A Chance To Stay Alive - Johnlock

1) First Impressions

The air was a bitter cold, the street floor covered in a thin layer of fresh ice. Sherlock Holmes made his way down the busy road, wrapped tightly in a navy blue scarf and woollen sweater. His face was pale from the chill, yet still handsome, and his brown curly hair swayed lazily in the winter wind. The skinny boy then proceeded to push gently open the door of his favourite coffee shop, being immediately blasted by warmth. He stepped carefully inside and walked up to the queue, slipping his phone out of his pocket. Sherlock stuck in his earphones and lowered his head, the sound of Bach suddenly flooding through. The store was nearly empty in fact, just a group of women sat together in one of the booths, whispering and giggling together, and a young man sat alone by the window with a sleek MacBook in front of him.
"Hello sir can I help you?" A server's voice called cheerily. Sherlock's head darted up suddenly and he pulled out his earphones.
"Oh yes, sorry," he mumbled quietly in his deep voice.
"One cappuccino please."
The server gave a swift nod and hurried off to retrieve his order. The tall boy gave a gruff sigh and dug his hands into his pockets. It was one of those lazy days and Sherlock had nothing to do. He had practiced his violin so much that the notes were enough to make him sick, and he wasn't in the mood for watching another crime show on the television. In his eyes, they were all boring. Hardly enough action and barely any reality.

"Here you are sir, one cappuccino."
Sherlock clasped the mug in his left hand and handed over the sum of money with his right. He walked from the till and glanced around for a place to sit. The skinny boy noticed a small table at the back of the cafe and made a beeline towards it, not noticing the mess of spilt water on the floor. Within a split second Sherlock found himself falling into the table besides him, the hot mug barely in his grasp. He heard a shocked yell and straightened himself, staring down upon the damage. The young man that he had seen previously was actually in-fact only a teenager. He was stood up from his seat, clutching his laptop, with his face displaying that of horror. He was quite a slender boy, with short blonde hair and a sweet face.
Sherlock's eyes widened in dismay. His coffee had spilt all over his laptop, drops dripping miserably from the keyboard.
"I- I'm so sorry I didn't mean it," he mumbled panicking, reaching out for a wad of tissues.
"Let me help."
The boy raised his hand and for a moment Sherlock cowered, scared he may strike. But instead he waved his hand.
"It's fine, please," the blonde-haired boy replied. He set the laptop down on the table, defeated.
"It was only a crappy story."
Sherlock glanced up at him, almost intrigued.
"Story?"
The boy nodded.
"I'm an author, or a least trying to be one," he explained, wiping the remaining mess from the laptop.
"But you see there's nothing to write about."
Sherlock frowned slightly.
"But there's plenty of things. The trees the birds, just look around you and you'll find something wonderful."
The boy's head lowered slightly.
"You see I wasn't exposed to all that stuff when I was a kid, I can't see the world the way you do. I'm John by the way. Watson, John Watson if you were wondering."
Sherlock suddenly broke into a smile.
"Sherlock Holmes."
Finally. A friend.

"I'm awfully sorry about your laptop by the way," the skinny boy mumbled, taking a seat opposite from John.
He shook his head and gave a slight smile.
"It's fine," John said, gently, pushing the laptop aside.
Sherlock nodded slightly, still unsure. Rain had now begun to lash down upon the shop windows, the sky beginning to darken. The boy opposite gave a groan and slumped back in his chair.
"Great," he muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Of course I had to forget my umbrella today of all days."
Sherlock glanced up slightly.
"I have an umbrella in my coat pocket," he replied nervously.
He fumbled around for a minute before pulling out a slick black umbrella.
John's mouth curled into a warm smile.
"Well if it's no trouble."
"Of course," Sherlock said, placing it on his lap.
"Whereabouts do you live?"
His companion grimaced.
"Here there everywhere I guess. Whoever will take me," he explained almost sadly.
"You're homeless?" Sherlock muttered, slightly shocked.
John composed himself.
"I suppose you could say that. Well my parents kicked me out and now I-"
"Stay with your friends," the curly-haired boy finished his sentence.
"I can see that."

A look of sheer bewilderment came over John's face.
"Yes um, what do you mean you saw that?"
Sherlock shrugged slightly, standing up, umbrella gripped in his hand.
"Your clothes, especially your jacket, all creased. Suggests that you're constantly folding them, maybe getting ready to pack. Never in the same place for a long amount of time. You're very patient which suggests that you've grown to getting used to numerous different people in a short amount of time. Being the charming man you are it's easy to say that you're good at making friends and even charm your way into letting them host you for the night. You've got nowhere to go, your family don't want you. Why? Well if they did then surely you would of phoned them by now. But no, you've been kicked out and are now relying on your mates to help you out. Please correct me if I'm wrong."
The boy's face had by now turned a distinctive white. He shakily made his way out of his chair and stood to face the stranger. Then, he put his hands together and began to clap.
"Well," he started, biting his lip.
"That was incredible."
"Excuse me?" Sherlock replied with confusion.
"Amazing, that was bloody amazing" John cried.
"You think so?" Sherlock mumbled, his voice dropping.
"Well of course I do, nobody else could tell that about me," John said with a chuckle.
Sherlock smiled to himself for a moment. Nobody had ever called him amazing before.
"Anyway," the blonde-haired boy said, clearing his throat.
"I better get going."

Sherlock Holmes held out the umbrella.
"Take this, I don't need it."
John received it wearily and examined it in his smooth hands.
"I can't take it, you'll get soaking wet out there," he said with a small sigh.
The lanky boy raised an eyebrow, a slightly smug expression on his pale face.
"I'm used to it, trust me. And anyway you obviously need it more. I can just get a cab or something," Sherlock explained.
John shook his head and rubbed his brown eyes.
"I've got nowhere to go though," he grimaced, holding out the umbrella.
"Then come with me," Sherlock exclaimed promptly, instantly regretting his words.
There came a slightly awkward silence in the air, only broken by John Watson clearing his breath.
"I mean only i-if you want to, if it's too uncomfortable then," Sherlock continued anxiously.
"I'd love to."

Baker Street was only a ten minute walk away from the cafe. The two boys walked together, the black mass which was the umbrella held up high above them. The rain showed no sign of stopping, typical for late November weather. John was the first to break the silence.
"So you live here, Baker Street?" he asked innocently, gazing around the road.
"221b," Sherlock answered casually.
"I'm a friend of the landlady there, Mrs Hudson."
He hastily grabbed the brass knocker by the door and gave four subtle knocks. The door swung open and both teenagers were greeted by a kind-looking older lady, who was evidently Mrs Hudson.
"Sherlock you're back!" She called with elements of surprise and joy.
"And you've brought someone too!"
She beamed down upon the curly-haired boy, and then to his new friend.
"Mrs Hudson this is John Watson, John this is is Mrs Hudson," he said, taking down the umbrella.

The three of them made their way inside, Mrs Hudson closing the door behind them all. Sherlock slipped off his scarf and watched John for a second, almost in awe.
"Will you be staying the night Mr Watson?" the landlady asked sweetly, placing a wrinkly hand on her hip.
"Well if it's no trouble," he replied, taking off his own jacket.
"Of course love," Mrs Hudson cried happily.
"There's one bedroom upstairs which I guess you'll both be needing."
Sherlock instantly spotted the concerned look on John's face and butted in.
"I'll take the sofa," he said suddenly.
"It's much comfier in my eyes, John can have the bed."
Mrs Hudson gave a quizzical look before smiling and shuffling away into the next room.
"Thanks anyway for letting me stay here Sherlock," John said with a slight grin.
"It was no problem," the skinny boy replied proudly.
"I guess I'll see you in the morning."

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