A Study At Bullimore

6

The next morning, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had already woken up and left? John doubted it, and tried to suppress the bubble of anxiety in his stomach with a cup of strong tea. He wasn't sure why he cared about Sherlock, but he did, and his roommates abrupt comings and goings put him on edge. The least he could do is let him know what he was doing. He knew Sherlock didn't owe him that, they weren't friends after all.

John shuffled downstairs as quietly as he could. It was still early, and he wouldn't be popular with his peers if he woke them up every morning. He had got into the habit of waking up before 6 when he was a child to catch reruns of Columbo, something Harry had shown him, much to his mother's dismay. She believed it wasn't appropriate for a young boy and, whilst she was probably right, the memories of sitting with Harry on the carpet were some of his fondest from that time. There weren't many people milling around the downstairs. Anderson was sitting alone on the sofa, whilst another man was curled in the chair nearest to the fireplace. It was quiet, and John reveled in the silence.

"Alright John." Greg said in a rough voice. He had followed closely behind John and was clearly feeling unwell, the disheveled sight of the man had made John laugh. Greg was still wearing his pyjamas, as well as a pair of worn slippers that slapped dully against the wooden floor.
"Alright Greg? You're looking a bit rough." John smiled, thoughts about Sherlock quickly forgotten.
"What? Yes. I'm fine. I'm fine. Just need some water." Greg gestured to John that he needed a glass, so John stepped away from the cupboard and instead rested himself by the fridge.
"Are you coming down to breakfast?" Asked John, purposefully loudly. Those already downstairs turned to John, and Greg looked up with annoyance on his face.
"No, I don't think so. Neither is Mike." John smiled to himself again as Greg filled his glass at the fridge.
"At least it's Friday!" Returned John, trying to put a positive spin on his new friend's hangover.
"That's one way of looking at it." Returned Greg as he took small sips from his cup
"Well, what's the other?" John enquired.
"Tomorrow is rugby try outs, which means another early morning." Greg put his hand to his temple, clearly pained by the thought of an early rise once again.
"What time?"
"8:30." Replied Greg, downing the glass and walking away, waving backwards as he did.

John played rugby at his old university. Surprisingly, they had a ruby team, despite the only thing that could be called a pitch being a small square of green, fenced by tall grey flats either side. He wasn't bad either. He was on the team for 3 years, and rugby captain of the B squad for 1. But this was a good university, John realised, there was no way that he'd get on the team. The people here had been playing rugby in a decent team, with a decent coach. Maybe he would try? He decided he would see how he felt in the morning.

Teacup in hand, he pushed open the dorm room door before almost having a heart attack. Sherlock saw John's startled face and smiled chaotically, his mouth closed, and lips stretched upwards.

"Hello John." He said in a cool tone.
"Where the hell have you come from?" John asked, placing his cup on his desk as he shut the door.
"I've been here for the last 4 minutes."
"Right. I didn't see you come up."
"I'm good at being quiet when I want to be." Sherlock articulated. The atmosphere suddenly shifting.
"I'll keep that in mind." John replied in a low tone, sitting on the bed.

Neither man said anything, they simply looked each other in the eyes. John wondered how long they would stay like this, frozen and looking at each other. He wasn't complaining. He rather like the way Sherlock looked. His hair was falling in messy black curls, fluffy and windswept. Sherlock still wore the white shirt from the previous day, as well as black trousers. They had light mud stains on the cuffs. Despite looking ragged, he somehow managed to still look good. Sherlock did not seem to be resistant in holding his gaze, it seemed more like a challenge.
There was a knock on the door. Both the looked to it, before Sherlock turned back to John and raised his right eyebrow. John cleared his throat and picked up his tea, pretending to be fixated on the inside of the cup whilst Sherlock lay back on his pillow and crossed his hands behind his head.