In Vino Veritas [Sherlock/John] Chapter 2
Title: In Vino Veritas - Ch2
Pairing/Character: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG13
Summary: John Watson was used to new schools. Very few, however, had felt so permanent. JohnxSherlock, boarding school AU.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Sherlock and John aren't mine. Most of the other characters aren't mine.
Author's Notes: I've been posting this on FF.net, but since that site is in fact a morass, I thought I'd let it shine on LJ too.
"How charitable are you feeling at the moment?" John hazarded to ask. There was one more thing he would like before he could consider himself well-adjusted; although in that brief visit months back (when coming here had barely even seemed a reality) he'd been given a tour of the school, he was hard pressed to remember exactly where everything was.
"How charitable are you feeling at the moment?" John hazarded to ask. There was one more thing he would like before he could consider himself well-adjusted; although in that brief visit months back (when coming here had barely even seemed a reality) he'd been given a tour of the school, he was hard pressed to remember exactly where everything was.
"I never feel particularly charitable," Sherlock answered.
"Okay." John paused. "All I need is a quick tour. I can ask Charles if you'd prefer not to help me."
"That won't do," Sherlock said, springing to his feet with surprising ease. "He's an art student."
John wondered if he meant it as some kind of insult, but Sherlock said no more of it, instead gliding wordlessly out into the hallway. John hurried after him.
"The student rooms are much the same on all three levels," Sherlock said as they approached the staircase. "The cleaning staff leaves supplies in the room at the top of the stairs. They used to lock it, but a few of the boys paid them to leave it open in the evenings."
"Why's that?" John didn't see how a storage closet could be that interesting.
"It's the only way to get onto the roof of the building. I'd show you, but with people still arriving, it's best not to go up there now."
It was apparently the only noteworthy part of the dormitory, and the two proceeded outside in a more-or-less companionable silence.
Between the school building and the dormitory was an expanse of well-tended gardens, through which a wide path carved its way. The area hadn't looked nearly so appealing in the damp and frost of February.
"This is nice," John had to comment.
"It's quite popular among the poetically inclined," Sherlock replied. Sure enough, a glance around revealed more than one person sitting amongst the flowers with notebooks.
It was pure curiosity that made John glance surreptitiously at the first artist they passed, though his attempt at subtlety was lost as he registered that it wasn't flowers that the boy was drawing. John couldn't be certain, but he thought he saw the boy cast a dirty look in Sherlock's direction as he tilted his paper away.
"He's only bitter because I corrected him on his knowledge of art history last year," Sherlock explained, before they were really out of earshot (to John's embarrassment).
"So are you an artist too?" It would make sense, since he'd also mentioned that Charles was an artist.
"My brother had something of an interest in famous pieces of art. I couldn't let him know more than me, so I did a bit of studying of my own."
"You have a brother?"
Sherlock cast him a sideways glance, and John realized it was a somewhat useless question. "His name is Mycroft. He used to walk these same paths."
"Do you get along well?"
Sherlock chose not to answer. John thought he could guess what that meant.
The school building was something of a relic, made of imposing dark brick and ornamental carvings placed around the doors and windows. It was at least clean and well-kept, though it did little to lessen the menacing effect.
"They've given you your schedule, I presume," Sherlock said, trying the door and finding it unlocked.
"I haven't looked at it that closely," John admitted.
"Memorize it tonight, or you'll be mocked for carrying a slip of paper around."
The inside of the building was nothing out of the ordinary; the interior was certainly plainer than the exterior, with thin corridors and smaller doors. It was nothing like the sterility of the newer buildings John had previously experienced. He was relieved to see a lack of inspirational posters taped on the walls; those had never left him in a particularly good mood, harmless as they were.
"The rooms are numbered simply enough," Sherlock explained, motioning for John to follow him down the hall to the left. "There are no surprises, so it's essentially idiot-proof."
"So if I mess up, I'll be the first?" John guessed, wondering if he should be relieved or stressed.
"No. You won't." Sherlock smirked. "If you're lucky, you won't ever find yourself in the same room as Anderson. It took him two entire weeks to learn his way around last year. I was starting to hope that he'd stay lost forever."
"Do you get along with anybody at this school?" John asked, hoping Sherlock could hear the joking tone in his voice.
"You." Sherlock looked away as he said it, and John frowned.
"Well, I'm flattered, but besides me. We just met, I don't count."
"Why should that make a difference?" Sherlock asked. "If you must know, I don't consider most people here to be my friends, nor do I want them to be."
"But you said that we…" John hesitated, wondering if he was misreading Sherlock's words. What he thought he was hearing was an offer—you'll be my only friend, he seemed to be saying. On the other hand, Sherlock could just as easily have meant that he was perfectly happy being alone.
"You're nowhere near as insipid and pretentious as the rest of them," Sherlock said calmly. John noticed he was avoiding eye contact.
So. Being friends with the strange-yet-genius boy who could claim no other friends of his own. John wondered if that was really how he wanted to start out the term.
In the end, though, it wasn't really a question—of course he did.
"I try my best," he told Sherlock. "Do all these maps mean this is the history hallway?"
"Thank you," John said when they eventually stepped back outside. "I guess you can go back to… meditating, or whatever it was you were doing before I interrupted."
"And I suppose you had other plans?" Sherlock replied.
"Well, not exactly," John admitted.
He was going to say more, but he found himself distracted by the sight of a delicate (but undeniably handsome) boy wandering their way, a teddy bear dangling from his hand. For a second, John thought he must have imagined it, but the scene failed to change.
"Is that…" His voice trailed off as the boy casually strode up to someone else, sliding their arms together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
And that was Charles, from across the hall.
"Sebastian," Sherlock said quietly. "One of the more interesting people around here, you'll find." There was no warmth or excitement to his voice, though.
"There's a new man in the kitchens," John overheard Sebastian saying to Charles. "He's too old to invite, so something shall have to be done about him."
"Dorian will know what to do," Charles answered.
Fate had it that their two paths crossed, and Charles grinned as he recognized John.
"I see you two are getting along nicely," he commented. John tried not to feel too irritated by heavy curiosity in his voice. "Sebastian, this is John Watson."
"Sherlock's been showing me around," John explained.
Sebastian glanced between the two of them curiously. "You're Holmes' new boy, then? You must join us one evening and tell us everything."
Everything about what? John wondered. He nodded and forced a smile, though.
"And you ought to sit by us at the dinner tonight," Sebastian added. "I hear it's going to be particularly grand—do you know they've agreed to give us each a cup of wine? It isn't much, but it's better than nothing."
"Which dinner is this?" John asked, realizing he must have missed something rather important.
"The school puts together a formal evening at the start of each year, welcoming the new students and discussing all the important things we're set to do," Charles explained. "You have brought the right clothing, I hope?"
Fortunately, John had, though he hadn't expected to use it so soon. Perhaps he should have examined all the papers he'd been given a little closer. "Yes. Of course."
"We'd better hurry along," Sherlock interrupted. "Things to be done, aren't there, John?"
"I suppose." John gave Charles and Sebastian an apologetic smile, then hastened after Sherlock's already retreating figure. Things to be done. He nearly laughed.