Dorm Rooms Are Boring

Sherlock was taken aback by her blocking, causing him to be off guard when her other kicks and punches were almost expertly executed on him. He was furious when she managed to make contact with his neck, making him splutter for a few seconds as he tried to shout 'illegal hit' at her. He was reading himself to strike back when the booming voice of their coach echoed through the hall.
"HOLMES!"
He paused, casting a glance over to the fuming giant of a teacher who stormed across the hall to them. Giving Irene one last glare he spun on his heel and made his way out of the gym as quickly as possible.
As he marched to the changing room he tried to tell himself that leaving was the best thing to do- the coach was beyond mad at him, Irene was still smirking at him and the whole club watching them fight. He'd been humiliated. Slumping down on the bench he realised that despite the dent in his pride, he'd enjoyed the fight. She was quick, clever and a lot stronger than she looked; a brilliant opponent. But he knew now he'd never get a chance to challenge her again, and that beyond anything else, that was the most infuriating.
He grabbed his bag and stalked back off to the dorm to look for John, maybe the case and an afternoon snooping at the museum would take his mind of the whole event- although to be honest he really doubted it.

John was sitting in the armchair poring over the deadly dry tome that Sherlock had fished out of the library when Sherlock appeared looking displeased about something.

“Hi” he offered.

There was a red mark on Sherlock's neck he noticed. Sherlock held himself to very high standards and liked to succeed at everything so John ignored the mark and avoided asking how the Baritsu class went. If Sherlock wanted to tell him anything he would and it was always best left to him to open any such conversations when he was ready.

((Huh...? what happened with the Sherlock-meets-naked-just-showered-Irene-after-training plan?))

Irene jumped a little at the scream of their coach, but quickly restored her playful expression. She was surprised that he yelled Sherlock's name instead of hers. She was the one who had cheated.
She didn't want Sherlock to leave. That had not been her intention! She enjoyed their fight more than anything in school. She knew the coach was angry with her too, but was careful not to bee too dramatic. He didn't want to lose the only girl in the team.

When the training was finished, the boys went in to change first and then she did. She undressed herself and without carrying a towel with her. She wouldn't need it. There was no one who was going to disturb her and if someone did, what did it matter?

(( Maybe he's left his towel in the changing room and will have to go back for it? ))

((oh shit sorry i completely forgot, he can get his towel))

"If you must know, it was terrible." Sherlock growled, wondering if John had noticed the inevitable bruises which must be starting to come up on his neck, or whether something else had given it away. He slumped down on the bed, chucking his bag across the room so it landed with a thud against the wardrobe door.
"Err!" he growled suddenly, annoyed, "My towel."
He never forgot things, even the towel that he carried there and back every week without ever using it (the idea of showering with the other boys was frankly ridiculous as more than anything else, it involved spending more time than completely necessary with the idiots). Normally he would have waited to fetch the towel, but somehow he wanted to escape John and their room, worried that if he stayed a minute longer he would explode and lavish his friend with all the embarrassing details of the incident. It wasn't that John would look down on him over it, he mused as he made his way back to the changing room, no he was far to loyal and forgiving. It was more the fact that John knowing was somehow a conformation of his abysmal lack of social prowess, but also that John would feel sorry for him, bad for him, guilty even - and that was hardly fair as he'd been nothing to do with it. Sherlock was so deep in thought that by the time he reached the changing rooms he gave no thought to whether the changing rooms would be occupied. Swinging the door open and marching over to the corner where his towel lay he barely looked up- well that was until he caught a glimpse of two feet across the benches from him- red polish neatly painted onto each nail. It was such a surprise that his breath caught in his throat and he froze, startled.

((It's alright ))

While showering, Irene mused about their fight. It had been exciting, finally meeting someone that was equal.

When she was done, she walked back, but hovered a few seconds when he saw Sherlock walking in blindly. She bit her lower lip and had a plan. What harm could an experiment do, eh?

She walked over to him and saw how he stiffened, only by the sight of her feet. She was still dripping wet from the shower and deliberately didn't reach out for her towel. She waited until Sherlock looked up. She stroke a pose, leaning on her left leg and placing her hand in her hip.

"What are you afraid of, Sherlock?" She teased him, trying to sound sexy.

Sherlock's eyes slowly flicked up from her feet. Even though he knew who it was and the polite thing to do was to look away, his body betrayed him by glueing him to the spot and drawing his eyes up her body.
To be perfectly honest, he'd never taken a second glance at girls. The porn mags that got tossed about the common room and stashed in other boys lockers had never interested him. The attention the naked women had received from him had been equal to that of if it was a magazine on DIY. Boring, dull, pointless.
But this was different. She was different.
Pink flushed skin outlined her curvaceous figure effortlessly and the silly pose she made only added to the effect, sending drips of the water cascading slowly to the floor.
Snapping his eyes to meet hers, Sherlock tried to focus on her question. He had to make redeeming his earlier behavior a priority right now.

"I'm not afraid of anything." he replied, confused by the question. Afraid of her? Her fighting skills? Her nakedness?
"Seeing as the moment has arisen, I wish to reprehend my earlier actions."
The words came out before he'd actually thought them through- was that an apology he'd just uttered? What was he even apologizing for? He never apologized he told himself firmly.
She continued to stare at him, her eyes glinting as they'd done in the gym only half an hour or so earlier. They caused him to panic a little and to cover it he slapped a fake grin on his face.
"Welcome to Baritsu club, Adler!" he almost shouted, throwing his hands in air pathetically before dashing for his towel and heading towards the exit.

Irene saw him looking and blushing and being utterly confused. It pleased her more than anything. She raised one eyebrow and pursed her lips in an amused smirk. Exactly the reaction I aimed for. His bright eyes met hers and something hit her in the stomach. Not literally of course. She could imagine herself being quite smitten with him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down boy. You are not running away are you, Holmes?" She dashed after him, grabbing his towel and pulling him back before he could reach the exit. She wanted him to face her. As an equal. Though she was still in her birthday suit. This was quite an interesting experiment, for both of them.

"What do you apologise for?" She frowned and came closer, narrowing her eyes. "You don't need to apologise for anything."

Sherlock felt himself being pulled playfully back by her deceivingly soft hands. The idea of her running to grab him back sent his brain into a short spasm for a split second, before he pulled out of her grip, flustered.
"I wasn't apologizing" he snarled, although of course this wasn't entirely true. "Merely informing you that I would have liked to have started on more civilized terms." Sherlock kept his eyes focused on hers. Her eyes were even more tempting than the rest of her body at that point, allowing him to gauge her reaction. What did she want with him?

"You and civilized terms? Oh, please." She huffed, playfully. Nerves were running through her brain and body, but she didn't want to show them. This was all a very exciting thing to do, running after a special boy, all nude, no shame. She wanted to test him, test if he's as clever as they say he is. Other ideas popped up into her mind too, but they could wait.
She tried to keep him spellbound by staring into his eyes. Bright blue eyes. Or were they green? She was not sure. She tilted her head even more upwards. "I have been said that you don't do civilized terms. That because you. are. different."

Sherlock didn't know how to respond so simply continued staring into her teasing eyes for a few minutes more. Maybe she'd taken more notice of him than he had first thought.
"Maybe I don't" he eventually muttered, a half-whisper, "But neither do you." he allowed his eyes to flick downwards momentarily for effect. When he cast his glance back up, her pupils had dilated noticeably and breathing rate quickened considerably, but why? Was she threatened by him, nervous?- it hardly seemed likely. She was intriguing; he decided, allowing a few more moments to pass.
"Now may I leave without being accused of fleeing?" his tone returned to patronising as he took a small step back and straightened to his full height.

((could Irene possibly invite herself along to the museum somehow...? maybe just inquire at what he's up too and then just turn up there as well? also i'm loving the tension between them hehe, and sorry John for neglecting you a little :/ ))

((I'll do that ^^ Oh, I love them too. And sorry John, but you can't do much now.))

Irene was more than a little turned on by his half-whisper and his glance. He probably noticed, but did not understand, regarding his light frown. The tension was delightful. It made her belly flutter of nerves and adrenaline.

"Only if you promise you come back." Irene said, locking his gaze. She simply turned her back to him, not impressed by his attempt to look taller. She held his gaze as long as possible, before walking back to her clothes and towel. She did not drape it over her shoulders yet, but stroked it with the ends of her fingertips before she looked up to face Sherlock again.

"But first tell me: What does not-civilized-terms-Holmes in his weekends?" A cheeky smile decorated her face. "Let's have dinner sometimes." She winked as if she added if you know what I mean.

((Don't feel neglected at all, tension's good in a story, worked in scandal in belgravia didn't it, and yes Irene you are needed in the case ))

Sherlock watched her intently as she went back over to her clothes. He'd only just registered how strange this meeting was and it unnverved him a bit, no one had ever not wanted him to leave before, except maybe John in a good mood. And dinner? What on earth did she mean? All the meals they ate were in school, and theoretically you could have dinner with anyone you wanted by simply joining their table- although if it was his own table they were likely to receive a prickly welcome and a glare until they moved. He decided to ignore the dinner comment, perhaps she wouldn't notice, he thought hopefully.
The second worry was, why did she care where he was going that afternoon?
"That's none of your business" he replied coolly, casting his gaze for the first time away from her and over to the opposite wall. But she wasn't going to let him get away that easily and despite the fact that he could just turn and leave now, easily throwing off her attempts at grabbing him back, something stopped him. Sherlock Holmes never ran away.
"If you must know, I'm going into London and to the British National Museum with John." he muttered out his reply, hoping she'd disregard it as boring and let him leave in peace.

Irene rolled her eyes lightly when she remarked that he ignored her request for dinner. She slightly shook her head and smiled. She dried herself off and murmured: "Well, it could be."

She raised her eyebrows. "What time?" She asked bluntly while putting her clothes on again. She was dressed in a dress (of course) with matching shoes.

In the corner of her eye, she saw something lying on the floor. It was a phone. Sherlock's phone probably, because she couldn't remember seeing it before she showered. It must have slipped out of his pocket when he stooped to pick up his towel. First, she retrieved her phone from her purse and opened the address book in advance. Then, she picked the phone up, without looking at Sherlock for permission. She opened his contact log and found his number. She typed it into her phone before he could snatch it out of her hand.

"Well it's not." Sherlock snapped, turning to leave once again. He'd almost made it to the door when he realised he'd lost his phone.
"My phone..." he mumbled whilst patting down his pockets with growing frustration. On seeing Irene was holding the small mobile he was almost overcome by anger. How had she managed to pickpocket it off him without him even noticing? He held out his hand with an indignant air, demanding for it back, when he noticed she was copying his number across.
"Now." he growled, taking a threatening step towards her. The triumphant grin she wore when she finally did recieve it was enough to send Sherlock's temper spirralling out of control, and he stormed out the changing room slamming the door behind him. How dare she, did she not know who he was?
The grounds were quite as he marched back to the dorms in an even worse mood than before. God he needed to get out of this school, and quickly.
"John, we're leaving, now." he announced. "The next train is 11:33."

Irene was amused when Sherlock snatched his phone from her grip and stormed out of the changing room. She stared after him, until he gone out of sight. He had looked very cross and agitated. Now, now. Who is the weak one here? She thought satisfied. She didn't want to break him. Jut shaking up a little would do.

The experiment had magnificent results. So. They were going to the British National Museum this afternoon. Why? Of course she had to go too. Internet on your mobile phone was forbidden in school, but she managed to have an internet connection. She looked up at what hour the next train would leave, which was 11:33. She still had the time to pack some stuff, change clothes and get to the station. She smiled once again and left the changing room.

((Shall I meet you in the train or at the entrance of the Museum? Last one sounds funnier to me, to be honest))

((It'd move the plot on nicely if we meet on the train - but it's Sherlock's choice not mine.))

John wasn't expecting Sherlock's mood to have improved but if anything he looked and sounded angrier than before.

He had taken the precaution of being ready to go as soon as he was told of the afternoon's plans. He snatched a pen and the notebook, in which he had written a few details about the stolen shield, and dashed after Sherlock who was already at the door.

((okay, is the artifact a shield or a medal? or both? i'll go with shield (: and she could, i just thought sherlock would get overly annoyed and refuse to let her go with them if she turned up earlier, but if she was already at the museum then she'd be more difficult for her to argue with him, so i'll pass the choice over to the woman haha ))

They reached the tube station in good time and waited on the platform watching the other passengers go about their journeys, Sherlock deducing quick-fire facts about each passer-by.
"Did you find out much?" he asked John, noticing he clutched a notepad. He listened half heatedly to the little information John had managed to find out, "Tell me something I didn't know..." he mumbled under his breath, until John mentioned something he didn't expect. "What so this artifact is completely unique, yet isn't worth much to collectors?"
He felt he was missing something important, which was perhaps due to the fact that he couldn't get his head around why someone would want to even collect these 'artifacts', let alone go to the trouble of robbing one which wasn't worth that much. John however, seemed to be in a completely different world, staring across the platform.
"John! Is that right?", he shouted a little more forcefully than was needed.

"Whaat" John was startled. "Sorry Sherlock, the Battersea Sheild, I had to get a better book out of the library, um by Ian Stead. Really priceless if you wanted to own it but you couldn't sell it on e-bay, yes, because it's a one of a kind.

It's Iron Age, dated 350-50 BC. and was found in the Thames at Battersea Bridge.

Most shields are plain leather and wood, but this one was made of wood with Bronze sheets on the front, riveted together, the rivets were hidden by decoration, a central dome and two circular patterns with red glass inset. Posh.

The book says it is too short to be a battle shield – Sherlock, how do they know that, what if it was made for a short man, or a Queen? Anyway, it's just over 77cm long. Was any of that new?" he asked nervously.

"Umm, yes, you've exceeded yourself John." he lied smoothly with a twisted half smile. The tube arrived with its familiar mechanical swishing sound and they stepped into the half empty carriage.
"I've also conducted some research of my own." he started, grabbing onto a overhead handle for balance as the train set off. "The security system at the museum is pretty standard. Automatically locked doors on the perimeter followed by manually locked doors throughout the interior. CCTV coverage runs mostly throughout, although at some points it is patchy, including the location of the shield. This could be a mere coincidence, there's many artifacts which are hidden from view from the CCTV " Sherlock dug in his pocket for a screwed up map he'd hand drawn from the museums website which had showing CCTV areas and thrust it at John, who was beginning to show signs of boredom. Sherlock however, hadn't felt more alive in weeks as they reached their stop and bounded up the escalators to the street.
"However" he continued, his thought process still perfectly fresh in his mind even five minutes later, "as the thief would have had to have passed through CCTV areas to make his entry or exit, it would seem that location of the artifact would have been meaningless. So my question is, why the shield when countless other artifacts were available for the taking if you'd already breached the security system? John?" Sherlock sped on through his ideas as they made the short walk to the museum. You could practically hear John's mind whirring, Sherlock thought with a smile that came from no where.

John was struggling to take everything and keep up with Sherlock who was steaming ahead on his improbably long legs, long even by gangly teenager standards.

The long stream of thought that poured out was how his friend functioned, that was the phenomena called 'Sherlock' and Sherlock was on top form no doubt about it.

"Um, a skinny, ugly madman wants to look at it every day and say in a creepy voice 'mmmmm my precioussssss'?" possibly not what Sherlock was asking for but it was all John could think of to say when put on the spot like that.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks at John's answer, turning to look him in the eyes. "What and earth are you on about?" he placed his hands on either shoulder looked at him with utter confusion painted across his face, "Sometimes I wonder if your sane at all, John." he shook his head, with sincere concern in his eyes before carrying on down the street at his usual pace. It wasn't until a few blocks down that the revealtion came.
"My precious! That's it!" God it felt good, a surge of chemicals into the brain which came with a successful idea. Perhaps as good as sex was- said a small rouge part of his brain. Now it was John's turn to look confused- the poor guy had trouble keeping up with the simplest logic, so Sherlock did him the liberty of explaining.
"That's it, John. The shield has barely any street value, althogh all robbers go for things they can easily and quickly sell on for a huge profit, and there was plenty to choose from. I say all, but it's really almost all. What if some 'ugly madman' as you so elegantly put it does want it for it's personal value to him. Like a family heirloom or somethijg similar- something not with monetary value but with a value based on sentiment?" he spat the last word. How anyone would be so attached to an inanimate object with no clear use such as a teddy bear or indeed a shield, was beyond him and all logic. They rounded the corner of the street and arrived at the front entrance of the British National Museum.

When Sherlock abruptly stopped in his tracks John almost ran into him. Sherlock, looming over him, pinned John with his gaze which at times could be so intense that it put even him into an uncomfortable state of nervous tension. John never backed away even if it was uncomfortable because he had learned that although it did scare other lads who didn't know Sherlock, his acute focus wasn't intended to intimidate him.

What was written on Sherlock's features at that moment? Confusion? He was surprised then when Sherlock suddenly placed his hands on his shoulders and despite Sherlock's curt words looked at him not at all unkindly.

They walked on with Sherlock in deep thought. John keeping an eye out for him when he was so carried away. Fortunately on this occasion either there was no traffic to interfere with Sherlock's progress or he had some kind of awareness of his surroundings. John didn't know which applied so he wasn't taking any chances. The loyalty seemed to run both ways after all this time as room-mates.

“Yes, you're right, someone has got to be making money somehow or why would they risk getting caught stealing it. Oh...Sherlock, the robbers could pull a trick if after they had stolen it they kept it and upped the price. The buyer would go absolutely mental huh?”