Dwindle

Chapter Seven

Sherlock would have been fine to never speak to his dimwitted housemate again, but Dr. Watson had a different idea.

He was sick and tired of the screaming silence that hovered between him and the younger man. John had not asked Sherlock again what his injuries were from and now, two weeks later, the bruises were fading. And so were his original questions.

But he was tired of avoiding the boy.

He was tired of acting like he didn't care. It was exhausting. So he decided to do something about it.

Sherlock was in his usual spot on the couch when John walked into the room. The younger man made no move to hint at whether or not he noticed the doctor. Perhaps he hadn't.

But John held his tongue, looking at the boy's features.

The dark bruises that had plagued Sherlock's chin and mouth now had faded to a light purple and the scabs around his lips had healed to just a shadow of what they once were. Except for the scowl on his face, he looked much better.

"Are you just going to stand there, gawking like an idiot, or are you going to tell me what the hell it is you want?" Sherlock didn't even blink as his bored words easily filled the silence of the room.

"I uh..." John rubbed the back of his neck, "uhhh..." He was never at a loss for words. Why now? "Coffee." He finally spit out.

Sherlock looked over, an annoyed expression on his face, "What about coffee? Can't you even speak, professor? Or are they hiring any idiot off the streets these days?"

John's face turned bright red and his eyes darkened as he glared at the boy. His voice, however, remained calm, "Would you like any coffee? I just made some."

Sherlock looked back up at the ceiling, "No."

"Suit yourself." John mumbled as he left the room.

He was usually pretty good with words. Why did they seem to leave him whenever he was near the young man.

He didn't know.

And he certainly didn't want to find out.

-----------------

The two men continued to avoid one another until circumstances forced them into each other's company.

It was Thursday, exactly 7 weeks after Sherlock's first day of school, and he had to attend the Basic Meds class. He would have been fine skipping it, but he was already fed up with his brother's nagging and knew that it would only increase if he skipped Dr. Watson's class.

The class was scheduled to take place every other Thursday and Sherlock had managed to skip the last two classes with some weakly made-up excuse. But he knew that he could only push his brother so far, so he had decided to go.

He managed to get to the medical building a few minutes early and slipped into the already filled class unnoticed.

Sherlock took a seat near the back just as John Watson stood up at the front and cleared his throat loud enough to quiet everyone down.

"Good afternoon, class." Said the man, a smile on his face.

A chorus of "Good morning Dr. Watson" filled the room in response.

Sherlock studied the man - he had nothing better to do - and was surprised at the smile on his roommate's face. Sherlock had never seen John smile, and to be quite honest, it wasn't an unpleasant sight.

"After attendance, I would like everyone to have out their textbooks and turn to page 128. Here we go." He cleared his throat, "Tim Arden."

"Here."

"Lynn Asander."

"Here."

John called several more names and most were present.

He then called Sherlock's name and looked up in surprise when he heard the younger man's reply.

"Here."

"Sherlock, it's​ a pleasure to finally have you in class." John's eyes were wide, but a small smile played on his lips.

"Did I have a choice?" Sherlock mumbled and a few people snickered around him.

John's smile grew a little wider, "I suppose you didn't. It's a pleasure nonetheless." He looked back down to his clipboard and continued, "Molly Hooper."

The girl sitting next to Sherlock raised her hand and gave a meek, "Here."

"Oh, Molly?" John looked up, "Could you please give Sherlock the notes from the last two classes? Thank you." He continued before the brunette had time to respond.

"Jim Moriarty."

"Here."

Molly leaned over to Sherlock and whispered shyly, "When would you like to copy my notes?"

Sherlock was immediately annoyed with her for assuming he would need to copy anything, "I don't need your notes." He whispered back.

"But Dr. Watson said-"

"I don't need your notes." He reiterated, the annoyance clear in his voice. Molly sat back in her seat with a carefree shrug, determined to not let Sherlock see her embarrassment.

"Fine. Suit yourself." She replied.

"I usually do." He mumbled.

"What was that?" She asked with an eyebrow raised.

"Nothing."