A Past Ignored- Johnlock & Teen!lock

Roomates

Hello there!

Oh my, it's been a while, hasn't it? I'm really sorry, but it was only after a few saves did I realise that this chapter wasn't saving, so I had so do it again! And I'm also a lazy fuck.

Wouldn't it be so nice if I was one of those really dedicated authors who always post their chapters regularly and can write brilliantly all the time? Well, too bad, you've got me instead. Sorry.

Well, while we're here chatting, what do you think has happened? Why was there a fire in John's room? How is Sherlock guilty? Comment your ideas WITHOUT CHEATING, and see who gets it closest! I really want to hear what you guys think! :D

Also, thank you for all your positive comments, I really enjoy reading them! It makes me really happy to see that people are enjoying a story I started from scratch, and has gotten bigger than I ever hoped it would! Maybe one day, once I get my act together, I'll be the new MrRedHat, and this will be the new A Study In Boredom with like, a gozillion votes. Until that day my friends, until that day.

Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone now. As long as you have just commented. Otherwise when I die I will come back as a ghost and haunt you. Actually, I won't, I'm not that mean.

Or am I???

Enjoy.

...

John's POV

I sighed, dragging my oversized, and slightly charred trunk into room 221b.

Sherlock had failed to tell me before my room was burnt to a crisp, that he regularly snuck into my room while I was in lessons to perform his experiments, then quickly packed it all away before returned again. He had also forgot to tell me that he left on a Bunsen burner on whilst he visited to football field, which, incidentally, had been the cause of the fire, which had lit up half of my belongings.

This had me ending up in the Headmaster's office, being accused of stealing and misusing school equipment, and had been questioned on the several lethal acids and animal organs that they had found untarnished on my bedside table. Being the kind and practically life saving person I am, I took the blame for my friend, and excepted the weekly detentions until the end of the year.

After that, there was the subject of my room. Firstly, most of my stuff, including nearly all of my clothes, now resembles a small pile of ash. Luckily, I still had all the things I had in my trunk, which had surprisingly withstood the flames, including necessities like my phone and pyjamas and such. Although it seemed unnecessary at the time, I'm now overwhelmingly glad that I packed some extra clothes with me, although I had yet to check what items I'd actually bothered to bring.

Secondly, I was dumped with the choice between moving into either of my neighbours rooms. Well, even though I was still pretty furious with Sherlock, I'd pick him over Mike Stamford any day. I don't think I'd survive sharing a room with Mike, sorry. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I prefer Sherlock's company.

Now here I was, uselessly trying to drag my trunk inside 221b, which seemed to get heavier the harder I tugged at it. But I eventually made it inside, painfully aware that someone was watching my every move, and I finally turned to look at him. I was surprised to see Sherlock didn't look guilty in the slightest, despite how his expression on the football field, and this simply annoyed me even further.

Scowling, I turned back to my trunk, heaving it over to my makeshift bed on the floor, composed of a spare mattress and some old blankets that the school managed to provide. I didn't even feel guilty that it took up almost all the floor space anymore. Taking a deep breathe, as if I was steeling myself for some monstrosity to crawl forth from inside, I fling open the lid to my trunk.

...

No no no no no no! This isn't happening!

I could have sworn I packed extra clothes! I desperately dig through the small collection of junk I had left inside, most of it memorabilia, although I would have traded it all for at least one pair of underwear. Of course, I remembered to pack my phone, which I barely even use, just not my bed clothes, which I was most sure was there!

What was I going to do now, all my other clothes were burned! I've only got the ones on my back, but even they need to be sent to the school's launderette soon! I am so screwed!

I swear repeatedly, hopelessly throwing things over my shoulder, as if I was hoping that if I emptied the whole trunk, fresh clothing would suddenly appear, which of course grabbed the attention of Sherlock, who peered at the lack of attire in the container. I sit back on my haunches, defeated, waiting for him to say something along the lines of 'I guess I underestimated your stupidity, John'.

Much to my surprise he actually said,

"You can borrow my spare uniform."

Although he said it like he had nothing better to do, I was taken back by the offer hugely, and I momentarily forgot that I was extremely angry with him.

"Really?" I ask, offering a relived smile. I don't care what people say about him, or that he recently burnt down my room. Sherlock Holmes was actually a very good friend. Thinking about this made his words earlier, whether thats what I heard or not, ring clearly through my mind.

"I love you, John."

I couldn't help but notice that a small part of me hoped that really was what he said.

He shrugged indifferently, avoiding my eyes slightly, embarrassed.

"Did you not hear me the first time?"

I suddenly realise that this was probably a big thing for him. A self-proclaimed (high functioning) sociopath, who was so snappy and arrogant when I first met him, going out of his way to help someone, with no personal gain whatsoever. I had heard stories about him, tales of how cold and bitter he was from the other students, and although I think they are probably over exaggerated and not entirely trustworthy, there is certainly a layer of truth to them. Some of the less hateful pupils, such as Mike Stamford have even told me how much he has changed since I had arrived. I can't help but want to continue, to knock down all of his walls to reveal the true Sherlock, to help restore his humanity.

I swiftly pull him in for a hug, which he tentatively returns, probably grinning like an idiot, although I honestly didn't care.

I want to be the one. I want to be the one who saves Sherlock Holmes.

...