Chapter Text
Introductory Deductions
"Bored."
John looked up from his book that he was reading and turned around in his chair. He thought nobody was in the library with him, and yet, there someone was, sitting in a chair with his feet on the table across from him.
"Sorry?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Bored. I'm bored," the stranger replied, lifting his feet of the table in front of him and standing abruptly, knocking over the chair. He grabbed John's book and flung it across the library, which crashed into the bookshelves, and jumped up on the table.
"Bored, bored, bored, BORED!" He yelled. John looked at the stranger standing on the table in front of him, his mouth agape. "Bored."
John looked up from his book that he was reading and turned around in his chair. He thought nobody was in the library with him, and yet, there someone was, sitting in a chair with his feet on the table across from him.
"Sorry?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Bored. I'm bored," the stranger replied, lifting his feet of the table in front of him and standing abruptly, knocking over the chair. He grabbed John's book and flung it across the library, which crashed into the bookshelves, and jumped up on the table.
"Bored, bored, bored, BORED!" He yelled. John looked at the stranger standing on the table in front of him, his mouth agape. Who is this guy? He thought, as his brow furrowed and he cleared his throat.
"Um, excuse me, what exactly are you doing?"
The stranger looked down at him with piercing blue eyes, cocked and eyebrow, and blew a curly lock of ebony hair out of his pale face. He flicked up the collar of his long black coat, and jumped off the table and sat in the opposite chair beside John. He slouched in the hard plastic chair, narrowing his eyes at John, searching his face. He clasped his hands together and placed them to his lips. John cleared his throat awkwardly, assuming it would only be polite to make conversation, even if the guy sitting in front of him could possibly be mentally insane.
"Um, well, hello, I'm-"
"John Watson, yes, I know." Blue eyes (as John assumed that his would be a proper name, for now, for the stranger in front of him) cut him off. John stifled a gasp and widened his eyes. How could he know his name, when he only transferred to this school today? He spoke again, growing increasingly uncomfortable.
"Well, yes, um, it's nice to meet you, and might I ask who you-"
"I also know that you are new to this school, judging by not only the fact that you are not wearing the school uniform but also by your hunched posture and that you are in the library after the final bell, making it clear that you either do not want to be seen or you do not have any friends to hang out with. I'm assuming it's both. I also know that you have transferred from a school from the midlands, judging by the the way you slightly drag your vowels when you speak and by your heavier coat that you're wearing. Burlap? No. Canvas, yes, canvas. You also are part of the Air Cadets, which is obvious by looking at your posture when you walk and your hair cut. Which you recently just got, which is evident by the little groups of hairs on your shirt. Your brother-"
John gasped. "My brother-"
"Yes, your brother. Looking at your worn clothes and your shiny new watch, it seems like you do not buy anything new for yourself, if you don't have to. So the watch must have been a gift. From who, though? Your Mother? No, it seems more like a gift your father or a brother would get you. Nothing too sentimental, and a pretty mainstream gift, might I add. But it's not from your dad either, and not from a sister by the looks of it, so then your brother. Could be a cousin, but no, it is from your brother. How do I know? The clasp is dirty, so you don't take it off often, stating that it must be a personal gift, it has some importance to you. Harry , that's his name. Again, how do I know? The engraving, on the inside of the clock, To John from Harry. Now if it was your father, I assume that it would say something like, From Dad, making it more personal. And who is on a first name basis with their parents? So following process of elimination, it is your brother." He stopped and took a breath, and searched John's face. "Hmm, what else? Oh, yes, you left in a rush this morning, you have a ketchup on the side of your chin from eating on the tube, an egg sandwich-"
"How can you possibly know I had an egg sandwich?" John asked.
"Shot in the dark. Good one though," He looked over and smirked. "The right side of your shirt is untucked. Your dark circles under your eyes also indicate that you slept in, after not getting enough sleep the night before. Nerves for the first day maybe? Therefore the explanation for your rushing." He stuck his hand out. "The name's Sherlock Holmes, in case you were wondering."
John took his hand, although his own was now clammy and shaking a bit. "That," He took a breath, "was amazing."
Sherlock's forehead creased and he looked away. "You think so?"
"Of course it was. Extraordinary, it was quite extraordinary." John replied, still in a state of awe mixed with shock.
Sherlock looked back at him. "That's not what people normally say."
"And what do people normally say?"
Sherlock's mouth quirked up. "Piss off."
John stifled a laugh. He looked up into Sherlock's startling blue eyes, and Sherlock looked back, holding their gaze for a beat too long. A beep ran out suddenly and Sherlock grabbed his phone and looked down at it, a wide grin slowly spreading across his face. "Yes!" He cried, shoving his phone into his pocket and wrapping a blue scarf around his neck. "Oh, yes, yes, yes!" He stood up and started to head off towards the exit when he looked behind him at John. "You coming, then?"
John shifted in his seat. "Um, I-I don't know, I have homework and-"
"No you don't."
Damn.
"Anyway, I best be off, see you." Sherlock ran off out the door.
"Wait!" John yelled, scrambling to shove all his books into his bag. He didn't really have anything planned for tonight, and there was something about Sherlock that was... strangley likeable. Even though something about him felt a bit off, not safe. He was rude, yes, obnoxious and could possibly be mad, but he was charming, in a way. He texted his mother, who would probably be ecstatic that he was leaving the house.
going out with a friend. will be back for supper.
Just as he hit send, he ran out the door just in time to catch Sherlock climbing onto a bus. "Where would we be going?"
Sherlock looked back at him and grinned. "A crime scene."