Like Wire (A BBC Sherlock Fan Fiction)

[three]

Proudly, John lay back: having survived five whole days of his school. Sure, the mattress he slept upon was too lumpy and the scent of damp wood poisoned the air of his room, but he knew he was sure to move out soon. He'd stuck by Anderson and Sally, they were okay - John didn't reply fit in but he needed people to rely on and they were his only option.

"John?" There was a knock on his door and an oddly familiar voice called out.

John scrambled with the door handle and managed to open it so he stood opposite Mycroft.

"John," Mycroft greeted, a quick smile lashing out onto his face.

John smiled but shifted uncomfortably, feeling slight guilt and fear due to Anderson's presentation of Mycroft's brother.

"We can move you in with your new roommate now," Mycroft informed him, checking the time on his polished watch.

"Ok, thank you,"

"Do you want to pack your things and I can take you down in about fifteen minutes?" Mycroft offered, tapping his foot impatiently, it seemed he was going to be late for something.

"Yes, that would be great, thanks Mycroft," John replied, about to shut the door.

Mycrofts eyes flicked up to John at the use of his name, he gave John a cold smile and then span around and power walked away, keeping a nervous eye on the time.

Triumphantly, John kicked at the fragile bed, knowing he wouldn't have to sleep there again, smelling rot and uncomfortably twisting from side to side.

Eager, he stuffed his belongings into his bag and swung it over his shoulders, his whole body buzzing: hoping his new roommate would be nice, that they'd get along.

John listed his desires in a muttered line to himself "I hope he's kind and funny and not a total dic-"

"John, are you ready?"

It was Mycroft again.

John bounded over to the door, "Yes, I'm ready," he confirmed. 

                                                                                               * * *

Mycroft tapped harshly against the door, which - thankfully - was not covered in graffiti.

"Go away Mycroft!" The crisp male voice screeched.

Mycroft didn't respond, just continued crashing his knuckles against the surface of the door.

"Oh my god," the boy groaned, reluctantly swinging the door open.

They stood face to face, maintaining sharp, cold eye contact. The stranger in front of him was... odd.

He had thick black curls for hair and a long black coat, even though he was indoors. He was tall with elegant posture and his face, well. It was structured perfectly, sharp and delicate cheekbones jutted out, his eyes were the concoction of green and blue, glittering manically.

"If this is what I think it is - which obviously it is - then no. You said so," he snapped at Mycroft, his eyes glancing briefly at John.

The unusual character returned back to his previous position, sprawled on his bed with his head unsupported by the mattress, lolling off the side.