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Stranger: Collegelock AU Looking for Sherlock
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John just arrieved at Reichenbach College. It was late summer and still "warm" weather in England. He was dressed in a knit jumper with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His jeans was old and looked too washed. But his shoes was new. With Two bags in each hand he stood out of the car. His mother as the driver. She stood out as well. John stood and let his glance slide through the campus. "Oh dear. I can't belive that you actually are standing here. College.." His mother Mrs. Watson looked at her son. She was smiling, but a little tear was hidden in her eyes. " Don't worry mom. I'll be fine" John replied with a smile. "I know.. I know.. I mean, it's just -" Mrs. Watson was disturbed by the clock. A Big clock in a Big tower. It was 3 pm. " I have to drive! If I don't leave now, it will get too Dark before I'm home. Sure you have everything?" John looked at his mother. "Yes." He Said nodding. They gave each other a big hug. Mrs. Watson entered the car. "Okay Then.. Bye John!" She waved. "Bye mom! Take Care!" John waved back. And before he knew, the car left. He turned around, facing campus. "Okay John. Here you are." He whisperd to himself. He entered the door to the building he thought was the enterance. Lucky guess. "Name?" a woman asked. "Watson. John H. Watson." The woman looked through her computer. "Room 221b. Next!" John left the lady, and was ready for the adventure. Well, just finding his dorm felt like one.
You: Sherlock didn't even bother to look up as the door opened. He was busy; Einstein's Theory of Relativity was face-down on the bed next to him as he quickly scanned through Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time. Someone was talking. Not important. Not relevant. Quite like the book he was reading. He'd make a point of deleting it as soon as he was finished, but his professor had pressed him into reading it. Boring.
Stranger: John opened the door to the room. He quickly glanced through the room. He looked at the other boy. "Hi." He smiled. He put his bags on the empty bed.
You: He turned the page. Tedious. What does he care whether Aristotle was right about how the planets moved, or Newton or, hell, even Einstein himself? None of it mattered anyway. With a sigh of frustration, he snapped the book shut and slapped it down on his bedside table, disgusted. "Cosmologists," he muttered, swivelling to sit on the edge of his bed. "It's all just useless background noise," he continued, resting his head in his hands as he began to store the facts and assumptions away to be deleted. "How the planets move," he scoffed. "So tedious and dull!"
Stranger: "Boring maybe. Depending on what you are into. Not really me tho, but good to know." John replied quickly.
You: Sherlock's head snapped up, the unexpected voice ruining the delicate balance in his mind. Damn! Now he'd probably never be able to purge all that useless information! "I'm sorry?" he asked, knowing some statement of the sort was required here. "Who are you?" he asked out of habit, but his eyes had already combed the other's person for all the information he needed. New roommate, just arrived. Sheltered. Studying science, obviously, as he was staying in this building, possibly biology or medicine, judging from the slightly-battered textbook on toxic plant matter sliding from one of his bags. Not overly wealthy. Middle to upper-middle class. Boring.
Stranger: "John." He said."Watson." John lifted one of the bags down from the bed. He made sure to lift with his left arm, due to his injured right arm. He sat on the bed, sliding his phone out of the pocket, to check a text.
You: "Mmf," he huffed and lay back. It was a few seconds before he realised a response was expected. "Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself, sitting back up and pulling open his bedside table drawer in search of- Yes! Just where he'd put it. "What did you do to your shoulder?" he asked without looking at John, flicking the lighter open and picking up the book he'd been reading.
Stranger: John stopped. How did he know? How the bloody hell did he know!? He looked at Sherlock. "H - Not your business.." John murmured, sliding the phone into his pocket again. He opened one of the bags, searching for one of his books.
You: Sherlock hesitated with the book suspended above the flame and glanced at him from the corner of his eye, smirking slightly. Hit a nerve? No matter. roommate with even a shred of mystery was better than nearly everyone else on campus. Dropping the subject, he continued to lower the book until the pages caught. "Is your mother really so worried about you? She only dropped you off a few minutes ago. I'd think she'd be concentrating more on driving than seeing how her son was fitting in," he stated nonchalantly as he watched the flames lick up the book. Beautiful.
Stranger: John had an look on his face saying 'what are you doing?!' He didn't react, to the fact that his roommate was burning a book. "To your information - It's my brother."
You: "Hmm. And why is your brother so worried?" he asked, not really caring for the answer. Combustion. Stephen Hawking's theories on the origins of the universe had never been more informative. When his fingers began to ache, he dropped the burning book back on the bedside table, picked up Einstein's Theory from beside him, snapped it shut and used it to beat out the flames.
Stranger: Johns concentration was in the book. "Why would you care.." He said, not looking at the boy. He sat so the title wasn't visible. It was old but gold, if you asked John.
You: "I don't," Sherlock replied bluntly, tossing Einstein over to him. "You can have that. Completely useless to me. Time may be relative, but it certainly isn't relevant and who cares if gravity can bend it?" He glanced over at the blond boy and decided to ask him, rather than waste his own time bothering it out. "Medicine?"
Stranger: "Keep your burnt book." He tossed it back, still reading. He laid back, turning the current page.
You: Sherlock caught it and narrowed his eyes as he boy brushed off his question, irritated. He gave the stocky another look-over, but came up with nothing new. Toast for breakfast, rushed. Anxious, nervous. Wearing a jumper, despite the weather, possibly to hide his shoulder injury, possibly holds sentimental value. Old jeans. For comfort? Favourite pair? Never got new ones? Old book, well-loved. Studiously ignoring him. Annoying. "Or toxicology?" he asked, hoping for an answer.
Stranger: John sat up, closed the book and put it in the top drawer of his side table. "Since you are so curious, medicine." He looked out of the window. "You?"
You: Sherlock made a self-satisfied sound which translated into 'Hah! I knew it!' and shrugged before answering. "A bit of this and that. Chemistry, with a minor in toxicology and biomedical science. I dabble in law and languages - German and French, mostly - but science is what I'm here for."
Stranger: John came with a low sound saying 'Haha, so funny I forgot to laugh.' He looked at the pale boy. "Stop doing that." He said.
You: Sherlock, taken aback, blinked a few times before asking, "Stop doing what?"
Stranger: "The look. Stop doing that look. You are doing it again." He raised an eyebrow. "Reading me like I was one of your boring books. " He murmured.
You: "I can't help being observant, just as you can't help being painfully obvious. Though I do agree with you about the books. They are horrendous," Sherlock muttered before giving John 'the look', just to spite him. "Does it really bother you?"
Stranger: "Kinda. But pissing people off is a favorite activity of yours I guess." John Smiled sarcastic. He rose, and walked towards the door.
You: Sherlock smirked and looked away. "You figured that out, did you?" Sarcasm can go both ways. "Where are you off to?" he inquired, not really caring as John made to leave.
Stranger: "Just walking." He said closing the door after him.
You: Sherlock sighed and lay back on his bed. He was already bored. No, not just bored. He was BORED. It had been creeping up on him for a while, but John had proven a pleasant distraction, if only temporary. His eyes drifted to the bottom drawer of his bedside table and he wondered if... No. He wasn't /that/ bored. Yet. He closed his eyes and entered his mind palace. Time for some spring cleaning.
