Dorm Rooms Are Boring

Trust John to think of the milk, Sherlock thought with a small smile. Although assuming no-one lived there from purely the milk was ridiculous of course. He wanted to tell John to be careful, just in case, but he'd probably take it the wrong way and respond with some sarcastic reply about how he really isn't that incapable.

Good.-SH

Sherlock went back to eavesdropping on a few officers, but found that the conversation was drifting more towards they're post-shift pub run as opposed to the murder. Typical. He continued to drift around in the crowd and found himself enjoying the fact that no one recognised him here. School was so confining like that. As the evidence he could access dried up completely he found his mind not thinking through the case, but flitting back to the incident in the changing room this morning.

He'd given such a small fraction of thought at the time, but as it rested dormant in one of the furthest reaches of his Palace a deduction from the event had been made surprisingly clear to him.

He snapped out of his train of thought when he saw John's hazy silhouette appear at the window of the house opposite.

John could see Sherlock in the crowd for a moment as he peered out of the grimy window of a bedroom. He texted:

Can see you from front bedroom. It's filthy up here and same in back bedroom. Two or three people lived here both bedrooms used. One single one double. The place stinks. I can see a derelict big house and a little church behind the garden walls from the back bedroom. Not much in cupboards or wardrobe is that enough? JW

John was enjoying being just a bit scared at getting caught but more so he was enjoying having a secret with Sherlock and being of service.

Perfect. See you at the end of the driveway in 5. -SH

Sherlock looked up at the window and gave a quick nod before sending the message and heading out of the crowd. He stood on the street corner, hands deep in his pockets, balancing on the kerb with the balls of his feet. "Damn it." he growled at the lack of taxi's as he heard John's hurried footsteps behind him.

John was grinning like a Cheshire cat when he arrived back at Sherlock's side but it dropped off his face because his friend was not happy.

"That works for me" he murmured pleased and a little relieved to be back with his room-mate.

"Did you find anything out down here?" John asked. He stood with his toes hanging off the kerb and studied them.

((sorry shall we continue with out irene...? ))

(( Yeah let's crack on if Irene is too busy right now ))

"A bit." he replied tersely before dashing across the road to a cab which had just pulled up. They climbed in Sherlock told the cabbie the address of they're school and they pulled away from the crime scene, silence falling between them once again.
"Thank you." he eventually said, pulling at the fingers of his left hand very slightly awkwardly. He continued to gaze out the window but could feel John's questioning look on the back of his head. Bowing his head quickly he explained himself.
"Coming with me today, creating a diversion, going into that house," he faltered slightly and cleared his throat (later would blame it on a persistent cough), "putting up with me, punching Howlett..." he trailed off, regretting saying anything and wringing his hands in front of him. "Thank you."

John looked out of the cab window in companionable silence. He thought Sherlock would tell him what he knew in his own good time. Then Sherlock broke the silence thanking him for something. He didn't know what for other than going into the house, perhaps. Looking at his friend he thought Sherlock looked quite uncomfortable which was unusual when they were alone together. He listened as his friend spoke fidgetting all the while.

“Um,” he struggled for the right words “good of you, to say. We're friends, that's what friends do. Howlett had it coming anyway, the obnoxious little...ergh” he laughed and glanced at Sherlock. He couldn't even begin to tell his friend what he did for him, he didn't know where to start.

“Dying to back to get into the lab to see what your footprint samples can tell you?” John asked looking at Sherlock to see if he was perhaps thinking about anything to do with the case now.

Sherlock made it through the few cringe-worthy moments of John trying to brush off his thanks and let out a low chuckle at his observation.
"Very impressive." he mumbled before turning around to look at him.
"It's the only definitive lead we've got right now so the more I can glean from it the better." they reached the school gates and hurried in at the persistent rain, Sherlock turning not towards the dorms on the north of the campus, but towards the science block.
"Are you coming?" he asked when they reached the door, although it was obvious from the fact that John had followed him up to the building that he was intending to investigate the sample with him, Sherlock felt for once an obligation to not assume that John would help with anything he asked of him.
"Good." they went inside, flicking on the corridor lights as they headed to the chemistry labs.

Although it was late on a Saturday, Sherlock knew they'd still be one technician in lab, preparing solutions for the start of the school week.
They made their way down to lab 2B, Sherlock striding into the well lit lab with confidence and dodging between the benches to the technicians office.

"Miss Hooper!" he swung around the door frame, flashing his best fake smile as Miss Hooper visibly jumped, startled by his appearance. "I was hoping to see you here." he paused a second, noticeably looking her up and down. "Is that a new top you're wearing? Lovely colour..." he advanced into the office a little, leaning on the back of on of the desk chairs.
"And I'm sorry about the date last night." he flashed a sympathetic smile, hoping this was all the warming up she'd need today- he did hate having to smile so damn much.

((it's time for you're convincing female character I'm afraid... ))

(( Goes to crib off Molly in other RP ))


Molly Hooper looked down at the paperwork on the desk and glowed with a slight pink flush after the handsome student with a smile that could light up a room spoke to her.

"Hi", The abrupt appearance of Sherlock startling her made her voice come out squeaky. To her embarrassment she had suddenly turned from being a quite self-assured lab tech into a mousy, shy version of herself.

John looked from Sherlock to Miss Hooper and back to him again with a raised eyebrow. Since when had his friend known anything about colours and women's clothes he wondered.

Miss Hooper opened and closed her mouth looking at John “oh, no, it wasn't him, a date, with,” she stammered in horror although she would have quite happily gone on a date with the young man.

“Um...no, no. Nice colour you've got on.” John agreed. “Can we do some study in the lab, please?” he asked to escape the awkward moment. He didn't think his friend was interested in dating.

“Yes” Molly replied still mouse-like but redder in the face than before.

“Thank you” John responded brightly, he smiled and quickly grabbing hold of Sherlock's sleeve pulled him none too gently towards the lab benches.

Sherlock could see John's blatant surprise at his seemingly in depth knowledge of fashion and shot him his best 'I know everything look' and added a discrete eye roll at the pairs confusion over dating.

"No, not me John, obviously."

He allowed himself to be dragged to the benches and got out the soil sample, collecting together some apparatus and suspending it in water ready for mounting on a slide. In a matter of moments he'd made up a slide with a drop of the solution and putting his eye to the lens he wordlessly handed John the rest of the solution. Starting to focus the microscope he wondered why John hand't taken the test tube he held off him yet.

"John" he said with a sigh not looking up from the microscope and wiggling the tube precariously. "Find me the pH of this, and quickly, we haven't got all night."

“Er, no. I...never mind. But Molly would date you, if you asked her, she went all...well, you know how girls go...” John whispered conspiratorially to his friend as he got out the soil sample.

John watched his friend as he expertly assembled what he needed. Sherlock almost ran round the equipment shelves and grabbed assorted beakers, tubes, a stirrer, slides, dishes and a packet of litmus strips as well as a number of items that John hadn't used before.

“Ooh Sorry.” John hadn't realised that he was going to be doing any of the testing. He quickly took the test tube from Sherlock in two fingers and placed it carefully in the wooden rack then got the litmus paper strips out of the little packet. The strip changed colour after a moment and he compared it to the scale. “Acid...4.4” he announced looking at Sherlock to see if it was helpful.

"No John I don't." Sherlock lied, putting on a worried frown at John's observation but knowing all the while that his friend was perfectly right.

Molly Hooper had shown textbook signs of attraction to him on her first day on the job a little over a year ago. Although a student-technician 'crush' would appall the senior staff, Miss Hooper failed to be able to hide it sufficiently. For Sherlock this was a great advantage of course, never before had he gained almost full access to the labs anytime of day and since he'd worked out how to persuade her(not difficult) his experiments had benefited greatly.

"Ah yes, acidic..." he mumbled to the microscope, pausing his adjustment of the focus for a second before jumping up from the stall. "Perfect. Thank you Miss Hooper." he announced, marching towards the exit without another look at his discarded equipment.

They made there way back to the dorms and Sherlock went straight to the wardrobe where he stored the files he'd made up about soil and geology in London... Producing a large choropleth map he smiled triumphantly and turned to John, who looked slightly less impressed with his room mates self made map.
"Yes, I have a soil pH map of London John, there's no need to make that face."

“Ok” John replied. None of his business who Sherlock might want to date or neither. It was fine with him. He just gave Sherlock a surprised look when he called him Miss Hooper and thought Ok again. Presumably Miss Hooper was used to clearing up after Sherlock had finished with equipment so he followed Sherlock out.

“What face? It's just a bit er different to what boys usually stick in the back of their wardrobes that's all.” He thought better of telling Sherlock what Darren Boyd had stuck on the back of his but most of the lads he knew had been round and whistled or blushed. With Sherlock John wouldn't have been surprised to find a Periodic Table on the door. He suddenly thought a framed Periodic Table one for the wall might be something that Sherlock might like for Christmas.

Christmas he wasn't looking forward to because he would have to go home and stay on whatever army base his father was posted to and he wouldn't know anyone and, of course, it'd be deadly boring without Sherlock to get into a bit of mischief with. He decided to make the most of the rest of the school term to make up for a boring Christmas break.

“So, where do the samples match?” John asked eagerly trying not to peer and get in the way because the light was pretty crap for a dorm of that size.

Quite why his handmade map amused John so much was beyond Sherlock. There was nothing more useful to store in ones wardrobe, especially when you wanted to track a criminal.
The map was much more than just a pH choropleth, it was covered in notes, symbols and patterns which identified other features of the geology.

"Central London for sure, very acidic..." Sherlock mumbled, turning the map on it's side before tossing it away with a scowl of frustration.

He turned to John, eyes narrowing in concentration. "The sample showed high levels of humus and good fertility so somewhere with plenty of grass cover. And it's London Clay, the foundations of the city, so it's an old site, ancient even, maybe a park or gardens..."

Sherlock admitted defeat on the soil front. There was only so much one could tell from a small sample of soil with the basic lab equipment he had access to.
"It's not enough John!" he exclaimed in frustration, slamming shut the wardrobe. "I need data. We need to go back there, tonight, to the murder scene. It must be linked."

He knew John would disapprove of the plan for sneaking out of school that evening but it was the only chance they would have to take another look at the murder scene. Every hour it took to work out, the shield would surely be moving further out of London and may even be out of the country by now, not to mention the murder who was still roaming free. Besides, Sherlock knew John could hardly resist the chance to break the rules and venture onto a crime scene, craving the adrenaline rush that came with it.

John watched his friend intently studying his home made map and waited as patiently as he could for Sherlock to tell him what he had found out. He was so used to Sherlock being amazing that when his friend replied it wasn't quite as much in the way of detailed information as he had hoped for. He did expect too much this time, he knew that, but his friend was a genius and he would find a way to solve the puzzle.

He didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound really stupid and John was tempted to pat Sherlock's arm instead but that was too wet so not right either. He stood there instead with a face that echoed his feeling of helplessness and compassion for his best friend.

The older boy winced as Sherlock slammed the door and the wardrobe shuddered. John could see his friend was very exasperated. The rule about not leaving the school grounds at night was just ridiculously old fashioned. Maybe ok for the first year boys but they weren't kids. He knew, hoped, anyway, that his dad would understand if he got caught breaking that school rule under these circumstances but if Sherlock was watching out for him they wouldn't get caught, so his dad would never know.

“You're right, Sherlock, we can go have a proper look in the house. I mean you could but I've been in there already. I know where I already looked so it'll save time if I go again?"

John's eyes were lit up with enthusiasm and his whole body language betrayed his rapidly growing liking for adventure. The idea alone had made him feel a little bit excited and it was a very good feeling that he thought he could get used to, quite easily.

Sherlock needn't have worried about John's reaction. He was still getting used to having someone who enjoyed this as much as he did at his side. He responded to his little plea with a chuckle.

"Of course you're coming." he replied quashing John's concerns with a wave of his hand, face softening a little as he did so. He could solve this one, they could solve it; he was sure of it.

"Well we have a little while until the scene quiets down. I'm going to the library to do some more research into this shield, I'd imagine you want to do something mundane like going to dinner." he smirked a little at John before sweeping up the books from his bedside table and making his way out of the dorm.

John appreciated the soft chuckling noise emanating from Sherlock and smirked joyful that he was being handed the opportunity to help and do something worthwhile on a plate.

Adventure could certainly wait until after a roast dinner. The weekend menu was always a choice of a roast and something else and that certainly wasn't mundane to him. He was a growing lad. So was Sherlock, of course, but his very tall, lanky friend seemed to be able to live on very little sleep and fresh air. He thought he ought to mention to his mate that eating was good for brain cells and thought also about metabolism as he sauntered happily down to the refectory.

The roast dinner turned out to be pork with apple sauce and onion gravy but with an unappealing pale stuffing. The anaemic stuffing was stodgy but the rest of his dinner was delicious. He finished with bread and butter pudding with creamy custard and looked at his watch. He was satisfied that it was time to go back to the dorm and see if Sherlock had found out anything more about the shield.

John knew that his torch was good for at least one more go before he had to change the batteries and he planned on putting his black jacket on. As he was planning what to do he felt a little surge of adrenalin trickling in and smiled. He was back in the dorm before Sherlock and got himself ready to go.

Sherlock busied himself with looking over the details of Kilmov's murder. Of course he only had the news reports to go by, which were hardly accurate, but after cross referencing a few quotes from police constables and a forensic who examined the body he was assured that the victim had been killed by a stab wound to the abdomen.

There was annoyingly very little coverage of the murder- young men got stabbed around London all the time- and despite the amount of reporters the case had brought in, it had only managed a couple of paragraphs on the news websites.

It was also clear that the police hadn't even considered it's connection to the robbery which happened less than 12 hours before, and put the incident down to 'another sad victim of knife crime and gang culture'. They were all so stupid, Sherlock thought with a exasperated sigh which caused the girl on the computer next to him to give him a sideways glance and shuffle very slightly away from him.

Returning to their dorm room he was surprised to find John had beat him back and was already prepared with torch and jacket on.
"Ready?" he asked but turning away before getting an answer.

Before long they'd escaped out of the school grounds and found a cab. The ride was slow as the traffic was still dying down and although Sherlock should have been thinking over the case, his mind kept drifting to that morning. It seemed like a such a long time ago now and after the days events it was hardly a riveting topic of conversation, but he couldn't get Irene Alder out of his head. What did she want with him? So he did something he never usually did; asked John.

"John." he started, hoping he'd not see through his question, "Irene Adler. Have you heard of her?"

((ahh long post, hopefully the woman stuff isn't too out of character, i felt we neglected that bit of the story somewhat after she left, but i can always edit ))

John was ready when Sherlock got back to their room because he was looking forward to the trip out and was quietly fizzing with excitement as they sneaked out of the school grounds.

They managed to get a taxi without too much trouble but John could see that Sherlock was deep in thought and left him to it as the cab slowly wound through the still traffic clogged roads. He had imagined that Sherlock was mulling over the case so he was surprised when his friend asked him if he had heard of Irene Adler.

“Irene, oh yeah,” There was often a lad talking about getting up the courage to ask her out, or a lad giving his mate some stick about it not having a chance with the 'snobby bitch'. That was only because the lad was jealous though John thought. “a lot of the boys fancy her, but she's not dating any of them. Never does as far as I know, and I'd soon hear. I mean it's not surprising, she's way out of their league. Why?”

"Hmm." Sherlock mumbled as John responded to his particyulary vague question.

"She's very good at Baritsu." he respond plainly, hoping John would infer the details and ask nothing on the matter.

They reached the Esatae and pulled up at the top of the street like before.
"Crime scene down there boys, so I'll drop ya here," the cabbie helpfully told them Sherlock paided and they headed down the street, Sherlock looking out for anybody who might be witnessing their inspection of the scene.

Thankfully though, it was deserted like he'd expected, and he quickly got to work looking over the scene. It was obvious the police had barely looked at scene, the blood stain on the pavement had been left to be washed off in the rain and Sherlock doubted they'd barely taken a second look at it.

"John, keep a look out." he barked to his friend who was watching him intently.

Working quickly Sherlock looked over the stain whihc he had found extented to a lamp post only metres away. Bloodied hands had left prints here, probably Kilmov's after he had been stabbed and clutche his stomach, falling onto the post and sliding to the ground. Suddenly the pieces clicked into palce.

"This wasn't pre-meditated." he straightened, eyes fixed on a point straight ahead. John was about to ask how he knew and instead of waiting for the question Sgherlock launched head first into the explianation.

"There was a lot of blood, very quickly. Clean stab wounds produce very little compartivly, and besides the ambulance was on scene only about 10 minutes after. So it was a messy wound, unplanned and poorly executed. The man who did it wouldn't have know what he was doing, how to kill, maybe he didn't even want to kill him!"

Sherlock turned away triumphantly, quickly glancing over his shoulder to check that no one had emerged.

"Come on, we're going back into that house." he hissed as he walked past John aand across the street.

John wondered how Sherlock knew that Irene was very good at Baritsu then remembered his friend had come back with a red mark and in a poor temper from his class. Gun club was better than getting whacked by...even by Irene Adler. He thought better of continuing that conversation and looked out of the taxi window.

The crime scene was old news and nobody wanted to go look at the blood except for Sherlock. “Still not cleaned up, good for you though” John muttered to his friend. The older boy watched hypnotised as his friend who was re-examining the crime scene darted here and there with an absorbed look on his face. He tore himself away from watching his friend and kept an eye out as asked.

Nobody troubled them. Then Sherlock explained what he could make of the dark stain on the pavement. He looked at the stain he could see now what Sherlock meant. It was always so simple when his friend explained his findings, anyone could see he was right. “Amazing, that's...brilliant!” John exclaimed, gaping, looking up at Sherlock.

The boys walked back around to where John had got over the wall before and stopped for a moment to grin at each other. He gave Sherlock a nod and putting his hands together Sherlock gave him a leg up again, sliding over the wall on his stomach dropped onto the grass just short of the nettles. “OK”

John made his way across the two gardens, squeezed through the gap in the fence and stopped to see if anyone was about. It was all quiet and deserted as he approached the back door and opened it hesitantly, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You do realise you’re saying that out loud?” Sherlock smirked at John’s amazement, allowing himself a little glow of pride.

Sherlock followed John as quietly as he could, wondering where John had learnt to be so stealthy and silent when sneaking out places.

They went into the house and Sherlock instantly realised what John had meant about no one being here for days. The stench of milk and rotten food from the kitchen was almost over whelming, and the whole place and a stale scent. Taking a quick check up the stairs Sherlock was satisfied no one was home.

“We need to search for something, anything that would give a clue as to who used to live here, why no ones been here for a week and why a man has been stabbed to death just outside the front door. You take upstairs.” Sherlock motioned, not bothering to whisper now as he strode over to the front door and started examining the doormat intently.

The older boy suddenly realised that he had spoken his thoughts aloud at the crime scene when Sherlock mentioned it “Sorry, I'll er shut up.” he muttered looking down slightly embarrassed. He would redeem himself later he hoped.

John was keen to search the place but had no idea what would give them a clue about who lived there, why it was empty or why there was a nasty blood stain outside the front door. He could tell very little other than what was obvious from his previous root around upstairs.

“Ok. Um. two men lived here by the look of it, there were men's clothes in the two bedrooms. I'll check if their stuff's still here” John went back upstairs to check the wardrobes “Yeah still the same.” he called down from the landing between the bedrooms and went up to the topmost floor rooms which had tiny windows and were bare floored.

John looked in a few cardboard boxes and plastic bags next to a couple of dirty white plastic garden chairs and a broken matching table but apart from one box with a tow rope, car bulbs and a carton of motor oil in they boxes and bags were empty.

"We need an ID John, bank statement, post, email, anything."
SHerlock shouted back in response to John's findings inspected the front door.
He went back to inspecting the front foor.

There were scratch marks on the wall, obivous signs of a struggle or perhaps just clumsiness. No, a struggle, he confirmed, opening the door to find a newly made scratch on the side of the frame and dent on the pannelling of the door. Sherlock shut the door and mimicked the action, slamming his heel into the door cuasing it to jump open and slam into the corridor wall. Someone had kicked it open and dragged out an unwilling paricipant onto the street, and he was willing to bet that it was Kilmov's attackers.

But why? He was no closer to linking the too crimes together. Maybe they weren't linked at all, he thought desperatly.

Next he inspected the doormat. In the pattern of heavy boots, caked in thick mud, not the kind you get around London even on building sites. There was so little vegetation these days that mud tended to be made up of no more that brick dust. He followed the dry trail that inidated that Kilmov had walked this way in almost every day, never bothering to take his boots off at the door or clean the floorboards. He followed the trail into the bathroom where, unsurprisingly, he found a pair of muddy workmans boots. Inspecting them quickly he found they were council issued. So he worked for the council, somewhere with thick mud in the centre of London. Bizarre.