TITLE: Wrong Turn
CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter Two/First Impressions
RATING: T (violence/language)
A/N: Wow. Your comments had me grinning like the Grinch when his heart grew! You are all wonderful human beings. Just as a warning, this isn't going to be johnlock. I have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING against it, seriously, and there are some fantastic pieces out there of teen johnlock. That's not the purpose of this story. (trust me, there is a plot...somewhere) I just think there is something beautiful about their friendship in and of itself. But, if you want, it's pretty johnlock if you squint. Maybe after the end of the story you can imagine them both skipping off holding hands into the sunset. If they both survive the story...mwhahahahahahahahahaha *starts coughing*
Chapter Two: First Impressions
One wrong turn.
That was it.
One wrong turn and John Hamish Watson stumbled upon a scene he had never imagined. On his sister. And on a stranger that would change his life.
It was his second day at a new school and John was miserable. Transferring in his final year of secondary wasn't exactly something he was pleased about.
But when his great aunt had insisted on having the two teenagers move to London so that she could keep an eye on them, and when Harry had perked up at the thought of leaving the empty, too empty, house behind, he didn't hesitate to agree.
John and Harry's great aunt was elderly, elderly and rich.
Her house made their old home look like a shed.
She had dementia, and two very possessive sons, and therefore was not allowed to take in the two strays as their guardian. The brothers even refused to let the orphan ruffians stay under their mother's roof until they found a suitable place of their own. The sons may have had control of their mother's house, but the woman still had enough sense and money to practically demand that John and Harry allow her to help pay for them to go school.
A posh school.
John hated it.
Harry loved it.
So John said yes.
John had turned eighteen over the summer, two weeks before their parents' death. By the time he was starting his last year of secondary school, John had won legal custody over his sixteen year old sister, found the cheapest flat he possibly could in London, and found a job. He suspected his aunt had had something to do with the low rate of rent he received and couldn't help but feel grateful to the woman he used to despise receiving Christmas jumpers from. She claimed that it was only fair as her boys had given her no grandchildren and she needed someone to spoil. She paid for their books and school uniforms and even made them model the outfits for her.
Harry was delighted to drown in the attention.
John wanted to strangle himself with his own tie.
But he didn't yet.
And that was why, on only his second day of the new school year, at the new school, John accidentally turned left down the wrong hallway and out the wrong door in search of his chemistry class.
He wasn't exactly looking forward to the course. He did love science, but that meant biology, not equations and math.
What he saw, though, as he turned the corner, put all thoughts of chemical compounds and formulas from his mind.
His sister was standing with her back to him, her arm locked tightly in a stranger's grip. She was spitting swears at him, but the boy remained calm and kept his hold.
"I saw you with it," Harry argued.
"I believe I have no idea what you are talking about," the pale boy with dark curls replied readily.
"You're a fucking bloody liar, you are."
John paused, his lips dropping apart as if they had been sewn together and someone just cut them open. He had never heard his sister use such language before. In fact, he had never seen her like this at all. Something was different.
Something was wrong.
"Let her go," John announced his presence icily.
The boy lazily glanced over at John, apparently apathetic to the warning in his voice or the rugby muscles John flexed. With a dramatic bow of his head, the lanky teenager released Harry.
"I was merely informing your sister of the medical dangers of mixing drugs with her newly acquired alcoholism."
John wasn't even granted a moment to question how the boy not much younger than him spoke like a grown man, or wonder at the odd cadence of the base voice. His mind was too preoccupied turning over the words he had spoken.
Sister. Drugs. Alcoholism.
John's brain staggered.
"What?"
It was quite honestly not his most clever retort, but it seemed that it was all his mind was going to allow him to muster.
"I do hate repeating myself," the boy rolled his piercing eyes, "but I can see if I don't explain you will take it upon yourself to assume me a threat to your sister. You will then likely punch me in the face and we would be forced into a physical altercation whereas I would win. The entire thing, though, would be tedious and I did just get this shirt. I would rather not have it stained with each of our blood."
John blinked. And then again.
"Allow me to help you understand," he continued with a sigh that sounded more like a cloud being expelled from his lungs. "Harriet approached me for drugs, specifically, cocaine. I declined her request."
"Drugs?" John swallowed when his voice finally decided it would work again. "Drugs?"
It seemed to be all he could say though.
He whirled on his sister.
"John, seriously," Harry crossed her arms like a tight bow over her puffed chest. "You can't believe this wanker. He grabbed me. You saw."
"What you saw," the boy cleared his throat, "was Harriet here poorly attempting to steal my stash."
"Your – stash?" John rounded on the boy, to which the stranger spared a glance around and shushed the older teenager.
"Is there something wrong with your brain?" The apparent drug addict/possible dealer challenged him. "You seem to be capable of only repeating words that I have said in the form of a question. Judging by your grades, I doubt it. Then it's not a mental deficiency. So, shock then. Well, you two are from a small town. Drugs most likely never were much of a topic of discussion at the dinner table. That, and you clearly didn't know about your sister's drinking habits. You weren't even suspicious. You're also heading the wrong way to your class. Again, not that incompetent. You charged in ready to protect your sister. Sure, you might like the adrenaline from the fight, but it's more than that. You care. You're not the type to just ignore these types of problems. So, then, distracted. Distracted going to class, just as you have been with Harry's drinking. Distracted a lot, lately. Didn't even notice the three boys come up behind you."
John staggered and then turned quickly, a strong hand seizing his collar before he could even raise his fists.