Chapter Text
As soon as John's feet hit London soil again he felt a weary nostalgia that rushed over him in an overwhelming sensation that relocated his jet lagged body lounging at a bar counter before he even left the airport. He was on a three week summer block leave from the military, and although he couldn't picture anywhere else he would go during this short respite, he didn't have much - albeit anything - to come home to. When he left for service a year and a half back it was right after his mother had passed, and the house had been sold for what little it was worth, and used to pay off the bills left in her death. The only immediate family he had still was his sister, whom he was not on speaking terms with, and hadn't been for awhile now. He had utterly zero notions as to what he was going to do with his time back in the damp, buzzing city, but he would rather be in England than anywhere else. It was where he was born and where his bones would rest long after his last breath. The city owned his soul.
After a whiskey, he departed the airport and hailed a cab. He had a small duffel bag in tow with very few belongings. He had an outfit or two of civilian attire, though at the moment he was wearing camouflage fatigues and a white t-shirt with his tags tucked under the collar. As he ducked into the back of the vehicle though the grey clouds draping the afternoon began to scatter wet drops and John dug out his green military coat, forgetting the weather differences for a slight time. He shivered a bit after shrugging into his coat. The London air felt even cooler and damper than usual after months spent in the desert. He watched the city tremble past, an opaque haze of rain and lights. He wound up at an affordable bed and breakfast for the night, as right now he mainly was interested in a warm shower and lots of sleep in a comfortable bed. Most of the guys from his unit on leave were going back to families, staying with relatives, but John was resigned to a little room with mismatched Victorian era decor and his mere greetings were solely that of the innkeeper who checked him in and gave the key.
Once in the rented room he tossed his bag and ran a hand through the short blonde hair mussed in sodden spikes. The bed looked amiable, and seeing as the prominent idea on his mind was a short kip, that was rather important. Coat shrugged off, he ventured into the small bathroom and proceeded straight into a shower, washing off the stale feeling left over from his travels and brushing the taste of alcohol from his mouth afterward. He exited the bathroom in a fog of steam and collapsed onto the covers with a towel around his waist, his warmed muscles sinking into the mattress with relief. He meant to drag himself up and dress after a minute of relaxing, but he ended up drifting off far to quickly.
When he came to the city was dark outside, and the sound of London was a welcomed thing to wake up hearing, though not something he was used to anymore. It gave him a hazy feeling akin to homesickness as he sat up in the dim room, car lights flitting through the cracks in the curtains as ephemeral shadows passing over the walls. The last time he had woken up he had been on a plane, hundreds of feet up in the sky and disconnected from the civilizations below, leaving him uneasy and longing for some sort of solace on ground. The time before that he woken up at his post, amongst his fellow soldiers in the pre dawn heat. It was disconcerting to wake up in a different place every day for the last three. John moved off the bed, placing the time at half past seven, and stretched his stiff muscles. He pulled on pants and a a clean white tee, and then did a quick set of fifty push ups to help get his blood flowing and clear the muddled pathways of his brain. The quaint hotel didn't have an on location gym, but there was one located not far, and he would be utilizing that most likely as soon as the morning. Though, he was looking forward to going out for a run through the streets and soaking up the scenery in full as well. Once in another pair of camo fatigues, he donned his jacket and army boots, as after all the time spent out of civvies, he felt most comfortable being in army attire. It was like a second skin at this point.
Leaving the room, he paused to inquire with the innkeeper, a middle aged woman with light brown hair, about places nearby where he could get a decent meal. She promptly suggested a cafe called Speedy's on Baker Street, near directly across from the inn so he couldn't miss it. He thanked her and headed out into the downpour. The skyline was a hazy grey of reflected lights through murky fog. The moon was barely visible. John spotted Speedy's without preamble, and dashed over to the entrance, which was adjacent to a flat building. He ducked inside, leaving the lukewarm summer rain out, and was soon seated at a table in the corner with a menu in view. As he sat and absorbed the smell of frying food and low-key atmosphere he was reminded of the little diner he used to go to regularly as a teenager with his mom and sister. It was a family ritual; every Saturday night up until he was about seventeen from as long as he could remember, they were regulars. They'd all tried everything of the menu and each had their favourites. They also sold baked goods at the counter, and his mom always treated him and Harry to a homemade biscuit, which he remembered as being spectacular. The memories drowned out everything for several long moments, and he resurfaced from his reminiscence when an older lady approached his table, and after he didn't answer her first inquiry for his order, she waved a hand to get the boy's attention;
"Yoohoo," she smiled a bit uneasily. "You alright, dear?" John blinked up at her, gaze distant almost as if he was looking yet not solidly seeing her.
"Oh. Yeah...yeah I'm fine." he didn't even muster a smile, bones heavy as if the oppressive weather had saturated and weighed them down to cold iron.
She thought the young man looked a bit somber and she gave him a comforting smile. "What can I get you to eat, love?"
"Uh," John licked his lips, flicking a glance at the menu that he hadn't read yet. "Anything's fine by me, just something warm and filling will do."
"I'll fry you up something myself." she nodded. "Can I get you some tea?"
"Ta," he smiled a bit at her, even the slight gesture still warm and charming.
"I'll be right back." she promised, then ventured off to the kitchen.
John's stomach felt unsettled with the memories tugging at him still, and the place reminded him a lot of the restaurant he haunted in his adolescence. He couldn't recollect the name of it. Perhaps it could have been this exact one, he'd not be able to recall enough to know. He drew his feet up on the seat, knees to his chest and bit his thumb nail, hood of his jacket still up. He stared at the table, veins immersed in laggard dysphoria that left him capable of merely existing there in his seat and chewing at his nail as his only action.
The kind lady came back to his table, setting down a cuppa. "Your food will be right out, deary." she cast a glance of concern over him, although it went unnoticed by the younger.
He was the third young man she had seen in uniform today. "Are you on leave, then? Visiting family?"
John's teeth latched onto his bottom lip, stopping himself from biting his nails further. "Not visiting anyone, but yeah."
He seemed a bit of a loner, which reminded her of the young boy renting out the flat upstairs, her dear meddlesome Sherlock. She had an inkling out of the blue that the two would get on and she wondered if she could coerce Sherlock down here to talk to him, he did seem so dispirited that it made her heart ache. As if conjured up by the mere thought of him, Sherlock appeared by her all the sudden, launching into question right away;
"Mrs Hudson, I need to confiscate your kitchen for the next hour or two. I suggest you don't come in during that time."
"Oh my," Mrs Hudson clutched her chest for a moment. "You gave me a fright, Sherlock."
"Yes, yes. Kitchen? Don't come in until I say so."
John dragged his vision up the length of the svelte boy standing by his table, from the leather shoes to the raven curls that framed his eyes. He seemed to notice John surveying him, and dropped his sea colored gaze to meet John's own. They held each others' sight for a long moment, before John crossed his arms and looked down at the table.
"Mrs Hudson, on second thought I won't be needing your kitchen tonight."
"Oh, that's fine then, dear." she muttered, watching curiously while Sherlock sat down across from the brooding soldier.
"I'll just go check on the food..." she wandered off, seeing as no one was paying attention to her anymore.
Sherlock bent his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"
John flicked his gaze over to the ivory-skinned teenager with the calculating view stationed on him. "Afghanistan."
"Mm," Sherlock glanced down, musing. "Parents dead?"
"I'm sorry?" John ground out through a terse jaw, muscles constricting tensely.
Sherlock merely stared. "Fairly recent, too."
"Who the fuck are you?" John uttered, more bewildered than aggravated.
"You're staying at the inn across the street, yes?"
"How did you know that?"
"Obvious." Sherlock shrugged one lanky shoulder, refraining from mentioning the fact that he had been watching the street below from his window and seen the man come out from the inn's entrance. He also pretended that he hadn't just made up an excuse to come down here and get a closer inspection of the blonde.
"Yeah, I am."
"They charge too much for their meager services. I'm looking for a flat mate. Interested?"
John hesitated, too groggy for the sudden switch in subjects that was happening quite a bit here. "I'm only in town for three weeks."
"Quite. But, you'll be back again for the holidays. I get a very reasonable price on the flat thanks to my helping the landlady out with a problem. Seeing as you don't have anyone's couch to kip on when you're back in London it would be wiser to rent a flat and I would have no problem with you being absent for the majority of the time."
John licked his lips, pulling himself up straighter and trying to sharpen his focus. Between the alcohol and the kips he'd had in the past 24 hours, not to mention fucking jetlag, he was having a rather hard time with coherency at the moment. Was this kid asking him to share a flat? "I...yeah, I don't know 'bout that."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't be boring. Just say yes."
"I'll think about it." John affirmed, pushing his hood back to run his fingers through the strands of honey colored hair, making them messier than before. He realized after a moment that Sherlock was watching him, quite intently, albeit silently now.
"I'll let Mrs Hudson know you'll be taking the extra room." the black-haired boy finally spoke with a nod, after staring for several moments.
"I didn't say yes." John argued, though without much spirit. He was just too damn exhausted and starving.
"You will. I'm saving you the trouble of wasting further time thinking about it."
Mrs Hudson came to the table then, placing a plate full of steaming food down in front of John. "There you are, dear."
"Ta," John picked up his silverware, hardly caring if he had an audience, he was famished.
"Mrs Hudson," Sherlock uttered without looking away from the soldier. "Your clientele here will also be renting out the flat with me, I trust the spare room is habitable."
"Oh," she lit up at the surprise. "Yes, it's set."
John heaved a sigh, but just ate his food. Suppose he could get a better deal on a flatshare than renting hotel rooms, and he didn't have a place to haunt up when he came back for the holidays at the end of the year, so at least he wouldn't have to worry about that. He'd considered finding a reasonably priced flat to rent out so he wasn't a stray whenever he ventured back to London. Seems the opportunity sort of just fell into his lap. Well...sat down across from him in a flicker of long limbs and haywire ink black curls.
Mrs Hudson drifted off to tend to other customers in the cafe and John ate his fry up, which was quite good.
"What's your name?" John asked finally, glancing over at the boy.
"Sherlock Holmes." he murmured in response.
"Dr John Watson."
"Doctor..." Sherlock mused to himself.
"Yeah," John confirmed, unsure why that was of any substance. He paused eating, taking a sip of tea. "How old are you? You look young to be renting out a flat by yourself."
Sherlock gave him an incredulous glance. "I'm nineteen."
"Are you studying?"
"Yes. You're wondering why I chose to live off campus, but I'm wondering why anyone would choose to do so."
"Some don't have much of a choice."
Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "Was I right?"
"About what?" John continued eating.
"Your parents."
John swallowed the bite of food with some trouble, eyes directed down. "My mum died a year and a half ago."
"And your father?"
"Might as well be dead." John shrugged, finishing up the last of his meal.
"Ah," Sherlock nodded. "Walked out."
"Something like that."
Sherlock clasped his hands and rested his chin on them. "Shall I show you the flat?"
~*~*~*~
Sherlock waved his pale hand in a sweeping, introductory gesture around the flat. "What do you think?"
John dragged his gaze around the clutter. "Quite nice. Bit of a mess..."
"Well, yes," Sherlock became a bit flustered, tidying a few things up in quick motions. "I haven't had the chance to clean."
"For the past year?" John quipped, folding his arms.
"My studies keep me quite busy."
"Oh I know all about that, trust me."
"The spare bedroom is just upstairs." Sherlock pointed in a general direction.
John simply stood where he was, silently taking in the tall teenager before him, lissom frame adorned in a perfectly fitted suit with the collar of a white button-down unfastened rather generously around the pale expanse of throat. Sherlock seemed to realize that John was making a decision, and waited unwavering.
"I'll bring my stuff over in the morning." John muttered, as a subtle agreement, even though Sherlock had assumed he already conceded.
"Great." Sherlock uttered without emotion.
"Until then I'm going to retire back to the inn as I am severely jet lagged."
"I'll come with you." the other boy stated.
John paused, vaguely confused at that statement. "Mm, no you won't."
"While I have the chance I'd like to conduct a few experiments involving hotel rooms." he grabbed a coat, wrapping himself in the dark, long confines of it.
"Experiments?"
"Yes. I'd like to take some samples and see if it's possible to contract an infection from bacteria in hotel rooms."
"God, I hope your results come back negative, then. For my sake." he's stayed in a lot of hotels over his 27 years.
"I'll take that as an agreement. Shall we?"
"As long as you make it quick, I was serious about being jet lagged as fuck." John rasped, pulling his hood up and stomping back down the stairs to the door.
Sherlock felt a faint smile tilt his lips as he followed John's fleeting figure, stiffening his collar to frame his face.