His Majesty, The Queen

Authentic American Entertainment

"Well don't you look dashing?" John teased, turning his attention onto Sherlock as he did up the last of the buttons on his shirt. Just as promised the boys were all wearing some lame looking suspenders, toweling off their hair and hiding it all underneath very low hanging caps. They did look rather, well rather rebellious. Sherlock couldn't think of a better word to describe it, as they certainly wouldn't pass as real gangsters but they probably wouldn't be left alone in a general store. That must be the look that girls liked these days, if they were going through all of the trouble.
"And you boys look like train robbers." Sherlock agreed with a grin.
"Ah, just the look we were going for. Did we not mention we were going to the tracks first, to get money for drinks?" Greg chuckled.
"These days I wouldn't be very surprised." Sherlock admitted with a sigh. "Americans are as unpredictable as they come."
"There's just one thing, Sherlock. One thing we could fix on you to make you fit in a bit more." John decided at last, walking up to Sherlock and taking hold of the buttons on his shirt. Sherlock dared not breathe too heavily, for at the moment John was so close that too heavy a breath would cause his chest to collide with John's outstretched arms. Certainly that would be too much intimacy, at least in the full view of Greg and Mike. John undid the top button of Sherlock's shirt, pulling away to make his chest a bit more viewable through the purple fabric.
"Only prudes button the top one." John pointed out.
"I thought we had all agreed upon the fact that I am a prude?" Sherlock pointed out a bit haughtily, to which John merely grinned playfully.
"Well then tonight's the night to change that, ya? Certainly no girl wants a boy that keeps his clothes on the whole time." John teased, tapping Sherlock's chin and going on to grab his shower things from where they sat on the bench. Sherlock really couldn't think of a proper response to that, or at least not one that would come across as polite. He wanted to call John out on how disgusting of a comment that was, and yet by the time he opened his mouth they had all made their way out the door and had promptly forgotten about Sherlock and his insecurities. And so he followed obediently, back to his room where they all seemed to collect without ever agreeing upon it. Presumably they found Greg and Sherlock's room to be the most entertaining, or perhaps the most comfortable. Either way they all sprawled out on the beds, making themselves at home.
"Can I take your picture, to commemorate the occasion?" Sherlock wondered, pulling his camera out of the desk and holding it up hopefully.
"Have you ever developed these pictures, or are you just stock piling them without any real purpose?" Greg wondered, obviously remembering Sherlock's first occasion to take a snapshot.
"Well of course I'm going to develop them, when I find the time and means to do so." Sherlock assured quietly, though he had to admit that he hadn't even remembered to do so. It seemed as though this school had no use of a dark room, nor of any photographic equipment.
"Alright then. Boys, let's look good." John decided, pulling out a comb from his pocket and throwing his hat down on the bed. He then got into a rather ridiculous pose of pretending to slick back his hair, all the while Greg pushed a cigarette into his mouth and Mike snapped his suspenders. They looked like a great group of heathens, though Sherlock chuckled as he took the picture, wondering just what Mycroft would think when he received such a ridiculous photograph in the mail.
"Very nice." Sherlock muttered, shaking his head with some disappointment as they all regained their usual composure.
"Why don't we take one of you, ya? To prove to your brother that you're actually participating in all of this?" Greg suggested, grabbing the hat off of his head and forcing it on top of Sherlock's curls. He then handed Sherlock the cigarette, swapping it for the camera without much consent.
"Now be careful with that, it's very expensive." Sherlock insisted, though his words were rather wasted.
"Don't you worry Sherlock, we'll be gentle. Go ahead boys, join him." Greg insisted, pushing Mike and John into the frame as well. Mike gave a rather weak thumbs up, all the while John put his arm around Sherlock and pulled him into a very awkward half hug. Sherlock managed a smile, and Greg quickly snapped the picture, before they all dissolved once more.
"There you go, now your brother will think you're cool." Greg assured.
"But surely, Sherlock, you're not smoking? He'll get you for that for sure." John chuckled, plucking the cigarette from Sherlock's hands and giving him a great grin before putting it between his lips and lighting it happily.
"We best be off then, nearly nine o'clock." Mike announced as he slid his pocket watch back where it belonged on the chain.
"Yes, yes it's time to go." John agreed anxiously, collecting the last of his things before starting towards the door excitedly. All of them seemed to have a great skip in their step, which wasn't entirely helpful considering that this was now something of a covert operation. Sherlock didn't know much about hall security, though he knew that the curfew was coming up soon. Perhaps it would be more relaxed on the weekends, though he was still very fearful of what might happen if they got caught. They certainly weren't dressed for an evening of homework, that was for sure. And if he was expelled the consequences would be most severe, as he would be shipped off into the English military to face his death at the end of a German's bayonet.
"Is it very far?" Sherlock whispered nervously, to which Greg merely shook his head reassuringly.
"Not far, it's at Mary's house which is just over a mile from the school." He assured, tiptoeing carefully down the main set of stairs in hopes that no one would notice the small group passing through at this time of night.
"That's pretty far." Sherlock muttered, though his words were quiet enough that no one seemed to notice. That, or they didn't care to respond. Thankfully their path to the secret door was safe, and they were not bothered by any lingering monitors or pestering students who felt the need to interrogate. The door was just on the other side of the entry way, down a set of stairs that seemed only to lead to janitorial closets and electrical boxes. John pushed open the door and grabbed a rock that was lying just outside, a rock which bore the markings of having been used as a door stop for many long years. The boys all shuffled out into the night, which proved to be a bit chillier than Sherlock had imagined, and when they were all out safety on the grass John shoved the rock in between the door and the wall, allowing it to be open ever so slightly, just enough for the boys to pull open upon their return but still slight enough so that it would not draw attention to itself, nor would it produce too strong a breeze.
"Alright then, it's just through the woods and down the road." John announced, though Greg and Mike had already started in a light jog in the direction of the woods.
"Hold up, we're to run there?" Sherlock exclaimed. "I thought you said it was over a mile!"
"Oh don't tell me that you haven't got any legs? Come on Sherlock, it'll help your stamina, and your build. You need some more muscles on those bones, or you might never get a woman at all." John warned, pulling Sherlock by the shoulder down towards the woods as he started up his pace at a casual yet exhausting pace towards his friends.
"Now don't leave me behind!" Sherlock exclaimed, though he began to jog just as slowly as was needed to keep the boys in sight. Surely he'd be a sweating, stinking mess when at last he arrived to the party. What was the use of their showering if they were going to go and exercise some more? Surely these boys didn't know the first thing about hygiene, nor about self-preservation. The woods proved to be a lot darker than Sherlock had hoped, and when at last they reached the edge they began to run like deer through the beaten trails, hoping over roots and ducking from branches, and all doing this as if by memory alone. There was hardly enough light to see by, and thankfully had vision good enough to make use of what little moonlight was provided. It was all very adventurous, and many a times his foot caught a root and made him stumble, or he'd run into a small tree with an unceremonious thud. Thankfully his friends kept him close through the more treacherous parts (once where they had to jump a river, and they all had to hold Sherlock's hand and catch him on the way over) and at last they broke through the forest and back onto the main road. Sherlock understood of course why they could not just go running down the main road for the entirety of the journey, as surely someone from the school would notice their escape and be on their trail in no time. No, the woods were a safer bet, with more danger of snakes and branches than headmasters and expulsion. Thankfully once they reached the road they slowed their pace, until at last it was just a rather powerful speed walk over the hard dirt. Sherlock was thankful for this, as he really didn't want to arrive at the party out of breath, and right now he was heaving as if he had just run a marathon. Well in fact it did feel like he ran a marathon, as his legs were sore and his head was spinning a bit, in retaliation for daring him to move a little faster than usual.
"Sherlock you sound like you're close to death!" Mike exclaimed, dropping back as leader of the pack to make sure that Sherlock wasn't going to pass out.
"Well of course I am! I haven't exercised since...well I haven't exercised at all!" Sherlock insisted in a whining little voice, as if he found this terribly inhumane.
"Coach Sholto is going to have a field day with you." Greg giggled, to which Sherlock frowned in some discontent.
"I have no intentions of doing that, either." He defended with a little hiss.
"Well then you'll be late to every party from here on out, we'll let you find the way yourself." John decided with a shrug. "We'll come and collect you from the woods the next morning, starving and alone. That is, if the bears don't get you."
"Bears? There are bears in there?" Sherlock exclaimed in a little whimper, huddling a bit closer to his company as if they would be any reasonable defense. He had heard of the ravaging beasts of the colonies, heard at least that they were much more common in the states, roaming the woods hungrily in search of prey. Certainly a skinny little Brit wouldn't make for a good meal, though he was sure bears would take what they could get...
"Yes there are, big ones too. But we don't have to be worried about them, not anymore." Greg assured.
"And why's that?" Sherlock wondered nervously.
"They'll surely catch you first, and forget about us before long!" Greg laughed, clapping Sherlock powerfully on the shoulder before continuing on down the road, chuckling periodically as if he was ever the more proud of his little joke. The house veered into view along a street of other docile little homes, all decorated with American flags and potted plants. This was very much how Sherlock had imagined a domestic street, and yet there was one house which stuck out from the rest like a sore thumb, and that surely was where they were headed. At this hour of night most all the houses were dark and quiet, as if their occupants had retreated to the television in their back room, or perhaps even turned in for the night. Though one house had most every light on, top to bottom, glowing up like a gigantic jack o' lantern. Music was pushing its way through the open windows, exciting dance music that got the boys moving even out here in the street. The front porch was another telltale sign, as it was crawling with teenagers of all sorts, girls and boys dressed in their best party outfits, usually with a drink in their hand, and sometimes locked in each other's messy embrace. It all sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine, not only with the intimacy of it all but surely with the obviousness. If the police happened to be monitoring any street in town, well surely they would be drawn to this one! This, which was basically a beacon of illegal teenaged behavior!
"This is the spot." John announced excitedly, doing a little spin on the sidewalk as he heard already the leaking music.
"This is much too obvious." Sherlock muttered nervously.
"Don't you worry; Mary's father is very high up in the city ranks. No police man would ever think of getting his daughter, or any of her friends, into trouble." Greg assured.
"Yet one phone call to Moran, and we're all doomed." Sherlock warned.
"Well that's why we blend in, ya? That's why we don't wear our uniforms." Greg reminded him, taking him by the shoulder and steering him up and towards the house. They walked up onto the porch, trying to avoid eye contact with any of the couples who had retreated here for peaceful and romantic solitude. Sherlock kept his eyes down, and made his way into the house without noticing anything immediately except the interesting pattern of carpet. When at last he raised his eyes he saw much of what he had been expecting, the scene of an outrageous party that he was pretty much repelled by. People were everywhere, stuffed into this very nicely decorated house as if they were sardines in a can. They were drinking in the kitchen, making out on the couch, playing beer pong atop the dining room table. Music was playing from somewhere and the living room had been made into a dance floor, with kids crammed around and attempting the most modern jigs. Every so often a couple would leave the couch and run hand in hand up the stairs, presumably to change to a more private location to get even friendlier with one another. A shiver of dislike ran down Sherlock's spine, and for a moment he almost didn't want to process all that was going on. A great part of him just wanted to curl up into a ball and hide from the crowds, for just as soon as he walked in he got a terrible feeling that all eyes had settled upon him. This was unrealistic of course, as most people were still minding their own business, yet he still felt as though someone in the crowds had their eye on him. 

"John!" exclaimed a very feminine, very relieved voice from somewhere in the crowd. Before Sherlock could process anything a blonde girl had flung her way out of the crowd, jumping up onto John and smashing her face into his for a very violent, very desperate kiss.
"That's Mary." Mike explained, noticing how repelled Sherlock was by her urgency.
"Yes, I figured." Sherlock agreed, as he was sure no other girl would have the audacity to jump at John in such a manner. At last the girl peeled herself from him, draping her arms around his neck so at last he could have the means to say hello.
"There's my angel, as beautiful as always." John muttered happily, pressing a quick little kiss onto her lips before steering her around to meet his friends. "Mary I want you to meet Sherlock, he's from England originally, come to Mazarin because of the war."
"Oh how fascinating! I hear England is a lovely spot for vacationing!" she exclaimed with a large grin. Only now could he get a good look at her face, and he would be a fool if he denied her beauty. She was a very pretty girl with long blonde hair flowing around her face in flattened curls, as if at one point they had been styled but had long since given up to her wild party behavior. She was glowing with youth and with enthusiasm, and her smile was near blinding as she tipped over onto John's chest with the effort of standing up straight. She had one too many drinks, presumably.
"Well not this time, unfortunately." Sherlock muttered, thinking to the bombings that were happening just about every night.
"Oh surely not now, no. But once that war has fizzled out I'm sure I'll get to London before another one breaks out." she said with a little giggle, to which Sherlock could only manage a scowl.
"You say that as if wars are mere trifles, and that men's lives aren't on the line." He commented disapprovingly, to which Mary allowed herself a quick little giggle.
"Oh did I?" she wondered, still beaming carelessly from ear to ear. Sherlock looked over to Mike, who seemed just as unimpressed as Sherlock felt. Surely he couldn't like this girl, not after how blatantly she dared insult the European nations?
"John come and get a drink, you look disappointingly sober." Mary commented without further discussion, steering her boyfriend away towards the kitchen, where he was met with a great round of cheers from a great many people.
"Well she's um..." Sherlock began, looking towards Mike a bit weakly and hoping that he could fill in the blank without having to call for profanity.
"Ya I know, we don't really like her either." Mike assured with a sigh, though he looked terribly preoccupied as well, searching the crowds for his own love interest. Greg had already disappeared; Sherlock was able to catch a glimpse of him already dancing in the living room with a pretty brown haired girl in his arms. Oh his company was fading fast, was it not? And soon Sherlock would be alone without any support, alone and forced to interact with these American kids...
"Do you want me to introduce you to some people?" Mike offered, seeing that Sherlock was becoming increasingly uncomfortable due to the large crowd of unfamiliar faces.
"If there's anyone you think I'd like." Sherlock agreed hesitantly, for with just a sweep of the crowd he could only assume he wouldn't like a single one.
"Certainly, you know let's just follow Greg's hunch and go and find Janine." Mike decided, starting his way over to the kitchen, to which Sherlock could only follow obediently. He didn't want to meet Janine, for he was standing true by his oath off of a girl, though he knew that he might have to get desperate pretty soon. And if Janine would be willing to talk to him through the night then certainly he would have to be introduced, even if she really did sound like she had been breathing helium.