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“Oh, Mr. Watson,” the dorm-mother called out as he was heading for his room, “Your cousin is in the east room.”
“My cousin?” John asked curiously.
“Yes,” she huffed, “And if you would take out those infernal headphones before interacting with others you might find that people are much more receptive to you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” John said, pulling the earbuds out, “Sorry, ma’am.”
He wandered through the building to one of the more formal event rooms that the campus had and laughed out loud when a familiar fluff of black curls peaked out from under a piece of furniture.
“My cousin?” John asked with a grin.
Sherlock crawled out from under the formal dining table and smirked, “They have the most restrictive visitor’s policy here, John. Apparently, you have to be a relation of some sort. Luckily, I have extensive knowledge of your childhood and the third anecdote about your preferences for nudity in your early years was more than convincing enough for the receptionist.”
“You didn’t,” John groaned.
“Needs must, John,” Sherlock shrugged.
“You barmy git,” John said, unable to stifle the fond chuckle, “What was so urgent that you would discuss my formative years with the entire office staff?”
“This is a rather delicate topic that would be best not discussed in such a public setting,” Sherlock said vaguely.
“Will this discussion in any way result in my never being able to consume apricots again like last time?” John asked dubiously.
“Of course not,” Sherlock waved away his concern.
“Fine,” John sighed, “We’ll go to my room. My roommate should be in class for the next hour or so.”
John and Sherlock made their way slowly up to John’s suite. Very slowly. So slowly that they occasionally ended up going backwards in the process.
“What is so bloody interesting about the light switches?” John asked.
“Based on the oil residue from the hands of your classmates,” Sherlock rattled off, “I can determine the time and enthusiasm level of their last alcohol binge.”
John glanced fondly at his best friend, “Brilliant.”
“Hardly,” Sherlock said dismissively, but John wasn’t fooled. The almost imperceptible upturn at the corners of Sherlock’s mouth told him all he needed to know.
They finally made it up to John’s sparse, but organized room and the taller man continued his obsessively study of his young friend’s environment. John just shrugged and flipped open his computer to check his emails. After another ten minutes of Sherlock exploring not only his belongings, but Murray’s as well, Sherlock sprawled across Murray’s chair and got John’s attention with a strategically thrown gum pack.
“Oi!” John called out, rubbing at his forehead, “Git. Now what’s this all about?”
“Right,” Sherlock said, with a bright smile before reaching deep into the folds of his giant coat and coming up with a thick stack of paperwork wrapped in a rubber band and dropping it heavily on John’s desk, “I’ve taken the liberty of filling out your loan applications for university.”
“Oh,” John said, confused.
“Don’t worry,” Sherlock continued, “I’ve counter signed Mycroft’s name so I would just let him take care of the debt you’ll accrue after you graduate.”
“Sherlock…” John tried.
“I’ve also re-filled out your applications to the medical schools you’ve applied to for the next fall to ensure that they understand the changes to your financial situation.”
“I’m not…” John attempted.
“And I’ve already done some research on cheap flatshares that you could take advantage of for the duration of medical school with regards to the funds available to you from the loan,” Sherlock finished with a flourish, waiting once again for John’s admiration.
“I’ve already got my financial situation figured out for school,” John said quietly, “Thanks…for all of this, but I’m set.”
“But this should be much more appealing to you,” Sherlock countered.
“I like my plan,” John said gently, “It’s a good plan.”
“How can you say that?” Sherlock asked, sounding puzzled, “You’re agreeing to take a loan from the Army, John. That means once you graduate, you’ll be taken away from here to be sent off to somewhere unstable and be charged with taking care of soldiers. It would require almost a decade of your life once you accept that first check. My plan requires much less of a time commitment plus it would reduce your likelihood of coming to harm by almost 87%. You must see the logic in all of this.”
“I want this,” John blurted out, “I know that you don’t get it and I know you probably think I’m being incredibly stupid, but I’ve never felt so…comfortable anywhere else. And I know that makes me sound completely mental but I have a direction here, a purpose, and you don’t have to like it. You don’t have to approve of it, but please don’t try to talk me out of it. Because if you can’t support me then I don’t need to hear your opinion on this. Please.”
He kept his gaze firmly on the ground in front of him and tried to take deep breaths to calm his nerves. He didn’t want this to be a schism between them and he certainly didn’t want this decision to cost him their friendship, but he couldn’t see a way of being happy and feeling like his life had meaning without this. It was several seconds before he heard Sherlock get up from his seat and John felt an ache so deep that he flinched at the idea of his best friend walking away from him, but with a firm hand on his shoulder all that fear drained away and he met Sherlock’s gaze with a rush of hope swelling in his throat.
Sherlock crouched down in front of him and pulled him into a fierce hug that made it hard for John to breathe.
“I just want you to be safe, John,” Sherlock’s voice rumbled against his chest, “But I want you to be happy as well. If this is what you need to make you happy…then, of course, I’ll give you anything you need. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Thank you,” John said, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat, “But, don’t worry, I won’t be leaving for over four years.”
“John,” Sherlock sighed, “I won’t ever stop worrying about you. You’re so bloody stubborn.”
John laughed and when they pulled apart, they both gracefully ignored their red eyes and subdued the urge to sniffle, “At least you’re taking this better than Mum and Tom. I thought they were going to lock me in the basement when I told them.”
“I would have thought Tom would have been thrilled with the idea,” Sherlock said curiously.
“Yeah,” John laughed, “His reasons for suggesting military school were a lot more theoretical than literal.”
“Simpleton,” Sherlock scoffed. He rose to his feet and walked anxiously around the room before taking a deep breath and smiling at John tentatively, “Dinner?”
“Starving,” John said, grabbing his wallet and phone.
“Do I have to sign you out or something?” Sherlock asked curiously.
“This isn’t prison, you git,” John laughed.
“Feels like it,” Sherlock scoffed, “Why this school is determined to cover everything in beige brick is beyond me.”
“Johnny boy!” A voice called out loudly before the door was flung open by his roommate, “Who’s this posh tit?”
“Murray,” John made introductions, “This is my cousin, Sherlock. Sherlock, my best school mate, Murray.”
“This the bloke you go to London to visit?” Murray asked, sizing up Sherlock with a flat stare, “You never told me you were related.”
“Yeah, well,” John laughed, “Needs must.”
Murray was easily over six feet tall and was built like tank. He was twice the size of John and about seven times louder and more obnoxious. The only times John really got reprimanded at school were always directly linked to one of Murray’s mad schemes and John loved every part of it. He wasn’t the most intellectually-minded students at the Academy but his father was on the Board of Directors which gave him a certain level of leeway when his shenanigans got a little out of hand.
“Shall we go then?” Sherlock asked.
“Yeah,” John said, “Let me just check my email again really quick.”
He’d been sitting at his desk for only a few seconds, responding to a query from some of the younger students he was tutoring in biology about setting up a group study session when he looked over to investigate the eerie silence from the other two inhabitants of the room. Sherlock and Murray were gesturing energetically but absolutely silently at each other. John stared in bemusement for a few seconds not able to decode the frenzied gestures from his friends. Finally, he let out a loud sigh that drew the attention of the other two causing Murray to flush in embarrassment and Sherlock to scoff loudly.
“Well, that was fun?” John queried before shutting down his laptop, “Would either of you like to translate that little interpretive dance for me?”
“William was just telling me that he…” Sherlock began.
“Would be joining you for dinner!!” Murray finished gleefully.
“No…” Sherlock growled, “He was saying that…”
“I’d pay!” Murray cut in again, “Be happy to. Small price to pay for getting to know John’s childhood pal.”
Sherlock dark scowl clinched it in John’s mind, “Wonderful. Shall we be off then?”
“But John?!” Sherlock whined, “I didn’t come all this way to hang out with some insolent child still having regular nocturnal emissions at the age of seventeen.”
The room sort of froze with Murray on the edge wobbling tenuously between outrage and embarrassment. He finally broke out into a loud guffaw and slapped Sherlock hard enough on the back to have him lurch forward.
“Bloody psychic freak, that one,” Murray laughed.
Sherlock sneered slightly but he was soon gaping like an idiot as John grabbed his coat and manhandled him quickly from the room with a dark glare at his roommate.
“Hey, where are you goin?” Murray said, wiping the tears from his eyes, “Wait for me.”
“You’re not coming,” John said, evenly.
“But you just said…” Murray began, sounding confused.
“He’s not a freak,” John bit out.
Murray’s expression soon shifted from confusion to a dawning awareness that resulted in an understanding and apologetic smile at his friend.
“He’s not a freak,” John continued, heatedly, “He’s brilliant. And you don’t get to talk to him like that.”
“Alright,” Murray said calmly, “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Sherlock.”
Sherlock huffed in reply but he turned to take his social cue from his young friend.
“Right,” John said, letting his anger seep away quickly, “I’ll be back later, yeah?”
“See you,” Murray said, collapsing back onto his bed, “You kids have fun.”
The pair walked silently down the hall and Sherlock let John lead them off of the campus and down toward the small town. They tucked themselves into a small corner booth in an almost deserted Lebanese restaurant near the train station. They ordered enough kafta, pita bread, and homemade pickles for a party of ten.
“I’m sorry about him,” John sighed before biting into a seasoned tomato, “He doesn’t mean anything by it. He really is a good bloke.”
“Don’t fret about it,” Sherlock said waving his apology, “You’ve been, very admirably, attempting to defend my honor since you were seven. While I do appreciate the sentiment, it’s hardly necessary.”
“It is, though,” John said blushing slightly, “You’re my friend. That’s what friends do. Stick up for each other.”
Sherlock turned his head away but John still caught the subtle twitch of his lips and the softening emotion in his gaze. John took a deep breath and stamped down on his increasing heart rate quickly.
“So how are things in London?” John asked, changing the subject.
“Predictable,” Sherlock sighed, “I’m currently functioning under the assumption that criminals are influenced solely by bland police procedural television shows. I don’t even have to think. Just turn on the latest episode of Law & Order and, voila, I have the perpetrator. It’s hateful.”
“That sounds tragic,” John grinned, “Don’t worry. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m sure the criminal class will get more creative soon.”
“The odds are against them,” Sherlock huffed disappointed, “The only interesting case I’ve had in months revolved around the missing binky that someone’s Pomeranian had latched onto due to being weaned and sold off before the recommended eight weeks from a puppy mill.”
“That’s…” John fumbled, “That makes me strangely uncomfortable.”
“Why?” Sherlock asked confused, “It was obviously just substituting the nipple of the binky in for the nipple of its mother. It’s logically appropriate for the animal to associate the two. Another documented substitution of being weaned too early is the oral fixation that alcoholics display with beer bottles. Take your sister, for example. Scholars would theorize that one of the contributing factors of her alcoholism is that she was taken off the breast to early and she developed an oral fixation due to the substandard release of oxytocin that both the mother and the baby receive from the experience of breastfeeding.”
“Can we stop talking about nipples please?” John begged “Especially my mothers! I might actually have nightmares from this…”
“Don’t be so squeamish,” Sherlock said blandly, “If you’re to be a physician, this type of discourse shouldn’t make you so uncomfortable.”
“Yea, but it won’t be my mother’s breasts that I’ll be discussing,” John said, feeling a bit nauseous.
“Semantics,” Sherlock answered back, but changed the subject anyway.
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“I’ll see you in a few weeks, yeah?” John asked as they stood outside his building.
“Come down to London,” Sherlock answered, “I’ve fostered an acquaintanceship with one of the coroners at St. Bart’s. I can get us in to see an autopsy if you like.”
“That would be brilliant!” John said, “I’d love to see one.”
“Excellent,” Sherlock answered, “Let me know when you want to come and I’ll set it up.”
“Great,” John said, “Travel safe.”
“Obvious,” Sherlock smirked, “Laterz.”
John waved him off before heading up to his room. He found Murray sprawled on his bed and sent a tentative smile his way. Murray smiled back readily and threw a pillow at him before putting away his laptop and letting his smile transform into a knowing smirk.
“What?” John asked.
“Oh, Johnny boy,” Murray said kindly, “You’re in so much trouble.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” John shrugged.
“Uh huh,” Murray replied, “You keep telling yourself that.”