A unilock Christmas present for willietheplaidjacket
Scotch and Snowmen – John’s spending Christmas alone in the dorm…oh right Sherlock Holmes is here too…
teaser below the cut
John Watson stuffed his hands deeper into his coat pockets as he trudged back to his dorm. The campus was eerie when it was empty like this. But most students had family to go home to over break. John had received special permission to just stay here. It was only a couple weeks and at least this way he could get a head start on studying for next semester. There had been an invite from a teacher for Christmas, but he’d politely turned it down. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the holiday surrounded by happy little kids in a warm little house with a cozy little fire and a loving family. Harry was busy with her girlfriend; there hadn’t even been a phone call in two months and he wasn’t quite sure of her number these days anyways. And it would be a cold day in Hell before he’d spend one more night under his father’s roof.
As he reached the dorm, he looked up and realized there was a light on. Ah, right, Sherlock Holmes was still here too. He did have family to go to, but as far as he understood, they didn’t get on either. Well, maybe they could at least demolish the scotch John had in his room. He didn’t drink often, another legacy of Da, but a holiday was an excellent reason.
He climbed the stairs to his room and went in, hanging up his coat and shaking off the cold. He glanced in the mirror and brushed the lingering snowflakes from his hair before grabbing the scotch from the back of the closet.
Heading back into the hallway, he headed for Sherlock’s room and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he tried again before taking a breath and trying the handle. To his surprise the door was open, and room empty.
Frowning, John closed the door again and looked up and down the hall. Oh. Of course. The light he’d seen from outside wasn’t this room. He called up the memory of the building, looked around a moment, then headed down the hall, knocking on a door one story up and three doors down from where he’d been.
As he raised his hand to knock, he heard the faint sounds of a violin. He froze in place, listening to the beautiful melody. It was like nothing he’d heard before. He was hardly aware he was still standing with his hand raised until the music suddenly stopped and the door was flung open.
“John Watson,” Sherlock glowered down at him. The young man had a fearsome reputation, but John wasn’t particularly scared of anyone. He lowered his hand and smiled at him, offering the bottle of scotch.