enabled him to invite John to oversee one of his experiments. Sherlock preferred to be alone whilst testing out a theory. But at that moment, he just wanted to show John. Show-off? Impress? There were multiple terms to apply to this situation, but none of them seemed to fit, at least not to Sherlock.
As he continued down the hall, a large man in a white coat exited a room ahead of Sherlock and noticed the young 19-year old detective. Sherlock heard the small splutters of shock that usually arose when monkey-brained morons were a little dazed.
"Young man!" The doctor shouted at him in a thick and heavy accent. "You are not supposed to be here! Leave, or I shall be forced to call security." Sherlock rolled his eyes, barely fighting the urge to just kick the fat, old wanker, but advice from Mycroft resounded into his thoughts. You can't hit anyone who upsets you, little brother. I thought you were more mature than that. As much as Sherlock hated to admit it, Mycroft was correct, but Sherlock would never say that aloud. Besides, that advice was given to him when he was a child of age four. It barely applied to situations of his current age.
"Pardon me, Doctor!" Sherlock spun around, speaking with an apologetic dip to his voice, the sound an octave higher than usual. "I was told that I was welcome anywhere in this building."
"Told by whom?" The man barked out, puffing up his chest to seem more intimidating, although, if Sherlock were to be honest, he looked much more like a bloated crab that anything.
"By me." A female's voice announced from behind the puffer-doctor. Molly Hooper, the only one who would let Sherlock into the morgue for any reason as long as it was for his schooling. "Do you have a problem with this, Doctor Franzen?" She said.
"No, . My mistake. I apologize." He turned redder than before and rushed away, obviously back to his rat-infested apartment building. There was no mistaking those markings and hair on his clothing. It was kind of gross, actually.
"Thank you, Molly." Sherlock said, his voice back to its normal timbre. "I really think you should just give me a card to give me access."
"Sherlock, I can't just do that." She huffed, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "Just get to the morgue, please, before we have any more confrontations." Even though Molly was fierce and, to quote an american colleague, "had balls", she disliked confrontation and preferred to be out of the theoretical spot-light.
In less than thirty minutes, Sherlock had managed to set up the entire experiment, as well as starting a few experiments for next week. He was excited for John, if he was being honest. No one had really ever taken an interest in these experiments, not even Mycroft, and he was the closest person, the only person, who understood how Sherlock's mind worked and how he interacted. Despite that, he was a horrid big brother and always will be.
Normally, Sherlock would've started by now on his main experiment, but he wanted to save that for when John came. It was the most interesting, by far, so it was only logic that that experiment would entertain him the most. Instead, Sherlock worked with his chemicals and solutions and unnameable substances until he had run out. By the time Sherlock looked up from his microscope, the clock read 5:30. Sherlock had spent the entire day in the morgue, performing minor experiments, saving the best for last, for a person who, no surprise to Sherlock, didn't even show up.
Sherlock guessed that he should've felt hurt or angry that John hadn't come like he supposed he would, but to be honest, Sherlock had expected John not to show up. It wasn't a rare occurrence, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but Sherlock had thought John as more of a gentlemen. He couldn't even call to tell him? Or fucking text?
Sherlock took a few deep breaths, pushing away the raw emotion that had surfaced. It served to do nothing when one proceeded to become emotional. Sherlock had witnessed that his entire life and only continued to firmly believe that as he grew up, surrounded by it all. He pushed it away, deep into his mind palace in a room to which he dare never go, and locked it up tight, along with everything else. Now, the only thing that Sherlock could think about was his next experiment, the big one he was saving for John. He was going to enjoy this one, if he were to be truthful. He always saved the most fun for last.
As he slowly lifted the riding crop over a cadaver, his mind rushed back to the case he was given earlier that week. A woman in her late 40's, black hair, dog lover, allergic to peanuts, and in the middle of a divorce, had been murdered in an alleyway next to an auto-shop. She had no business being there, as she was obviously not a car person. The reason that Sherlock was called onto the case was that, even though the body showed signs of sever physical trauma, it wasn't the cause of death, for the beatings came after she had died.
Sherlock worked throughout the night, ignoring that he had classes to start tomorrow, focusing on his case. He didn't need to sleep. There were much more important things to be done. He was going to solve another case for Scotland Yard. By himself. Like always. His mind-wandered to Watson again, thinking that it would've been good to have his input, considering that he was at the top of his class and a very good potential doctor, going by his work.
But then Sherlock remembered that John didn't want to be a part of this. Not that he had said that aloud, but considering John hadn't shown up to something that he had previously seemed eager for, Sherlock could only assume that John was not as different as he expected. He was just as predictable as everyone else. He was the same as everyone else. despite how hard Sherlock tried to fight it, he couldn't keep away the feeling of sadness that crept into him.
People were all the same. And Sherlock would do whatever he could to not be apart of it.
Hey, look! Another Chapter! :D I hope you guys like this! I have got the basic idea of where this story is going, but please bear with me here, dudes. Stick with me in the end! Don't pull a John here! (Gah, too soon!)
Anyway, thank you to everyone who has "favorited" this and followed it! I am so happy that this story...well, makes you happy? I don't know, but you liked it, so I like you! :D
I would also like to just point one thing out: This is basically teen!lock, maybe? This is Sherlock BEFORE we knew him. This is the before product, the Sherlock-in-the-Making! He's going to act a little different, due to the life experiences he hasn't had yet, and his process isn't as good as it will be. So he's still basically a "green-horn"!
Tell me what you think! Like, really, please talk to me. I'm lonely :( And I would LOVE to hear what you have to say, no matter what it is! Even if it's just a little "SQUEE", I want to see it in the reviews!
Thank you for the support!