A Study In Us

~Chapter 1~

It had been an awful day. It was like all of East Feic High was against him, all of London even!

It had all started in Chemistry, when Mary, his striking lab partner, mis-read the instructions, causing poor John to put four ML's of Calcium Chloride into their hot, bubbly mixture instead of point four. Of course, just his luck, it exploded.

Yellow, steaming goop rained down on the table, ruining their experiment. And their grade for the day.

"Oooh," Mary had cooed. "My bad, looks like we needed point four ML's of Calcium Chloride." For the first time that day, John felt the need to strangle someone.

Then, as if Chemistry wasn't enough, in his after school rugby practice it had started to rain. Hard. Normally they didn't mind the rain, actually the contrary, it made the whole team feel at ease as the played, pushing each other down into the mud and puddles.

And that's exactly what happened, they all came into the locker rooms giddy and caked in sludgy mud all over. John had it particularly bad, running all the way up his arms and a huge patch on his left knee, dripping down his leg. Of course, that wasn't the problem, the problem was that the bloody showers wouldn't turn on. All except for one, which was barely going and piping out freezing cold water.

The whole team had to wait for the boy in front of them to finish. John was second to last in line. In a team of 22 players. Each taking about a three minute shower. It was over an hour until John was finally clean, dressed and dry.

Greg, the team captain, slapped him on the back on his way out, chuckling loudly. "Great job today, Watson, sorry 'bout the mud!" He called down the hall as he walked out of the school, leaving John all alone. Or so he thought.

John huffed, grabbing his backpack and stuffing his rugby uniform into his cramped locker as he made his dissent down the hall. Half way down he stopped mid track, ears tuned to a sound so elegant, and so light, that he almost couldn't move. Violin.

It was so compelling, like a siren's song, that it drew the blonde-haired boy towards the sound. John took gentle and silent steps down the hallway, careful not to alert the musician. His wet hair stuck to his forehead as he rounded a corner, coming closer to the peaceful sound.

John stood at the doorway of the room where the music was coming from. Inside stood a tall and slender brunette, a violin resting in his hands as he stopped playing, placing his instrument down on the table. He turned around lightly, surveying John with judgmental eyes, a lock of his deep brown curls falling on his forehead, before he carefully tucked it away.

"Rugby practice finished an hour and a half ago." He stated, looking the shorter boy up and down.

John nodded, taking a step forward to lean on the inside of the doorway. "I know. Are you a fan?"

The tall boy chuckled, gathering up his sheet music. "Not in the slightest. I could just tell."

John pursed his lips into a tight line and furrowed his brow, looking up at the mysterious boy. "How?"

He smiled, obviously happy with the question. "For starters, your hair is wet, damp rather, stating that you indeed washed it, but there's been a bit of time between then and this encounter, I presume to gather up your things. Though short, you're well muscled and have an obvious tan, natural of course, for at the bottom of your collarbone it gets lighter, something that wouldn't occur if you were artificial, but would if you wore a uniform often outdoors, gaining a distinct area where the tan cuts off. You also don't seem in a hurry to get anywhere, meaning that you most likely don't have any solid events set around this time frame. Why? Because you have rugby every day, of course. Though since you are so late I assume the showers were broken? All but one. Quite cold too, seeing as your pupils are still dilated, either that or you're very taken up by me, which is highly unlikely. You also live alone, yes? For its half past six and you've been here since school ended and any parent, decent or not, would have called to see what the matter was for you staying late, or at least texted, which would cause you to keep your phone on hand, which it's not, probably tucked in your backpack somewhere, which you haven't unpacked at all today. Any mistakes?"

John stood there, dumbstruck, before snapping out of it. "No, none. Amazing." He said, handing the boy the intricate sheet music that laid next to him.

The boy took the music gingerly, looking shocked, obviously not used to the compliment. He smiled cockily, tilting his head and grabbing his stuff. "It is, isn't it?" The brunette walked right passed John, making his way down the dimly lit hallway, John eagerly followed, having to jog to keep up with the boy's long strides.

"Wait!" John called to the boy as he neared the door. "What's your name?"

"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." And with that, Sherlock was out the door.

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Hello! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, I certainly enjoyed writing it! My apologies on its length, kinda short, but eh.

~FangirlsObsession