A Study At Bullimore

18

The final seminar of the day for John was history. They were due to receive their latest essay papers and make improvements to gain marks. Although they weren't quite as important as the Christmas exams, the assessments would still contribute to final grades at the end of the year.

When he arrived, he noticed Sherlock at the desk. It took every single muscle in John's body for him not to both scream at Sherlock and hug him. His voice caught in his throat as he sat down to speak, unable to look at Sherlock's face.
"Hello John." He smelt strongly of smoke. John didn't know what to say, gritting his teeth in frustration and distress.
"Where the fuck have you been?"
"It doesn't matter, I'm here now." John almost screamed, a week's worth of anxiety rising in his throat.
"Sherlock, it's been a week, why the fuck do you think it's okay."
"I don't think it's okay. It matters not if you think it is okay or not"
"Do you know how worried I was. I care, Sherlock." There was a brief pause as essay papers were passed back to the students. Sherlock turned to face John.
"I don't ask you to care about me, John. I don't know why you do; I didn't ask you to." Sherlock glared at him.
"Well I do, Sherlock. At least have enough grace to tell me where you're going." Sherlock huffed.
"I owe you nothing." John shook his head in disbelief, opening his exam paper. There was a '64' written in red on the front of the paper.
"Jesus Sherlock, what's wrong with you." He looked to the paper in Sherlock's hands, catching sight of the '51' written just below the title. Sherlock had clearly seen John look towards the paper as, when John looked back up, he was glaring at him.

For the rest of the lesson, they worked in silence. They were improving upon their essay questions with reference to a shared textbook, so every so often Sherlock and John would meet each-other's eyes. Sherlock's were frosty and John couldn't help but look away, full of fear that he'd done something wrong.

But he hadn't. John debated it with himself and, no matter which way he looked at it, Sherlock was in the wrong. Sherlock knew John was worried about him, and it seemed as though the man wanted to see how far he could bend John before he broke. He was behaving differently, somehow, and the cold and flippant exterior of Sherlock's behaviour put John on edge. For the remaining time together, they said nothing, Sherlock was writing feverishly almost as if his hand was itching for some kind of activity. John, on the other hand, could not concentrate, his brain swollen with aggravation.

At the end of the class, John filed away his paper, making the mental note to look through it before the next seminar. Before John could even turn to Sherlock to say something, he was gone, his chair still poking out the end of his desk. John moved slowly. He had to study but, as he entered the empty bedroom that seemed to be echoing its great emptiness, John decided that study wasn't a good idea currently and thus made his way towards the bus station to get to the pub.

___

"John? We didn't think you were coming?" Greg said over the noise of the Friday evening.
"I wasn't going to, but here I am." Mike walked over, carrying 2 drinks.
"Alright John." John nodded. "Do you want something?"
"In a minute." He responded. Mike sat down and John shuffled his chair round the table.
"We were just talking about Anderson." Greg said as he grabbed his drink from Mike's hands.
"Really?"
"He's been acting weird, worse than normal." Mike remarked, sipping his drink. Greg nodded in agreement and John sighed, shaking his head.
"What's he done?" Greg asked.
"Who? Anderson?"
"Yeah." John cleared his throat, pulling his sleeves of his jumper over his hands.
"I don't know. I saw him earlier and he said some stuff." John wasn't specific. They didn't ask any further. After moments pause, John continued. "He seems attached to Sherlock?"
"I've noticed too." Mike replied. "He's jealous, John. Don't worry."
"Of what?'
"Your relationship."
"Relationship?" John folded his hands on the table.
"Your friendship, John" Mike rolled his eyes.
"Do you reckon he wants in?" Greg asked with a snort. John laughed, his mouth a gape at the thought.
"Maybe." Mike said with a serious tone. "It wouldn't surprise me."
"Wait, really?" John replied, his face twisted with confusion.
"Yeah. Anderson's a strange guy. He's never explicitly said anything about it, but either he really likes Sherlock or he wants to kill him."
"Or both." Greg added. "If I were Sherlock I'd get a restraining order." Mike chortled.
"But how can he? Be attracted to him, I mean. Sherlock hates him?" John asked and Mike shrugged.
"I don't know, attraction to the mystery of Sherlock Holmes."
"Who can blame him," Greg remarked, sipping his drink "He's a good-looking guy. Not to be gay." And both Greg and Mike laughed. John smiled, shifting awkwardly in his seat. It seems as though Anderson and John had something in common.