Can't go back

2

When I finished unpacking I went outside to look around. We didn’t have any classes for the first few days or so, and as long as we stayed on school grounds (which included a rather wide range) and didn’t violate any school rules we could do anything we wanted.

It was just starting to turn autumn, that time when the weathers still warm but with a slight chill, especially later in the days and when the leaves start to turn orange. I went around by the lake. There were people splashing off to the one side and at the dock near the shore were several small boats. A few of these floated out near the center of the lake. Sand ran up to the edge of the lake on one side. As I followed the edge of the lake the sand became grass, then farther along the grass turned to woods lining the edge of the lake, then back into sand again. I went over to the woods section. There weren’t many people here. The woods were thick with trees and moss and plants and rocks. Only a few people were over here, most preferring the warmth of the sun and sand. I hiked back a ways to a dense part of the woods.

"Hello John." The sudden sound made me jump, almost tripping on a stray tree root had a strong hand not reached out and grabbed my shoulder. "Careful there."

I steadied myself and turned to see Sherlock standing incredibly close behind me automatically backing up a step.

"Er- Thanks. What are you doing out here?" Sherlock held up his left hand as answer and I was able to get a quick glimpse of something white burning in it. "Are you smoking? Sherlock, you can’t smoke, you’re sixteen!"

"Fifteen actually," he said, bringing the cigarette closer to his face. I snagged it from his hand and threw it to the ground, stomping my foot on it until it went out completely.

"And," I continued, "it’s against the rules, not to mention it’s bad for breathing!"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Breathing. Breathings boring." He turned to go away and reached into the pocket of his long coat, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. I grabbed his wrist to stop him. "Sherlock!"

"Look, you don’t understand! Your mind is so dull, so boring. Mine is a train, racing off the tracks, and the only thing keeping it on is this! I can see everything, it’s written on people, plain as day, and nobody ever notices, and because they don’t notice I’m the freak!"

"See things on people, what do you mean see things on people?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed before sitting down on a rock and pulling a lighter from his coat. He lit another one and started smoking before he spoke. "When you first asked me to prove how smart I was I told you about your family."

"Yeah, how did you know about that?" I usually tried to keep everything about my father secret.

"I didn’t know, I saw." I must have given him a confused look because he sighed and started explaining. "First there was the bit about being an army doctor. Your books and folders were on the shelves already. Lots of science classes. Chemistry, Biology, Anatomy. Nothing Physics though. The classes are all ones needed to become a doctor. Well, or a nurse I suppose, but if you wanted to be a nurse you could wait until uni to take those classes. You’re taking them now though, so doctor it is. You’ve got a plaid button up open at the center and your muscles are fairly well defined under that t-shirt. Nobody just wakes up that fit, so you work out. There are notes on the front of one of your binders. Your grades were suffering so you wrote them to cram in class before the test. Grades are important for a doctor, but you didn’t stop working out. That suggests you need to be fit. So, army doctor it is. So far, so obvious."

"Sorry, obvious?!" Here he was, explaining it to me, and I was still having trouble following it. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and continued.

"Your clothes and suitcase are worn, battered, faded and your clothes are just slightly small. Financial issues then. You care about the financial issues, but you came anyway. That suggests some deeper reason for leaving. You’ve got a bruise forming on your chest near your shoulder, you’ve tried to hide it with your shirt collar but it’s still there, just noticeable. The size of it indicates a rather large man, the photo suggest father."

"How’d you know about the alcohol?"

He sighed and raised the cigarette to his lips again. "Honestly John, you reek of it. Obviously it’s not you, you freaked out when you found me smoking. Besides, you look at that picture longingly, as if you wish it could go back to that. The only other possibility is a death in the family, but just looking at you, that’s not right..."

I stared at him in awe for a moment before speaking. "That was... Brilliant." He frowned as if someone saying that was impossible and I suddenly felt bad for him. It was obvious he wasn’t used to praise or people being nice to him.

"So," I tried again, "Tell me about you. Your family. Got any siblings? Friends? Girlfriend?"

He chose to focus on my last question. "Girlfriend... Not really my area."

I nodded. No girlfriend. Well at least I had learned something about him. "Right. No girlfriend." Wait... "Do uh..." How was I supposed to ask this? "Do you have a boyfriend then? Which is fine."

"I know it’s fine," he responded quickly.

"So you do have a boyfriend?"

"Nope." Right. This was getting a bit awkward...

"Right. Kay. You’re single, like me. Cool."

"John? You should know I’m flattered and all but-"

"No!" I felt my face turn bright red. "No, I wasn’t hitting on you, I just-" How do I get out of this? "I was just saying it’s all... Okay..."

Sherlock nodded. "Right. Good."

I got off the rock I was sitting on and brushed the dirt off my jeans. "Right. Well, I’m going back to the room then..." Before I die of embarrassment...