Enter: Sherlock Holmes! Yay!
John padded stiffly down the stairs to the kitchen. It was early on a Sunday morning and Mrs. Hudson had asked him to help with some fancy dinner that was being held at the Holmes manor house that evening. He was going to grab a quick slice of jam-laden toast when a loud snore pulled him from the refrigerator to the living room.
"Oh, christ." John muttered in disgust as he stared down at his sister's unconscious figure. She was lying in a pool of her own sick on the couch and the smell of alcohol was overpowering. He walked down the hall to his mother's room and found it empty. "Okay…"
He went back to the prone form of his older sister two weeks away from graduating and sighed in resignation. He reached out and nudged her shoulder gently and prodded her a bit more roughly when she made no move to wake up.
"Harry!" John called. "You have to get up."
"Fuck off." She growled.
"Come on." He said. "I have to go to work, let me at least get you to your bed before I leave."
"I said 'fuck off', John." She said again.
"Fine." He said feeling anger rise quickly. "Lay in your own filth. See if I care."
He turned on his heel and stomped slowly out the back door to wait for Mrs. Hudson to pick him up. She arrived shortly and he climbed in and smiled happily as she handed him an egg sandwich as she pulled away from his house. They drove just on the outskirts of town and turned onto a long, gravel road that afforded a stunning view of the manor. It was huge, filled with expensive antiques and family heirlooms. Of course, most of those had been stored neatly away in rooms that were just for show. Nothing of incredible value or sentiment was placed in the common areas of the house. Apparently, the objects in those areas often ended up broken or missing. He'd only been working there for a few weekends until school let out for the summer, but even that was long enough to know that the youngest Holmes was the culprit.
He'd yet to actually glimpse either of the brothers, not that he really even cared, but the stories that Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes told did piqué his curiosity just a bit. So far, he'd been doing basic yard work and helping move dressers and such in some of the great rooms. They pulled around to the rear of the house and entered next to the kitchen. He watched as Mrs. Hudson dropped her bag in the small alcove in the pantry before turning to survey the preparations. It was supposed to be an outdoor picnic but the weather was threatening to dump buckets of rain all afternoon so they were working on getting the conservatory ready for guests as well. Mrs. Hudson handed him a broom and patted his cheek lightly as she asked him to sweep the floors before the tables arrived.
He walked up the three flights of stairs slowly and made his way through two of the great rooms before starting to sweep diligently. He placed the ear buds of Harry's old MP3 player in his ears and let the task lull him into a sort of numb unawareness to what exactly was going on around him. He jerked back to himself as a door slammed loudly just off the conservatory in the hallway. He pulled the buds out of his ears and was greeted by a cacophony of shouts.
"You've been out all night!" Mrs. Holmes shouted. "What exactly was I supposed to do?"
"You could have sent me a text." A young voice called back.
"You didn't answer, Sherlock!" She replied. "I sent you seven texts and tried to call you just as often!"
"So, your grand solution was to call Father's friends on the police force?" He shouted back.
"I needed to know that you were safe!" She said exasperated. "Is that such a crime?"
"I don't need someone keeping tabs on me!" He shouted back. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself!"
"You're fifteen!" She responded. "You may be brilliant, but you are still a child!"
"Jim doesn't treat me like a child!" He flung back.
"Jim!" She said heatedly. "You were out all night with Jim! Sherlock, he's dangerous!"
"At least he's not boring!" Sherlock fired off. "Like everyone else in this god forsaken fucking town!"
John heard someone storming down a flight of stairs and coming toward him as Mrs. Holmes called, "Where do you think you're going!"
"OUT!" Sherlock called back before whirling around a corner and almost running straight into John. He cataloged the new boy quickly as Sherlock mirrored his assessment. He was tall and lanky with a mop of black curls standing out as if electrocuted. His eyes were a gray/green and his face was angular and pale. They both froze and stared for about a ten seconds before Sherlock shook his head as if trying to shake out some water before shoving past John and calling over his shoulder, "How's your alcoholic sibling? Get wasted and vomit all over herself again?"
John took a step back in shock as the other boy flew out the side entrance and slammed the door so hard that the pane of glass shattered. He stood there unable to move until he heard a set of heels clicking toward him. Mrs. Holmes came into view as she rubbed her hands over her hair in frustration but stopped suddenly when she saw John.
"Oh!" She said. "John! I'm so sorry you had to hear that. Sherlock's a bit spirited and tends to rebel against rules and social engagements."
"Right." John said stupidly turning to sweep up the broken glass. "Okay."
"Well," She said turning away awkwardly. "Thanks for coming in to help this morning. I know it's incredibly early."
"It's no problem." John answered with a smile feeling on safer ground. "I don't mind."
"You're a good kid, John." She said.
"Oh," he said blushing. "Thanks."
"I'll see you later." She said before turning to head back to the house. "And thanks again."
John quickly finished up in the conservatory and made his way back to the kitchens for more instructions from Mrs. Hudson. One glance at the set of John's face and Mrs. Hudson pushed a cup of tea into his hands. "Don't worry, dearie. That's just Sherlock."
"He's always like that?" He asked incredulously.
"More often than not." Mrs. Hudson said with a shake of her head. "He really was a sweet, brilliant child, but the teenage years have been a bit rough on him. He's just trying to find himself."
"It certainly is a loud scavenger hunt if nothing else." John murmurs and smiles when Mrs. Hudson giggles.
"Have a seat and enjoy your tea." She said. "Next we'll have you set up the chairs."
John worked steadily throughout the morning and early afternoon. His leg was still a little stiff but he found himself bouncing back relatively quickly now that he didn't have to use the dreaded cane. The event was slated to last until 5:00pm and he had agreed to help with clean-up as well. John had very little to do other than assist the kitchen staff with washing dishes so he spent almost two hours curled up in one of the rooms in the basement of the house with a book. He glanced at his watch to see that it was ten till 5:00pm so he resolved to head back to the kitchen to get directions from Mrs. Hudson. He was walking quietly down the hall when he heard odd sounds coming from one of the storage rooms further down the corridor. He walked quickly trying to avoid disturbing anyone when a strangled moan made him glance over at the open doorway. He froze stupidly for the second time that morning once again by the same bloke. He felt his face flush quickly as he saw Sherlock Holmes half naked rutting against a shorter boy with dark hair about the same age. He turned even redder when the other boy turned to stare at John before smirking, "Sorry, pet, this is a private party."
"Fuck, Jim!" Sherlock said trying to cover himself up. "I told you to close the fucking door!"
John practically ran down the hallway and away from the high pitched giggle that followed him. He spent the rest of the late afternoon in a haze of embarrassment as he helped put the chairs and tables back before being driven home by Mrs. Hudson.
He walked into his house just after 7pm and found no one home again. He sighed heavily and made his way up the stairs before collapsing onto the bed and falling asleep instantly. He'd spent all day shoving the image away from him further and further back into his subconscious. However, he couldn't quite get the image to leave him alone in his dreams.
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"John!" Lestrade called as he jogged off the pitch. "Glad you made it!"
"Of course!" John answered with a grin. "I wouldn't miss it. Bloody brilliant, Greg."
"Thanks, mate!" Lestrade said. "Some of the blokes and I are going to grab some Indian, are you in?"
"Sure." He said. He waited outside the locker room as Lestrade showered and changed. They walked and chatted happily about finals until they stopped in front of the restaurant and entered the dimly lit room. John collapsed into the chair between Lestrade and Stamford letting the familiar flow of bullshit and laughter overwhelm his senses. For the first time since the accident, he felt like he was letting go of that suffocating fog of sadness and frustration and hate that had weighed him down for two months.
"So what are everyone's plans for the summer?" Stamford asked curiously.
"Job!" Several people chimed in including John.
"Where are you working?" Stamford asked.
"The Holmes Manor." John said. "I'm assisting the housekeeper with yardwork and shit."
"The Holmes Manor?" Anderson squeaked from the other end of the table. "You're working for those freaks?"
"They're not bad." John said hedging. "Mrs. Holmes is really nice. I guess she's the only one I've actually met."
"Trust me." Anderson said haughtily. "That entire family is just a bunch of creepy fuckers. I heard that they keep dead bodies in the basement for dissection."
"Fuck off, Anderson." Lestrade barked. "Nobody asked for your opinion. Just because he caught you trying to have a wank in the supply closet doesn't mean he's a freak."
Anderson picked up some bread and threw it at Lestrade's head and then was quickly escorted out of the restaurant by the owner. The team and John giggled for twenty minutes when they saw Anderson, beat red, being led out by his shirt collar. They enjoyed the rest of their dinner and the boys were walking home when Lestrade brought up the topic again.
"My dad said you're welcome at the garage too, John." He said. "He'd love to have you on."
"Tell him thanks for me." John said with a smile. "I'll try it at the Manor first. I don't know if it'll last but it can't hurt to try and the pay is wonderful."
"Strange bunch then?" Lestrade asked with a wry grin.
"Just Sherlock really." John said hesitantly. "It's like having a hurricane of rage and self-importance living in your house."
"Sounds barmy." Lestrade said with a chuckle.
"I've only actually met him the one time but, fuck, that kid is intense." John said trying to push past the heat threatening to rise to his face.
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In my head canon, I can only ever imagine Sherlock as a completely uncontrollable, crazy, brilliant, dangerous genius as a teenager. So...yeah.