For the assumption of it being a dark and maybe even dreary house, Sherlock's home was bright and fluffy. Literally. There were cute lamps and fuzzy embroidered pillows everywhere.
"Wipe your feet on the mat before you take your shoes off," Sherlock told John as he began to wipe. John wiped his feet gently on the rug at the door, then slipped his shoes off. Sherlock took John's shoes and placed them on a cute bronze shoe rack beside a pair of marry-janes. As they went up the carpeted stairs to Sherlock's room, John noticed many pictures of two young boys being cradled by what he presumed were a mother and father. The two boys had very wide grins on their faces and cheeks as rosy as apples.
"Is that you?" John asked, pointing at a picture with the little boys playing foot ball. The one that was slightly taller with ginger hair had a full football uniform on and the smaller one who was dark haired and a little scruffy looking hugged the black and white ball at his feet. Sherlock pursed his lips as he glanced at the picture and turned back to continue up the stairs.
"Yes, that is me," Sherlock said in mild disgust.
"With the ball-"
"Yes."
John stopped speaking and watches Sherlock begin to stomp up the stairs with more of an effort put into the amount of noise he made. John quietly followed after him, pulling his back pack better over his shoulder.
They turned a corner into Sherlock's bedroom and John was surprised by how boring it was. Compared to the rest of the home, his room looked like it could have been a prison cell. A single bed, a single dresser, a single closet, and a spotless desk with next to nothing on it, just a cup of pencils and other miscellaneous objects, and nothing on the floor or under the bed.
"You can put your bag on the floor over their," Sherlock said, pointing into the empty corner of his room. John obeyed and set it down in the corner. He grabbed the novel and a binder with some spare papers in it. He turned around to see Sherlock examining his back in the single full body mirror that hanged on an empty wall. He lifted his shirt. John quickly looked away, pretending he was preoccupied with something more interesting.
"Ah," Sherlock cried softly. John looked over his should and Sherlock was sitting on his bed scratching his back. He looked a bit disgruntled and pained.
"Are you ok?" John asked. Sherlock looked up at John, then stood.
"I'm fine," he said. He picked up his copy of the hobbit. "So the book."
"Yes, so let's read," John said, opening his book, flipping through the first few pages until he got to the first chapter.
"Why not we read the first chapter out loud, so we can both start off on the same track," Sherlock suggested. John nodded. "I'll start..."
When Sherlock began reading, John was surprised, once again, by his enthusiasm in his voice as he read. It sounded so smooth and natural, like honey being drizzled into a nice, hot cup of tea. John listened intently. It's only been a couple of days, school nearly had begun, and he already knew so many unexpected things about this boy named Sherlock. His love for science and puzzle solving, his hatred for the Philip and Sally crew, and his tendency to want to be alone. But then there were so many things he knew he didn't know, and was constantly getting shocked by, like his dangerous relationship with Jim and his strange liking to entertaining others, but then not wanting to be with anyone. John was so confused by Sherlock. And also strangely fascinated. There hadn't seemed yet to be a dull moment with this curly boy.
"John, you can continue from there." John looked at Sherlock blankly.
"Continue from the beginning of page 8," Sherlock said, trying to elaborate his request. John looked down at the book. He had stopped turning the pages after page 3. John flipped a little frantically to the 8th page. Sherlock sighed, shaking his head.
"Right. The top of page 8..." As John read, he realized he had no idea what had happened in the story so far. His day dream had gotten too deep for him to remember anything Sherlock had said. After a few pages, he started to catch on a bit. He read with more ease and even looked up a few times between breaths or long sentences. John looked up again, but something caught his eye. Sherlock was aggressively itching his back against the post of his bed.
"Uh," is all John could make out. Sherlock was leaning up on the bed post and moved up and down and back and forth vigorously.
"Are you ok?" John asked. Sherlock slowed down, then collapsed on his bed.
"No," Sherlock admitted. John put a piece of paper his novel and set it down.
"What happened?" John question.
"I don't really know. My back... It hurts," Sherlock said, reaching to itch it again.
"Did you pull something?" John said, getting up from his spot on the floor.
"No, it's... A sharp pain. It's up near my should blades," Sherlock said, trying to reach around his back some how, but was unsuccessful. John stood their watching Sherlock struggle.
"Can you assess me?" Sherlock finally asked.
"Like- like a doctor?" John said, moving forward to sit beside Sherlock.
"Yes. Look at my back, please," Sherlock requested. He pulled up his shirt and turned his back to John. John didn't see anything out of the ordinary, other than noting the extreme pastiness of Sherlock's skin.
"Everything looks fine to me," John said, clapping his hands together into his lap.
"Well, can you feel anything unusual?" Sherlock questioned. John held up a hand, reaching forward. He hesitated. He touched between Sherlock's shoulder blades. He slide his hand over his left should blade, then back towards the right. Just before he met the second blade, Sherlock made a small yelping sound.
"There. Press," Sherlock said. He sounded very uncomfortable, yet determined for John to do so. John slowly pressed down on Sherlock's smooth skin. Suddenly, he felt something. It felt hard, but it wasn't a vertebra or anything of that sort. It felt a bit like a nub. John felt around to it, then pressed harder on top of it.
"Ow!" Sherlock yelled. John retracted his hand.
"Oh god, I'm sorry," John apologized quickly.
"No, it's OK. What was that?" Sherlock said, flipping his shirt down and turning to face him.
"I don't know, it was kind of abnormal-" John stammered.
"John, you're red," Sherlock commented flatly. John's hand flew to his cheeks.
"I'm fine," John said.
"I didn't ask you a question," Sherlock said, slowing down as he ended his sentence.
"I'm fine," John repeated in a quieter tone. His eyes fell to the floor. Sherlock stared at him. They sat in silence until Sherlock said, "did it look like anything I should be worried about?"
John met Sherlock's eyes, then looked away as he answered. "No, it didn't seem like much."
"Well it hurts like hell," Sherlock said, standing up. He stretched his arms up above his head.
Suddenly, a woman's voice rang from down stairs. She was saying something along the lines of: " oh my goodness gracious! Is someone here with you Sherlock? Come down stairs honey! We have some snacks on the table for you!"
"Not now, Mummy! We are working!" Sherlock shouted back to the voice which John now assumed was Sherlock's mother. He looked back to John, then picked up his book.
"Let's finish another chapter or two before she tries to make us go down stairs and be sociable," Sherlock said, smirking at John. John smiled back and opened his book.
"Okay, where were we..."
-:-:-:-
"Oh look at Sherlock, honey," Mrs. Holmes said to what John presumed was her husband, Sherlock's dad. They continued to talk to each other from the other side of the kitchen about Sherlock and John who were eating from a plate of veggies and hummus at the table. Mr. Holmes was washing some dishes, so their voices were drowned out a bit from the rushing water. Sherlock stared at a slice of carrot in his hand as he listened to his mother giggle about him.
"Mum, I can hear everything you are saying," Sherlock piped up in annoyance. His mother glanced at him momentarily, smirking, then continued to talk. John couldn't help but laugh. She was doing it purposefully now. Sherlock angrily bit off a piece of his carrot.
Mr. Holmes turned off the water and Mrs. Holmes said, "I'm just glad he is making friends."
"John, let's get out of here," Sherlock said, grabbing John's arm. He quickly put a bite of cucumber and hummus in his mouth, brushing off his hands, and hurried after Sherlock who was already into the living room.
"John," Sherlock's mother called. John stopped to look to Mrs. Holmes. "You don't have to go yet, you can have a bit more if you want," she said.
"Actually, we have to finish up our chapter upstairs," Sherlock said, briefly popping his head back in the kitchen to look at his mother as he spoke.
"No, we finished for today," John said innocently. Sherlock huffed and turned around in a circle.
"It's okay, John. You sit down and eat. Sherlock, sit with your friend and wait for him," she said. Sherlock sighed and sat down again. John hesitantly sat as well, grabbing a celery stick and some hummus.
"He's only a study partner," Sherlock said under his breath.
"Please," Mrs. Holmes said sternly. Sherlock didn't look at her and stared at the vegetables in front of him. John smiled nervously.
After John had a couple more veggies, he got up and thanked Mrs. Holmes for the food. She smiled brightly back at him.
As Sherlock and him left, Mrs. Holmes tapped John on the shoulder.
"Don't mind Sherlock," she told him, "he will come around. And you can stay for dinner too." She winked. John smiled at her, then followed Sherlock back up stairs.
"So what did she tell you?" Sherlock asked him once John shut the door.
"She told me you would come around," John said honestly.
"What does that mean?" Sherlock said, looking at himself in the mirror.
"I don't know, she's your mum," John said, quieting down as he spoke. Sherlock spun around.
"Well, I think we are done," Sherlock announced. "You can go home now if you want."
"Okay, but your mom said I could stay for dinner..."
"Do what you want." Sherlock wasn't looking his way anymore. John walked over to his bag and packed his book, slinging it over his shoulder.
"I'm leaving." John left Sherlock's room.
Mrs. Holmes saw him come down the stairs.
"You're leaving John?" She said, putting down a book from her hands.
"Yeah. Thank you for everything, Mrs. Holmes," John said graciously. She smiled at him, but this time, it was sad.
"Are you sure? I'll get Sherlock to walk you part way home-"
"No, I'll be fine."
"You'll be okay?"
"Yes. See you again, maybe."
John left Sherlock's home.
-:-:-:-
Mrs. Holmes slowly opened the door to Sherlock's bedroom. She saw him laying on his bed, hands folded over his chest.
"May I come in?" She asked calmly. Sherlock continued to stare at the ceiling. She stepped inside and gently shut the door.
"One day, you are going to want a friend," she said. Sherlock looked at her.
"Are you saying I don't have any?" He said.
"Quite frankly, yes," she said. Sherlock stared at her.
"So, John doesn't count?" He said, a little softer.
"No, he doesn't," her tone becoming more sharp.
"Well, you're wrong," Sherlock said, looking back up at the ceiling. "I'm pretty sure we are friends."
"I think you need to rethink what it means to be friends," his mother said. "Because he might not be for much longer if you keep treating him like you did today."
Sherlock stayed motionless on his bed.
"I know I can't do anything to convince you, but I just wanted you to hear it out loud," his mum said, then left the room again.
"Do you want the door open?"
"No."