Chapter Text
He doesn't think he can do this.
The late summer heat makes sweat stand out on his brow, clutching his back one-shoulder style as his nails rake the inside of his palms. Grumbling, the blonde teenager looks again at the expensive private school building that looms before him like an austere relative, judging his hand-me-down appearance and ragged haircut. It still amazes him that his grades were good enough to be accepted. A part of him half wishes they hadn't been.
John Watson knows he's being a ruddy coward as he hides behind the solitary pine tree across the street, silently gathering up his courage to take just a few steps forward into the unknown. He had told himself he was ready, that he was desperate enough.
That his grades were finally at a level that meant he could go places.
Yet he couldn't justify anyone being of such nobility as to attend a school that looked more like a palace from where he was standing.
Like an ink stain on a purely white sheet of paper, even his new uniform doesn't make him feel like he should dare to step onto that manicured lawn. That it was insane of him to even kid himself into thinking he had a chance.
His sister's voice sounds in his head tauntingly. Harry's booming tones are easy to replicate, her boldness even in imagination forcing John's back to stiffen and jaw to harden.
Coward! Show the rest of 'em rich kids what your made of!
He can picture her strawberry blonde head now, peeking out from behind the school door and gesturing impatiently at him.
It's enough for him to dare to take a step forward.
And so,
John Watson steps out from behind the pine tree and into the morning sunlight, the rays reflecting his hair and turning it into platinum.
****
Inside, the school is just as impressive. Cold and stoic statues stand like porcelain guards at either side of the foyer, and John's shoes squeak awkwardly on the mosaic floor. He thinks he hears a fountain burbling somewhere nearby.
Jesus Christ.
Trying not to gape like a commoner, her unslings his bag and pulls out the map again, overlooking it to try and find where the hell the main office is.
All he can make out is a rough outline of what should be the stairs in front of him when there's a slamming of a door overhead on the second floor, followed by harsh shouting.
John looks up just in time to avoid being buried under a showering of dirty clothes as a basket is tossed angrily over the edge, the culprit pushing it aside for better escape as they run down the hall. Behind them there is a fierce shout and then
“Dammit Sherlock get back here!”
He sees a gangly figure expertly leap over the railing, sliding down as fast as he can. John catches an impish smile, dilated eyes and dark curls as he's brushed past, shoved down to the ground rather unceremoniously. The dark shape of a trench-type coat flies back like a cape around the teens legs. He's fast, lithe like a cat on its' toes.
“You're gaining weight Mycroft! Need to lay off the cheesecake!”
He notices John then on the ground, grin turning larger. It's the kind of smile that warms his entire face, lighting up his clear blue eyes and making his pale features seem even sharper than they already are. The young teen would call it wolfish, if he could think past the realization that the boy in front of him is as high as a kite.
His pupils are dilated to pinpoints, and he can't seem to stop moving. His eyes flick over every which way and he mumbles under his breath like an addict. Except there is an awareness to him that doesn't suit an addict type. A light in those irises.
“Sixteen. Middle-child. Commanding sister. Never done drugs. Military type. Takes good orders. Honest-type.”
As he resumes his break-neck pace, the blonde youth blinks and knows that the boy has described him in just a glance.
Then he hears pounding steps on the tiles and he whips his head around to prepare for another assault.
This time, John is ready and moves out of the way of the older boy. He's actually wearing the uniform over his shorter build, unlike the curly haired youth now turning a corner. His face is round and pink with anger as he slows down, gripping his chest and growling out
“I'll have you expelled and sent back to Mum! I swear on my life!”
The venom in his words is filled with years of pranks. Years of dealing with trouble. It holds a weight that would be almost scary if the boy's cheeks were not so red from exhertion.
John stares in open shock as the young man pants, straightening and adjusting his collar agitatedly. His blue eyes flash as they look around and for the first time notices the ruffled blonde teenager sitting on the floor, clothes strewn all about him like a sad homeless man.
His eyes are cold.
Like frosted glass as he stares John down.
In them there is a mild disgust at the pale youth's state as he re-aligns the cuffs to his wrists and smoothes himself out like a ruffled chicken.
He gets the feeling that his gaze misses nothing as they take into account his hand-me-down clothes, freckles and not-quite-there peach fuzz on his chin.
Turning bright red, John finds that he is unable to look the older boy in the eyes.
Without introducing himself, his voice sounds orders like a seasoned general.
“Main office is down the hall. I apologize on my brother's behalf John Watson.”
Then, without offering him a backward's glance, he chases down the hall, re-focused on his attempts at capture.
It's so abrupt.
He didn't even offer to help clean up the mess that has been made all over the foyer.
It takes a moment for John to realize that what just happened was real.
That he's now responsible for clothes he didn't even own.
Sitting on the floor, it occurs to him blankly that he had never given the older boy his name.
What kind of school have I gotten into?
He wonders to himself.
Getting up to his feet, he folds the clothes distractedly before he puts them back into their basket.
The grin of the dark-haired boy that flashed him a wickedly handsome smile fills his mind as dazedly he turns, taking himself and his bag to the office. His cheeks feel hotter than normal, and he just hopes that his face isn't too flushed as he finds the office woman smiling at him and telling him all about his timetable.