CHAPTER 24. NOCTURNE

Sherlock frowned hearing the door of his dorm open, interesting; John was home on summer holidays. Well Sherlock technically should be as well but he'd returned early due to the fact that Mycroft was becoming more and more insufferable.

Constantly harassing him about choosing a major, Sherlock had loved the look on his brothers fat face after he'd told Mycroft he thought of majoring in philosophy. A useless subject according to father and Mycroft, all the more reason to take it. Although Sherlock did agree with them, he would never admit it of course. In truth Sherlock didn't know what he wanted to do, he knew what he didn't want and that was to become a government drone like father and Mycroft.

He didn't have the patience to become an artist like mother although he had been told by many a scolding professor that he should take up theater, as good as he was at inventing lies or feigning interest. Another very dull subject, nothing to keep his mind active. John of course already knew what he wanted, Sherlock had no doubt in his mind that his friend would become a doctor. It was easy to deduce John Watson would make a damn good Doctor, because he didn't know how to do anything half way.

"Sherlock?" Johns voice sounded off, a bit ruff like he had been yelling. "I didn't know you were here-"

"Yes well. I couldn't stand being around Mycroft father's favorite son. I felt like I would be crushed under his incredibly large ego. Really father isn't helping matters by-" Sherlock had glanced up briefly from his microscope, something caught his eye and hadn't registered immediately, when it did his words fell away and he was standing moving towards his friend.

"John?" But his friend moved past him, dropping his red back pack down on the floor heading to the small kitchen area. Well it was a room with a sink, a hot plate and a small fridge so it could pass as a kitchen area.

"Tea?" John tried to even out his voice, but he sounded congested.

"John your nose is bleeding." Sherlock handed him a blue silk handkerchief. "Take it you know I have more."

"Thanks." Sherlock switched on the light of their bedroom slash sitting room. Two beds sat opposite sides of the room, a television in the corner and a closet divided into two sides, one for John's clothes and one for Sherlock's. Although Sherlock liked to leave his things on the floor instead of hang them up, actually this was true with most everything, books, shoes, forgotten lab experiments, of course it only looked worse because John hadn't been there to tidy up. He pushed these distracting thoughts down and focused on his friend.

"You know if you pinch it-"

"Sherlock I am premed I do know how to take care of a nose bleed. Thanks." John took the handkerchief and sighed heavily plopping down on his neatly made bed.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to- I'm just tired." Sherlock looked John over, his school hoddie had been stretched at the collar, the dark haired college student deduced someone had grabbed John or at least tried only to get a handful of hoodie. Sherlock went to the small kitchen and found an ice pack that John kept around after Sherlock burned his hand after starting yet another experiment on fire.

"Thanks." John mumbled placing the cold pack to his right eye, holding back a wince.

"What happened?" Sherlock took in John's appearance, his hoodie would definitely need to be binned, the left knee of his blue jeans ripped and dirty. His knuckles red and raw, definitely a fight it was still a question of who won.

"I just want to sleep Sherlock. I'm a little tired. It was a long drive."

"How did you get back?"

"I hitched a ride." After catching the look of revulsion on his friends face he quickly added "And don't give me that look like I don't know that's dangerous but I couldn't stay another minute."

"John-" Sherlock plopped down next to his dormmate not knowing how to work this out.

"I think I might be in some trouble though." He shuddered, "I hit him pretty hard. He was fine, well fine to his standards. But the bastard just wouldn't stop. Usually I don't care, but he said something about Harry and then I just snapped. Harry told me to leave; she said I was just making it worse. I think the neighbors called the police, I don't know I grabbed my bag and just left. Do you think-"

"John clearly it was self defense. And I'm sure with your fathers record it wont be too much of a leap to figure out who is in the wrong." Sherlock could see the way John's hands shook and he was trying to catch his breath, obviously the adrenaline had left his friend weak.

"You're right Sherlock. Sorry if I worried you. What were you doing? An experiment?" Sherlock knew this tactic of changing the subject. He moved off the bed going to the closet he tossed a clean t-shirt towards his friend.

"Yes, but it's not going as I hoped."

"Oh?" Sherlock knew John just needed to hear someone talk, something to take his mind off of his situation. It was amazing how quickly the other boy would go from completely emotional to the picture of visible calm in a matter of minutes. Even his eyes had a way of misleading any ordinary person but Sherlock was far from ordinary.

Sherlock watched as John made himself a cup of tea, as if tea was the cure to everything. How very British, Sherlock would rather play a screeching tune on his violin to make himself feel calm again, still he accepted the tea John always made a point to offer.

An odd emotion seized the dark haired college student, he felt the sudden need to throw something, the mug seemed ideal, this confused him so he refrained from touching the mug.

His thoughts racing, John had gone home, less than two days, and he was already back. Well Sherlock had gone home for an hour and turned around. But not for the same reasons, Mycroft and him hadn't been in an actual physical fight since Sherlock was seven. And it hadn't really been more than Sherlock kicking and Mycroft holding him back laughing at his silly efforts.

How often had John stood up for him, throughout the years they had been acquainted? For reasons beyond Sherlock's and even Mycroft's comprehension John Watson had always been there to defend Sherlock in some way or another.

Weather it was to take on the school bully or an intoxicated Rugby player that Sherlock happened to insult by pointing out his sexual exploits or lack there of. Still John might be smaller than most boys his age, he held his own and the other Rugby players had been so impressed they invited him to try out for the team. Seeing how John had broken the nose of one of their best players.

John had a way of making friends easily, something else Sherlock found intriguing, granted it wasn't exactly a useful talent but it did come in handy when faced with half an angry football team over something Sherlock may or may not have said about the girlfriend of the forward center.

John had remarked it was a good thing that Rugby players tended to be built a little sturdier than football players. Sherlock had to agree, although he did have a few broken ribs, and Mycroft did have to smooth things over with the dean for fighting on campus, but the dean couldn't be to harsh after all if he expelled John and Sherlock he would have to also expel half the Rugby team that had been active participants. After that John and Sherlock stuck to places off campus for social stimuli.

Sherlock sighed taking his mobile out he decided to send two texts, pausing over the send button on the last one, he glanced once more at his friend, John had fallen asleep after washing up, he wore his usual flannel blue and white pajama bottoms and the school tshirt that Sherlock had thrown him. The premed student was lying on his back one arm under his head as a pillow his other resting on his stomach, this Sherlock came to understand was sign his friend wouldn't be sleeping restfully tonight. Another spike of anger, he wanted to go down to John's home knock on the door and punch his friends drunkard father in the face. Physical violence was of course a convention of the uneducated but Sherlock would of make the exception.

Instead his phone vibrated his text had only just gone through less than a minutes time. His brother did loath texting but he always responded nonetheless.

"The situation will be handled. I let mummy know you will be home for the Christmas."-MH

Of course Mycroft never did something for anyone without expecting a favor n return. John was worth it, anyway if he was going to have to spend Christmas Holidays at home over this, then John was coming with him. After all it was his fault that Sherlock would be forced to go, besides mummy adored John, father never objected to the older boy, Sherlock often wondered if his father wished for a son more like John. Focused and driven, although father never much cared for any show of sentiment, and John was obvious in his concern over Sherlock. Maybe even Mycroft thought John would have been a better brother, after all Father and Mycroft often pressed Sherlock for a career choice pointing out that he should follow John to medical school if John chooses to further his pursuit as a doctor.

Of course John would, but Sherlock didn't like the idea of the social aspects involved with the medical field. Maybe he could be a coroner. That could be pleasing.

His phone buzzed again

"Fine but I'll charge you extra for making me come all the way down here and turn back. Let me know when your boyfriends not home."-Frankie.

As expected John was already struggling in his sleep, it would be a long night. Sherlock tossed his mobile onto his own unmade bed, moving to pick up his violin. First he'd wake his friend before he fell out of bed like last time.

"John." No answer "John." Finally a little more sternly "JOHN." This did it, the blond sat up gasping as if Sherlock just pulled him from deep waters.

"Huh?" he put a hand to his head.

"You were dreaming."

"Oh, sorry if I woke you."

"Hardly." The other boy laid back his bruised fists now clutching his blond hair. Sherlock decided to play his violin now, a tune he'd played for mummy when she was feeling ill. Only because he couldn't think long enough to complete his experiment. John was taking up valuable space in his mind palace, it annoyed and frightened Sherlock. Although he would never admit to the latter.

Taking up the bow, Sherlock started to play something from memory by Mozart. He thought John would object as he often did when Sherlock vented using his violin. Instead his friend's breathing became even and Sherlock realized after he reached the end that John had fallen into a deep untroubled sleep. Shrugging he put his violin on the cluttered table and returned to his experiment.

~0~

That's it! Sherlock snapped out of his mind palace he knew what could be done, but he would need to wait another night, when John had settled into bed. It was the ultimate experiment; perhaps he could find start a new piece of music just for such an occasion. Something just for John, he would have to think on it but for now there were any number of pieces he could use.

Briefly returning to his mind Palace, Sherlock filed away the memories that cluttered the floor of John's room. Glancing quickly to John's chair he could see the ex soldier sitting with his face in his hands, the shadows of the fire burning dimly danced over the bowed head. This image of John didn't look up instead he remained in that chair, wearing his flannel pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. Sherlock retreated from the room shutting the door quietly behind him.