The Book Keeper ~ BookStore AU ~ Johnlock

A/N:

ayeee

Hello Unusual, TUF here! (who else?)

I feel like writing a short, so this'll only be like four chapters long. I probs shouldn't be writing cause i cant seem to keep up on ANY OF THEM (blame school)

but here it tis

(P.S, John is my not-the-first-move one here (crazy bc it seems eVERYONES FICS ARE JOHN IS LIKE THAT) and ye

fluff

bai noa *awkward wave* *backs into dark ally*

(Sherlock and John and pretty much all the characters in this story belong to BBC. I do not own anything besides the plot! Thank you and happy reading!)

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John sighed and tapped his foot. He glanced up at the clock.

4:26.

He had four more minutes until he could escape the Book Store.

He loved working here, it made him feel more free. As a child he was never able to be himself, what with his forceful alcaholic father and all. But as a 25 year old, he was allowed to do as he pleased.

He got up and lanced over to the messiest section.

Science.

He sank to his knees to put everything in its correct order. He began to organize it by the letters of the alphabet when he heard a frustrated cuss from the other aisle.

John jumped at the sudden noice causing him to hit his head on the shelf above him, for he thought he was all alone in the welcoming book store.

"Uhm- doing okay over there?" John asked trying to hide the wavering in his voice due to the stupid shelf.

He stood and attempted to peer over the tall book cases which was no use, but hey, it was worth a shot.

John walked over to the other side of the long towering wood shelving to find a very tall man with black curly hair standing at the very end.

The man was clutching his hair frustrated, looking intently at the books.

John walked up to him, and once he was close enough he looked up at the man and asked, "Can I help you, uh, sir?"

The taller man, looking around the age of 20-24, turned on his heels and peered down at John.

He grunted and opened his mouth.

"John Watson. Age 25, telling by your height and facial distinction. Came home from a war. Cause? Well, maybe you were shot in the arm? Leg? No no -- torso." He stopped for a moment to point slightly at the spot where John had been shot. "Causing them to force you to come home to London. Home? Well, who said it was home? After you came back from the war you did not know where to go. Parents home would seem most reasonable - but no, you decided to never go back there. Ever. Why?" he stalled.

The man circled around John then returned to his original stance.

"Father, thats why. You have the slight smell of beer on your sweater and I can see scars and bruises on your wrists and a slight one on your neck, which you're trying to cover up with your collar."

John looked up at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

"That was..." John stammered. Sherlock half closed his eyes leaving them a slit, bracing his arms in front of him steering back a bit, for a punch and kick like he normally got in some way.

"That was... Amazing!" John finished, smiling brightly as his coffee eyes sparkled.

The man in the long trench coat was dumbfounded for the first time in his entire life. "What?" He asked.

"That was amazing!" John said smiling even wider up at this mysterious man.

"Really?"

"Really!"

"W-well... That's not what they usually say."

"Oh?" John slightly tilted his head, his smile slowly fading. "And what do they normally say?"

"Piss off." The man smirked slightly.

John chuckled and closed his eyes while doing so. Once he collected himself he asked: "So, what're you looking for today?"

"Advanced chemical experiments."

John looked confused now, looking from the shelves to the man. "Uh- I don't think we have that... but I can see if you'de like?"

The tall man shugged. "I suppose."

John rolled a ladder over to where he was standing and climber it, browsing the selction muttering each title under his breath.

"Ah." He finally said, grabbing a leather coated book from a shelf.

"Here we are- will this be okay?" John asked.

"Yes."

"Okay."

The two walked over to the counter and John scanned the book.

"And what's your name?" John asked, looking up from the computer to the mans eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah. Alright- nice to meetcha then Sherlock." John smiled. "That'll be 3.05 pounds."

Sherlock put the money on the counter and John put the book in a tan paper bag. He handed it to Sherlock.

"Come back soon!" he smiled and waved. Sherlock smiled a genuine smile -rare! Lucky John.- and walked out.

Just as soon as he left he stuck his head back in the door and John turned to look at him again, and Sherlock left him with a wink before leaving- this time for good.