TITLE: Wrong Turn
CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter Four/Simple Deductions
RATING: T (violence/language)
A/N: I have absolutely nothing interesting to say..except...REVIEW! ...please?
Chapter Four: Simple Deductions
"Well," John chuckled. "I'm glad no one saw that."
"Hmm?" Holmes disinterestedly barely answered.
"Us, running into the loo together, people might talk."
"People do little else," Holmes replied with what John swore was a shadow of a genuine smile.
"How – how did you know all that? That stuff about me, and my sister? How'd you even know she's my sister, or our names?"
"All simple deductions really," Holmes sighed. "When your sister approached me, I noticed her name written on one of her books. The alcohol was easy enough to smell on her breath. I knew it had become a habit, and recently, by the zipper of her bag. And her eyes. Then there was you. Your first three words were enough to tell me your identity. Another upstanding student citizen might have asked what was going on. You immediately demanded that I let her go, in a voice I know personally only older siblings possess. There have been exactly two new students this year, besides the first years, obviously. So, siblings and new."
John's eyes moved rapidly, as if trying to catch and read the words as they escaped the boy's mouth.
"What about my grades? And chemistry class?" John pressed curiously.
"You were carrying your chemistry book, while everything else was kept in your bag. Judging by the direction you were coming from, you couldn't have just previously been in chemistry. So you had it out before you even got to the class. You're prepared and you care about school. The novel sticking out of the front pocket of your bag is only assigned in the advanced literature class, and you have it propped out, ready to read it in your spare time to get ahead. Yet you struggle with chemistry. Not even a two days in and you've already driven your pen at least half a dozen times into the cover of the book out of frustration."
John was pretty sure that, had he glanced in the mirror, he would have looked something similar to a fish washed ashore, mouth flapping and all.
"That – that's fantastic," John finally stammered.
It was Sherlock's turn to be pulled from sea.
"Really? You think so?" Scratch the fish, the kid appeared like a deer caught in headlights, a deer that was trying to hide his expression.
"Of course. It was brilliant."
"That's not what people normally say," Holmes glanced away.
"What do they normally say?" John questioned.
"Piss off."
John laughed at that and couldn't help but notice that the other boy was chuckling as well.
"And then there's how you've been distracted."
John's laughter died on his lips, his entire mouth going dry. He was the fish again. But this time, he was panicking.
"That's not the right word, though, is it?" Holmes continued, oblivious or uncaring to John's sudden discomfort. "It's something bigger. Important. You were blind to your sister's problems. You were prepared for chemistry, and yet went in the wrong direction. You probably got the book out at the end of the last class, when you were too busy being focused on the lesson to think about what has been distracting you. It came back in the halls. There's a smudge of toothpaste in the corner of your mouth and half of your collar is turned up. You haven't even noticed the tearing of your bag. Either there's no one around anymore to catch and fix these mistakes for you, or you've not been paying attention. I'm willing to bet both are the correct answer."
"Stop," John whispered.
"You did just move. Death of a family member then. A parent. Possibly both."
"Dad! Look out!"
"A single parent couldn't afford this school, but perhaps a new guardian or benefactor could. They aren't wholly supporting you, though. The writing on your assignment that is peaking out just there from your book tells me that you did it on the train this morning, as it fails to match your other writing along the spine of the book covering. You don't strike me as the type of student to be so careless. So, you couldn't do it last night. Why? Dark circles and subtle scent of take away suggest you've got a job. So, both parents gone."
"Mom! Mom! Dad, why is Mom -"
"It's alright, son. Calm down. Everything's - going to be – alright."
"Don't," John swallowed.
"But the dark circles are something more, too, aren't they? No sleep? No, not just no sleep. Nightmares. Of course. You were with your parents when it happened."
The loud – too loud – crash and tearing of metal against metal. Of screams. Of his own bone breaking.
"You haven't just been distracted, you've been feeling guilty. Because something you did caused their deaths and now -"
"I said 'shut up'!"
The shove came unexpected to both boys. John's hands had been moving before he even knew it. They connected with the other teen's chest, the chemistry book slamming gracelessly to the ground. Holmes stumbled back, body knocking harshly against the wall.
John was just glad he hadn't punched him.
But he still wanted to.
Except now his arm was screaming, his shoulder quite possible on fire. He reeled back against the opposite wall and groaned. He definitely didn't yelp.
The younger boy's features flashed hurt, then confusion, then back to his cold mask in a matter of seconds. He stepped tentatively toward John, who thrust his uninjured arm out forward.
"Don't – don't touch me," he swallowed. "Just stay away from me."
Without another word, John turned and hurried away. The other would later deny that he watched the older boy go.