Sigma Eta

All In Favor?

The next was a list, a list unearthed from the mess of documents with a handful of illegible signatures signed within the blank space beneath the header. Sigma Eta Chapter Meeting, it read in bold letters at the top, and there were pens scattered about the end table so that each brother could take his turn signing his name. John had always thought this to be a silly formality, they took roll call to ensure that each brother was present, and no one looked at these sheets anyway. He was sure that as soon as he signed his name the paper would be shipped off right to the garbage bin, to be forever forgotten. All the same, John took up a pen and scribbled his name under the masses, looking about the circle of chairs so as to find one that was available. Greg was still a little bit upset with him, though he was taking a very catty approach to his anger. Instead of talking it out like a reasonable adult he had decided to keep his grievances to himself, making John start to wonder if he even had anything to be properly upset about. Perhaps he was just holding a grudge because he felt like it would pass the time, and when he at last was confronted about the crimes against him he would not be able to produce a single one. All the same, Greg had sat himself firmly between two of the other junior boys, perhaps with the intention of making sure both seats next to him where taken. It was no matter; John just shuffled over to an open seat in the far left of the circle, sinking down into a metal folding chair and trying to look as alert and saintly as possible. He needed to make sure that Greg couldn't be angry at him, he needed to make sure that he was totally unaffected by this misplaced silent treatment. When at last all of the officers had taken their seats, Sebastian in the middle surrounded by his various appointed vice presidents and secretaries, the meeting began with a ringing of a shrill, ancient bell. James held the bell, being the secretary, and waited until it stopped ringing to at last allow the President to take over the conversation. This had been the tradition since before John could remember; perhaps created when the frat had first opened its doors, and forever more would the bell ring to announce the beginning of their meeting. This would be the first formal meeting held by their new president, and frankly John was very interested to hear how it might proceed. In years past they had usually taken this time to share their newfound gossip or argue over sports teams, though under Sebastian's serious rule they may find themselves talking actual funding, or perhaps their next bout of volunteer work. Oh it was just as he feared, as soon as Sebastian opened his mouth he began to talk numbers, even pulling out a piece of notebook paper and discussing possible fundraisers they could support. Each frat was tasked with a justifiable purpose, and of course this had to branch into some sort of volunteer work around the community or the nation. Unfortunately clubs could not gather around the idea of just having a good time, and so the Sigma Eta brothers had pledged themselves to the local soup kitchen. Every year they would go down to help, perhaps throwing in a fundraiser or two so as to donate some money towards the cause, though it was never something they did religiously. John always knew it was something more of a formality rather than an actual pledge, though this year it would seem that Sebastian was highly enthused with the idea of helping the soup kitchen renovate its stove tops. He went on and on about the benefits of the new technology, and just as soon as he began to delve into a possible fundraising option there was a harsh interruption, one that was not entirely expected during a closed chapter meeting. John was happy to hear it, though Sebastian's face went stark as he heard what was unmistakably a knock at the door. Sebastian's voice faltered, though as he scanned the small crowd that had fathered around him he seemed to realize that they were not missing anyone, and consequently not expecting anyone. The person at the door, whoever it might be, would surely go away with due time. Though as soon as Sebastian opened his mouth to continue there was another knock at the door, this time a bit more aggressive than the last. Evidently whoever was at the door knew better than to assume no one was home.
"Who is that, the census taker?" one of the secretaries joked, though Sebastian's face grew evermore stern.
"They'll go away." He assured, trying to restore order to his now distracted audience.
"What if it's the mailman, with a package?" suggested one of the younger boys, someone who looked as if they might be expecting something important.
"I don't think they knock twice." John inputted, to which some of the boys nodded in agreement. There it was again, a loud knock from an unyielding fist, the urgency of a visitor that would not diminish with time. John was beginning to worry that whoever it was at the door would not so easily be stopped by the sound of silence; perhaps they would soon come to the window and knock against the panes until they were noticed. At last the knocking became too much, and Sebastian took to his feet.
"Everyone stay here, I'll get rid of them." he instructed, looking around towards all the boys who were stirring uneasily, wondering who could be so urgently on their doorstep. Perhaps it was campus security, and they were all in trouble? Or perhaps it was the police, trying to warn them about a loose felon? John could hardly bear the wait, and in the end his curiosity got the better of him. Together with about six other boys, all of who were feeling the same suspicious pull towards the entry way, he crept towards the doorway and peered around into the foyer, watching as Sebastian pulled open the door to shoo their visitor away. Well, out of anyone that John expected to be on the doorstep, Sherlock Holmes was just about the last. It wasn't as if his presence was a bad thing, though considering he had only appeared on a Saturday night with the rest of the campus his appearance on a Tuesday afternoon seemed all together out of place. Surely he had no real business, unless he knew of the meeting today? John could hardly contain his gasp, though thankfully Sebastian's ears must have been focused entirely on one subject and he did not turn around to face his unwanted audience. His face grew red, his fingers tightened on the doorknob, though it seemed as though he could not force a word of protest at his unforeseen visitor.
"Hello Sebastian." Sherlock said with an air of pleasantries, as if he wasn't aware of the interruption he had caused. John couldn't tell if this was the first meeting between the boys or if Sebastian had known of this stranger before. His immediate reaction alluded to some sort of past conflict, though unless they had encountered each other in the brief time that Sherlock was loose in the house and Sebastian was not tending to Greg; well he couldn't imagine how else there would be a connection. John had never personally seen Sherlock around campus, though that didn't all together exclude him from the academic buildings. Perhaps he was a senior, sharing some classes with their president?
"This is a private meeting." Sebastian said firmly.
"Exactly why I am here. I love privacy." Sherlock chuckled, his eyes sparkling with some unappreciated humor as Sebastian's teeth clenched. "May I come in?"
"No." Sebastian said firmly.
"Excellent, thank you." The boy responded, touching upon Sebastian's shoulder and encouraging the president to take a step to the side, widening the entryway and opening the door just a little wider. This left space enough for Sherlock to step inside, and while Sebastian looked like he was trying to keep down a mouthful of fire he never made a move to prevent Sherlock's entrance. He stood still as a stone, and so Sherlock merely strolled inside.
"I love the way the foyer looks in the sunlight, oh compared to that grisly party it just looks so homey." Sherlock commented with a breath, stepping around the carpet in a circular motion as he observed each and every detail of the décor, now visible in the afternoon sunlight. John and the other boys, now exposed in their hiding spots but unconcerned, stared at him with wide eyes. They weren't sure how to comprehend a boy who could defy Sebastian so easily, there seemed to be a power stirring within this stranger that none of them could properly comprehend.
"Sherlock, what is your business?" Sebastian asked at last, stepping away from the doorway as if to confront their visitor but looking all together timid, like a dog who was heeling towards an owner who carried a whip. Sherlock paused in his admiration of the room, focusing all of his attention now towards the President and giving a rather radiant smile. John clutched his fingers tighter on the doorframe, feeling the effects of that smile cut through his body like some strange radar. There was a certain submission that was demanded with such a smile, such a powerful presence. Even Sebastian couldn't hold off against him for long, the anger that was so prevalent in his face was diminishing; he was beginning to look more frightened than anything.
"My business is just the same as yours, as anyone's here. I would like to be a member of your fraternity." Sherlock admitted at last.
"Rushing does not begin for another month, and you'll have to be accepted." Sebastian insisted.
"Accepted, yes? Accepted by the common pool." Sherlock agreed, spinning on his heel now and looking towards the group of boys who had now convened within the doorway, each one of them staring wide eyed at their visitor. It didn't seem as though anyone had a protest against Sherlock's arrival, in fact they all seemed to share the same admiration that was stirring within John.
"Don't need presidential approval." Sherlock muttered under his breath, at last taking a step towards the boys where they were standing stone still, entranced. He smiled, and as if someone had manually tugged upon their lips each one of the boys smiled in response. Even if they weren't happy, even if they were still lost in their confusion, each one managed a wholesome smile, one from their heart and nowhere else. John smiled; John nearly fell forward at the boy's feet. He felt helpless but to do anything more.
"What do you say boys? I don't feel the need to wait a month if I have such a supportive collection! What do you say?" Sherlock wondered, looking around towards the eager eyes that were straining to get a better look at him. Each one of them was compliant, each one bursting with their eagerness to allow his arrival.
"I say you can join!" John said at last, feeling the need to declare his excitement and loose the tension that was building within his heart. He stepped forward, pushing away from the crowd and joining Sebastian and Sherlock in the foyer, looking up towards the beautiful stranger with admiring eyes.
"You say yes, Mr. Watson?" Sherlock confirmed, reaching out a hand for John to take. He took it, gladly, and clutched the soft fingers between his own two hands in an anxious sort of way.
"Yes." John agreed again, marveling in the way Sherlock's skin felt upon his own. He was entranced, this boy seemed to have cast a spell on him with was unlike any other influence he had ever felt. If Sebastian didn't accept Sherlock into Sigma Eta he felt as though he would have to usurp the presidency just to assure it.
"As do I!" piped in another boy from behind. As soon as the second voice had called out each other boy submitted his opinion, each one calling out for Sherlock's approval and stepping in to surround Sherlock with their affection. Before long each boy had collected around him, all except two. Sebastian still stood firmly and angrily at the door, and Greg had not yet moved from his metal folding chair in the living room. He was facing away from the boys, almost unaware of the situation unfolding behind him. Perhaps it was a sort of spite that kept him immobilized, that or he had fallen asleep during the meeting and had yet to be awoken by the commotion. Either way he did not pledge his approval to Sherlock, though his ignorance did not count against the newest member. There was a unanimous vote, each one of the boys calling for Sherlock to be inducted as one of their brothers. It was still John with clutched his hand, though now Sherlock was standing to address each one of his friends, looking around at the crowd and attempting to catch each one of their eyes.
"I thank you for your support." He said quietly, at last pulling his hand away and stepping to face the President once again. "Sebastian, I'm sure you have heard? The vote is quite favorable."
"Favorable is a matter of opinion." Sebastian grunted, not able to bring his eyes to meet Sherlock's. Instead he was staring towards the carpet, seething. There was something awfully pleasurable about seeing Sebastian so upset, his power stripped away by an unexpected rival. The man who thought himself on top of the world, now so helpless that he could not control the boys he once ruled.
"May I join your meeting?" Sherlock asked at last.
"The meeting is adjourned." Sebastian snarled, and with that he slammed the front door shut in his rage, the bang echoing against the walls and complimenting each one of his powerful footsteps as he stormed up the staircase, each flight, towards his bedroom. The boys could hear when he reached it, for there was another door slam that announced his final departure. While John felt quite like cheering he knew that a celebration would get him in trouble with his president, and while he felt as though the power had shifted he knew that he was still under the control of Sebastian Moran, however absent. And so he merely kept his applause to himself, wringing his hands together and fulfilling his ever growing need to stare at the boy who had become his living idol. And why was Sherlock so attractive to him, why could he not summon the motivation to look away? Well, that was a question that went long unanswered. It was a phenomenon of obsession, one that would not be so easily stifled with common sense. 

 From that moment on, Sherlock Holmes was a regular face around the house. Even when the meetings were not called he could be found within the living room, or in the kitchen, or just wandering the halls at his heart's desire. He seemed to find substantial comfort by being around the house, for when he had fallen into one of the living room couches or was camped out in one of the homework desks he seemed perfectly at peace. And this peace was strangely contagious, for when Sherlock felt an emotion it seemed to spread like a contagion. When he was relaxed all of the other boys felt quite at ease, when he smiled they smiled, when he laughed they echoed him. They had yet to experience his anger, though that was a problem for a later time. They had yet to experience a moment when Sherlock Holmes felt anything other than content, and as of now they were not yet prepared to witness it. Oftentimes John would lie awake in his bed, listening to the sound of Greg snoring (the only octaves he ever seemed to hear from the boy these days, considering their confusing feud was still very much ongoing) and the footsteps that were pacing up and down the hallways. Sometimes it was a single arrangement of steps, as if one man was strolling up and down the carpets, but other times the footsteps seemed to multiply, as if one footfall became many and the single visitor became a large group. John never thought to question the footsteps, for the house was filled with many things, and before long the familiar sounds began to lull him to sleep at night. That ever-present rhythm, the stride which never varied, stepping back and forth along the carpets as if it was spanning the width of their doorway, it had become something of a nighttime melody, as appreciated and expected as was the hooting of the owls in the trees outside or the occasional noise of a passing car. And suddenly it began to seem as though the entire house had fallen into the same such rhythm, before long each one of the boys began more and more drawn to the house, more and more obedient to the rules and to their expectations. Chaos diminished, parties began to grow less frequent, even talking began to stifle. Each boy was so content within his own space that they took to sitting alone in their armchairs, staring within the empty space and relishing with the interests of their minds. It was a peculiar style of compliance, though John was sure that each one of the boys had never felt quite so happy. All at once the arrival of Sherlock Holmes seemed to put a blanket over each one of their shoulders, allowing them to feel the warmth of the outside world like an individual sunbeam. He was a presence that was ever appreciated, and as time wore on it was soon noticed that he was a presence that never seemed to go away. John was in the house a lot more often than usual, leaving only for classes and meals, and yet he realized that each time he was inside of the house it would seem that Sherlock was too. The boy didn't even live in the Sigma Eta house and yet he never seemed to leave, present in one of the armchairs when John woke in the morning and smoking off the back porch when John went to bed. He was a strange being, sparing his words only for those of motivation and of wisdom, and what he did think necessary to share always drew quite the crowd. The familiarity of his baritone drew the boys like bees to nectar, and the longer he continued to talk the more of a crowd he was able to draw in. On some occasions he would go off into a long talk about things which fascinated him, such as humanity and nature, and before long the entirety of the fraternity would be collected around him, mostly sitting on the floor like children listening to a campfire story. John found that he could listen to that voice all day, a voice that was like music to his ears. On most occasions the boy would speak what could only be poetry, sweet words and beautiful phrases that made your heart glow, even if you couldn't all together understand it. Though there were times when a particular darkness would fall over him, and even if he was still in the most gleeful mood he would slip out an occasional statement that was rather dark and foreboding. Though whatever was said could be laughed away with a little whistle, Sherlock could merely forget he had ever said such a thing and continue on with his delightful tales. He was a force, a being of power that could not be wholly comprehended. John never wanted to ponder what Sherlock was doing in the house; he never wanted to think about where Sherlock went in the days, or if he ever went anywhere at all. He didn't like to think of what didn't make sense, he didn't want to focus on things that could stir his heart and darken his brow. All John knew right now, all he was allowed to know, was that he was happy. Peace had prevailed, and they had welcomed in a presence that would assure only contempt. The world was a beautiful place, made brighter by the presence of their new brother, and that was all each of the boys needed to know right now.