This One Time at Band Camp Chapter 2 (second half)

John was playing Ave Maria, some music he’d been meaning to get around to since the beginning of the summer. He’d gotten most the music down, almost as perfect as he could get it. Once he was more pleased with his own playing ability, he decided to play through the entire song once, mentally transposing the eerie yet oddly cheerful melody to key of B flat. Though it sounded higher, it still held a smooth tone while he played through the music, adding vibrato to the longer notes and slurs. Though he smudged a few notes, overall it fell together well.
Sherlock got to the bottom of a small hill and found that it opened up to make a large natural circle that had benches placed around it, all facing inward and in the center of it was a certain trumpeter. The violinist was easily able to tell the piece was Ave Maria; it was actually once of the first pieces that he performed. The teen was surprised at the precision John was playing at, and the tone quality was beautiful, but it felt like there was an emptiness lurking in notes, echoing through the melody as John played. Quietly, he set his violin case on a bench and opened it up so that he could take out his violin to play.
Once he was in playing position he let his bow hover over the strings, and listened to the other, waiting for the right time to come in. When he heard John take a breath he brought his bow down and began playing the supporting chords that he believed would help to bring the melody out, correctly of course.
John was slightly taken aback by the sudden company, but decided to continue playing, seeing that the violin brought a new livelihood to the song, and actually sounded rather beautiful. The trumpet player gave a quick glance to the violinist over his lyre, looking up the hill to see a familiar face. Eyes closed, face of concentration. John let his concentration slip for a moment, causing him to hit a wrong not, but quickly recover himself with a reddened face.
Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows a bit when he heard the wrong note, but was glad that the recovery was smooth. When the last note was played and had rung out through the woods the violinist smiled down at John, the music that was just played was rather beautiful, and he could tell that the trumpeter was working hard by the bruising of his lips.
“I hate to admit it, but my presumption of your ability was wrong. That was brilliant, for a trumpet player that is,” Sherlock was making his way down the steps that lead to the center of the circle, “I didn’t expect you to be able to transpose like that,”
John licked his lips, which were tingling from his practice time; it’d been at least an hour. He placed his instrument down and took a step towards Sherlock as h moved towards the middle. “You’re pretty shocking yourself Sherlock. That was,” He searched his brain for a good word, “Brilliant, maybe string players aren’t as bad as I’d like to admit,” He chuckled.
Sherlock smiled, “Thank you, but at a high school level most students are less than desirable players,” He tucked his bow under his arm so that he could give the other a handshake, “Seriously though, that was really good transposing,”
The trumpet player laughed and took the other’s hand, shaking it for a moment. “I could say the same. That sounded amazing Sherlock, you should play in front of people more often,” John offered the other a smile.
“I’d rather not, people put me off or they annoy me. I play to help me think, or to relax, if I were to play in front of an audience more often it would have the opposite effect,” Sherlock took his bow back in his hand and played a few stray notes. John was silent, giving a slight nod as Sherlock spoke. He let a moment pass as Sherlock played stray notes, as random as they were, they sounded beautiful.
“Would you play something for me then?” he raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, licking his lips.
Without a word Sherlock brought his bow up and started to play a light hearted tune. The beat bounced and it was jovial. After a few phrases he stopped and looked expectantly at the other.
The other was merely ecstatic that Sherlock had started to play, giving a satisfactory nod to Sherlock once a glance was shared, and finding a seat on one of the benches.
The song illuminated the forest, sweeping its way between the blowing leaves to set them on fire, leaving the hair on the back of your neck stand with applause for such beauty. From a simple bow across strings, much like a brush upon a canvas. John’s eyes lit up with illustrations and happy memories as the tune circled his mind, engulfing him. He was positively wrong about Sherlock’s playing abilities, more than he’d like to admit. The song closed as it opened, leaving a cherry on top of such a delectable piece of music. John clapped softly once Sherlock dropped his bow.
Sherlock opened his eyes to look at the clapping John. It was a bit of a habit of his to close his eyes while playing so that he could concentrate more on his musicality. The violinist went towards his case so that he could put his instrument away, even though he enjoyed playing in front of John, he still wasn’t quite used to having an audience. That and anyone could arrive at any moment.
“That was amazing Sherlock,” John half laughed from his seat, watching the other pack up before standing himself. “We have about forty five minutes before dinner, anything interesting we could do?”
“Well, I could try to teach you how to dance again, with a bit more of a warning so we don’t trip again,” Sherlock smirked as he walked back towards the other.
John took a moment and smirked, holding out his hand to the other once he’d come close enough. “That sounds wonderful,” the shorter male laughed once Sherlock placed his hand atop his own.
Sherlock put his other hand on the small of John’s back and told the other, “Now, follow my feet.” He took a slow step forward, not wanting to trip again. With a nod John followed and moved his feet back, his free hand on Sherlock’s shoulder as he wore a proud grin. Sherlock smirked and then moved his next foot, “Better than this morning,” He started to mutter 1, 2, 3 under his breath to help the other keep the beat. John nodded and gripped Sherlock’s hand tighter, looking down at their feet and mumbling counts under his own breath, furrowing his brows as he tried to keep his feet in beat. Sherlock noticed the other watching their feet so he moved his head down to lightly bump the other’s “Don’t watch your feet. A dancer is to be able to confidently look at their partner,”
John opened his mouth, but decided against it, simply nodding as he repositioned his head to watch Sherlock as they moved. For a few moments it worked, but then John was smiling dumbly.
“What’s so humorous?” Sherlock asked as he slowly pulled away to lead John through a turn. He lifted his arm up a bit to help allow the other to pass.
John went through the pass before returning to their beginning position, shaking his head. “Just the fact I’m at band camp, waltzing with a violinist I’ve just met who had just played me one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard, it’s a little odd to look you in the eyes while dancing too,” The male laughed as Sherlock took him into another turn.
Sherlock shifted his eyes a bit, letting them stare past John, “I can see why,”
John blinked and looked over his shoulder slightly then back to Sherlock, raising an eyebrow as their steps slowed, “You okay Sherlock?”
The violinist’s smirk had dropped and was replaced with a small frown.
“I’m fine, perfectly fine,” His tone was tense and slightly jerky.
John stopped their feet, though didn’t move away, simply looked up at the other, “Obviously not,” He shook his head.
“What are you a doctor? I’m perfectly fine, as a human being am I not allowed to experience something as regular as a mood swing?” Sherlock moved his eyes back to John, but they still had a bit of a distant look in them.
John had dropped his hands and looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes and giving a nod, “Yeah, alright. Don’t get your boxers in a twist, I just was worried,” He held his hand up in apology.
“It’s fine, it’s just that,” Sherlock blew air up, blowing a stray curl up off of his forehead, “James is rather skilled at getting under my skin, especially with that rather redundant nickname,”
“That is understandable,” John noted, thinking of the alto sax player, scowling with a shake of his head. Moriarty knew how to get under anyone’s skin, Sherlock just seemed to have it worst, “It’s the past Sherlock. Don’t let him bug you,” John reassured the other with a pat to Sherlock’s shoulder.
“I know it is in the past, I’d hate it if it were the present. James is a rather physical person and I just played along…” Sherlock paused, glancing down at John’s and that was on his shoulder, “To be honest he interested me at the time. He wasn’t as predictable as everybody else,”
Seeing that John had many of his own regrettable relationships he knew where Sherlock was coming from. He removed his hand and walked to get his case and then face Sherlock, giving a questionable eyebrow raise. “Predictable? That is surely something Jim isn’t, but others aren’t so predictable either,”
Sherlock scoffed, “Oh please, people are very predictable,” He walked over to retrieve his own case, “I can tell that you’ve been playing for almost seven years now, but somehow you’ve gained the upper hand on the seniors. I would say that you take lessons, but you don’t come from a family that would be able to afford them, so you just simply practice a lot. People are open books, most everyone is and when you read them you should be able to more or less know what will happen next,”
“The fact that you’re able to do that is… amazing, but not exactly normal,” John spoke as he lifted up his case and ventured back up the hill to Sherlock’s side, looking up at the other, “What about you then? You obviously know everything about me, but I can’t say the same for you,”
“Me? Well I’m a violinist,” Sherlock began lamely while eying the ground as they walked. He wasn’t quite used to anyone asking about him, “I’ve been playing since I was four. Mycroft and I don’t get along, and my mother worries a lot.”
“Four? Wow,” John kept his free hand in his pocket and looked down as well, “And Mycroft’s your brother? That’s cool, he helps with the bass instruments right?” He continued, “Why’d you come to America?”
“My mother wanted to have a fresh start after my father had died. I suppose she didn’t want to be reminded of Father at all, so to be sure of it she had us come here,” Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, “It honestly didn’t matter to me where we lived,”
John gave a nod, he could understand that. “I see, at least you were alright with it,” The trumpet player looked up at the other with a small smile.
“I never said that I was alright with it, I just simply don’t care,” The violinist scrunched his nose when he saw the mess that was left at the pavilion.
John’s own eyes flickered to the pavilion, seeing some of the low brass laughing and sitting on the picnic table, causing John to scowl at how loud they were.
“I didn’t like moving here either, so it’s alright,”
“Why did you and your family move to America then?” Sherlock gave the low brass a quick glance as he heard them taunting him once they saw that he was a string player.
The trumpet glared at the low brass, causing them to shut up as John took a seat on one of the empty tables, swallowing slightly. “Dad was a big drinker, it got us into some trouble. Harry got into the wrong crowd too so mom decided it was time to leave,” He played with the handle on his case, “Dad died after we left. Drank himself off, he finished with a shrug.
“Oh, well, what about you then? How was it like for you before you moved here?” Sherlock set his case down by the orchestra room door.
John simply shook his head. Back in England wasn’t the best time of his life. He changed the subject, “So how’s the orchestra coming along?”
“Better than expected, but not by much. There’s this one girl, what’s her name… Molly, she’s a decent player, but she’s always coming in late,” he answered.
“You would think that since we’re at camp to play, playing would be something you wouldn’t be late for,” John laughed and looked over to Sherlock, “We should head to dinner,”
Sherlock checked his phone for his time, “You’re right, let’s go,”
The two walked together down to the cafeteria. A crowd of students were already filing into the large room. Once they were inside the cafeteria they were able to find and empty table near the back where they took their food to and sat down.
John had noticed that Sherlock hadn’t taken much and scowled at the violinist in question. He hadn’t seen Sherlock eat much since they’d been there.
“Why are you giving me that look?” Sherlock asked as he picked up his fork and picked at his food.
“You didn’t get much,” John stated, opening his mouth to speak once more, but was cut off by a man sitting frown at the table besides them, noticing Sherlock tense.
“He never eats much, look at how skinny he it,” Mycroft spoke as he smiled at his brother.
“I don’t eat more than I need to Mycroft. Have you gained weight?” Sherlock spoke as he viciously stabbed his salad.
Mycroft gave an innocent smile and clasped his hands in his lap.
“Sherlock, don’t be so rude,” John shook his head as he spoke, looking to Mycroft.
“Brother, your… pal is right. You’ve been rather moody lately. Should I have Mummy call you?”
“It was just a simple question Mycroft, there’s no need to bring Mother into this. She already worries too much as it is,” Sherlock grumbled, “And I have not been moody, I’ve been acting how I always do, it’s not my fault I’m stuck in a cabin with James,”
“James?” Mycroft lifted his eyebrows, “Anything I should be concerned about?” Mycroft, of course, knew of Sherlock and James’ old… relationship.
“Well seeing as how you’ve never been concerned about it before, no. It won’t matter once the week is over,” Sherlock grumbled, playing with his food.
Mycroft left it at that and took a sip of his tea, John taking a bit of his food as he looked at the brothers.
“Good afternoon Mycroft,” John said, trying to hold civil conversation at their table, causing the corners of Mycroft’s lips to quirk upwards in a sly smile.
“Good afternoon, Watson was it?” Mycroft politely replied, “I hope my brother isn’t causing you too much trouble,”
John laughed softly and took a drink of his coffee. “John Watson, yes,” He nodded his head, glancing his eyes over at Sherlock who was slouched down in his sear, stabbing at his food, causing John to smile endearingly. “No trouble at all,”
“That’s good, I would hate to have to call home to Mother just to tell her that her little Locky is being a trouble maker,” Mycroft smiled, eying his brother, “Oh, come now brother, you’re not a child, stop playing with your food.”
“I’m not playing with it, I’m just masticating,” Sherlock took a small bit of his salad, causing John to raise his eyebrows at the duo, clearing his throat.
“Boys, please,” The trumpet player finished off his coffee and looked up at the clock, “I have practice, I should go. See you later Sherlock,” John offered a small smile and nodded to Mycroft, “It was a pleasure,” With that John left the two, Sherlock half sulking in his seat as Mycroft smiled and offered a curt “Goodbye,”
“So?” Mycroft asked, raising his eyes to Sherlock.
“So what?” Sherlock asked, straightening up in his seat and setting his fork down.
“John Watson? Nice boy, I’m glad you chose someone nice this time around,” Mycroft adjusted his mug, crossing one leg over the other.
Sherlock cocked his head to the side, “Are you implying that him and I- no. He is my,” He paused. Was John a friend? He didn’t have too much experience in this field, “Friend. That’s it, nothing more. James was a mistake and that won’t happen again, and I would appreciate you not nosing into my life brother.”
“A friend?” Mycroft asked, puzzled, “That’s just as dangerous my dear brother,” The elder Holmes looked at his brother. “Is it so wrong for me to be concerned about my little brother?”
Sherlock scoffed and stood, “Well, I’d be lying if I told you this has been a pleasure, but I don’t want to be late to rehearsal, so goodbye Mycroft,” The violinist headed out without a backwards glance at his brother.
The assistant teacher smiled as his brother gave him his normal farewell, leaving Mycroft to sigh. Sherlock would never learn.
~~~
“Dismissed!” Lestrade, the drum major called before hopping off of the podium, “Now, before you all go back to your cabins you have to stay out here for ‘Forced Family Fun’. Tonight we’re doing sack races and three legged races, and before you ask, yes, the orchestra kids have to do it too. Speaking of which, here they are,”
Most of the band looked to the path to see the small group of orchestra students making their way down.
John of course was going to run over to Sherlock, but was found being pulled away by Mike, a fellow trumpet player who had taken John to be his partner. Before the short male had time to argue he laughed, finding himself watching the sack races as Mike tied their feet together.
Sherlock, once on the field, stood on the sidelines. He didn’t want to participate in the games, he saw no real need to, but it was the rules for him to at least be present while the event was happening. Lestrade blew his whistle to signify the beginning of the race. The curly haired teen flicked his eyes through the crowd, quickly finding John hobbling with another teenager. He couldn’t help, but to give a tiny little chuckle when the two tripped and fell behind. He could hear John encouraging the other, saying that they still had a chance. Sherlock didn’t know it, but his face had a small little smile as he watched John participate in the games.
‘A friend? That’s just as dangerous my dear brother’. The words surfaced in Sherlock’s mind. “How ridiculous, a friend isn’t dangerous unless you let them become one.” The teenager muttered under his breath.
Once the games were over John laughed with Mike seeing that they’d came in rather late seeing that they’d fallen a few times. John’s black wife beater was covered in sweat and he was more than ready for a shower, and he planned on going to take one before he heard the whistle sound, calling the band kids to a stop and snap to attention. He wasn’t expecting to be called up after game night, but he guessed that Lestrade had wanted to show off to the orchestra kids that had gathered around.
“Band, a ten hut.” Greg called out, clapping his hands at a common time pace.
“A ten hut one!” The band echoed loudly.
“Heels,” Greg called out loudly, the band replying even louder as they began an echo of their chant, which went; Heels, together! Toes, apart! Stomach, in! Chest, out! Shoulders, back! Chin, pride! Chin, pride! Chin, pride! That was said in a back and forth between the drum major and the band. Then ended in a roaring ‘Dismissed!’ from Lestrade, causing all the band members to return to their regularly scheduled program as if they hadn’t just been screaming their lungs out.
John plopped down on the grass neck to Sherlock and enjoyed a moment of rest, seeing a smug Sherlock look down at him.
“What are you so smug about?” John groaned out, rubbing his calves and trying to dull the ache.
“The way you all respond to a whistle, it’s amusing. It’s as if you’re all trained dogs.” Sherlock mused, starting to stroll up the path.
John had to force himself off the grass and grab his instrument to follow the other. “That’s one way to put it I guess.” John mused, playing some stray notes on his trumpet as they walked up the path, ignoring the aching pain in his legs.
Sherlock looked down to the other; the smell of sweat was a bit strong. “I do hope you shower tonight, you’re absolutely drenched in your own sweat. It’s understandable since you’ve been out here all day, but that doesn’t make your stench any less offensive.”
John scoffed and ran his free hand through his hair, unintentionally ruffling his short blond hair. “Of course I’ll be showering.” He looked up the path to see James and Sebastian walking together, causing him to scowl. He’d have to be showering with them, he’d make sure to keep his clothes in sight.
The violinist followed the other’s gaze and scowled when he saw the two in front of them. “Don’t worry, James probably won’t steal your clothes; he already did it to me. It would be boring to do the same thing, especially in the same day.”
The trumpet player sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I guess I just don’t want to hear of my least people having sex in the show.” John huffed, nodding his head towards James and his little shadow as they walked up the path.
Sherlock tensed his hands a bit and put them in his pockets. “Well if he needs to be he can be quiet, so depending on the amount of people in the shower room you might not hear it.”
John cringed, just the thought was off putting. He opened the door to the cabin and held the door for Sherlock, seeing that everyone, but Greg had already reached the cabin and was gathering things for their shows. John was grabbing his own sleep clothes out of his duffle bag.
The violinist sat in his bunk, bending down to retrieve a book from his bag. He had brought along a few novels, one of which being a paperback copy of the Fellowship of the Ring, which was a gift from his mother, Still bent over his bad he eyed the book, quickly reading the back cover, hearing John as he left the cabin.
Jim hung out after Sebastian and Samson Anderson had left, smirking. “What a nice sight, Sherly,” Jim cooed from his own bunk; shower bag under his ar.
The mentioned teen popped his head up, glaring at the other, “I would say the same to you, but you’re in my line of sight. Why don’t you go off to shower already, your regular stench is already unbearable without sweat and dirt added to it,”
Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step towards the taller male, “Come on Sherlock,” His voice cooed, yet withheld a more serious tone, his lips forming into a look of hurt and disgust, “Don’t be so foul,”
“I’m merely stating the truth, James,” Sherlock’s voice had deepened into a more serious and almost hateful tone as he looked up at the other who was now about arm’s length away.
The male gave a small, rather forced smile at the other as he cocked his head to the side, “You’ve always been rather nasty to avoid feeling emotions.
“I’ve always acted how I saw fit. Feelings are boring,” Sherlock set the book down next to him on the bed so that he could rest his head on his hands which were leaning their elbows on his knees.
James crouched down, hands still on his pockets as he sat eye-to-eye with Sherlock, a sly smirk on his face, “Feelings are what make you alive,” He stressed the last words dangerously as he stood, bored with Sherlock’s company.
“If I’m not alive then what am I?” The violinist asked, his eyes never leaving the other. He stood as well, feeling satisfied at the fact his height dominating the others.
Jim looked up Sherlock’s body slowly before meeting his eyes, causing him to give a lazy half smirk. “A pawn, an insignificant disposable piece used for a bigger cause, only needed for entertainment… or a monster,” The ending of his sentence coming out with pure hate.
Sherlock felt himself smirk, just to spite the other, “A monster? Out of the two of us you’re closer to that description than I am. You claim that you’re with that Sebastian fellow, yet it is to my knowledge that you sleep with other people. Why is that? Afraid to commit?”
Jim’s jaw tensed as he tried to hide the venom in his voice, “I think you’d understand that better than anyone. Just don’t break poor Johnny boy’s heart like you so carelessly tend to do,” Jim grabbed his clothes and exited the cabin, just as a clean John entered, toweling his wet hair with a questioning look.
“What are you trying to insinuate?” Sherlock called after the saxophone player. He let out an angry puff of air as he plopped himself down on his bed. He bent over his bag again to pull out his pyjamas and he started to quickly change while muttering words such as “Insufferable,” or “Unbearable,”
John hung his towel over his shoulders, furrowing his eyebrows at Sherlock, plopping down on the younger male’s bunk. “What was that about?”
After pulling his head through a white T-shirt Sherlock sat down next to John. “James was being his regular self. That’s all.” His words were short, staccato.
“Anything that needs taking care of? I’m sure Mycroft-”Sherlock interrupted John with a scoff.
“Mycroft,” He simply stated, causing John to sigh and adjust his own T-shirt. James had a way of driving Sherlock crazy within minutes. Sherlock let out another sigh to help calm him. He turned his head to look towards John, “It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, but I’d like to become unconscious before having to deal with James again,”
John nodded at the other and offered a small smile, “Well, goodnight Sherlock, don’t worry too much about James,” John gave an awkward nod as he stood, going to get into his own bunk.
Sherlock laid down in his own bunk, under the covers and facing the wall, “Yeah, goodnight,”