*John*
It's almost too cold to be outside, yet that's exactly where John Watson finds himself. The wind threatens to steal his hat, chilling him to the bone as he hauls his bags out of the cab and onto the sidewalk leading up to the front doors of the boarding school his father shipped him off to. He was to play on the football team, get above average grades, and stay out of trouble. Nothing less than perfect would satisfy him, and John isn't quite sure perfect would cut it either. He shakes his head to clear it, mumbling a quick thank you to the cabbie as he shoves a handful of crumpled bills into his hand.
"Good luck son, you'll need it," the cabbie shouts, shaking his head with a chuckle as he hands John his last bag.
The boy nods, head upturned as he tries to take-in the building in front of him. It's big, much larger than John's old school, and he's secretly happy that his hours studying payed off well enough to get out of the house for the semester. Hell, he might even be able to keep his scholarships and go here for the full four years, assuming he can balance school and work all despite training. He picks up his bags, a box of books balanced in his arms as he makes his way into the building, dodging students and staff on his way to the desk.
"Checking in dearie?"
He nods, slightly out of breath as he sets his box down. The woman hands him a pen and a stack of papers, walking him through which ones she needs back to her by the end of the day and which ones are his copies.
"Have they given you your room assignments yet?"
"I...I don't think so. Maybe? I'm not sure, I'm sorry."
"That's alright, that's what I'm here for. What's your name?"
"John. John Watson."
She nods, smiling as she digs through a box of envelopes.
"Here you are love, you'll be in room 221. That's on the B wing, just up the stairs. The lift broke ages ago, no one's been out to fix it yet so you'll have to walk."
He takes his envelope, handing the pen back to its rightful owner before he grabs his box and heads up the stairs. It's not a long walk, not technically, but even with all the training he's done over the summer John is still drenched in sweat and out of breath by the time he makes it up to his room. The door is slightly ajar, all but one light turned out, and he shoulders the door open before dropping all of his stuff in the entryway. It's not a lot, theoretically he can get it all moved by the time his roommate gets back, and he grabs the box to start setting up his desk. A knock at the door startles him, though the voice that follows is familiar enough to ease his worry.
"Sherlock? Myc said we're going for dinner tonight if you wanted to come."
John throws open the door, nearly breaking his neck as he trips over one of the bags in his way, and he curses himself for leaving things in the walkway. A boy stands nervously in the hall, already dressed for dinner by the looks of it, and he seems surprised that the door opened in the first place.
"What are you doing in here?"
"I...This is my room."
"It can't be, this is Sherlocks."
"Then I'm his roommate. John, John Watson."
He sticks out a hand, nerves disappearing as the boys frown morphs into a smile.
"John! You're the new defender right?"
He nods, shoving some of his bags out of the way and stepping back to let his teammate in.
"I'm just unpacking, sorry for the mess."
"Sherlock will kill me if he comes back and I'm in."
He comes in anyway, introducing himself as Greg Lestrade, the capitan of the team and a thirteenth year this semester. John offers him his desk, grabbing the box of books off the chair and shelving then quickly on the bookcase above the desk.
