A Universe of Possibilities - Teenlock/Johnlock/Mystrade

Chapter 10- Halloween Night

"What should I read next, John?" Sherlock asked, out of nowhere. He spoke so randomly, in fact, that a startled John slid his pen across his paper mid-sentence, ruining his English essay.

John sighed and turned his desk chair toward his friend, who was hanging upside down from his bed and looking quite bored. "I don't know, Sherlock. I'm out of recommendations."

"Come on, you must have something!"

"I've already given you every novel I own."

It was true. After finishing the Harry Potter series, Sherlock was forced to conclude that fantasy novels were  fantastic, and quite good at helping him forget about his problems for awhile. And since goodness knows he needed that at the moment, he had taken to borrowing books from John to read in his spare time.

Sherlock groaned. "But John, I'm so booooored."

"Well I wish I could help you Sherlock, but I really need to work on this essay." John said, reaching beneath his desk for a fresh piece of paper.

"You haven't finished it yet?" Sherlock asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"It was assigned to us yesterday!"

"Yeah, and I finished mine during her tedious lecture about the book I read when I was six. It was really quite simple–"

"Oh bugger off, Sherlock!"

Smirking, Sherlock sat up at last, his face warm with the blood that had rushed to his head from being upside down for so long. As fun as it was to be a smart arse just to annoy John, he knew that it'd be more polite to give his friend space while he was doing his homework. Because he cared about being polite now, for some reason.

Well, of course he knew the reason.

"I'm going for a walk," Sherlock said.

John grunted in response, not looking up from his homework, so Sherlock was able to stealthily grab his pack of cigarettes from John's dresser before slipping out the door.

It was Halloween, and a quarter past six in the evening, which meant that the majority of his fellow students were at dinner. Sherlock was glad to be able to walk through the halls without the annoying sound of whispers and people scattering to avoid him.

In the week since Sherlock had been blamed for the assault of Viktor Jacobsen, the boy's usually sharp mind had been quite scattered and unfocused. All he could think about anymore was how nearly everyone in the school was convinced that he was a bloodthirsty psychopath. Add this to the fact that he still wasn't speaking to his brother, AND that his confusing feelings for his roommate hadn't gone away, the young genius could hardly focus on anything, let alone trying to deduce Moriarty's next move.

Sherlock sighed in frustration as he continued wandering the hall with his eyes on the ground, hardly looking where he was going.

Until, that is, he walked right smack into another person, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

"Agh!" Sherlock cried. "Watch where you're–" but then he saw.

It was Mycroft. But he was hardly recognizable. His eyes were puffy and red and his face held greater sadness than Sherlock had ever seen in his brother.

For just a moment, he forgot that he hated him. "Jesus Mycroft, are you alright?" He asked, offering a hand to help him up.

But Mycroft, evidently, remembered. His eyes changed from despondent to hate-filled in a millisecond, and he smacked his brother's hand away. "I'm fine! Why don't you watch where you're going, prick!" And he had stood up and stalked away before Sherlock could think of a comeback better than I know you are, but what am I?