Poison & Wine//A BBC Sherlock fanfic

Then

Then

Sherlock Holmes was bored and when he was bored, bad things happened. Well, that's what his brother Mycroft would tell him at least. A bored Sherlock was a reckless Sherlock and that recklessness would lead to stupidity and danger. Mycroft didn't understand, though. Sherlock didn't feel like he was being reckless or stupid whenever he hung out with them. He felt accepted and as relaxed as he could possibly be. He felt like one of them.

"Stupid, pompous jerk," Sherlock breathed, blowing out the smoke from his lungs before placing his cigarette between his lips once again.

He walked down the pavement alone, enjoying his cigarette. People who walked past him would give him a dirty look, eyeing his cigarette. They weren't allowed to smoke on the University grounds. He was never caught, though, and he never got dobbed in to the professors. Anyway, it wasn't like he was the only one at his University that smoked. Most of them did too, they just did it in private.

Hypocrites, Sherlock thought, looking over his shoulder to find that they were looking back at him. As if the smell actually bothered you. 

With a scowl one of the girls looked away, nudging the other two on either side of her to do the same.

He had the rest of the day off, his class having been that morning, and he decided to spend it wandering campus smoking cigarette after cigarette until he ran out. After that, he would go into town, buy himself another packet, and wander the streets like a stray dog.
Sherlock ran a hand through his dark hair, a little annoyed at the fact that it still hadn't decided what it wanted to be. Some days it was curly, other days wavy, sometimes a mix of both. It was very frustrating.

As he was thinking about his hair he walked into a secluded part of the University, dropping and stepping on his finished cigarette before producing another out of his jeans. It was as he was lighting it that he heard footsteps. He looked towards the direction that the noise was coming from, his ears intently listening. From the sound of the footsteps it wasn't a professor. Relaxing slightly he continued lighting his cigarette, lifting it to his lips and taking a drag.

The footsteps were coming closer and suddenly the person appeared, satchel over one shoulder, papers in hand. She looked flustered and worried, knawing away on her bottom lip as she stuffed the papers inside her satchel. Sherlock hadn't seen her before and he tilted his head, reading her. She was new, obviously. A new fish in a very big pond, lost like Hell. She wasn't from London, though, not with that tan. She was tall for a woman but even then she would only reach his chin. Her golden hair was up in a messy bun, tendrils of hair falling out and flowing freely. Her eyes, a molten gold in the dark, brightening whenever a ray of light would hit them at the correct angle, were frantically searching left and right. It took her a moment to find him in the shadows but when she did she jumped slightly in surprise.

"Oh," she said in a thick French accent. "Um, excuse me, but could you please tell me where ze history classes are taken?"

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, cigarette hanging from his lips, before he pulled it out and exhaled, taking a step forward.

"Go straight, turn left, follow the path until you reach the library. The building next to it is where the English lectures are taken but if you cut through there you'll find the history wing. Taking the shortcut will get you to your lecture on time," Sherlock told her, noticing the way the French woman was staring at him. She didn't seem to know how to be inconspicuous when it came to looking at people. With a small sigh Sherlock rolled his eyes. She was so normal, so boring, so not special at all. How tedious.

"Oh, yes. 'Zank you..." she trailed off, looking at him with those burning dark gold eyes.

"Sherlock Holmes."