Chemistry

Conan Doyle

"Gosh! John come and look!" Mike yelled, eyes stuck to the sight just around the corner.

John sped up, his case knocking against his leg in an uncomfortable way that made him want to leave it on the road. He rounded the corner, half jogging in response to the urgency in the boys' voices.

The boys were right, the view of the school from the end of the wide, twisting road was stunning. The school had a reddish coloured roof, constructed from a soft beige brick that looked equally like it would crumble any second and like it could hold the world on its shoulders. Growing up the face of the building were thick masses of ivy.

"Well, this is quite a school!" John managed, mouth wide open.

"Too right, Watson" came a new, lower voice.

John whipped around to see the origin of the voice, which caused him to knock into the boy behind him a bit.

"Um..hello?"

"Morning."

"How did you... how did you know my name?"

"Don't you see?"

"Clearly not, no."

Sherlock took the chance to read the boy in front of him, a young-looking boy with blonde hair, kept short in a hairstyle commonly seen in the military, his bag and clothes said middle class so he probably gets his haircut by his mother or a close relative. He has a dad in the army, why else would his mother need to know how to cut hair in that certain way? He was reserved, the anxious type, his hands constantly changing their grip on the bags and his feet restless. He had suffered an injury to one shoulder, hence the way he was hauling both bags in mostly one hand.

"Your trunk, a little J.W embroidered on the back of it. I glanced at the list of people I'd be sharing a room with." Sherlock made it clear to Mycroft that he wouldn't start packing until he'd seen the list. "John Watson it said, I figure that's you considering the fact that your friends have been referring to you as John this morning" John turned so that his entire body was facing the boy completely. "I would have called you the same but seeing as I am not your friend, it is only polite that I call you by your last name, less intimate as they say. There."

"That was... amazing." John managed, stunned by the wit and speed of the boy's inferences about him. He made it seem so easy, so obvious. But John couldn't read a single thing from Holmes. Nothing apart from the obvious parts, he was slim in this face and body, far too slim, he probably went without food for extended periods, but, he wasn't poor, no, his clothes were far too thick and well cleaned, his bag was well made and a good size. But that's all John could see.

"What do you mean, amazing?" The taller boy asked, it was evident his deductions had never earned him this kind of reaction before.

"It's just, well I've never met anyone who could do that before... know things about you without you telling them." John picked up his speed towards the school, aware that the rest of the boys he'd arrived with were now just inches away from the entrance. Sherlock blinked and turned to follow the blonde boy.

When John reached the huge wooden doors, they were already flung open to make way for the arrivals of the new girls and boys. The doors opened into an airy, cold room with a dark, polished wooden floor and the cream walls decorated with wooden cladding, raising about a meter and a half from the floor.

The room was embellished head to toe with awards, certificates and trophies for all sorts of sports competitions. A trophy acclaimed by the third year's rugby team caught John's eye. It was stored on a cabinet to the right of the room, on the wall which held the doors he'd entered through.