On the Twelfth Day of Sherlockmas... "The New Kid" (Part 1 of 2), a gift for sirona_gs.
Author: ?
Title: The New Kid (Part 1 of 2)
A gift for: sirona_gs
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock/John, Mycroft, Mike Samford, Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Mrs. Hudson, various OCs
Category: Slash, AU
Rating: NC-17 for sex and language
Warnings: Explicit sex.
Summary: Eighteen year old student John Watson finds himself entranced with an arrogant, aloof new student named Sherlock Holmes.
Author's Notes: This fic is an AU, yet I have gratuitously used the names of characters from both canon and the BBC show just for lulz.
These characters do not belong to me. They were originally created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and in their current form by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.
John got off the bus and headed toward the school building. It was his second year at Baker-Street Academy, a well-renowned private school he only was able to attend thanks to getting a scholarship. Still, he was an easy-going, friendly young man, and many in the school liked him regardless of his economic status.
"Hey, Johnny!"
John turned to see Mike Stamford running up to him.
"Hey! Long time no see!"
Mike laughed. "My family went to France over the summer."
"Oh, I'm so sorry..."
Both boys laughed.
"Planning to play rugby this year?" Mike asked as they headed down the hall to their classroom.
"You know it. You?"
"Hey, Johnny!" shouted a girl down the hall, waving.
"Hey, Sarah!" he waved back.
Mike laughed, then said, "Eh... I think I need to focus on my studies."
"Ah, come on Mike..."
They walked into, Maths, their first class of the day, in room 114.
"Hey, John," said Greg, who had already found a spot next to Sally.
"Greg," he said, smiling and sitting in the seat in front of him. Mike sat next him, in front of Sally.
"Who thought to have Maths first lesson?" Sally asked. "This is way too early for Maths..."
"No kidding," Greg agreed.
Suddenly, Mary appeared out of thin air in the room before them. She looked around confused, then gritted her teeth.
"God damn you, Frank!"
With that, she left the room.
Greg turned to Sally. "Remind me never to date Frank... I hate that teleporting shit."
"You're not really his type," Sally pointed out.
"Yeah, he likes blondes," John pointed out. Everyone looked at John, then started giggling.
"Not. Funny."
A few more people entered the class, some of whom John knew, and some he didn't. One of the last students to enter was a tall, dark-haired newcomer who immediately went and sat in the back row.
Finally, the teacher came into the class.
"Good morning, everyone. For those who are new, I'm Ms. Hunter. I hope you're ready for another year."
"Whee..." said one student.
"No..." another said quietly.
Ms. Hunter snickered. "Yes, well, we might as well get started."
Most of the class groaned as they got out their books. John was too intent with watching the boy in the back, and Greg had to smack his arm to get his mind on his schoolwork.
Lunchtime came around and John and his friends went to the dining hall. John tended to bring his lunch, so he looked for a table while his friends stood in line to get their food. He found a large table and set his food down. Looking over, he saw the dark-haired boy from the back of the class sitting alone at a two-person table.
"Hey... uh... you there, with the apple?"
"Sherlock."
"Pardon?"
The boy rolled his eyes. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. What do you want?"
"I'm John Watson. Do you want to sit with us?" John offered, smiling. "There should be room for one more."
Sherlock looked at John, and then at the others, who were now headed to the table.
"No," he said, and went back to his own food.
"Okay," said John. He wasn't about to try to push the boy to do something he didn't want to. Still, as he watched the boy eat his meagre lunch (his first thought was that Sherlock was a scholarship student like himself, but that didn't seem quite right), John found himself wishing the boy had said yes.
After lunch was Chemistry, in room 221. John was naff at it, but he needed it if he was going to go into medicine. The class was full of two-chair desks with various chemicals, flasks, and other chemistry equipment. As the students started filing in, the teacher, who was already at her desk, got their attention.
"I'm Mrs. Hudson; welcome to Chemistry class. You're all going to work with partners, so don't just sit randomly; whoever you sit with today will be your partner for the year."
The teens began scrambling around, making sure they were sitting with their friends. Greg and Sally became a pair at once, and Mike managed to sit with a new boy that had been giving him the eye since Maths. Several students approached John wanting to be his partner, but he was heading to the back of the class, wanting to partner with the new boy, who was already sitting at a desk.
"Hey," said Julia Stoner, grabbing John's arm. "Wanna sit with me?"
"No, thanks," John said, gently pulling out of her grasp and taking a seat next to Sherlock.
"Hi," said John.
The other boy just sighed and went back to examining the chemicals on the desk.
"Oh, it seems like we have an odd number of students," Mrs. Hudson noted.
"I don't need a partner," said Sherlock. Not bothering to look at John when he said it.
"Actually, Ms. Stoner, why don’t you sit with Mr. Watson and..."
"Sherlock Holmes," he said.
"And Mr. Holmes."
Julia sighed but dragged a chair over to the boys' desk.
"Now, we'll be working on the experiment in the first chapter."
The sound of books opening filled the class. Sherlock opened his, looked at the experiment, and began to get the chemicals ready. John was surprised when he actually began opening them.
"I don’t think you're supposed to start yet," he said.
"Why not?" asked Sherlock.
"The teacher has to tell us what to do."
"Why?"
"Excuse me, in the back?" said Ms, Hudson. "Care to share with the rest of the class?"
"No, ma'am," said John. "Sorry."
Ms. Hudson looked at Sherlock.
"Mr. Holmes, what are you doing?"
"The experiment in chapter one...?" He actually sounded a little confused by the question.
"I need to explain it. If you mix the chemicals together wrong-"
"I won't." There was a note of conceit in his voice. John wasn't sure whether to be offended by his arrogance or impressed by his nerve.
"Mr. Holmes, I'm not sure how it was at your last school, but I would appreciate if you would do as you're told. You need to wait for me to explain what's going on to the rest of the class."
The boy sighed in exasperation. "I don't see why I should slow down just because no one else is as advanced as I am."
John noticed several students glaring at him as he said that. He seemed oblivious to this.
"Just wait until I'm done explaining it, Mr. Holmes."
After a moment, Sherlock set the chemicals aside and leaned back in his chair. With that, the class resumed as normal.
As they left the class, Sally glowered at Sherlock.
"Stuck-up wanker," she said, loudly enough Sherlock could hear it. John wasn't sure whether the boy ignored her because he wasn't aware Sally was talking about him, or he just didn't care.
"What an arse," Greg agreed. "Too stuck up to even talk to us?" he shouted, giving the two-fingered salute to the boy's back.
John shook his head. Given the boy's tendency to sit by himself, and the fact that he was new, John suspected Sherlock was just the quiet type who had trouble making friends. John decided he might try to help him with that.
At lunch the next day, John walked up to Sherlock, who was sitting alone again.
"Come sit with us," he said in his most commanding tone.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
Sherlock gave him a puzzled look. Then he actually smirked. He got up and followed John to the other table, where John's friends were already congregating.
"And why is he sitting here?" asked Sally.
"I asked him to," said John. "Come on, he's new to this school, I think we should give him a chance."
"We should give a chance to a guy who thinks he's better than us?"
"I didn't say I was better than you, I said I was more advanced than you. And I am. My brother had me doing university-level chemistry, so what's offered here is a bit below what I'm used to."
"Your brother?" Greg asked.
Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. John noticed this, and spoke up.
"Hey, Greg, you wanna come and try out with me after class? The rugby team could use a big guy like you."
"Are you hitting on me?"
John smiled and wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe a little..."
Sally groaned. "I don't know about you, but I'm already looking forward to the weekend..."
"That is pretty sad," said Julia.
"Easy for you say," Sally replied, "You've got that big brain of yours."
John noticed that Sherlock turned to examine Julia when Sally said this. "She just means she's smart, Sherlock."
"Brain size has no relation to intelligence," Sherlock said, causing everyone to look at him again. "What?"
Sally laughed. "It was just a joke, Sherlock."
Sherlock thought this over. "Oh... I see."
Sally made a face. "You're weird..."
Sherlock looked at John. "He was the one who wanted me to sit here. I'd be fine sitting alone, if you'd rather."
"No, it's okay, stay here," said Julia. "Sally just sometimes speaks before she thinks."
Sally glared, but Julia ignored her.
"So, you like chemistry?" Julia asked Sherlock, smiling flirtatiously.
John saw red--he hadn't anticipated anyone hitting on Sherlock. He wasn't certain if he wanted to do so himself, but he had been hoping he'd at least have a chance.
"Yes, I do enjoy it," Sherlock replied. "It requires care and precision, and its results are easily replicable."
"Yeah." Julia smiled slyly. "I bet you and I would have great chemistry." She moved forward, putting a hand on his thigh. Sherlock gave a jerk, pulling away and looking stunned. Julia laughed. "You're jumpy!"
Sherlock didn’t seem to have a reply to that; he just scooted away from her and went back to his lunch.
Sherlock stayed quiet for the rest of lunch. However, John noticed that he was watching everyone closely, observing them like some sort of biologist studying animals in the wild. This thought made John laugh, but he just shook off Mike's question about it.
The others chatted; John and Mike about rugby, Greg and Sally made plans for the weekend, and Julia just sulked.
Sherlock finished his lunch and got up.
"Where are you going?" John asked.
"I'm done with lunch," he said.
"Why don't you stay and hang out with us?"
"No," he turned to leave. Then he turned back around. "Thanks."
With that, he left the dining hall.
"Uh..." John turned to the others. "I'm gonna go check on him..."
"Why?" said Greg, "he seems to want to be alone."
"Yeah, but... look, just... I'll see you guys in class."
John found Sherlock out behind the dining hall. He was smoking a cigarette.
"You're not supposed to smoke on school grounds," John said.
Sherlock gave him a look. Then he took a drag and blew out smoke through his nose.
"Are you going to report me?"
"No," said John, as he came and stood next to him.
"Why didn't you stay and hang out?"
"I don't like 'hanging out'."
John just sighed.
They stood quietly for a few moments, Sherlock smoking, John just thinking.
"So," John said tentatively, "your brother taught you chemistry?"
Sherlock turned and gave him a thoughtful look.
"For a few years after our parents died, my brother kept me home and taught me."
"I'm sorry."
Sherlock was quiet for a moment.
"He finally decided to send me back to school for 'socialization'."
"It's working out well," John joked.
Sherlock shrugged. "It was his idea, not mine."
John nodded. "You could give it a shot, ya know."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He dropped his now spent cigarette and crushed it under his shoe. "Dull."
"What is?"
"The whole thing. The people, the discussion... dull."
"You think my friends are dull?"
"Must I repeat myself? Yes, they are. They spend their time talking about sport and sex; could they be any more cliché?"
"I play sports," John said defensively.
"And sex?" Sherlock drawled.
"Of course!" No sooner did the words come out of John's mouth than he regretted them. Sherlock didn't seem like the sort of person who would be impressed by John's bragging about sex. "I... uh, I mean..."
John was rather relieved when the bell rang.
"Time for Chemistry," said John. "Don’t worry about Julia, she can take a hint; I'm sure she'll leave you alone."
Chemistry was calmer than yesterday. Either Sherlock didn't want the attention, or he just felt it would be better to wait for the teacher to give out instructions, but he remained quiet throughout class.
The next day, John watched as Sherlock sat at a two-chair table to eat lunch. After a moment, he made a decision: He walked over and sat at with him.
Sherlock looked up at John. "You don’t want to sit with your friends?"
"Obviously," John said with a smile.
Sherlock regarded him for a moment, then smiled.
"How are you liking school so far?"
"Dull."
John laughed. "What don't you find 'dull'?"
"Puzzles, music, chemistry..."
John nodded. "I find chemistry... frustrating."
"So why are you taking it?"
"I'm going into medicine," John explained. "I'm going to be a doctor."
"I see."
"Not 'dull'?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You're making fun of me."
John smiled. "A little."
"You don’t have to sit here."
"I... It's just a joke... mates do that, Sherlock; they joke with each other."
Sherlock seemed to consider this. "I see."
"What about you, what do you want to do?"
"As I said, I enjoy puzzles, and investigating mysteries... I’ve considered being a detective."
"Like with the police?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "God no. I'll be a... private detective, I suppose."
"Ah. Cool."
After lunch, they went outside. Sherlock smoked while John just relaxed against the wall.
"So," John said, "what do you do for fun, anyway?"
"Run experiments, work on puzzles..."
"Sport?"
"No."
John grinned. "Sex?"
"No."
"What do you mean, 'no'?"
"I don’t have sex for fun."
"Do you have sex... at all?"
"No."
"You're a virgin?"
Sherlock gave John a look John was starting to think of as his "How much of an idiot are you?" expression.
"Okay, okay..."
"Shall we go to Chemistry?" Sherlock asked. "I'm sure Mrs. Hudson is in class by now; perhaps we could get our equipment set up."
"Sounds good," said John, smiling.
John ate lunch with Sherlock nearly every day. It was the only time they had alone together, but John enjoyed it immensely. Despite their differences, they found many things to talk about. Sherlock had a surprising knowledge of anatomy and biology, subjects which were both interesting and useful to John. Sherlock's interests, and discussions, tended to be a bit morbid, and more than a few times, they finished eating quickly and John hustled them outside so they could talk about the unpleasant topics, and Sherlock could occasionally show him pictures of gruesome medical conditions and crime scenes.
The first weeks of school went by quickly for John. Already he was getting bogged down with projects and homework. Plus, with rugby and his general socializing, he was beginning to get overwhelmed. Biology, while fun, was difficult for him, especially since Mr. Doyle assigned them papers every week. Fortunately, Mike helped him with a few of them. Chemistry was another difficult subject for him, but Sherlock did most of their experiments in class, and Julia helped him during one of their free classes. With this help, John found himself getting a better grip on things.
As the weeks went by, John noticed that Sherlock, who was hardly the most amiable person anyway, was starting to draw away from him. He often cut their after-lunch talks short, and one week, he stopped eating with John altogether. When Julia didn’t show up for school that Friday, things finally came to a head. Sherlock was being particularly terse and unhelpful, essentially doing the experiment by himself, and made no attempt to give John any information. Finally, John was on his last nerve.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What do you mean?" asked Sherlock coldly.
"You're obviously upset at me for some reason."
"Ah, so you can be intelligent when you choose to be," Sherlock snarked as he measured out a dry chemical.
"And what is that-"
"Julia's been doing most of your work in here. And you have other students do papers for you."
"Now that's not fair," John countered. "I'm having a tough term, and... yeah, I've had a little help. But-"
Ms. Hudson walked up. "How are things going, gentlemen?"
"Just fine, ma'am," said John.
After school, John chased Sherlock down as he headed out of the building, pulling a cigarette out of its pack.
"Hey! Sherlock!"
The boy turned, so John jogged up to him.
"Hey... look, what you said in Chemistry... like I said, I've been having a tough time, so, yes, I've had a little help... but... I mean, Greg does it so much more. All he has to do is smile at any gal--and a few of the guys--and his papers get done for him."
"So you only aspire to be slightly better than Greg?" Sherlock replied.
"That's not what I meant. I'm just wondering why you're giving me shit for this, is all."
"Because you're smart, John; probably smarter than most of these... imbeciles here."
"What makes you say that?"
Sherlock gave him a confused look. "Isn't it obvious?" There was a pause. "You're a scholarship student."
"How..."
Sherlock pointed to John's uniform. "Your blazer has been washed many times, since your parents can’t afford more than one. Your trousers and shoes are relatively new, probably bought just before the school year started; your parents probably splurge on those--especially the trousers-since people notice them, but your shirt is older and cheap, but it's not as noticeable, so that's all right."
John blinked. Then he sighed. "Look... it's not like it's really a secret, but..."
"But you're afraid if you advertise your poverty too much, people will treat you differently." Sherlock nodded. "But that doesn't explain your laziness."
John was livid. "My--? Look, I have had a total of two--TWO--assignments that Mike has helped me with, and Julia helps me with chemistry cuz it doesn't come easy to me. And you know, I'd love to get help from, oh, say my family, but you know what I have at home? Two parents who work their arses off to give their kids a comfortable life, and little sister who's got her own shit to deal with. Maybe you should think about while you've got your older, no doubt genius brother helping YOU with your studies. Honestly, I can see why everyone at the school hates you, you arrogant-"
Suddenly everything went dark. John let out a cry and reached out, his hands smacking against a wall. He felt around until he found a light switch. Turning the light on, John noticed that he was in a cupboard. He opened the door and found himself in one of the hallways of the school. He began looking for the next exit. He decided chasing after Sherlock would be pointless, so he just walked to the bus to go home.
John walked up to Sherlock the next day.
"Don't you ever do that again, you arsehole."
"Fine," Sherlock replied, then turned back around and took his seat. John glared at the back of his head, but then sat down, as well.
John went to Chemistry to see that Julia was sitting at a different desk than Sherlock.
"Hey," she said, waving John over. As he got closer, John noted that there was only one chair at Sherlock's desk. Sighing, he sat next to Julia.
Sherlock didn’t show up to school on Wednesday. John wondered if it was because of their fight, but then realised that was rather arrogant of him. Classes proceeded as usual, and no one--teachers and pupils alike-really seemed to think anything of it. Only John missed the strange tall boy.
When Sherlock didn’t show up to school on Thursday, John started to get worried. During a free period, he used one of the school’s computers to find Sherlock’s address and phone number. He wasn’t surprised to find that Sherlock lived in a rather posh neighbourhood. He considered just calling, but decided going over might be better.
After school, John called his house and left a message that he'd be late. His parents would be at work for awhile longer anyway, and Harry, John’s little sister, usually hung out with friends until well after dark.
The bus stopped about a half a mile from Sherlock’s house, so John was forced to go on foot the rest of the way. Finally, he found himself approaching two sets of gates. One was large enough for a car, while the other one was smaller, clearly meant just for foot traffic. John hoped he’d found the right place. He approached the small intercom on one side of the smaller set of gates and pressed the button.
"Uh... hello?"
"Please step back so I can see you," said a stern female voice.
John did so, smiling nervously and giving the camera an awkward wave. No sooner had he done it then he wanted to smack himself for being such a knob.
"Who are you and what is your business here?"
"Uh... I’m John Watson-"
"You have to press the button."
"Oh!" He pressed the button. "Uh, sorry... I’m John Watson; I’m a school mate of Sherlock's... er, Sherlock Holmes. This is where he lives, right?"
There was a short but nerve-wracking pause. Then an older gentleman and a younger, very large man came up and opened the gate.
"Please come with us, Mr. Watson," the older man said.
John followed them through the gate. He stared in amazement at the mansion in front of him. He supposed it shouldn't have surprised him, given what he knew about the kids at Baker-Street, but still, seeing it in person was a bit of a shock.
They followed a path across the parkway and up to the front door. Entering the house, the pair led John into a large room. There was a young man standing near the window.
"Come in, Mr. Watson, and sit down."
John entered and sat in a large, ornate chair facing the man. He was portly and of average height, but his face was somewhat familiar to John.
"Are you Sherlock's brother?"
The man smiled. "Mycroft Holmes. And you're John Watson, son of Mary and James Watson of West Croydon."
"Uh... yeah. How did you know that?"
Mycroft smiled again. "I make it my business to know as much as I can about the people my brother associates with. I could tell you a good deal more about yourself, but I'm sure you know most of it."
"Okay..." John was a little unsettled by this.
"What brings you here, John?"
"I came to check on Sherlock. He's been out of school for a few days, and... well, I'm worried about him. Is he okay?"
"You're concerned about him?"
"Well... yeah. You seem surprised."
"As you can imagine, Sherlock hasn't had many friends."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess not."
Mycroft was studying John; it was a bit like the way Sherlock occasionally looked at him. But while he actually rather liked it when Sherlock studied him, he felt uncomfortable being scrutinized by his older brother.
"Do you want to talk to him?"
"Yes," said John hesitantly. "But we had a fight... I'm not sure he wants to talk to me."
"Ah, I see." Mycroft got up. "Wait here," he said, then exited.
A moment later, the door opened and a young woman came in. "Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thanks, I'm fine."
The woman nodded and left.
After about ten minutes, the door opened again, and Mycroft came in followed by the older gentleman who had brought John into the house.
"Stapleton here will take you to see Sherlock," said Mycroft.
"Oh... okay, thanks," said John, getting up and following Stapleton.
They took an elaborate, sweeping flight of stairs up to the second story. They turned to the left, and walked for a few feet, then turned to the right, and down a long hallway. Stapleton led him to the last door at the end of the hall and knocked.
"Mr. Watson is here to see you, sir."
"Come in," said Sherlock from the other side of the door. Stapleton opened the door and indicated John should go in.
John walked into the room. It appeared to be a small library. There were books on shelves and in stacks on the floor and taking up a few chairs, and there was a large desk with papers scattered over it. Sherlock himself was sitting on a bench in front of a bay window. He was in a pair of black leather trousers and a loose black shirt. His curly hair was unruly, which was unusual for him. John rather liked it, though; it made him look more relaxed. He was barefoot, his longs toes casually combing through the carpet. He had a cigarette in his hand, and the smoke was wafting out of one of the windows.
"Mycroft told me you wanted to see me."
"Yeah," John replied. "I was worried about you. Are you all right?"
Sherlock looked puzzled. "Why are you worried about me?"
"You’ve haven't been at school for two days. I-"
"No, I mean, why do you care?"
John was surprised. "Well... cuz I like you."
"Oh... I thought you hated me."
"What? Why?"
"During our argument, you said you understood why everyone hated me. I thought that meant you hated me, as well."
"Oh! Oh, God... that's why you were so cold to me on Tuesday."
"Yes."
"I don't hate you, Sherlock. Yeah, I was pissed off, and... I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd take it so hard." John thought for a moment. "You're not used to arguing with someone who actually likes you, huh?"
"No, I guess not."
John nodded. "Well... I don’t hate you."
There was a short pause. Sherlock pulled his feet up to his chest.
"Do you want to sit down?" he indicated the empty space on the bench.
Smiling, John came over and sat down. He looked out the window and saw a large, well-tended lawn, some trees, and a flower garden.
"Nice!"
Sherlock shrugged. "I suppose."
"I guess you're used to it, huh?"
"I'm not much for flowers and trees..."
John looked around; the room was dark and somber, and the only real decoration was a print of da Vinci's Vitruvian Man.
"Yeah, I guess not."
They sat for a few moments. Sherlock smoked a bit more, and John looked around the room.
"So, why haven’t you been at school?"
Sherlock gave John his most penetrative look. Then, "My parents died on Oct 26th."
"Wednesday was the anniversary."
"Exactly."
"I'm sorry."
Sherlock looked at him, then shook his head. "It's fine.
"They were in a car accident. Father died at the scene, mother died in hospital."
"I... I don't-"
"You don’t have to say anything, John," said Sherlock, putting his cigarette out in an ashtray sitting next to him. Standing up, he took the ashtray and dumped it into a metal rubbish bin.
"I've missed you at school. Classes are dull without you around."
"That's not surprising; school is dull."
"It's... yeah," said John, laughing.
Sherlock smiled and sat back down next to John.
"Honestly, John, it's not that I care whether you do your schoolwork well--or at all, frankly--I just don’t want you selling yourself short. And, you know, you would have plenty of time for your schoolwork if you didn’t spend so much time playing rugby and 'hanging out'."
John sighed. "Look, maybe that works for you, but most people like to try to have some fun in their lives... 'All work and no play' and all that. Don’t you have anything not-school related you like?"
Sherlock considered this. "I like music. And I play the violin."
"Well there ya go. Just like you like listening to and playing music, I like playing rugby. And, okay, in fairness I did let it get away from me for a few weeks, but I'm getting a better handle on things."
"Sport is really that important to you?"
"Yes," said John.
Sherlock thought this over, then nodded.
"I should be back at school tomorrow. I just..."
John shook his head. "It's okay. I'm just glad you're all right."
"I am. Thank you." Sherlock smiled; John loved it when he smiled; he was beautiful enough as it was, but when he smiled, Sherlock was absolutely stunning.
John leaned forward, kissing Sherlock passionately. The other boy gave a start but didn't pull back, so John pushed forward, deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue between Sherlock's lips.
Suddenly, John found himself in a large bathroom. It took him a second to realise he'd been teleported there. He also realised he must still be in Sherlock's house. He left the bathroom and walked around a minute, but realised he had no clue where he was going or how to either get back to Sherlock's room or to leave the house.
"Hello?! Uh... I'm kinda lost here..."
"Mr. Watson?"
"AH!"
John turned to see the older man--Stapleton--standing at the end of the hallway.
"Uh... I got teleported, and now I'm lost."
"I see... I'll take you to-"
Mycroft appeared next to Stapleton. "It's all right, Stapleton, I'll take it from here."
Stapleton nodded and left.
Mycroft turned to John. "Follow me."
They ended up back in the room John had waited in when he first arrived.
"Sit down, John."
"I was hoping-"
Mycroft give him a glare that would melt lead. "Sit. Down."
John took a seat.
"John, as I mentioned earlier, my brother has had very few friends in his life. The idea that one of the few he's had would betray that trust-"
"I didn't mean to-"
"I am NOT finished."
"Sorry."
"I'm not sure what you did, but if my brother teleported you, you must have really upset him. If you consider yourself a friend, I would advise you to not do it again."
"I won't, I promise."
"Good. I'll have the driver come round and drive you to the bus stop."
"I guess talking to Sherlock is out of the question?"
"It is. You'll see him at school soon enough; either tomorrow or Monday."
"Yeah, okay," said John.
John was nervous as he watched Sherlock walk into Maths the next day. The tall boy took his usual place in the back of the class. John debated going back and trying to talk to him, but realised that Sherlock would probably read this as an aggressive move. So he sat in his usual spot and just hoped he hadn't completely blown things.
Sherlock continued to avoid John during lunch and in Chemistry. After Chemistry, John had a free period, so he went to the library to study. As he searched for research material for his next biology paper, he noticed Sherlock sitting at a table reading. Taking a breath, he headed over and sat down.
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I misread some signals. It's just... well, I really like you. Obviously...
"Besides," John continued, "I know you like me, at least a little bit."
Sherlock looked up at him, puzzled.
John smiled. "When I visited, I waited in the room downstairs for several minutes. At first I thought it was just because you were reluctant to see me, or you and your brother were fighting or whatever... I've had enough rows with Harry to know how involved those can get.
"But then I came up to your room, and there you were, sitting in the window, pretty as a picture. You fixed your hair up; or 'unfixed' it, as it were; I smelled the hair gel when I was kissing you. And your clothes... I mean, c'mon, nobody wears leather trousers around the house, you put those on for me. And, hell, even the smoking... yes, it's a terribly bad habit, but I'm sure you've noticed the way I look at you when you do it. So, obviously, you like me enough to make yourself look nice for me."
Sherlock was giving him a look of astonishment. John couldn't help feeling triumphant. He stood up.
"See you later," he said with a smile.
After school on Fridays, John and some of the other guys played a friendly game of rugby. Many of the players, including John, even brought older clothes and shoes specifically to play in. It was an unusually warm day, so John didn’t mind being one of the "skins" in a shirts-versus-skins game. Since they had been doing this since nearly the beginning of the year, they had even accumulated a small group of fans who came and watched in order to cheer them on, or just hang out and playfully heckle them.
After playing about fifteen minutes, John looked up at the stands and noticed a new face in the crowd. Said face was almost entirely hidden behind a book, but the curly black hair was unmistakable. The boy looked up, peeking over the top of his book. John smiled at him. Sherlock immediately ducked his head back down. John couldn’t help but laugh.
"Hey, John, c'mon!"
"Yeah, okay," said John, going back to the game with renewed energy and drive.
After the game, John went and showered, changing into a clean shirt and trousers and his regular trainers. Carrying his gym bag, he walked out to the stands, but wasn't surprised to find that Sherlock wasn't there. John suspected he'd gone home. After a moment's consideration, John called his house and left a message telling them he'd be home late again.
John walked up to the intercom outside of the gates of Sherlock's home and pressed the button.
"Hello, it's John Watson."
He stepped back and stood so the camera could see him. There was a short pause, then:
"Someone will be out to collect you."
"Okay."
John waited in the large room again. This time, he had accepted the maid's offer of a drink, and was sipping lemonade when Mycroft entered the room.
"I take it you're here to see Sherlock?"
"Yeah. If he wants to see me," John replied. "I'm really hoping he does."
Mycroft looked him up and down; again John found the man's scrutiny uncomfortable. Then, surprisingly, he smiled.
"I'll go and see if he wants to see you."
John was led up to the same room he'd met Sherlock in last time he was at his house. This time, Sherlock was sitting at his desk writing.
"Uh-"
"In a minute..."
John set his bag down and sat down on an unused chair. He debated picking up a book, but decided to just sit and wait.
Sherlock finished writing and turned to John.
"What brings you here?"
"I came to see you."
"Obviously."
John sighed. "I thought we could start over. As friends."
"Is that what you really want?"
John looked away guiltily.
"Why lie?"
"Because... I like being with you, Sherlock, and if that means... dealing with my feelings on my own, I'll do that."
Sherlock looked John up and down, then said, "You're right, I am... attracted to you. And I have to say, even though you came on a little strong, the kissing was... nice." He turned and looked at John. "In fact, I'd like to try it again."
"All right," said John, smiling.
John reached out and put his hands on either side of Sherlock's face. The other boy gave a bit of a shudder--John suspected he wasn't used to being touched--but smiled, so John leaned in, gently touching his lips to Sherlock's. When he got an uncertain, tentative response, he deepened the kiss a bit more. He gently pushed his tongue forward, slipping it between Sherlock's soft, full lips. Sherlock turned his face away, and when he looked back, shyness flashed across his eyes. John smiled back, warmly.
They leaned towards each other, meeting in a slow, exploratory kiss. John felt Sherlock's lips part in anticipation. John slipped his tongue into the boy's warm, wet mouth. As he slid his tongue along Sherlock's teeth, the other boy grabbed one of John's sleeves. Soon, Sherlock's tongue was in John's mouth, and he was pushing forward, pressing John against the edge of one of the windows. John pushed back a little, enough so he wasn't quite so squashed.
"Sorry," Sherlock said breathlessly.
"It's okay," said John. "Just-" Sherlock swallowed whatever else he was going to say in a greedy kiss.
"Maybe we should move...?" Sherlock said.
"Yeah, okay..."
They stood up. No sooner was John on his feet, though, than Sherlock was kissing him again. He ended up against the wall, with Sherlock kissing him and grabbing at his shirt.
"John," said Sherlock between desperate, hungry kisses, "I'm sorry, I..."
"No, this is good... oh, God..."
John lifted his arms so Sherlock could pull his shirt off. Then John grabbed the bottom of Sherlock's shirt, and the taller boy leaned over so John could strip it off him. That done, Sherlock stepped back toward John, running his hands over John's bare chest and arms. John pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, his hands running over the miles and miles of Sherlock's beautiful pale skin.
Suddenly, impulsively, John reached down, picking Sherlock up.
"Oh, God!" Sherlock quickly grabbed John's shoulders and wrapped his legs around John's waist to steady himself.
John couldn’t help but laugh, leaning up to kiss Sherlock, who arched down to meet his lips with his own.
"Sherlock..."
"Desk."
John carried Sherlock over to his desk. Sherlock reached down with one hand and pushed books and papers aside. John sat him on the desk and they resumed kissing, and began touching each other anywhere their hands could reach. As they did this, Sherlock's bare heels dug into the backs of John's thighs. John slid his hands down to Sherlock's hips, pulling the boy's body against his own. He decided they still weren't close enough. Reaching down, John began undoing his own trousers.
John then stepped back; he quickly took his trainers off, kicking them aside (one of them ended up behind a stack of books; John paid it no mind). Then he pushed his trousers down, pulling them and his pants off at the same time, stepping out of them.
After he finished undressing, John looked at Sherlock and found, to his surprise, that he had managed to take his own clothes off while still on the desk. He was now sitting there naked, his long, pale legs hanging off the desk. Despite being naked in front of John for the first time, he didn't seem particularly self-conscious. John smiled and stepped forward. He gently caressed Sherlock's thighs, then put his hands on Sherlock's knees, spreading his legs and stepping between them. No sooner did John do this then Sherlock begin kissing him again.
"This is... sort of addictive," Sherlock observed. His hands moved down to John's arse, squeezing it.
John laughed. He could feel Sherlock's erection against his stomach, and intentionally rubbed against it, enjoying the little moan Sherlock made as he did this. He reached down, tilting Sherlock's pelvis into a better position to enter him. Suddenly, something occurred to him.
"Aw, shit..."
"What's wrong?"
"Condoms?"
"No."
"Fuck," John muttered.
"Fingers," Sherlock moaned, pressing against John.
Turning his head, John stuck the fingers of his left hand into his mouth, licking them and getting them nice and wet. Then he reached down, slipping his pinkie into Sherlock's anus.
"Oh, God!"
"Don’t tense up," John advised as he felt Sherlock's anal muscle tighten around his finger. As soon as Sherlock managed to relax enough, John pushed in further.
"More," Sherlock moaned. He had his hands on John's shoulders, rubbing them in the same rhythm John was using on him.
John swiftly switched to his index finger. As soon as he got it far enough in, he crooked it, touching Sherlock's prostate.
"Oh..." Sherlock shuddered.
John laughed. "You like that, don't you?"
"Yes... God... John..."
John stroked Sherlock some more, kissing him. But as much as John was enjoying pleasuring Sherlock, he wanted--needed--something more.
Withdrawing his finger, John pulled Sherlock off the desk. Shoving stacks of books and their discarded clothes aside, John pushed Sherlock unto the floor. He then dropped on top of him with a flurry of kisses, groping him shamelessly.
"Lay on your side," he said.
As soon as Sherlock did this, John lay inverted to him. Reaching forward, John took Sherlock's cock in his hand and swallowed it down. He moaned when he felt Sherlock's soft lips around his own erection. As they sucked each other off, John noticed that Sherlock was copying John's movements and actions. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist and slid his finger into Sherlock arse again. He worked slowly, skillfully stimulating Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock put his arm around John's waist, but then just rested his hand on one of John's buttocks.
Finally, Sherlock came in John's mouth. John eagerly swallowed Sherlock's jizz. Sherlock continued giving John head; and as he did, his hand moved down and his long, slender index finger slid into John's arse. John was already on the brink, and when Sherlock's finger hit his prostate, he came.
After a moment, John rolled on to his back. Sherlock sat up. He was working his mouth, and had a puzzled expression.
"Something wrong?"
"I don't particularly care for the taste of semen..."
John smiled. "You don't have to swallow, you know."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Sitting up, John kissed him. Then, going over to his gym bag, he opened it and took out the shirt he'd worn to school. He wiped his fingers on it, then folded it and started dabbing at his sweaty hest.
Sherlock stood up.
"We can go clean up in my en suite bathroom."
"Oh, okay." John dropped his shirt back in his bag and followed Sherlock. Walking through an inner door, they ended up in a large, austerely furnished bedroom. Unlike the dark colour of Sherlock's library, this room was painted a relaxing light blue. They crossed the room, and went into the bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was large but sparsely furnished.
Sherlock opened the cupboard and got out two large flannels, handing one to John. Walking over to the sink, Sherlock ran the flannel under the tap. At first John thought he was going to wash himself, but then he turned to John with a grin.
Walking over, Sherlock began wiping the sweat off of John's face. Then he moved down to his neck, then his arms and chest.
"You know, John, you have amazingly well-developed musculus biceps brachii and pectoralis major muscles..." He moved the flannel down, to John's stomach. "And your musculus rectus abdominis is impressive, too..."
"Thanks," said John, turning around so Sherlock could wash his back.
"Hmmm, very nice musculus trapezius..." He worked his way down. "And magnificent musculus gluteus maximus."
John laughed. "I must say, you could make learning the muscle groups something to look forward to..."
Sherlock smiled and tossed the wet flannel into the hamper.
Finally cleaned off, John turned and gave Sherlock a kiss. Then he got his flannel wet and held the flannel out in preparation.
"So," John asked as he washed Sherlock's face, "Do you want me name chemical compounds or something while I clean you off?"
"No, you don't have to," Sherlock replied, smiling.
John smiled back as he began to clean Sherlock's chest.
"You're really thin... is it weird that I find that kinda hot?"
Sherlock shrugged. "I don't really see what's wrong with it."
"Ah, ok," said John as rubbed down Sherlock's back. In the middle of this, he leaned forward, kissing the boy's neck. He tossed the flannel in the hamper, then stepped forward against Sherlock, putting and arm around him, and gently rubbing his stomach. John sighed happily. "I'm so glad I met you."
"I... I'm glad met you, too."
John laughed lightly, kissing the nape of Sherlock's neck.
After a moment, Sherlock stepped out of John's embrace.
"I'm going into the bedroom."
"I need to take a leak, then I'll be right in."
( Read Part 2.)
Title: The New Kid (Part 1 of 2)
A gift for: sirona_gs
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock/John, Mycroft, Mike Samford, Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Mrs. Hudson, various OCs
Category: Slash, AU
Rating: NC-17 for sex and language
Warnings: Explicit sex.
Summary: Eighteen year old student John Watson finds himself entranced with an arrogant, aloof new student named Sherlock Holmes.
Author's Notes: This fic is an AU, yet I have gratuitously used the names of characters from both canon and the BBC show just for lulz.
These characters do not belong to me. They were originally created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and in their current form by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.
John got off the bus and headed toward the school building. It was his second year at Baker-Street Academy, a well-renowned private school he only was able to attend thanks to getting a scholarship. Still, he was an easy-going, friendly young man, and many in the school liked him regardless of his economic status.
"Hey, Johnny!"
John turned to see Mike Stamford running up to him.
"Hey! Long time no see!"
Mike laughed. "My family went to France over the summer."
"Oh, I'm so sorry..."
Both boys laughed.
"Planning to play rugby this year?" Mike asked as they headed down the hall to their classroom.
"You know it. You?"
"Hey, Johnny!" shouted a girl down the hall, waving.
"Hey, Sarah!" he waved back.
Mike laughed, then said, "Eh... I think I need to focus on my studies."
"Ah, come on Mike..."
They walked into, Maths, their first class of the day, in room 114.
"Hey, John," said Greg, who had already found a spot next to Sally.
"Greg," he said, smiling and sitting in the seat in front of him. Mike sat next him, in front of Sally.
"Who thought to have Maths first lesson?" Sally asked. "This is way too early for Maths..."
"No kidding," Greg agreed.
Suddenly, Mary appeared out of thin air in the room before them. She looked around confused, then gritted her teeth.
"God damn you, Frank!"
With that, she left the room.
Greg turned to Sally. "Remind me never to date Frank... I hate that teleporting shit."
"You're not really his type," Sally pointed out.
"Yeah, he likes blondes," John pointed out. Everyone looked at John, then started giggling.
"Not. Funny."
A few more people entered the class, some of whom John knew, and some he didn't. One of the last students to enter was a tall, dark-haired newcomer who immediately went and sat in the back row.
Finally, the teacher came into the class.
"Good morning, everyone. For those who are new, I'm Ms. Hunter. I hope you're ready for another year."
"Whee..." said one student.
"No..." another said quietly.
Ms. Hunter snickered. "Yes, well, we might as well get started."
Most of the class groaned as they got out their books. John was too intent with watching the boy in the back, and Greg had to smack his arm to get his mind on his schoolwork.
Lunchtime came around and John and his friends went to the dining hall. John tended to bring his lunch, so he looked for a table while his friends stood in line to get their food. He found a large table and set his food down. Looking over, he saw the dark-haired boy from the back of the class sitting alone at a two-person table.
"Hey... uh... you there, with the apple?"
"Sherlock."
"Pardon?"
The boy rolled his eyes. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. What do you want?"
"I'm John Watson. Do you want to sit with us?" John offered, smiling. "There should be room for one more."
Sherlock looked at John, and then at the others, who were now headed to the table.
"No," he said, and went back to his own food.
"Okay," said John. He wasn't about to try to push the boy to do something he didn't want to. Still, as he watched the boy eat his meagre lunch (his first thought was that Sherlock was a scholarship student like himself, but that didn't seem quite right), John found himself wishing the boy had said yes.
After lunch was Chemistry, in room 221. John was naff at it, but he needed it if he was going to go into medicine. The class was full of two-chair desks with various chemicals, flasks, and other chemistry equipment. As the students started filing in, the teacher, who was already at her desk, got their attention.
"I'm Mrs. Hudson; welcome to Chemistry class. You're all going to work with partners, so don't just sit randomly; whoever you sit with today will be your partner for the year."
The teens began scrambling around, making sure they were sitting with their friends. Greg and Sally became a pair at once, and Mike managed to sit with a new boy that had been giving him the eye since Maths. Several students approached John wanting to be his partner, but he was heading to the back of the class, wanting to partner with the new boy, who was already sitting at a desk.
"Hey," said Julia Stoner, grabbing John's arm. "Wanna sit with me?"
"No, thanks," John said, gently pulling out of her grasp and taking a seat next to Sherlock.
"Hi," said John.
The other boy just sighed and went back to examining the chemicals on the desk.
"Oh, it seems like we have an odd number of students," Mrs. Hudson noted.
"I don't need a partner," said Sherlock. Not bothering to look at John when he said it.
"Actually, Ms. Stoner, why don’t you sit with Mr. Watson and..."
"Sherlock Holmes," he said.
"And Mr. Holmes."
Julia sighed but dragged a chair over to the boys' desk.
"Now, we'll be working on the experiment in the first chapter."
The sound of books opening filled the class. Sherlock opened his, looked at the experiment, and began to get the chemicals ready. John was surprised when he actually began opening them.
"I don’t think you're supposed to start yet," he said.
"Why not?" asked Sherlock.
"The teacher has to tell us what to do."
"Why?"
"Excuse me, in the back?" said Ms, Hudson. "Care to share with the rest of the class?"
"No, ma'am," said John. "Sorry."
Ms. Hudson looked at Sherlock.
"Mr. Holmes, what are you doing?"
"The experiment in chapter one...?" He actually sounded a little confused by the question.
"I need to explain it. If you mix the chemicals together wrong-"
"I won't." There was a note of conceit in his voice. John wasn't sure whether to be offended by his arrogance or impressed by his nerve.
"Mr. Holmes, I'm not sure how it was at your last school, but I would appreciate if you would do as you're told. You need to wait for me to explain what's going on to the rest of the class."
The boy sighed in exasperation. "I don't see why I should slow down just because no one else is as advanced as I am."
John noticed several students glaring at him as he said that. He seemed oblivious to this.
"Just wait until I'm done explaining it, Mr. Holmes."
After a moment, Sherlock set the chemicals aside and leaned back in his chair. With that, the class resumed as normal.
As they left the class, Sally glowered at Sherlock.
"Stuck-up wanker," she said, loudly enough Sherlock could hear it. John wasn't sure whether the boy ignored her because he wasn't aware Sally was talking about him, or he just didn't care.
"What an arse," Greg agreed. "Too stuck up to even talk to us?" he shouted, giving the two-fingered salute to the boy's back.
John shook his head. Given the boy's tendency to sit by himself, and the fact that he was new, John suspected Sherlock was just the quiet type who had trouble making friends. John decided he might try to help him with that.
At lunch the next day, John walked up to Sherlock, who was sitting alone again.
"Come sit with us," he said in his most commanding tone.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
Sherlock gave him a puzzled look. Then he actually smirked. He got up and followed John to the other table, where John's friends were already congregating.
"And why is he sitting here?" asked Sally.
"I asked him to," said John. "Come on, he's new to this school, I think we should give him a chance."
"We should give a chance to a guy who thinks he's better than us?"
"I didn't say I was better than you, I said I was more advanced than you. And I am. My brother had me doing university-level chemistry, so what's offered here is a bit below what I'm used to."
"Your brother?" Greg asked.
Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. John noticed this, and spoke up.
"Hey, Greg, you wanna come and try out with me after class? The rugby team could use a big guy like you."
"Are you hitting on me?"
John smiled and wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe a little..."
Sally groaned. "I don't know about you, but I'm already looking forward to the weekend..."
"That is pretty sad," said Julia.
"Easy for you say," Sally replied, "You've got that big brain of yours."
John noticed that Sherlock turned to examine Julia when Sally said this. "She just means she's smart, Sherlock."
"Brain size has no relation to intelligence," Sherlock said, causing everyone to look at him again. "What?"
Sally laughed. "It was just a joke, Sherlock."
Sherlock thought this over. "Oh... I see."
Sally made a face. "You're weird..."
Sherlock looked at John. "He was the one who wanted me to sit here. I'd be fine sitting alone, if you'd rather."
"No, it's okay, stay here," said Julia. "Sally just sometimes speaks before she thinks."
Sally glared, but Julia ignored her.
"So, you like chemistry?" Julia asked Sherlock, smiling flirtatiously.
John saw red--he hadn't anticipated anyone hitting on Sherlock. He wasn't certain if he wanted to do so himself, but he had been hoping he'd at least have a chance.
"Yes, I do enjoy it," Sherlock replied. "It requires care and precision, and its results are easily replicable."
"Yeah." Julia smiled slyly. "I bet you and I would have great chemistry." She moved forward, putting a hand on his thigh. Sherlock gave a jerk, pulling away and looking stunned. Julia laughed. "You're jumpy!"
Sherlock didn’t seem to have a reply to that; he just scooted away from her and went back to his lunch.
Sherlock stayed quiet for the rest of lunch. However, John noticed that he was watching everyone closely, observing them like some sort of biologist studying animals in the wild. This thought made John laugh, but he just shook off Mike's question about it.
The others chatted; John and Mike about rugby, Greg and Sally made plans for the weekend, and Julia just sulked.
Sherlock finished his lunch and got up.
"Where are you going?" John asked.
"I'm done with lunch," he said.
"Why don't you stay and hang out with us?"
"No," he turned to leave. Then he turned back around. "Thanks."
With that, he left the dining hall.
"Uh..." John turned to the others. "I'm gonna go check on him..."
"Why?" said Greg, "he seems to want to be alone."
"Yeah, but... look, just... I'll see you guys in class."
John found Sherlock out behind the dining hall. He was smoking a cigarette.
"You're not supposed to smoke on school grounds," John said.
Sherlock gave him a look. Then he took a drag and blew out smoke through his nose.
"Are you going to report me?"
"No," said John, as he came and stood next to him.
"Why didn't you stay and hang out?"
"I don't like 'hanging out'."
John just sighed.
They stood quietly for a few moments, Sherlock smoking, John just thinking.
"So," John said tentatively, "your brother taught you chemistry?"
Sherlock turned and gave him a thoughtful look.
"For a few years after our parents died, my brother kept me home and taught me."
"I'm sorry."
Sherlock was quiet for a moment.
"He finally decided to send me back to school for 'socialization'."
"It's working out well," John joked.
Sherlock shrugged. "It was his idea, not mine."
John nodded. "You could give it a shot, ya know."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He dropped his now spent cigarette and crushed it under his shoe. "Dull."
"What is?"
"The whole thing. The people, the discussion... dull."
"You think my friends are dull?"
"Must I repeat myself? Yes, they are. They spend their time talking about sport and sex; could they be any more cliché?"
"I play sports," John said defensively.
"And sex?" Sherlock drawled.
"Of course!" No sooner did the words come out of John's mouth than he regretted them. Sherlock didn't seem like the sort of person who would be impressed by John's bragging about sex. "I... uh, I mean..."
John was rather relieved when the bell rang.
"Time for Chemistry," said John. "Don’t worry about Julia, she can take a hint; I'm sure she'll leave you alone."
Chemistry was calmer than yesterday. Either Sherlock didn't want the attention, or he just felt it would be better to wait for the teacher to give out instructions, but he remained quiet throughout class.
The next day, John watched as Sherlock sat at a two-chair table to eat lunch. After a moment, he made a decision: He walked over and sat at with him.
Sherlock looked up at John. "You don’t want to sit with your friends?"
"Obviously," John said with a smile.
Sherlock regarded him for a moment, then smiled.
"How are you liking school so far?"
"Dull."
John laughed. "What don't you find 'dull'?"
"Puzzles, music, chemistry..."
John nodded. "I find chemistry... frustrating."
"So why are you taking it?"
"I'm going into medicine," John explained. "I'm going to be a doctor."
"I see."
"Not 'dull'?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You're making fun of me."
John smiled. "A little."
"You don’t have to sit here."
"I... It's just a joke... mates do that, Sherlock; they joke with each other."
Sherlock seemed to consider this. "I see."
"What about you, what do you want to do?"
"As I said, I enjoy puzzles, and investigating mysteries... I’ve considered being a detective."
"Like with the police?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "God no. I'll be a... private detective, I suppose."
"Ah. Cool."
After lunch, they went outside. Sherlock smoked while John just relaxed against the wall.
"So," John said, "what do you do for fun, anyway?"
"Run experiments, work on puzzles..."
"Sport?"
"No."
John grinned. "Sex?"
"No."
"What do you mean, 'no'?"
"I don’t have sex for fun."
"Do you have sex... at all?"
"No."
"You're a virgin?"
Sherlock gave John a look John was starting to think of as his "How much of an idiot are you?" expression.
"Okay, okay..."
"Shall we go to Chemistry?" Sherlock asked. "I'm sure Mrs. Hudson is in class by now; perhaps we could get our equipment set up."
"Sounds good," said John, smiling.
John ate lunch with Sherlock nearly every day. It was the only time they had alone together, but John enjoyed it immensely. Despite their differences, they found many things to talk about. Sherlock had a surprising knowledge of anatomy and biology, subjects which were both interesting and useful to John. Sherlock's interests, and discussions, tended to be a bit morbid, and more than a few times, they finished eating quickly and John hustled them outside so they could talk about the unpleasant topics, and Sherlock could occasionally show him pictures of gruesome medical conditions and crime scenes.
The first weeks of school went by quickly for John. Already he was getting bogged down with projects and homework. Plus, with rugby and his general socializing, he was beginning to get overwhelmed. Biology, while fun, was difficult for him, especially since Mr. Doyle assigned them papers every week. Fortunately, Mike helped him with a few of them. Chemistry was another difficult subject for him, but Sherlock did most of their experiments in class, and Julia helped him during one of their free classes. With this help, John found himself getting a better grip on things.
As the weeks went by, John noticed that Sherlock, who was hardly the most amiable person anyway, was starting to draw away from him. He often cut their after-lunch talks short, and one week, he stopped eating with John altogether. When Julia didn’t show up for school that Friday, things finally came to a head. Sherlock was being particularly terse and unhelpful, essentially doing the experiment by himself, and made no attempt to give John any information. Finally, John was on his last nerve.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What do you mean?" asked Sherlock coldly.
"You're obviously upset at me for some reason."
"Ah, so you can be intelligent when you choose to be," Sherlock snarked as he measured out a dry chemical.
"And what is that-"
"Julia's been doing most of your work in here. And you have other students do papers for you."
"Now that's not fair," John countered. "I'm having a tough term, and... yeah, I've had a little help. But-"
Ms. Hudson walked up. "How are things going, gentlemen?"
"Just fine, ma'am," said John.
After school, John chased Sherlock down as he headed out of the building, pulling a cigarette out of its pack.
"Hey! Sherlock!"
The boy turned, so John jogged up to him.
"Hey... look, what you said in Chemistry... like I said, I've been having a tough time, so, yes, I've had a little help... but... I mean, Greg does it so much more. All he has to do is smile at any gal--and a few of the guys--and his papers get done for him."
"So you only aspire to be slightly better than Greg?" Sherlock replied.
"That's not what I meant. I'm just wondering why you're giving me shit for this, is all."
"Because you're smart, John; probably smarter than most of these... imbeciles here."
"What makes you say that?"
Sherlock gave him a confused look. "Isn't it obvious?" There was a pause. "You're a scholarship student."
"How..."
Sherlock pointed to John's uniform. "Your blazer has been washed many times, since your parents can’t afford more than one. Your trousers and shoes are relatively new, probably bought just before the school year started; your parents probably splurge on those--especially the trousers-since people notice them, but your shirt is older and cheap, but it's not as noticeable, so that's all right."
John blinked. Then he sighed. "Look... it's not like it's really a secret, but..."
"But you're afraid if you advertise your poverty too much, people will treat you differently." Sherlock nodded. "But that doesn't explain your laziness."
John was livid. "My--? Look, I have had a total of two--TWO--assignments that Mike has helped me with, and Julia helps me with chemistry cuz it doesn't come easy to me. And you know, I'd love to get help from, oh, say my family, but you know what I have at home? Two parents who work their arses off to give their kids a comfortable life, and little sister who's got her own shit to deal with. Maybe you should think about while you've got your older, no doubt genius brother helping YOU with your studies. Honestly, I can see why everyone at the school hates you, you arrogant-"
Suddenly everything went dark. John let out a cry and reached out, his hands smacking against a wall. He felt around until he found a light switch. Turning the light on, John noticed that he was in a cupboard. He opened the door and found himself in one of the hallways of the school. He began looking for the next exit. He decided chasing after Sherlock would be pointless, so he just walked to the bus to go home.
John walked up to Sherlock the next day.
"Don't you ever do that again, you arsehole."
"Fine," Sherlock replied, then turned back around and took his seat. John glared at the back of his head, but then sat down, as well.
John went to Chemistry to see that Julia was sitting at a different desk than Sherlock.
"Hey," she said, waving John over. As he got closer, John noted that there was only one chair at Sherlock's desk. Sighing, he sat next to Julia.
Sherlock didn’t show up to school on Wednesday. John wondered if it was because of their fight, but then realised that was rather arrogant of him. Classes proceeded as usual, and no one--teachers and pupils alike-really seemed to think anything of it. Only John missed the strange tall boy.
When Sherlock didn’t show up to school on Thursday, John started to get worried. During a free period, he used one of the school’s computers to find Sherlock’s address and phone number. He wasn’t surprised to find that Sherlock lived in a rather posh neighbourhood. He considered just calling, but decided going over might be better.
After school, John called his house and left a message that he'd be late. His parents would be at work for awhile longer anyway, and Harry, John’s little sister, usually hung out with friends until well after dark.
The bus stopped about a half a mile from Sherlock’s house, so John was forced to go on foot the rest of the way. Finally, he found himself approaching two sets of gates. One was large enough for a car, while the other one was smaller, clearly meant just for foot traffic. John hoped he’d found the right place. He approached the small intercom on one side of the smaller set of gates and pressed the button.
"Uh... hello?"
"Please step back so I can see you," said a stern female voice.
John did so, smiling nervously and giving the camera an awkward wave. No sooner had he done it then he wanted to smack himself for being such a knob.
"Who are you and what is your business here?"
"Uh... I’m John Watson-"
"You have to press the button."
"Oh!" He pressed the button. "Uh, sorry... I’m John Watson; I’m a school mate of Sherlock's... er, Sherlock Holmes. This is where he lives, right?"
There was a short but nerve-wracking pause. Then an older gentleman and a younger, very large man came up and opened the gate.
"Please come with us, Mr. Watson," the older man said.
John followed them through the gate. He stared in amazement at the mansion in front of him. He supposed it shouldn't have surprised him, given what he knew about the kids at Baker-Street, but still, seeing it in person was a bit of a shock.
They followed a path across the parkway and up to the front door. Entering the house, the pair led John into a large room. There was a young man standing near the window.
"Come in, Mr. Watson, and sit down."
John entered and sat in a large, ornate chair facing the man. He was portly and of average height, but his face was somewhat familiar to John.
"Are you Sherlock's brother?"
The man smiled. "Mycroft Holmes. And you're John Watson, son of Mary and James Watson of West Croydon."
"Uh... yeah. How did you know that?"
Mycroft smiled again. "I make it my business to know as much as I can about the people my brother associates with. I could tell you a good deal more about yourself, but I'm sure you know most of it."
"Okay..." John was a little unsettled by this.
"What brings you here, John?"
"I came to check on Sherlock. He's been out of school for a few days, and... well, I'm worried about him. Is he okay?"
"You're concerned about him?"
"Well... yeah. You seem surprised."
"As you can imagine, Sherlock hasn't had many friends."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess not."
Mycroft was studying John; it was a bit like the way Sherlock occasionally looked at him. But while he actually rather liked it when Sherlock studied him, he felt uncomfortable being scrutinized by his older brother.
"Do you want to talk to him?"
"Yes," said John hesitantly. "But we had a fight... I'm not sure he wants to talk to me."
"Ah, I see." Mycroft got up. "Wait here," he said, then exited.
A moment later, the door opened and a young woman came in. "Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thanks, I'm fine."
The woman nodded and left.
After about ten minutes, the door opened again, and Mycroft came in followed by the older gentleman who had brought John into the house.
"Stapleton here will take you to see Sherlock," said Mycroft.
"Oh... okay, thanks," said John, getting up and following Stapleton.
They took an elaborate, sweeping flight of stairs up to the second story. They turned to the left, and walked for a few feet, then turned to the right, and down a long hallway. Stapleton led him to the last door at the end of the hall and knocked.
"Mr. Watson is here to see you, sir."
"Come in," said Sherlock from the other side of the door. Stapleton opened the door and indicated John should go in.
John walked into the room. It appeared to be a small library. There were books on shelves and in stacks on the floor and taking up a few chairs, and there was a large desk with papers scattered over it. Sherlock himself was sitting on a bench in front of a bay window. He was in a pair of black leather trousers and a loose black shirt. His curly hair was unruly, which was unusual for him. John rather liked it, though; it made him look more relaxed. He was barefoot, his longs toes casually combing through the carpet. He had a cigarette in his hand, and the smoke was wafting out of one of the windows.
"Mycroft told me you wanted to see me."
"Yeah," John replied. "I was worried about you. Are you all right?"
Sherlock looked puzzled. "Why are you worried about me?"
"You’ve haven't been at school for two days. I-"
"No, I mean, why do you care?"
John was surprised. "Well... cuz I like you."
"Oh... I thought you hated me."
"What? Why?"
"During our argument, you said you understood why everyone hated me. I thought that meant you hated me, as well."
"Oh! Oh, God... that's why you were so cold to me on Tuesday."
"Yes."
"I don't hate you, Sherlock. Yeah, I was pissed off, and... I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd take it so hard." John thought for a moment. "You're not used to arguing with someone who actually likes you, huh?"
"No, I guess not."
John nodded. "Well... I don’t hate you."
There was a short pause. Sherlock pulled his feet up to his chest.
"Do you want to sit down?" he indicated the empty space on the bench.
Smiling, John came over and sat down. He looked out the window and saw a large, well-tended lawn, some trees, and a flower garden.
"Nice!"
Sherlock shrugged. "I suppose."
"I guess you're used to it, huh?"
"I'm not much for flowers and trees..."
John looked around; the room was dark and somber, and the only real decoration was a print of da Vinci's Vitruvian Man.
"Yeah, I guess not."
They sat for a few moments. Sherlock smoked a bit more, and John looked around the room.
"So, why haven’t you been at school?"
Sherlock gave John his most penetrative look. Then, "My parents died on Oct 26th."
"Wednesday was the anniversary."
"Exactly."
"I'm sorry."
Sherlock looked at him, then shook his head. "It's fine.
"They were in a car accident. Father died at the scene, mother died in hospital."
"I... I don't-"
"You don’t have to say anything, John," said Sherlock, putting his cigarette out in an ashtray sitting next to him. Standing up, he took the ashtray and dumped it into a metal rubbish bin.
"I've missed you at school. Classes are dull without you around."
"That's not surprising; school is dull."
"It's... yeah," said John, laughing.
Sherlock smiled and sat back down next to John.
"Honestly, John, it's not that I care whether you do your schoolwork well--or at all, frankly--I just don’t want you selling yourself short. And, you know, you would have plenty of time for your schoolwork if you didn’t spend so much time playing rugby and 'hanging out'."
John sighed. "Look, maybe that works for you, but most people like to try to have some fun in their lives... 'All work and no play' and all that. Don’t you have anything not-school related you like?"
Sherlock considered this. "I like music. And I play the violin."
"Well there ya go. Just like you like listening to and playing music, I like playing rugby. And, okay, in fairness I did let it get away from me for a few weeks, but I'm getting a better handle on things."
"Sport is really that important to you?"
"Yes," said John.
Sherlock thought this over, then nodded.
"I should be back at school tomorrow. I just..."
John shook his head. "It's okay. I'm just glad you're all right."
"I am. Thank you." Sherlock smiled; John loved it when he smiled; he was beautiful enough as it was, but when he smiled, Sherlock was absolutely stunning.
John leaned forward, kissing Sherlock passionately. The other boy gave a start but didn't pull back, so John pushed forward, deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue between Sherlock's lips.
Suddenly, John found himself in a large bathroom. It took him a second to realise he'd been teleported there. He also realised he must still be in Sherlock's house. He left the bathroom and walked around a minute, but realised he had no clue where he was going or how to either get back to Sherlock's room or to leave the house.
"Hello?! Uh... I'm kinda lost here..."
"Mr. Watson?"
"AH!"
John turned to see the older man--Stapleton--standing at the end of the hallway.
"Uh... I got teleported, and now I'm lost."
"I see... I'll take you to-"
Mycroft appeared next to Stapleton. "It's all right, Stapleton, I'll take it from here."
Stapleton nodded and left.
Mycroft turned to John. "Follow me."
They ended up back in the room John had waited in when he first arrived.
"Sit down, John."
"I was hoping-"
Mycroft give him a glare that would melt lead. "Sit. Down."
John took a seat.
"John, as I mentioned earlier, my brother has had very few friends in his life. The idea that one of the few he's had would betray that trust-"
"I didn't mean to-"
"I am NOT finished."
"Sorry."
"I'm not sure what you did, but if my brother teleported you, you must have really upset him. If you consider yourself a friend, I would advise you to not do it again."
"I won't, I promise."
"Good. I'll have the driver come round and drive you to the bus stop."
"I guess talking to Sherlock is out of the question?"
"It is. You'll see him at school soon enough; either tomorrow or Monday."
"Yeah, okay," said John.
John was nervous as he watched Sherlock walk into Maths the next day. The tall boy took his usual place in the back of the class. John debated going back and trying to talk to him, but realised that Sherlock would probably read this as an aggressive move. So he sat in his usual spot and just hoped he hadn't completely blown things.
Sherlock continued to avoid John during lunch and in Chemistry. After Chemistry, John had a free period, so he went to the library to study. As he searched for research material for his next biology paper, he noticed Sherlock sitting at a table reading. Taking a breath, he headed over and sat down.
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I misread some signals. It's just... well, I really like you. Obviously...
"Besides," John continued, "I know you like me, at least a little bit."
Sherlock looked up at him, puzzled.
John smiled. "When I visited, I waited in the room downstairs for several minutes. At first I thought it was just because you were reluctant to see me, or you and your brother were fighting or whatever... I've had enough rows with Harry to know how involved those can get.
"But then I came up to your room, and there you were, sitting in the window, pretty as a picture. You fixed your hair up; or 'unfixed' it, as it were; I smelled the hair gel when I was kissing you. And your clothes... I mean, c'mon, nobody wears leather trousers around the house, you put those on for me. And, hell, even the smoking... yes, it's a terribly bad habit, but I'm sure you've noticed the way I look at you when you do it. So, obviously, you like me enough to make yourself look nice for me."
Sherlock was giving him a look of astonishment. John couldn't help feeling triumphant. He stood up.
"See you later," he said with a smile.
After school on Fridays, John and some of the other guys played a friendly game of rugby. Many of the players, including John, even brought older clothes and shoes specifically to play in. It was an unusually warm day, so John didn’t mind being one of the "skins" in a shirts-versus-skins game. Since they had been doing this since nearly the beginning of the year, they had even accumulated a small group of fans who came and watched in order to cheer them on, or just hang out and playfully heckle them.
After playing about fifteen minutes, John looked up at the stands and noticed a new face in the crowd. Said face was almost entirely hidden behind a book, but the curly black hair was unmistakable. The boy looked up, peeking over the top of his book. John smiled at him. Sherlock immediately ducked his head back down. John couldn’t help but laugh.
"Hey, John, c'mon!"
"Yeah, okay," said John, going back to the game with renewed energy and drive.
After the game, John went and showered, changing into a clean shirt and trousers and his regular trainers. Carrying his gym bag, he walked out to the stands, but wasn't surprised to find that Sherlock wasn't there. John suspected he'd gone home. After a moment's consideration, John called his house and left a message telling them he'd be home late again.
John walked up to the intercom outside of the gates of Sherlock's home and pressed the button.
"Hello, it's John Watson."
He stepped back and stood so the camera could see him. There was a short pause, then:
"Someone will be out to collect you."
"Okay."
John waited in the large room again. This time, he had accepted the maid's offer of a drink, and was sipping lemonade when Mycroft entered the room.
"I take it you're here to see Sherlock?"
"Yeah. If he wants to see me," John replied. "I'm really hoping he does."
Mycroft looked him up and down; again John found the man's scrutiny uncomfortable. Then, surprisingly, he smiled.
"I'll go and see if he wants to see you."
John was led up to the same room he'd met Sherlock in last time he was at his house. This time, Sherlock was sitting at his desk writing.
"Uh-"
"In a minute..."
John set his bag down and sat down on an unused chair. He debated picking up a book, but decided to just sit and wait.
Sherlock finished writing and turned to John.
"What brings you here?"
"I came to see you."
"Obviously."
John sighed. "I thought we could start over. As friends."
"Is that what you really want?"
John looked away guiltily.
"Why lie?"
"Because... I like being with you, Sherlock, and if that means... dealing with my feelings on my own, I'll do that."
Sherlock looked John up and down, then said, "You're right, I am... attracted to you. And I have to say, even though you came on a little strong, the kissing was... nice." He turned and looked at John. "In fact, I'd like to try it again."
"All right," said John, smiling.
John reached out and put his hands on either side of Sherlock's face. The other boy gave a bit of a shudder--John suspected he wasn't used to being touched--but smiled, so John leaned in, gently touching his lips to Sherlock's. When he got an uncertain, tentative response, he deepened the kiss a bit more. He gently pushed his tongue forward, slipping it between Sherlock's soft, full lips. Sherlock turned his face away, and when he looked back, shyness flashed across his eyes. John smiled back, warmly.
They leaned towards each other, meeting in a slow, exploratory kiss. John felt Sherlock's lips part in anticipation. John slipped his tongue into the boy's warm, wet mouth. As he slid his tongue along Sherlock's teeth, the other boy grabbed one of John's sleeves. Soon, Sherlock's tongue was in John's mouth, and he was pushing forward, pressing John against the edge of one of the windows. John pushed back a little, enough so he wasn't quite so squashed.
"Sorry," Sherlock said breathlessly.
"It's okay," said John. "Just-" Sherlock swallowed whatever else he was going to say in a greedy kiss.
"Maybe we should move...?" Sherlock said.
"Yeah, okay..."
They stood up. No sooner was John on his feet, though, than Sherlock was kissing him again. He ended up against the wall, with Sherlock kissing him and grabbing at his shirt.
"John," said Sherlock between desperate, hungry kisses, "I'm sorry, I..."
"No, this is good... oh, God..."
John lifted his arms so Sherlock could pull his shirt off. Then John grabbed the bottom of Sherlock's shirt, and the taller boy leaned over so John could strip it off him. That done, Sherlock stepped back toward John, running his hands over John's bare chest and arms. John pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, his hands running over the miles and miles of Sherlock's beautiful pale skin.
Suddenly, impulsively, John reached down, picking Sherlock up.
"Oh, God!" Sherlock quickly grabbed John's shoulders and wrapped his legs around John's waist to steady himself.
John couldn’t help but laugh, leaning up to kiss Sherlock, who arched down to meet his lips with his own.
"Sherlock..."
"Desk."
John carried Sherlock over to his desk. Sherlock reached down with one hand and pushed books and papers aside. John sat him on the desk and they resumed kissing, and began touching each other anywhere their hands could reach. As they did this, Sherlock's bare heels dug into the backs of John's thighs. John slid his hands down to Sherlock's hips, pulling the boy's body against his own. He decided they still weren't close enough. Reaching down, John began undoing his own trousers.
John then stepped back; he quickly took his trainers off, kicking them aside (one of them ended up behind a stack of books; John paid it no mind). Then he pushed his trousers down, pulling them and his pants off at the same time, stepping out of them.
After he finished undressing, John looked at Sherlock and found, to his surprise, that he had managed to take his own clothes off while still on the desk. He was now sitting there naked, his long, pale legs hanging off the desk. Despite being naked in front of John for the first time, he didn't seem particularly self-conscious. John smiled and stepped forward. He gently caressed Sherlock's thighs, then put his hands on Sherlock's knees, spreading his legs and stepping between them. No sooner did John do this then Sherlock begin kissing him again.
"This is... sort of addictive," Sherlock observed. His hands moved down to John's arse, squeezing it.
John laughed. He could feel Sherlock's erection against his stomach, and intentionally rubbed against it, enjoying the little moan Sherlock made as he did this. He reached down, tilting Sherlock's pelvis into a better position to enter him. Suddenly, something occurred to him.
"Aw, shit..."
"What's wrong?"
"Condoms?"
"No."
"Fuck," John muttered.
"Fingers," Sherlock moaned, pressing against John.
Turning his head, John stuck the fingers of his left hand into his mouth, licking them and getting them nice and wet. Then he reached down, slipping his pinkie into Sherlock's anus.
"Oh, God!"
"Don’t tense up," John advised as he felt Sherlock's anal muscle tighten around his finger. As soon as Sherlock managed to relax enough, John pushed in further.
"More," Sherlock moaned. He had his hands on John's shoulders, rubbing them in the same rhythm John was using on him.
John swiftly switched to his index finger. As soon as he got it far enough in, he crooked it, touching Sherlock's prostate.
"Oh..." Sherlock shuddered.
John laughed. "You like that, don't you?"
"Yes... God... John..."
John stroked Sherlock some more, kissing him. But as much as John was enjoying pleasuring Sherlock, he wanted--needed--something more.
Withdrawing his finger, John pulled Sherlock off the desk. Shoving stacks of books and their discarded clothes aside, John pushed Sherlock unto the floor. He then dropped on top of him with a flurry of kisses, groping him shamelessly.
"Lay on your side," he said.
As soon as Sherlock did this, John lay inverted to him. Reaching forward, John took Sherlock's cock in his hand and swallowed it down. He moaned when he felt Sherlock's soft lips around his own erection. As they sucked each other off, John noticed that Sherlock was copying John's movements and actions. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist and slid his finger into Sherlock arse again. He worked slowly, skillfully stimulating Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock put his arm around John's waist, but then just rested his hand on one of John's buttocks.
Finally, Sherlock came in John's mouth. John eagerly swallowed Sherlock's jizz. Sherlock continued giving John head; and as he did, his hand moved down and his long, slender index finger slid into John's arse. John was already on the brink, and when Sherlock's finger hit his prostate, he came.
After a moment, John rolled on to his back. Sherlock sat up. He was working his mouth, and had a puzzled expression.
"Something wrong?"
"I don't particularly care for the taste of semen..."
John smiled. "You don't have to swallow, you know."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Sitting up, John kissed him. Then, going over to his gym bag, he opened it and took out the shirt he'd worn to school. He wiped his fingers on it, then folded it and started dabbing at his sweaty hest.
Sherlock stood up.
"We can go clean up in my en suite bathroom."
"Oh, okay." John dropped his shirt back in his bag and followed Sherlock. Walking through an inner door, they ended up in a large, austerely furnished bedroom. Unlike the dark colour of Sherlock's library, this room was painted a relaxing light blue. They crossed the room, and went into the bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was large but sparsely furnished.
Sherlock opened the cupboard and got out two large flannels, handing one to John. Walking over to the sink, Sherlock ran the flannel under the tap. At first John thought he was going to wash himself, but then he turned to John with a grin.
Walking over, Sherlock began wiping the sweat off of John's face. Then he moved down to his neck, then his arms and chest.
"You know, John, you have amazingly well-developed musculus biceps brachii and pectoralis major muscles..." He moved the flannel down, to John's stomach. "And your musculus rectus abdominis is impressive, too..."
"Thanks," said John, turning around so Sherlock could wash his back.
"Hmmm, very nice musculus trapezius..." He worked his way down. "And magnificent musculus gluteus maximus."
John laughed. "I must say, you could make learning the muscle groups something to look forward to..."
Sherlock smiled and tossed the wet flannel into the hamper.
Finally cleaned off, John turned and gave Sherlock a kiss. Then he got his flannel wet and held the flannel out in preparation.
"So," John asked as he washed Sherlock's face, "Do you want me name chemical compounds or something while I clean you off?"
"No, you don't have to," Sherlock replied, smiling.
John smiled back as he began to clean Sherlock's chest.
"You're really thin... is it weird that I find that kinda hot?"
Sherlock shrugged. "I don't really see what's wrong with it."
"Ah, ok," said John as rubbed down Sherlock's back. In the middle of this, he leaned forward, kissing the boy's neck. He tossed the flannel in the hamper, then stepped forward against Sherlock, putting and arm around him, and gently rubbing his stomach. John sighed happily. "I'm so glad I met you."
"I... I'm glad met you, too."
John laughed lightly, kissing the nape of Sherlock's neck.
After a moment, Sherlock stepped out of John's embrace.
"I'm going into the bedroom."
"I need to take a leak, then I'll be right in."
( Read Part 2.)