The end was nigh. In 12 days, John and I would be graduated and moving out of this hellhole of a school, leaving not much behind besides Mrs. Hudson and a few of John's friends. Moving to where was still the issue. My things would be moved back to Mummy's (as she was still out of the country) until arrangements for my flat could be made. Before that could happen, I had to know at which school I was to start my studies.
It wasn't as if I hadn't received any acceptance letters yet. That would depend upon bothering to apply anywhere. I would go wherever John decided to go; we'd already discussed it.
"John," I said. "John where do you want to live."
"Hmmm?" he asked, looking up from a textbook. He'd been in study mode for the past week, very dull.
"I was thinking close to the river. Transport readily available. Or maybe in northern London, by Regent's Park. I've heard it's very nice." I was fully aware that talking to myself now. John had been rather noncommunicado while studying, convinced he had to reread his notes and the books over and over or else he'd fail and, in his words, 'drop out, become homeless and never amount to anything now stop asking me to stop studying we aren't all geniuses, Sherlock.'
"Mmmm," replied John, turning another page.
I sighed, bored. It was only out of love that I didn't pick up my violin in frustration. I decided to get out of the room for a bit, head down and chat with Mrs. Hudson. She'd grown on me over the past years, and I admit I'll miss her most from this place.
The door was shut, but unlatched, to her office and I've learned to just walk in when stopping by. Mainly due to Mrs. Hudson's remarkable ability to –
"Come on in!"
-notice someone about to knock.
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson." I sat down on the old couch she kept by the wall, perpendicular to her desk. I took in the room, possibly for the last time, and tried to file the details away. Sentiment, that's a new one. Though, I suppose, only predictable when one comes to an end of a part of their life.
She looked over from her desk where she was knitting. Nothing about her office seemed like an office. "Sherlock, dear, what brings you down here? Not hiding from idiots again, are we?"
Mrs. Hudson, always worrying. "No, not today. Just… reminiscing I suppose," I said with a flick of my wrist, indicating the general area.
"Well, that's only natural dear. You've been through a lot here, good and bad. Biscuit?"
I ignored her offer. "More bad than good I think."
She put her knitting down and I could she was about to head my way. "Now, I wouldn't say that."
"Of course you wouldn't, you don't know the half of it."
"I probably shouldn't either, if my temper is to be kept in check. Those stupid, small-minded boys – that's all they'll ever be." She sat down and sighed, a trademark of her existence.
"That and in and out of prison or stuck in fast food, flipping burgers the rest of their life," I replied. I felt suddenly lazy, as if I could sit here for hours and not move. Total contentment with the situation, despite Mrs. Hudson's tittering beside me.
"That's all they'll ever be," she repeated, turned towards me. "But you, Sherlock, you'll be great. Well, you're great now, but you'll be better than great I can just see it! Oh, dear, you've grown so much since I first met you! It'll be sad to see you go, but you deserve it – getting out of here of course – and you've got John and Sherlock, you must know that he's good for you." She got up, heading back to her knitting without missing a beat in talking. "This past year I can tell has changed you for the better. You talk more nicely, seem a bit more even-tempered wouldn't you agree? Got a few friends, yes? I must say I worried, but you pulled through like you always do."
Mrs. Hudson continued on this tangent while I thought. I suppose I could say something to her as well, communicate my gratitude to her, before I leave. It was an odd feeling, about to say goodbye and mean it sincerely, yet it came with the firm belief that I would see her again.
"I'll miss you, too, Mrs. Hudson," I said. I must have interrupted her because her mouth was hanging open a bit before she smiled.
"Of course dear." She rose as I did and walked around her desk after me to the door, talking all the while. "Oh, come here, you, give me a hug before you head back up. You know how busy I'll be the next few weeks, moving everyone out, hunting down missing keys and whatnot."
She pulled me into a hug. "You take care of yourself, Sherlock, promise me that." She smelled of vanilla, solid and warm surrounding me for a moment.
"You too, Mrs. Hudson."
"Now head on back, see if John could use a break from study and go get yourselves something to eat!"
When I opened the door to our dorm room, I expected to see John with his head in a book. This is technically what I saw, except that he was drooling in the book, fast asleep, instead of studying. He didn't look uncomfortable, just very unconscious, so I left him be and sat on my side of the room.
When you read novels or watch TV, anyone who is in love always looks attractive. They're asleep, but angelic and perfect. They got caught in a rainstorm, but their hair and makeup are still artfully arranged. That by itself renders most love stories too unrealistic to be tolerated. In reality, someone can be fully awake and primped and you can see them at a bad angle and they look completely different. Add that with the unflattering angle that John was in, taking into account him drooling and his clothes rucked up and the face he was making, John did not look his best. What the romance plotlines were missing, alongside the realistic looks, were the feelings that came with reality.
I observed John. Noticed he looked a "hot mess" (he would say if he could see himself now). But I still liked him. I didn't look away or try to fix how he looks, in fact I was almost drawn to him. He let down his guard around me – he would never do this with a stranger present, or even an acquaintance. This was John without the barriers – the John I get to see. It is fascinating; the walls people build around themselves. I'm guilty of the same. If we went around without walls we'd be vicious and vulnerable, but it was something special to be invited inside instead of breaking them down. John was someone worth keeping for as long as he wants to be kept, and someone to give myself to as well.