Runaway Home

Chp 2

Somebody stop me!

Mrs. Hudson had insisted it wasn't necessary, but John felt that it most certainly was. Here she was offering him a flat, for free, and she expected him not to at least help with the groceries? She had clearly been around this Sherlock bloke for too long. From what he could tell the man was highly irregular and didn't seem to follow proper conventions. Despite all that, Mrs. Hudson assured him that this so called 'consulting detective' was a nice chap. Once they had finished putting the food away she'd served him a steaming cuppa which, if he thought about it, was the best he'd ever had. He didn't get to enjoy it for long, though, because the second the front door opened Mrs. Hudson flew out of her chair and over to John.

"That'll be him."

She enthused, pulling John out of the soft arm chair. By some miracle he managed to grab his backpack as the older woman dragged him out of her flat and up the stairs. She didn't even hesitate, instead she just charged right up to the door. With one quick warning knock she entered the second story flat with John in hand. The boy resisted the urge to rub his eyes when he looked at the man. Sherlock Holmes was tall (well, taller than he'd ever hope to be at any rate) with dark curls and stunningly bright blue-green eyes. His skin was milk white and he was so thin John was almost certain he'd disappear the moment he turned to his side. He wore a blank expression, but there was something analytical in his gaze which made John's breath hitch. He'd never met someone so intense before; everyone from his town was remarkably boring in every respect. Sherlock looked between the older woman and the boy for a moment then narrowed his eyes.

"Mrs. Hudson, I hope you are not serious. You can't expect me to live with a teenager."

John almost gasped, how could the man have possibly known that? He was fairly certain Mrs. Hudson hadn't told him about the new living arrangements. For a moment he entertained the possibility that this man was a psychic, but was forced to give the idea up when his attempts at focusing crass thoughts into the man's head seemed to fail.

"Now, Sherlock, he's a very nice boy. Besides, I'm afraid you've given me little choice. Ever since that incident at the Thames your brother has been most insistent on finding someone suitable to live with you, and after this morning I've been very inclined to do so as well."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes even more and took a step towards Mrs. Hudson so that he was looming over her.

"Is this blackmail?"

If the woman was at all intimidated by the tall man's advancements she didn't show it.

"Of course not. I fully intend to deliver. I've already promised John here the upstairs room; you only use it as a library of sorts anyway."

Sherlock moved his glare off of Mrs. Hudson and over towards John. The boy could feel his insides go ice cold.

"You think you're lucky, don't you? A free flat for you to hide out in? You won't enjoy it for long; I'm sure that abusive father of yours will be along shortly. You surely left an obvious enough trail. You don't look very bright to me."

Mrs. Hudson let out a gasp and John paled considerably. How could he have known that? That psychic idea was starting to crop up in the back of his mind again.

"Sherlock!"

The woman scolded but the man paid little attention; he simply continued to stare at John with those piercing eyes.

"H-how did you…" John couldn't even form the sentence, he was so caught off guard. Both in the man's accuracy and in the fear related to his words. He hadn't thought about his dad coming to find him, or what he might do if he did.

"How did I figure it out? Simple. You're obviously a runaway judging by that ridiculously over packed backpack. You needed something easy to carry but required a large quantity of items to bring along with you. Since you're looking for a flat rather than a hotel it's obvious you're planning on staying here long term. Too young to be on your own, no parents, you're a runaway. That coupled with the fact that your clothes reek of alcohol while you yourself don't seem to show any symptoms of alcoholism or to having recently consumed any means it must be a common fixture in your household. So you've got an alcoholic father, statistically speaking it is more likely to be your father than your mother, and you're running away from home. Most alcoholic parents tend to have abusive tendencies, at least, while they are intoxicated, and considering the break in your nose I'd say it had been broken at least once in your youth. So, abusive father. Not really a difficult leap if you think it through properly."

John could do nothing but stare for a long time. Mrs. Hudson was scolding the man and trying to apologize to John all while the man simply looked extremely pleased with himself.

"That was… amazing."

John breathed out in the middle of Mrs. Hudson's third attempt to make Sherlock apologize. The man looked over at the boy with an expression of confusion.

"I'm sorry, did you just say… amazing?"

Mrs. Hudson looked equally stunned and she moved towards John as if he were about to faint or something of the like.

"Yes, that was - it was fantastic. I've never met anyone who could do that before, you must be some sort of genius."

John beamed; he wasn't used to being around someone so unique. Everyone from his town was so generic and, quite frankly, boring. Sherlock was something he'd never seen before, he was special. The man appeared to be taken off guard by his response though, which John considered odd. Surely he heard this sort of praise regularly?

"Don't feed his ego John dear, he really doesn't need it… are you sure you're alright?"

John nodded his head vigorously. He turned his attentions back on the almost blushing detective.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. How did you learn to do that?"

Sherlock studied him for a moment and shook his head as if to clear it.

"It's a skill I've perfected over time, it's not really something you learn rather than you just simply do. I observe. It's quite easy really. Although you are correct, I am a proper genius."

The man had a smirk on his face now that caused Mrs. Hudson to scowl.

"Oh, now I know you'll enjoy this far too much. I knew this boy was too nice for his own good."

She turned to John and gave him a wink. John smiled in response and finally took the time to cast an observatory glance around the flat. There was a large amount of what looked like beakers filled with various chemicals and a pig's head on the kitchen table. Those would be the experiments Mrs. Hudson mentioned earlier, he supposed. In the living area there were papers strewn about in a crazed manner and a large black coat hung heavily over the back of a rather comfortable looking armchair. He assumed that belonged to Sherlock, who was now being lectured by Mrs. Hudson about the proper conduct of a responsible adult around a minor. He nearly burst out laughing when he saw the moose head on the wall, there was just something so comical about it. Sherlock seemed to notice as he was paying little attention to the older woman and his eyes wandered between John and the moose head. As far as the boy could tell he found his response amusing, considering he smirked just a bit. John was continuing his once over of the flat when he realized there was a skull resting on the mantle place.

"Excuse me."

He croaked out and the two adults turned their attention to the young man.

"Is that a real human skull?"

If he'd been at anyone else's house he'd have assumed it to be fake, but this was the man with brilliant observation skills and, more importantly, a severed pig's head on the kitchen table. Sherlock's smile widened as he walked over to the skull and gave it a light pat.

"Indeed it is."

John just nodded in response. He should probably be concerned, but somehow it just fit with the room and the man who lived there. Mrs. Hudson, on the other hand, had a decidedly different opinion as she walked over to snatch the skull. Sherlock let out a scoff in protest but she raised her finger to silence him before he could get a word in.

"I'm hiding this from you until I see some improvement in your behavior. This bloody thing shouldn't be in a person's flat anyway."

John chuckled at the scene and the pair looked over at him quizzically.

"Sorry."

He offered with a blush. The woman smiled warmly in response and move towards him to pat his shoulder softly.

"Don't let him bully you. If you need some clean sheets I can lend you some until you've gotten a chance to settle in."

"Thanks Mrs. Hudson."

She left him with a smile before shooting a stern look at Sherlock who simply rolled his eyes in reply. Once she'd shut the door the man was next to him in an instant. He obviously had no qualms about personal space.

"Can I help you?" John asked tentatively, backing away a little to give himself some room to breathe.

"You don't like it when men who are larger and older than you come too close. Definitely abuse. Guess I can't blame you for leaving. While I guarantee there won't be physical beatings, I think it's only fair to warn you living with me may not be as pleasant as you might think."

"I'm beginning to catch on."

John chuckled and the corners of Sherlock's lips twitched as he held back a smile.

"I play violin at all hours of the day and night, sometimes I don't talk for days on end, you'll occasionally find human body parts in the fridge… I hope none of that's a problem for you."

John thought about it for a moment and found that while it probably should be, it really wasn't. He'd take it over his family any day. What were a few human fingers compared to a fridge full of beer bottles that would likely be thrown at him later?

"Sounds fine to me, though as long as we're listing faults you should know I tend to talk in my sleep."

Sherlock gave an appreciative smile and moved back over to the kitchen table.

"Feel free to make yourself at home; your room is just up the stairs, mind the fourth step though."

With that he slipped on a pair of gloves and delved into what looked like some messy business with the pig's head. John smiled and headed up the stairs. The room was large compared to his bedroom back home and filled with books. He liked that though; in fact, he might just leave them there. It was nice. His room back home had always been bare, and the books added a sort of decorative element. The bed was huge and John couldn't help but let out a small squeal when he looked at it. Within seconds he'd dropped his backpack and plopped on top of the soft mattress. For the first time in a long time he felt completely happy, just lying on a big soft bed in a room full of books. Sherlock might be weird, but he seemed nice enough, and Mrs. Hudson was very kind. This running away business was starting to look like the best decision he'd ever made.