Where Do We Go From Here?

Chapter Two

“Who was that student you were guiding today?”

Mycroft looked up from his text book, then sighed, closing it. “Excuse me?”

  Sherlock didn’t bother to even take his eyes away from his phone, thumbs skimming over the keyboard in a blur. “That new student.” he paused, “It’s obvious he is new, or else you wouldn’t be around an underclassman. So...who is he?”

 “I don’t believe I am required to tell you that, Sherlock.”

The raven haired boy rolled his eyes, thumbs stopping as he looked up. “Always going to follow the rules, brother?”

  “Always going to break them, brother dear?” the elder Holmes sneered, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

  Sherlock smirked. “Yes. If they continue to bore me. Now...tell me. Who is the new student?”

Mycroft sighed, opening his textbook once more. “Can you not deduce it?”

  “Hm…” his eyes flickered down again. “...not enough information.” his tongue peeked out from between his lips, wetting them. “That is why you will tell me.”

  A thin brow raised. “And why would I tell you?”

There was a pause, silence falling over them heavily before the younger brother gave a reluctant sigh and set down his mobile. “He cheered for me.” he breathed, eyelids fluttering shut. “No one ever cheers for me.”

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  “How was your first day?”

     Harry didn’t reply, headphones placed in her ears, her music blasting rather loudly as she hummed along- John could hear it from the other side of the kitchen. He rolled his eyes irritably, opening the fridge. “Fine, mum.” he pulled out the jug of milk, checking the expiration date.

  “Whatever John just said,” Harry quipped from the table, eyes never leaving her iPod.

John huffed, slamming the milk jug in front of her, not expecting to get much of a reaction other than a smirk and a quick wink, before she turned back to her screen. John gave her a pinched look, going over to the cabinet and pulling down his mug.

  Their mother gave a tired smile, closing her laptop with an audible click and pushing it aside. “That’s good. Very good. Make any friends or anything?”

 Harry glanced up, yanking one hot pink bud away from her ear. “Eh?”

John ignored Harry, setting his mug down and filling it half way. “No friends,” he started, then added as an afterthought, “not yet.” He leaned against the counter, staying silent until it was apparent his sister had no input. “Though I did witness a pretty extraordinary fight.”

  “Extraordinary,” Harry made a face, pulling out the other earbud. “What’s so extraordinary about a fight? They happen every other day.”

  “You weren’t there. You wouldn’t understand.”

Harry lifted a blond brow, eyes gleaming with mirth. “Was it between two girls? Oh! I bet it was a cat fight. You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you, Johnny?”

 “Now, Harriet-” their mother began, but he cut her off.

“So would you.” he countered, sweeping his mug up into his hand and taking one gulp.

  “John, that was uncalled for-”

Harry broke in again, pink lips drawn into a tight smirk. “Oh, you know I would. But I least I could hide my boner-”

  “That is enough!” the tone was enough to send both children into alarmed silence. “All I ask was if you made any friends or anything. Not for you two to start bickering. This day has been long and exhausting and all I want is a very nice family chat. So. I will get said family chat without any arguing. Understood?”

   Both siblings nodded slowly, though that was hardly the end, if Harry’s sour expression was anything to go by. John tipped back more of his milk, swallowing thickly as the creamy substances pooled into his mouth.  Harry’s glare burned a hole on the side of his face, his right eye twitching at the feeling before it was finally too much and he turned fully, facing his mother. “I’m sorry, mum.”

  His sister scoffed, putting both her earbuds in again. “Mama’s boy.”

“Harriet!” his mother snapped and John knew where this would lead to eventually. (He didn’t want to hear it nor be apart of it.)

  “Whelp,” Harry’s hackles were already raised, face splotched red and his mother looked the same. “I’m just going to go to my room then.” he finished lamely, chugging the rest of his milk and putting the mug in the sink.

  “He’s always kissing your arse-”

“Language! Your attitude has been getting progressively worse, Harriet. I thought we agreed-”

  John grabbed his book bag and scooped up his coat in one fluid motion, making his hasty retreat up the steps before the inevitable shouting could start.

 The door clicked behind him softly, though he was positive that if he slammed it shut the two women downstairs would not hear it, and groaned out his frustrations; a bookbag and a coat found their way on top of a sheetless bed, a body following shortly after with a small ‘oof’.

  “Harriet Oswin Watson! You promised-”

     “I haven’t done anything wrong, mum-”

Another half hearted groan escaped him, heels of his palms pressing into his eyes as he attempted to shove them further back into their sockets.

 Just like every other time.

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   If that night, he dreamed of a lanky, curly haired boy...he completely forgot about it by dawn.

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   ((A/N: Here is a fairly short chapter! I know it isn't much but this story is building slowly. I was actually caught-severe writers block due to school and what not- but a very amazing friend, EncoreDeZiza, came and spoke words of wisdom to me, allowing me to get out of my funk and back into the groove. Chapter three will be coming shortly and I can only promise that I very much want to finish this story, so I will be updating excessively.

  Thank you, and I hope all of you enjoy! Oh- and there is a small (so very tinsy winsy) reference in here from another show! I'll give you two hints: DW and it is part of a name:) ))