Dorm 221B: Teenlock Fanfiction

Part One: Chapter One

The broad shouldered boy led John through the long, straight corridor of the dormitories. John still couldn't believe the size of the school. So many classrooms, dorm rooms, staff rooms. It all made his head spin. His uniform was tight fitting and the blazer was making him itchy, though he fought to ignore it. He wasn't the type to go to a fancy boarding school. He was the skinny boy with the straw coloured hair that you found hiding at the back of the playground because he was too scared and didn't fit in with anyone. Although he tried to tell himself that those days were long gone and that here he was beginning anew, he couldn't stop the old doubts. He shoved his hand into his pocket, gripping his mobile phone tightly. He was tempted to make some excuse to get away so he could call it. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "So where am I staying again, Mr Lestrade?" he asked nervously. The older boy turned to him, with an expression one might wear when looking at an alien creature. He had dark brown hair, which looked like a brush had barely scraped the surface this morning. Otherwise, his appearance was neat and respectable, his gold prefect badge shining in the rare summer light that poured from the windows. "Just call me Greg."

"Oh, sure," replied John, feeling rather embarrassed.

"What kind of school did you go to before, if you had to call other students by their last name?"

"Nothing like that," John reassured him. "I just thought, since this a really fancy school, and you're a prefect that ..." he let the rest of the sentence break off, realising how stupid it sounded. John waited for Greg to laugh at him or to throw him a look that said get-away-from-me-you-creep, but much to John's surprise, he laughed a low, genuine laugh. "Don't worry. Things here aren't as bad as you think they are. Well, I suppose you haven't met your room mate."

"My what, sorry?"

"Don't worry," smiled Greg. "Now you asked where you were staying. Firstly, the dorm toilets are the last one down the hall to your right. And this," He pointed to a room, a few door down, "is your new home away from home." They approached the door and John stared vaguely at it for a moment. The wood was coated with a stylish black lacquer and silver numerals adorned the door. For a heartbeat, John panicked. What if the school work was too difficult? What if he didn't make any friends? What if he wasn't allowed to stay? What if his roommate had a contagious skin rash? Then he closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "Welcome," Greg said, turning the polished handle and letting the door swing open, "to Dorm 221B."

The room itself was remarkably plain, with an old, faded, maroon wallpaper that cover the walls. The room was a mirror image of itself. On each side there was a single bed, beside which was a small reading cabinet. Further along was a middle sized wardrobe that would be perfectly suited to store his possessions. In the centre of the room a large window was partially open, allowing the warm summer breeze to drift in. Not that John could take in much of this, as his view was greatly skewed by the enormous amount of books. They were everywhere. Great volumes were packed in tall piles all over the floor and sat atop every available surface. It was because of these, that it took him a few moments to notice the presence of another figure in the room. A thin, curly haired boy that sat atop the bed to the left, his eyes moving swiftly over the pages of a large book. He wore his school shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, his top button undone and his tie hung loosely around his neck. "Sherlock," started Greg. "This is your new roommate, John. Do try to be nicer to him than you were to the last fellow." The boy on the bed looked up at John, with an expression of extreme disinterested. "Erm, hi there," John started nervously. "Nice to meet you."

"Hi," replied Sherlock, before returning to his novel.

"So, should I just put my things over here?" John asked, to no one in particular. He headed to the bed on the right but halted as Sherlock said, "I don't think so."

"What's the problem, Holmes?" asked Greg, aspirated.

"You know I work better alone. I don't do roommates," he told Greg firmly. He looked over at John briefly, "No offence."

"No ... none taken. But why are you so sure you wouldn't want me as a roommate. I'm quiet. I keep to myself. You'll barely know I'm here," stammered John, not sure what to make of the situation.

"Really?" asked Sherlock, "despite your claim you will, infact, be a highly irratating roommate. You are new, so without a doubt you have questions and it will fall on me to answer them. Very tedious and I'd rather not. Those marks on your fingers; you take clarinet lessons, which unless you are brilliant will make for a very painful experience. You keep reaching for your mobile phone so there's someone you want to talk to, probably a relative. You're moving to a boarding school, but judging from the state of your hair you don't live to far away. Which is rather odd if you live nearby; either your running away or being sent away from home. Given the cost of school fees, the later is more likely. Therefore I can't imagine you'd have a healthy relationship with your parents. It's more likely a sibling. But that sibling is not here with you, so either they are much older than you, much younger than you, or something as happened to them. Going by your eagerness to call them I'd go with the latter. That will make for a very long and dull conversation. I'd rather not be present for your domestics."

John blinked. He hadn't even noticed his hand slipping into his pocket for the phone. "Wait, I'm sorry, judging by my hair?"

Sherlock gave him a bemused look, "Yes your hair. It's been raining in most cities outside of London. If you'd come a long way, your hair would still be wet."

"That's brilliant ..." breathed John, amazed by the accuracy of his predictions, forgetting for a moment that they were meant to keep him out of the room. He looked to Greg to see if he was at all impressed, but going by his expression, he had seen it all before. "Look, you have to wait a week before you can lodge a complaint. Those are the rules. Try and make it work and go from there." Sherlock rolled his eyes but nodded. "Come with me John and I'll show you the rest of the grounds before you unpack." John nodded hastily. He shifted a thick novel entitled, 'Pride and Prejudice." He straightened up and followed after Greg. Once the door was closed and had travelled a few doors down, he spoke to John in a serious voice, "If I were you, I would be lodging that complaint next Monday morning."