And All We Need of Hell

Chapter 1

John Watson leaned against the balcony railing and stared down upon the empty street below lit by the pale glow of lampposts. A hum of idle chatter drifted out of the open doors. John couldn't remember whose house this was or whether they attended Paddington Academy or not. It was just another party, just another chance for his rugby teammates to get drunk and hit on girls and bask in the limelight. John had to get away from it all. Even when he was standing amongst the crowd, one of the most well-known and well-liked kids at school, he felt terribly lonely.

He looked down at the smudged phone number written on the back of his hand. The girl had been nice enough, but after a long string of shallow, unsatisfying relationships, John wasn't eager to jump into another one. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and took a deep breath of the cool night air. A slight breeze ruffled the petals of the fragrant flowers clinging to the marble columns and wafted their subtle scent up to the balcony. John allowed himself to enjoy a moment of peace, dreading having to go back inside.

An airplane passed overhead. John looked up and watched its path through the starlit sky, and that's when he noticed. Someone was standing at the very edge of the roof.

John was on the fourth floor, but he saw there was a way up to the roof on the fifth. The highest window led out onto a widow's walk, and part of the roof angled down, providing access up to the ledge overlooking the ground below.

The boy on the ledge was standing with his arms outstretched. His eyes were closed, and angular features of his thin, pale face were illuminated in the lamplight. Dark curls fringed around his forehead and his ears and the nape of his neck, and the boy's lips were slightly parted. John was aware by now that he fancied blokes as well as girls, but this was first time he found himself thinking, God, that's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

After a few seconds of awestruck silence, John gave himself a little shake and remembered why he was up here. Holding his breath, John walked up behind the boy slowly with one hand outstretched. He didn't reach out to touch him, but he kept one hand a few inches from the boy's coat tails in case he accidentally startled the poor kid and sent him flying over the edge.

John cleared his throat and muttered, "You alright, mate?"

The boy didn't move. "Yes, I'm quite alright, thank you," he said shortly.

"Um, well do you mind if I ask what you're doing up here?"

"It's an experiment," the boy responded. "I'm just imaging what it would be like taking the leap, feeling the air rush past me as I fall, the sudden impact when my body hits the ground."

"Right, yeah," John said, growing more concerned. "If you're done now, could you step down from there? You're making me nervous."

At this, the boy opened his eyes and glanced down at John. "Why do you care? Most people would pay good money to see me jump off a building." The low rumble of his aristocratic voice struck a chord inside John.

"I guess I'm not most people," John muttered.

"No, you're not." The boy finally stepped down from the ledge took a seat in the corner. He lit a cigarette with slender fingers, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on John's face. He didn't have to study him for very long before he said, "So you're up here for the same reason I am, then?"

"What reason is that?"

"You're bored."

John looked the other boy up and down again and realized he'd seen him at school before. This was Sherlock Holmes, the kid that could tell your whole life story just by looking at you, the kid that everyone talked about, but nobody spoke to. Except when they called him a freak, of course, but that was because they could see how inhumanly brilliant he was, and they hated him for it. John, though, was entranced by him.

Sherlock took another drag from his cigarette. "This is nice. I don't often have the luxury of saying very much without getting beaten up for it. That's a lesson I learned in primary school. Dannie sometimes listens, but I'm not always sure whether she can hear me or if she's having another one of those temporal lobe seizures. She tries to hide it sometimes, pretend it isn't happening."

John furrowed his brow. Who's Dannie? he wondered. His girlfriend? Then he stopped himself. Why would that bother him?

Sherlock sighed and tapped the end of the cigarette. "The poor girl has probably shut herself in the coat closet again. You wouldn't think it, but going to these things is always her idea. She thinks it's good for me to get out. We have to show up an hour late once everyone's sufficiently inebriated so that our presence goes unnoticed, but it makes for very interesting deductions. Of course eventually she wanders off and leaves me on my own in hopes that I might find someone else to talk to."

John smiled. "Well, it seems like you have."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Sherlock slowly exhaled a ring of smoke and muttered, "Are you going back inside soon?"

"I don't know. Why? Do you want me to go?"

Sherlock shook his head, "It's just... I should probably leave soon. I never stay at these things for very long, and I need to get Dannie out of here... and, well..."

"Well what?"

"I don't make a habit of asking people for favors, but I'd like to make a clean exit. I've made it through most of the night without drawing much attention to myself, and I want to keep it that way. If you go in ahead of me, no one will notice Dannie and me heading for the door, not when they see John Watson walk into the room."

"You know my name?"

"Of course I know your name." Sherlock snuffed out the cigarette on the ledge and jumped to his feet. "So how about it then?"

"Sure," John muttered. "Ready when you are."

Sherlock followed John down the side of the roof to the fifth story window. John kept glancing back to make sure Sherlock was still there. The music had been turned down, but the gaggle of teenagers on the first floor was now louder than ever. Sherlock stayed ten steps behind John on the staircase and paused for a moment near the landing before dashing through the crowd towards the coat closet. John watched Sherlock rush by as his teammates drew around him at the center of the room.

"There he is!" Anderson shouted over the commotion. "Where'd you run off to mate? I was just talking you up to that Sarah girl."

"I just stepped out to get some fresh air," John said, feigning a smile.

Sebastian elbowed him in the ribs. "Well she's a sure thing anyways, eh Johnny boy?"

John wasn't listening. He was staring over the shoulders of the people in front of him and watching Sherlock as he reached into the coat closet and pulled a girl out of the dark depths. She was a tiny thing. Her big brown seemed to take up half of her small, pale face framed by long blond hair with subtle tones of honey and copper. What stood out the most, though, was the scar. It ran from the corner of her forehead down the bridge of her nose, dashed left across her cheek, and then slanted down towards her chin. It looked like the lightning scar from the Harry Potter books, except it took up half of her face.

Sherlock guided the girl across the room, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders in a brotherly sort of way. "Come on, let's get you back to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson will start to worry soon."

"You should check in with her now and then," Dannie piped up in her small voice. "She worries a lot about you too, you know."

"She's your foster mother, not mine," he murmured. "I get enough concern from Mycroft. He's probably sending a car for me now as we speak."

"Hey, John, what're you staring at?" Anderson said, waving his hand in front his face. "Christ, how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"I'm fine," John muttered. He continued to watch as Sherlock made his slow progression towards the door, stopping every few seconds to shield Dannie from the occasional flying object.

When he finally reached the exit, Sherlock glanced back at John, who gave him a small nod. Sherlock shot him a quick smile, though it seemed more like a nervous reflex than anything else. Then he raised a hand and gave an awkward little wave. If anyone else had been watching, they would have been shocked. It wasn't something Sherlock normally did.