Sigma Eta

Life Is Wasted On Good Manners

"Number one, I would like to impose a curfew. This house is our home, gentlemen, and to avoid it by enjoying yourselves some other place is disrespectful to its true purpose. Each one of your parties, your lovers, and you homework extravaganzas can occur someplace in this house. Use it for what it's meant to provide, and in doing so develop better relationships with your brothers. To enforce this comradeship, I insist that each member be back by ten o'clock on school nights, and midnight on Fridays and Saturdays."
"What if my girlfriend has her own room? Can't I sleep over there some nights?" Tobias asked, shooting his hand up but speaking before he was addressed. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, though he allowed him his attention for that brief moment.
"What part about curfew do you not understand? If you would like a love nest in the corner of the basement I will help you drag a mattress, but otherwise I expect you back in your room no later than the times allowed." Sherlock insisted. Tobias winced, as if he was not expecting such hostility, and let his arm fall back at his side where it belonged.
"Now then, second point. I would like us to have family style dinners on Sunday nights, to celebrate the week passed and look forward to the week ahead. This will also help unify our brotherhood, and teach you all some valuable life lessons in the kitchen. We will begin a list of assigned chefs, three per night, and together they will prepare a meal for the whole house." Sherlock announced. John thought on that for a moment, catching Greg's eye and squinting a bit hesitantly. As great as it sounded to get premade food, certainly anything these frat boys made would not compare to what the dining hall had to offer. And cooking for a whole house...well that wasn't going to go very well when it ended up being his responsibility.
"And lastly, I would like to address the pledging situation. I personally know nothing about how fraternities recruit, and so I would like to leave that up to some of our more experienced members. James, perhaps, might be in charge of the process?" Sherlock suggested. James perked up, having been leaning very heavily on his elbow and fading in and out of concentration.
"Yes, yes I would be honored." He agreed with a grin, nodding his head anxiously to which Sherlock gave a smile of appreciation.
"Wonderful, wonderful. But James, I do have one tiny request. I do not want to see them, nor do I want to meet them. In fact, I would appreciate if you kept the incoming class out of the house entirely." He suggested with a small, almost regretful smile. There was a murmur of disagreement, though John knew better than to speak out loud.
"But Sherlock, you're our president." James protested. "And this...well it's the joy of fraternities! The house is a major selling point."
"I don't care much for newcomers, especially when they don't yet know their place. You may tell them all you like about the house and about me, but considering neither will be...oh what am I saying? Of course the house will be here. Silly me. I will not be here when they come of age. So what use is it to speak to me?" Sherlock chuckled. John looked up abruptly, catching onto Sherlock's choice of words as if it was a hook dug into his skin. Neither will be here...and it was so unlike Sherlock to misspeak. Everything he said had meaning, did it not? And he was always many steps ahead.
"What are you going to be doing to our house, exactly?" John wondered, at last easing the ice pack off of his lip to make speaking a bit easier. Sherlock rolled his head along his neck, cracking it along the way as his eyes settled with that predatory look, the one which activated John's fight or flight response.
"Nothing of course. A slip of the tongue, Mr. Watson." Sherlock debated. John hummed his doubt, settling the pack back onto his swollen lip and keeping his attention fixed upon their new President. He didn't trust a word that Sherlock was saying, for he was seeing the pattern in each one of these requests. He was bringing the brothers together under the guise of friendship and brotherhood, though his true intention was that of alienation. To corral them all together inside of the house he was growing their dependence, not only on each other but on him, until at last the group couldn't take a step without asking for Sherlock's assistance. He was clever, was he not? He was making their house a ship on stormy waters, deeming himself the captain and his brothers the crew. Soon they were not just going to be under his command; they were going to be his followers, his soldiers, his lovers. They were going to blend more and more into the will of Sherlock Holmes that they may not emerge from this house under their true identity, not until they were able to shake off every lasting impact he had on their souls.