Chapter Text
"Gosh! John come and look!" Mike yelled, eyes stuck to the sight just around the corner.
John sped up, his case knocking against his leg in an uncomfortable way that made him want to leave it on the road. He rounded the corner, half jogging in response to the urgency in the boys' voices.
The boys were right, the view of the school from the end of the wide, twisting road was stunning. The school had a reddish coloured roof, constructed from a soft beige brick that looked equally like it would crumble any second and like it could hold the world on its shoulders. Growing up the face of the building were thick masses of ivy.
"Well, this is quite a school!" John managed, mouth wide open.
"Too right, Watson" came a new, lower voice.
John whipped around to see the origin of the voice, which caused him to knock into the boy behind him a bit.
"Um..hello?"
"Morning."
"How did you... how did you know my name?"
"Don't you see?"
"Clearly not, no."
Sherlock took the chance to read the boy in front of him, a young-looking boy with blonde hair, kept short in a hairstyle commonly seen in the military, his bag and clothes said middle class so he probably gets his haircut by his mother or a close relative. He has a dad in the army, why else would his mother need to know how to cut hair in that certain way? He was reserved, the anxious type, his hands constantly changing their grip on the bags and his feet restless. He had suffered an injury to one shoulder, hence the way he was hauling both bags in mostly one hand.
"Your trunk, a little J.W embroidered on the back of it. I glanced at the list of people I'd be sharing a room with." Sherlock made it clear to Mycroft that he wouldn't start packing until he'd seen the list. "John Watson it said, I figure that's you considering the fact that your friends have been referring to you as John this morning" John turned so that his entire body was facing the boy completely. "I would have called you the same but seeing as I am not your friend, it is only polite that I call you by your last name, less intimate as they say. There."
"That was... amazing." John managed, stunned by the wit and speed of the boy's inferences about him. He made it seem so easy, so obvious. But John couldn't read a single thing from Holmes. Nothing apart from the obvious parts, he was slim in this face and body, far too slim, he probably went without food for extended periods, but, he wasn't poor, no, his clothes were far too thick and well cleaned, his bag was well made and a good size. But that's all John could see.
"What do you mean, amazing?" The taller boy asked, it was evident his deductions had never earned him this kind of reaction before.
"It's just, well I've never met anyone who could do that before... know things about you without you telling them." John picked up his speed towards the school, aware that the rest of the boys he'd arrived with were now just inches away from the entrance. Sherlock blinked and turned to follow the blonde boy.
When John reached the huge wooden doors, they were already flung open to make way for the arrivals of the new girls and boys. The doors opened into an airy, cold room with a dark, polished wooden floor and the cream walls decorated with wooden cladding, raising about a meter and a half from the floor.
The room was embellished head to toe with awards, certificates and trophies for all sorts of sports competitions. A trophy acclaimed by the third year's rugby team caught John's eye. It was stored on a cabinet to the right of the room, on the wall which held the doors he'd entered through.
Most of the room wasn't visible to John and his friends as it was already bursting with fussing parents and teenagers of all ages.
Sherlock wanted to leave already, the noise, the coldness of the room, he could feel himself shrinking down and retreating to his mind palace. He was always safe in the mind palace, the place he'd built for himself that he could run to whenever he wanted. Redbeard was there, Toby and Craig were there, even Mycroft was there. He was considering leaving the queue, sitting on the grass outside and letting it all come over him but just before he could, he spotted a familiar face.
"Hello boys, come close so you can hear me clearly," called the woman dressed in a well fitted cream dress, with a plumb corset hugging her middle. "Oh hello again Sherlock!" she smiled, quickly remembering she had a moderately sized group of teenage boys in front of her, waiting for further instruction. Sherlock answered with no more than a tight smile.
"My name is Mrs Hudson, but you can call me miss," she said, competing against the noise of the other house leaders, "I am your head of house, Reichenbach house."
John and Mike exchanged glances from across the room with excited eyes.
"I won't keep you much longer, I've got to be off but I shall pass you onto the boys who will take you to your dorm."
After too much small talk and a quick going over of the expectations of the school etc etc, The boys arrived at the door to room 21, stationed in the boys wing, on the third floor, to get to the room, you must turn right at the main entrance, head up two sets of stairs which will be ahead of you, turn right again, follow the corridor right to the end and it will be on your left.
"I'll leave you to get settled and unpack now, do call if you need anything, I'll be in the common room at the other end of the corridor on the right, you can't miss it." Huffed one of the older boys who had been given the role of your guide.
The older boy hurried off and the boys were left alone.
"So, what're everyone's names?!" Mike called, already running over to a bed in the middle of the room to claim it as his own, "Mine is Micheal but everyone called me Mike... Mike Stamford."
"John, John Watson." John shyly added.
"Gregory."
"Yeah I'm definitely calling you Greg," Mike chuckled.
"I'm Phillip, don't call me Phill or I'll kill you." A short boy with thick-rimmed glasses snapped.
"Jim Moriarty, Hiii!" Jim answered, rather musically.
This boy made Sherlock look twice, with eyes so dark they looked black and dark hair, combed back so that it stayed flat against his head, he was difficult to judge.
Sherlock did not like that.
Jim Moriarty stood at an average height but had a presence in the room like no other, he seemed to have the strange power to make the space surrounding him feel colder. Even at his average standing height, he seemed to tower over the rest of the boys.
"Edward Van Coon, bagsy that bed," Edward pointed to a bed to his right and began to unload his clothes onto it.
Sherlock made busywork of inspecting the window at the furthest end of the room. It wasn't important to know the names of everyone in the room, after all, if he wanted to know, he'd just work it out. Much to his contentment, the rest of the students were also knee-deep in "first day responsibilities" and getting comfortable.
***
The rest of the day comprised of long meetings in cold halls, teachers promising high standards etc. etc. and unbearable amounts of friendly exchanges. (Sherlock was almost certain that he'd have killed one of the teachers by the end of the day... or students.)
The sun had long dipped below the horizon, giving way to a cold breeze allowed to enter by the open window. Sherlock had swung it open once the others had drifted off and was now balancing precariously on the windowsill attached to it.
He relished in the cool feeling of the wind tanging its careful fingers in his hair, glancing down at the view he would become all too familiar with.
The wind howled and cried and Sherlock liked it there.
John Watson was a light sleeper, always had been. If he wasn't being shaken awake by a nightmare, he was worrying about when the next one would make its unwelcome appearance. On this particular night, his rest was disturbed by something a little different.
"Oi, you, close the bloody window would you? some of us don't want to be half-frozen to death in our sleep!" John called out from under his duvet.
After a pause, Sherlock tore his eyes from the view and scrambled back into a sensible position on the windowsill.
"I do." the boy retorted, pulling down the window anyway, "I like it."
The blonde boy wrestled off his duvet to climb out of his (now freezing cold) bed, "I don't doubt it." There was a tinge of sarcasm in his tone, but not that awfully horrible kind that makes you feel like you`ve done something wrong. It was kind, warm and friendly.
John had two options: It was either freeze alive or see what was so great about the window. There was a short pause and an awkward smile from John before he began padding over to meet the taller boy at the window.
"Move up."
Sherlock shuffled to make room and John used his force to clamber up onto the windowsill, the manoeuvre was far from delicate. The air was stone cold, almost refreshing and the sky a deep swirling sea of blues, decorated with carefully scattered stars that were just about visible through the clouds. From the window, the moon was golden, the centrepiece of the sky.
"So.. why are you up at this hour?" John asked with a hushed tone.
"Thinking."
John nested his hands in his lap, taking a second to finally let his eyes focus on the boy, "About...?"
"About how utterly boring you all are."
John felt a smile pull at his mouth. "And you think you`re more interesting?"
Sherlock didn`t answer. He didn`t want to be rude, he just wasn`t the conversation type.
"Do you do that thing often then?" John finally said.
"You`re going to need to be more specific than that, Watson," he replied, eyes still glued to the moon.
"You just looked at me and... knew things about me. That`s a real gift."
John`s eyes had just about adjusted to the darkness and he could now see Sherlock`s face and the sharpness of his features.
"It`s all observation, it`s awfully simple really." He`d perked up a little now.
"You make it sound terribly easy."
"I`ll teach you one day if you`d like."
"I`d like that."
"Good."
"You really should sleep though, It`s late."
"Sleep? sleeping`s boring."
Sherlock finally turned to face John. John`s face was calm, his nose slightly upturned and the back of his hair poking out in all directions. He looked gentle and kind and Sherlock decided he didn`t despise him at all.
"I can`t just let you sit here gawping at the moon! You must sleep."
"Fine."
The two of them slid off the windowsill, brushing themselves off when they reached the ground.
"Don`t be under the impression that you can make me do this every night."
"I wouldn't dream of it. Goodnight Holmes."