Sherlock fic: 'Reading too much meaning from existence', 2/3.
Title: 'Reading too much meaning from existence', part 2 of 3 (part 1 is here).
Fandom: the BBC's Sherlock.
Spoilers: set many years pre-canon (1997-2001), with only tiny spoilers for 'A Study in Pink' and 'The Blind Banker'.
Disclaimer: none of the characters you recognise belong to me.
Word count: 3,600 words.
Genre: slash, with a little het (Sherlock/Sebastian, Sherlock/OMCs, Sherlock/OFC).
Rating: NC-17 for sex, drugs and language.
Warnings / Enticements: angst! Depiction of a dysfunctional relationship, promiscuous behaviour, sexual activity between schoolboys, sex in inappropriate public places, and recreational drug use. Also, Sherlock in a dress.
Summary: Sherlock excels academically at Oxford, of course. But he passes through its social world like a ghost; or, to be more accurate, like a poltergeist.
Author's notes: this Sherlock-at-Oxford story is a prequel to my John-POV story Food for thought, but it can be read independently. There will be at least one further story set in this as-yet-unnamed 'verse.
There are several songs which inspired parts of this fic. If you're interested, I've included download links and lyrics at the end.
***
'Reading too much meaning from existence', part 2
part 1
Sherlock may have been unmatched in the academic arena, but he is much less successful when it comes to personal interaction. He passes through his college's social scene like a ghost. Or, to be more accurate, like a poltergeist. People look right through him when he is silent, and actively dislike him when he makes noise and disrupts proceedings.
When he first arrives at Wadham, Sherlock approaches socialising as an experiment. Communal mealtimes are a crucial part of college life, so he starts there. He circulates around the tables, sitting down with a string of strangers. Everybody's trying to forge connections, at the beginning of the year, so his method doesn't immediately differentiate him from the other new students.
Unfortunately, he discovers that breakfast/lunch/dinner conversations mostly tend to the inane: moaning about reading lists and tutorial essays on the one hand, gossiping and making weekend plans on the other. Sherlock tries to talk about important things, like scientific advances and serial killers, but finds few people willing to engage with him.
By the end of first year, Sherlock has spoken to almost every student in college. And one by one, he's eliminated virtually all of them as viable candidates for friendship. There are clearly some decent minds in the sample pool - they were smart enough to get into Oxford, after all. But they can't keep up with Sherlock, or they're affronted by something he says, or their interests are just too different from his.
For instance: one of the biggest topics of conversation around college is the recently-elected Labour government. Wadham students tend to the liberal / left end of the political spectrum, so there is great hope for change. But Sherlock doesn't give a damn about the new Prime Minister - he can't even remember the man's name - with his toothy grin and lying eyes.
Anyway, he knows that his brother is behind the scenes somewhere, pulling invisible strings and making things happen (or not happen). If Sherlock were on speaking terms with Mycroft, he'd congratulate him on having amassed so much power by the tender age of 25. But he isn't, so he doesn't.
***
When he doesn't have the energy to meet new people, Sherlock has a fallback position: a table populated by fellow scientists, who at least accept his presence even if they don't actively seek it out. Sherlock's usual seat affords him great opportunities for people-watching. Studying the patterns of collective rather than individual behaviour is an interesting challenge.
By Easter of his first year, many of the freshers have formed friendships or relationships. Certain groups of people tend to sit together, and fall into predictable modes of interaction (intense discussion, good-natured mockery, loud laughter, and occasional loud disagreements).
There is some fraternisation between the new intake and the older students; this is particularly the case when they have common affiliations, like subject area or participation in extracurricular activities. The rowers are especially intense in their tribal attachment - it's rather homosocial, in Sherlock's view.
There is also a tendency for foreign language speakers to cluster. Sherlock notes, with interest, that the linguistic bond can override strong differences. Taiwanese and Chinese students seem happy to sit beside each other, disregarding their governments' perpetual state of high tension. Arabic speakers from across the Middle East also congregate together, despite long-standing ethnic and political rifts within the region. The opportunity to speak one's native tongue must be a powerful attractor indeed.
If Sherlock could find someone - anyone - who understood him, he might be able to relate.
His brother is the closest, and he hardly counts. Sherlock is certain that Mycroft speaks his language, sees the world the same way, but has deliberately buried that capability under layers of political ambition and social polish. That betrayal only adds to Sherlock's sense of isolation.
Before going up to Oxford, Sherlock had dreamt of connecting with a fellow practitioner of deduction. During his systematic survey of the college population, therefore, he deliberately reveals his skills to everyone (by passing comment on either his interlocutor, or someone nearby). They're by no means rusty from disuse, as Sherlock never ceases to observe and extrapolate. But it's been years since he tried telling anyone about it.
In lieu of finding an equal, Sherlock would have settled for an appreciative audience. Sadly, even this proves to be a forlorn hope. Just like at home and at school, people at college seem to be unnerved and angered by what he says.
For instance, it turns out that nobody wants their nocturnal activities to be discerned and described to others over breakfast. Sherlock doesn't understand the problem. Well, all right, he can see why his occasional contradiction of students' claims ("No, Tom, you didn't score with blonde twins last night; you came home alone and passed out on the toilet floor") might give offence. But most of the time, he's actually corroborating their sexual boasts! Rather than threaten to hit him, they should thank him.
***
It's not like he has any recent sexual exploits of his own to brag about. Sherlock notices other guys, of course he does, but the thought of trying to chat someone up paralyses him.
He'd fooled around with classmates at school, but that was purely physical and no conversation was required - or even desired. During one of their regular mutual masturbation sessions, Julian had actually clamped his free hand over Sherlock's mouth to get him to stop talking. Sherlock had bitten his palm, Julian had punched him in the face, and they'd ended up in the headmaster's office. Julian scheduled no further "biology tutorials" with Sherlock.
Even in the confines of Wadham's group for queer students, where the male members are unlikely to beat him up for signalling an interest, Sherlock's nerve deserts him. He reverts to the self-protective behaviour of his childhood, sitting in the corner and barely speaking.
Sherlock gets along better with the lesbians in the group. He and they aren't in competition for sexual conquests, nor interested in each other, so actual conversations can take place without awkward undercurrents. One of these girls, Antonia, is the closest thing he has to a friend. She is a forthright blonde physicist from Wales, and Sherlock has enjoyably robust debates with her during meals.
"You're quite fit, you know," Antonia says, apropos of nothing, one day in their second year. Sherlock blinks at her. He is aware that "fit" means "good-looking", in the British vernacular, but he has trouble associating the concept with himself. His body is really just a physical shell and support system for his brain, and does its job to an acceptable standard. It's in pleasingly good shape from all the fencing and martial arts training he does; otherwise, he has no particular opinion about its aesthetics.
His doubt must show on his face, because Antonia's eyes widen perceptibly. "My God...so there is something you're modest about. I may die of shock!" She drops her mocking tone, and leans forward with an earnest air. "But seriously, Sherlock, it's true. You've got gorgeous eyes, nice skin, and cheekbones most girls would kill for."
Sherlock isn't used to receiving compliments. "Thank you," he says, assuming that's the appropriate response, but she isn't finished with him yet.
"Your hair could do with cutting, though, and you're much too pale and thin. Sadly for you, the 'heroin chic' look is on the way out. So stop living on coffee, and go sit in the sun occasionally."
Sherlock gives Antonia a mock salute, then guides the conversation back onto safe ground by posing some tangentially related question about solar radiation. He knows the answer already, of course, but at least it distracts her from the topic of his appearance.
Still, her comments make Sherlock examine himself critically in the mirror that night. Without Mummy to insist on regular hairdresser's appointments, his hair has admittedly grown quite long - but he prefers it this way. And his face does look pinched and pasty, especially in contrast to his wild profusion of dark curls.
It's not that he's starving himself or anything. When there are books to read and experiments to perform, he simply forgets to eat. His irregular sleeping pattern often means that he misses at least one scheduled meal per day. And he can't make up for it by cooking for himself; he never learnt how, but (more crucially) he's not allowed to. The Wadham Students' Union voted in first year to ban Sherlock from the communal kitchen, given his habit of conducting impromptu chemical experiments using the equipment therein.
Sherlock decides to take Antonia's advice, and spend more time outside; maybe he can do some of his reading in the college gardens. His vitamin D levels undoubtedly need boosting. Furthermore, his observations confirm that the current preference among both females and males is for well-tanned skin. This is ludicrous, given Britain's pitiful annual sunshine quotient, but Sherlock knows that fashion trends are highly irrational. The salient point remains: if his pallor is diminished, perhaps other boys will like him better.
***
The events run by the university-wide queer students' group are big, and offer anonymity in a way that a smaller college group doesn't. Sherlock goes to a few of the club nights, but it's a disaster: he can't dance, doesn't drink (it clouds his thinking), and the music is too loud for talking. Guys do approach him on the sidelines, but don't stay long before they suddenly spot a friend across the room or make a one-way trip to the bar for a refill.
He tries going to some of the quieter LGB-Soc gatherings, like movie outings and pizza nights, but still gets nowhere. Sherlock can't understand what he's doing wrong, so he swallows his pride and asks Antonia. She's been at several of the same events, and has witnessed his troubles. She is characteristically blunt in response.
"You're so unapproachable, Sherlock - it's like you're radiating 'stay away' vibes. And when the brave ones talk to you anyway, you try to impress them with your massive brain. But you just come across as an arrogant, weird, mind-reading prick. Maybe you should work on your conversational skills, and give your deductive skills a rest?"
Sherlock has only two modi operandi: silence, and a rapid-fire verbosity that leaves most people in the dust. He is dismayed by the prospect of having to learn - or fake - an entirely new method of interaction, just in order to experience anal intercourse for the first time. Would it be worth it, given that he can achieve adequate satisfaction with his own hand(s)?
In the end, Sherlock decides to assume that every queer male in Oxford is an intellectual inferior who'd only disappoint him, and resolutely stops looking. He has books to read, anyway.
***
Sexual opportunity, when it finally arrives in Sherlock's third year, comes in an unexpected form.
There's a mathmo who lives on the same staircase as Sherlock, and they're on reasonably friendly terms. Sherlock is glad to have someone else of a vaguely scientific persuasion around (there are far too bloody many humanities students at Wadham). His name is Sebastian Wilkes, and he's the epitome of public school posh. He plays rugby, goes on pub crawls, and talks loudly about pulling girls.
So Sherlock is rather surprised to notice Sebastian looking at him: at his mouth when he steeples his fingers against his lips in the library, at his chest when he comes out of their shared shower, and at his arse when he's rushing off to fencing training in his tight-fitting white trousers.
Sherlock suspects that Sebastian is attracted to him, and decides to test this hypothesis. When his neighbour knocks on the door late one night, asking to borrow some camomile tea, Sherlock invites him in. Sebastian sits on the bed, waiting, while Sherlock bends over his food stash in the corner of the room. He knows his pyjamas are pulled flatteringly tight over his arse, and when he turns around he catches Sebastian staring. Sebastian starts to stammer an excuse, but Sherlock takes two strides across the room, falls to his knees, and kisses him.
Sebastian kisses him back with flattering fervour. The tea is entirely forgotten.
***
Sebastian is more sexually experienced, which is fine: Sherlock is eager to expand his repertoire. But as a lover, Seb turns out to be pretty damn selfish. He demands fellatio frequently, but rarely reciprocates. When he's the penetrating partner (which is almost always the case), he does little or nothing to ensure that Sherlock orgasms too. Nevertheless, it's all part of the learning process, and Sherlock does not dare complain.
With one eye to his future career in high finance, Seb is desperate to remain in the closet. So he still picks girls up at bars and clubs, often bringing one back to his room. Sherlock passes them on the stairs, sometimes; the girls look right through him, and Seb won't meet his gaze.
Around college, Seb pretends to barely know Sherlock beyond being his neighbour. He laughs at him, and dismisses his deductive ability as a "trick". Although Sherlock very well understands the drive to conceal one's true nature, after nearly a decade of doing it himself, this rejection is still...irritating.
Sherlock once tries to get some petty revenge, telling everyone in the breakfast queue that Seb had clearly spent some time on his knees the previous night. It's a minor indiscretion (Sherlock is careful not to specify the recipient's gender), and entirely truthful. But Seb is furious, and won't touch him for a month afterwards; he never volunteers to pleasure Sherlock orally again.
Sherlock has picked up enough football parlance to recognise this as a classic "own goal". He doesn't embarrass Seb in public again.
Seb's only doing a three-year degree, compared to Sherlock's four, and the last few months of his time at Oxford are consumed by preparation for his final exams. Their trysts dwindle to occasional tension-relief, and then a "last hurrah" the night before Seb leaves for London.
[They will not stay in touch, although Sherlock will follow Sebastian's stellar success from a distance and wonder whether he still keeps a secret boyfriend on the side. They will not see each other again for 8 years.
When they meet at the bank, Seb will smirk at him and call him "buddy". Sherlock will want to throw the bastard from Sir William's balcony for belittling him in front of his new friend John. John will perceive Sherlock's strong dislike of Seb, and appear to share it; Sherlock will feel quite irrationally relieved and grateful.]
***
His somewhat warped relationship with Sebastian has at least made Sherlock more confident about seeking out sexual partners for meaningless pleasure. In fourth year, he buys bulk quantities of condoms and lubricant (having read so many medical texts, he is hyperaware of the risks of unprotected sex), and hits the scene with renewed purpose.
He firstly spends a while observing the mating ritual on display at Oxford's gay clubs. Then, in accordance with his findings, Sherlock:
1) purchases more revealing clothing (close-fitting sleeveless tops and tight trousers to flaunt his lean, lightly-muscled form),
2) experiments with cosmetics (eyeliner makes his eyes appear bigger, while lip gloss draws attention to his mouth), and
3) starts smoking (asking someone for a light doubles as a good flirting technique).
He also decides to try illicit substances for the first time. Spending some of his accumulated chemistry prize money on chemical mood enhancers amuses him. He contemplates making some party pills in the department's labs, but caution prevails: he does not want to be sent down for something as plebeian as drug manufacture.
Sherlock starts with a very small quantity of ecstasy, calibrates the dose for the optimal effect, and then branches out into other stimulants. He methodically works his way up to cocaine, which immediately becomes his drug of choice: it combines a fantastic energy rush with a sense of unparalleled mental acuity.
[Sometime in the future, Sherlock's coke habit will become a major problem. For now, though, he is certain that he has it under control. After all, he takes just enough to relax his inhibitions and increase his social confidence before a big night out.]
***
This time around, older and more cynical, Sherlock takes a very different approach to meeting guys. He has no intention of finding a long-term partner, or bestowing his affections upon anyone; he just needs more data, in order to formulate a coherent theory about his own sexual preferences and limitations. So he doesn't care about showing off his intelligence, or ascertaining every suitor's IQ. He doesn't even try to make conversation anymore, beyond a perfunctory exchange of name/subject/college.
To make things more interesting, Sherlock decides to make the pulling process into a bingo game of sorts: he will try to have sex with at least one student from every college. He goes after his goal with single-minded determination. Sometimes he has two or even three partners per night. Fortunately, he's young and has a short refractory period.
Most of his encounters are brief - an exchange of handjobs or blowjobs - and relatively pedestrian, but some are far more memorable. For instance, there's the time he wears a sequined silver dress, fishnet stockings, and heels to the Halloqueen bop at St Antony's, and dances on a table with a drag king dressed as Elvis.
The evening gets really interesting later on, when he goes home with a Wolfson student and his Linacre boyfriend. The threesome conveniently fills two bingo squares with one stone, but Sherlock will only think about that later: at the time, he's too busy having his mind blown as never before.
He experiences total overload, trying to process all the sensations the two men elicit in him. Being sandwiched between their bodies, one lover kissing him while the other bites at his neck, makes Sherlock writhe; having his inner thigh licked through the fishnet stocking makes him shiver. Being sucked off by one guy while the other fucks him makes him incoherent with pleasure. His orgasm is so powerful that he passes out.
While on his self-appointed quest, Sherlock has sex all over Oxford. Most often, it's in the toilets of nightclubs, or up against the wall outside. Sometimes, actual beds are involved. He never invites anyone to his room, however. That's his private space, where scientific experiments are in progress on every flat surface and the walls are covered with photos of famous criminals. The college scouts are no longer willing to clean his room, so appalled are they by its contents; he hates to think what prospective sexual partners might say.
But Sherlock also takes in some of the city's sights. He gets off under the Bridge of Sighs opposite the Bodleian, and on a punt floating down the Cherwell River. Oxford's beautiful interiors are not neglected either. Sherlock admires the view from the Minstrels' Gallery above Teddy Hall's 17th century dining room, and contemplates the intricately carved stone ceiling of Christ Church Cathedral while he's on his back in the choir stalls.
As well as doing his own peculiar kind of sex tourism, Sherlock takes the opportunity for a little oblique, petty revenge against his family. There's a photo of Maggie Thatcher on his parents' mantelpiece, but none of Sherlock. So it gives him great pleasure to visit Mummy's old college, Somerville, and suck a guy off while he's leaning on the wall of the Margaret Thatcher Centre.
Defiling Magdalen, where Mycroft, Father, and several previous generations of Holmes men studied, is even more enjoyable. He convinces a Magdalen student to sneak into the college's hallowed Deer Park, late at night, and to fuck him against a tree. Despite his back being scratched by the rough bark, Sherlock smiles his way through the entire encounter. He hopes his brilliant brother somehow discerns this sacrilege over Christmas dinner, and chokes on his mouthful of turkey.
***
No proper experiment would be complete without a control subject. So Sherlock approaches Felicity, one of the bisexual girls he's met through LGB Soc, and asks her to participate. He chooses her for two reasons. Firstly, she is a biologist, so she can appreciate his argument about the scientific method. Secondly, she's from Oxford's only remaining women's college, St Hilda's, so he will get to tick off that elusive bingo square after all.
Sex with Felicity is...acceptable. Her breasts are interesting to play with, and he knows enough from his anatomy texts to pleasure her to climax, twice. But her body does not make his heart race; afterwards, he is physically satiated but not satisfied. He kisses her cheek, and returns to his room to sleep alone. His initial assumptions about his orientation (gay, not bi) were correct, evidently, though it seems he can still appreciate women in an aesthetic sense.
By the end of his final year, Sherlock gets through nearly all of Oxford's colleges (36 out of 39, to be exact: he's missing Templeton, Kellogg, and - unsurprisingly - All Souls), and a couple of the PPHs as well. He's quite proud of himself. It's certainly the hardest he's worked in his four years, even if nobody will be giving him any prizes for this particular achievement!
[A decade in the future, Sherlock will wonder at the purposeful promiscuity of his younger self. By then, he will have given up on casual sex - on sex in general, really.
He will declare to John that he is married to his work, and he will sincerely believe that no man could tempt him to be unfaithful. Just a few months later, Sherlock will be proven spectacularly wrong...for once, though, he won't mind at all.]
part 3
***
Soundtrack
1) Sherlock & Sebastian: The Indelicates - "Stars"
'I'm in love with the boy next door
He treats me like a filthy whore
I give him everything he wants
For nothing in return...
And the stars don't shine for me and you
They shine no matter what we do
And every day is shorter than the last.
For all the years in bedrooms lost
In you I calculate the cost
Of never staking my claim to the stars.'
2) Sherlock's self-diagnosis & drug use: The Indelicates - "Ill"
'You'll never take enough of those pills
You know you're too clever to be mentally ill
You'll never fashion your damaged soul
Because you're too clever to lose control...
Your sickness is your shibboleth
Your sex is your sickness'
3) Sherlock hits the club scene: Bloc Party - "The Prayer"
'Standing on the packed dance floor
Our bodies throb in time
Silent on the weekdays
Tonight I claim what's mine...
Tonight make me unstoppable
And I will charm, I will slice, I will dazzle
I will outshine them all'
Fandom: the BBC's Sherlock.
Spoilers: set many years pre-canon (1997-2001), with only tiny spoilers for 'A Study in Pink' and 'The Blind Banker'.
Disclaimer: none of the characters you recognise belong to me.
Word count: 3,600 words.
Genre: slash, with a little het (Sherlock/Sebastian, Sherlock/OMCs, Sherlock/OFC).
Rating: NC-17 for sex, drugs and language.
Warnings / Enticements: angst! Depiction of a dysfunctional relationship, promiscuous behaviour, sexual activity between schoolboys, sex in inappropriate public places, and recreational drug use. Also, Sherlock in a dress.
Summary: Sherlock excels academically at Oxford, of course. But he passes through its social world like a ghost; or, to be more accurate, like a poltergeist.
Author's notes: this Sherlock-at-Oxford story is a prequel to my John-POV story Food for thought, but it can be read independently. There will be at least one further story set in this as-yet-unnamed 'verse.
There are several songs which inspired parts of this fic. If you're interested, I've included download links and lyrics at the end.
***
'Reading too much meaning from existence', part 2
part 1
Sherlock may have been unmatched in the academic arena, but he is much less successful when it comes to personal interaction. He passes through his college's social scene like a ghost. Or, to be more accurate, like a poltergeist. People look right through him when he is silent, and actively dislike him when he makes noise and disrupts proceedings.
When he first arrives at Wadham, Sherlock approaches socialising as an experiment. Communal mealtimes are a crucial part of college life, so he starts there. He circulates around the tables, sitting down with a string of strangers. Everybody's trying to forge connections, at the beginning of the year, so his method doesn't immediately differentiate him from the other new students.
Unfortunately, he discovers that breakfast/lunch/dinner conversations mostly tend to the inane: moaning about reading lists and tutorial essays on the one hand, gossiping and making weekend plans on the other. Sherlock tries to talk about important things, like scientific advances and serial killers, but finds few people willing to engage with him.
By the end of first year, Sherlock has spoken to almost every student in college. And one by one, he's eliminated virtually all of them as viable candidates for friendship. There are clearly some decent minds in the sample pool - they were smart enough to get into Oxford, after all. But they can't keep up with Sherlock, or they're affronted by something he says, or their interests are just too different from his.
For instance: one of the biggest topics of conversation around college is the recently-elected Labour government. Wadham students tend to the liberal / left end of the political spectrum, so there is great hope for change. But Sherlock doesn't give a damn about the new Prime Minister - he can't even remember the man's name - with his toothy grin and lying eyes.
Anyway, he knows that his brother is behind the scenes somewhere, pulling invisible strings and making things happen (or not happen). If Sherlock were on speaking terms with Mycroft, he'd congratulate him on having amassed so much power by the tender age of 25. But he isn't, so he doesn't.
***
When he doesn't have the energy to meet new people, Sherlock has a fallback position: a table populated by fellow scientists, who at least accept his presence even if they don't actively seek it out. Sherlock's usual seat affords him great opportunities for people-watching. Studying the patterns of collective rather than individual behaviour is an interesting challenge.
By Easter of his first year, many of the freshers have formed friendships or relationships. Certain groups of people tend to sit together, and fall into predictable modes of interaction (intense discussion, good-natured mockery, loud laughter, and occasional loud disagreements).
There is some fraternisation between the new intake and the older students; this is particularly the case when they have common affiliations, like subject area or participation in extracurricular activities. The rowers are especially intense in their tribal attachment - it's rather homosocial, in Sherlock's view.
There is also a tendency for foreign language speakers to cluster. Sherlock notes, with interest, that the linguistic bond can override strong differences. Taiwanese and Chinese students seem happy to sit beside each other, disregarding their governments' perpetual state of high tension. Arabic speakers from across the Middle East also congregate together, despite long-standing ethnic and political rifts within the region. The opportunity to speak one's native tongue must be a powerful attractor indeed.
If Sherlock could find someone - anyone - who understood him, he might be able to relate.
His brother is the closest, and he hardly counts. Sherlock is certain that Mycroft speaks his language, sees the world the same way, but has deliberately buried that capability under layers of political ambition and social polish. That betrayal only adds to Sherlock's sense of isolation.
Before going up to Oxford, Sherlock had dreamt of connecting with a fellow practitioner of deduction. During his systematic survey of the college population, therefore, he deliberately reveals his skills to everyone (by passing comment on either his interlocutor, or someone nearby). They're by no means rusty from disuse, as Sherlock never ceases to observe and extrapolate. But it's been years since he tried telling anyone about it.
In lieu of finding an equal, Sherlock would have settled for an appreciative audience. Sadly, even this proves to be a forlorn hope. Just like at home and at school, people at college seem to be unnerved and angered by what he says.
For instance, it turns out that nobody wants their nocturnal activities to be discerned and described to others over breakfast. Sherlock doesn't understand the problem. Well, all right, he can see why his occasional contradiction of students' claims ("No, Tom, you didn't score with blonde twins last night; you came home alone and passed out on the toilet floor") might give offence. But most of the time, he's actually corroborating their sexual boasts! Rather than threaten to hit him, they should thank him.
***
It's not like he has any recent sexual exploits of his own to brag about. Sherlock notices other guys, of course he does, but the thought of trying to chat someone up paralyses him.
He'd fooled around with classmates at school, but that was purely physical and no conversation was required - or even desired. During one of their regular mutual masturbation sessions, Julian had actually clamped his free hand over Sherlock's mouth to get him to stop talking. Sherlock had bitten his palm, Julian had punched him in the face, and they'd ended up in the headmaster's office. Julian scheduled no further "biology tutorials" with Sherlock.
Even in the confines of Wadham's group for queer students, where the male members are unlikely to beat him up for signalling an interest, Sherlock's nerve deserts him. He reverts to the self-protective behaviour of his childhood, sitting in the corner and barely speaking.
Sherlock gets along better with the lesbians in the group. He and they aren't in competition for sexual conquests, nor interested in each other, so actual conversations can take place without awkward undercurrents. One of these girls, Antonia, is the closest thing he has to a friend. She is a forthright blonde physicist from Wales, and Sherlock has enjoyably robust debates with her during meals.
"You're quite fit, you know," Antonia says, apropos of nothing, one day in their second year. Sherlock blinks at her. He is aware that "fit" means "good-looking", in the British vernacular, but he has trouble associating the concept with himself. His body is really just a physical shell and support system for his brain, and does its job to an acceptable standard. It's in pleasingly good shape from all the fencing and martial arts training he does; otherwise, he has no particular opinion about its aesthetics.
His doubt must show on his face, because Antonia's eyes widen perceptibly. "My God...so there is something you're modest about. I may die of shock!" She drops her mocking tone, and leans forward with an earnest air. "But seriously, Sherlock, it's true. You've got gorgeous eyes, nice skin, and cheekbones most girls would kill for."
Sherlock isn't used to receiving compliments. "Thank you," he says, assuming that's the appropriate response, but she isn't finished with him yet.
"Your hair could do with cutting, though, and you're much too pale and thin. Sadly for you, the 'heroin chic' look is on the way out. So stop living on coffee, and go sit in the sun occasionally."
Sherlock gives Antonia a mock salute, then guides the conversation back onto safe ground by posing some tangentially related question about solar radiation. He knows the answer already, of course, but at least it distracts her from the topic of his appearance.
Still, her comments make Sherlock examine himself critically in the mirror that night. Without Mummy to insist on regular hairdresser's appointments, his hair has admittedly grown quite long - but he prefers it this way. And his face does look pinched and pasty, especially in contrast to his wild profusion of dark curls.
It's not that he's starving himself or anything. When there are books to read and experiments to perform, he simply forgets to eat. His irregular sleeping pattern often means that he misses at least one scheduled meal per day. And he can't make up for it by cooking for himself; he never learnt how, but (more crucially) he's not allowed to. The Wadham Students' Union voted in first year to ban Sherlock from the communal kitchen, given his habit of conducting impromptu chemical experiments using the equipment therein.
Sherlock decides to take Antonia's advice, and spend more time outside; maybe he can do some of his reading in the college gardens. His vitamin D levels undoubtedly need boosting. Furthermore, his observations confirm that the current preference among both females and males is for well-tanned skin. This is ludicrous, given Britain's pitiful annual sunshine quotient, but Sherlock knows that fashion trends are highly irrational. The salient point remains: if his pallor is diminished, perhaps other boys will like him better.
***
The events run by the university-wide queer students' group are big, and offer anonymity in a way that a smaller college group doesn't. Sherlock goes to a few of the club nights, but it's a disaster: he can't dance, doesn't drink (it clouds his thinking), and the music is too loud for talking. Guys do approach him on the sidelines, but don't stay long before they suddenly spot a friend across the room or make a one-way trip to the bar for a refill.
He tries going to some of the quieter LGB-Soc gatherings, like movie outings and pizza nights, but still gets nowhere. Sherlock can't understand what he's doing wrong, so he swallows his pride and asks Antonia. She's been at several of the same events, and has witnessed his troubles. She is characteristically blunt in response.
"You're so unapproachable, Sherlock - it's like you're radiating 'stay away' vibes. And when the brave ones talk to you anyway, you try to impress them with your massive brain. But you just come across as an arrogant, weird, mind-reading prick. Maybe you should work on your conversational skills, and give your deductive skills a rest?"
Sherlock has only two modi operandi: silence, and a rapid-fire verbosity that leaves most people in the dust. He is dismayed by the prospect of having to learn - or fake - an entirely new method of interaction, just in order to experience anal intercourse for the first time. Would it be worth it, given that he can achieve adequate satisfaction with his own hand(s)?
In the end, Sherlock decides to assume that every queer male in Oxford is an intellectual inferior who'd only disappoint him, and resolutely stops looking. He has books to read, anyway.
***
Sexual opportunity, when it finally arrives in Sherlock's third year, comes in an unexpected form.
There's a mathmo who lives on the same staircase as Sherlock, and they're on reasonably friendly terms. Sherlock is glad to have someone else of a vaguely scientific persuasion around (there are far too bloody many humanities students at Wadham). His name is Sebastian Wilkes, and he's the epitome of public school posh. He plays rugby, goes on pub crawls, and talks loudly about pulling girls.
So Sherlock is rather surprised to notice Sebastian looking at him: at his mouth when he steeples his fingers against his lips in the library, at his chest when he comes out of their shared shower, and at his arse when he's rushing off to fencing training in his tight-fitting white trousers.
Sherlock suspects that Sebastian is attracted to him, and decides to test this hypothesis. When his neighbour knocks on the door late one night, asking to borrow some camomile tea, Sherlock invites him in. Sebastian sits on the bed, waiting, while Sherlock bends over his food stash in the corner of the room. He knows his pyjamas are pulled flatteringly tight over his arse, and when he turns around he catches Sebastian staring. Sebastian starts to stammer an excuse, but Sherlock takes two strides across the room, falls to his knees, and kisses him.
Sebastian kisses him back with flattering fervour. The tea is entirely forgotten.
***
Sebastian is more sexually experienced, which is fine: Sherlock is eager to expand his repertoire. But as a lover, Seb turns out to be pretty damn selfish. He demands fellatio frequently, but rarely reciprocates. When he's the penetrating partner (which is almost always the case), he does little or nothing to ensure that Sherlock orgasms too. Nevertheless, it's all part of the learning process, and Sherlock does not dare complain.
With one eye to his future career in high finance, Seb is desperate to remain in the closet. So he still picks girls up at bars and clubs, often bringing one back to his room. Sherlock passes them on the stairs, sometimes; the girls look right through him, and Seb won't meet his gaze.
Around college, Seb pretends to barely know Sherlock beyond being his neighbour. He laughs at him, and dismisses his deductive ability as a "trick". Although Sherlock very well understands the drive to conceal one's true nature, after nearly a decade of doing it himself, this rejection is still...irritating.
Sherlock once tries to get some petty revenge, telling everyone in the breakfast queue that Seb had clearly spent some time on his knees the previous night. It's a minor indiscretion (Sherlock is careful not to specify the recipient's gender), and entirely truthful. But Seb is furious, and won't touch him for a month afterwards; he never volunteers to pleasure Sherlock orally again.
Sherlock has picked up enough football parlance to recognise this as a classic "own goal". He doesn't embarrass Seb in public again.
Seb's only doing a three-year degree, compared to Sherlock's four, and the last few months of his time at Oxford are consumed by preparation for his final exams. Their trysts dwindle to occasional tension-relief, and then a "last hurrah" the night before Seb leaves for London.
[They will not stay in touch, although Sherlock will follow Sebastian's stellar success from a distance and wonder whether he still keeps a secret boyfriend on the side. They will not see each other again for 8 years.
When they meet at the bank, Seb will smirk at him and call him "buddy". Sherlock will want to throw the bastard from Sir William's balcony for belittling him in front of his new friend John. John will perceive Sherlock's strong dislike of Seb, and appear to share it; Sherlock will feel quite irrationally relieved and grateful.]
***
His somewhat warped relationship with Sebastian has at least made Sherlock more confident about seeking out sexual partners for meaningless pleasure. In fourth year, he buys bulk quantities of condoms and lubricant (having read so many medical texts, he is hyperaware of the risks of unprotected sex), and hits the scene with renewed purpose.
He firstly spends a while observing the mating ritual on display at Oxford's gay clubs. Then, in accordance with his findings, Sherlock:
1) purchases more revealing clothing (close-fitting sleeveless tops and tight trousers to flaunt his lean, lightly-muscled form),
2) experiments with cosmetics (eyeliner makes his eyes appear bigger, while lip gloss draws attention to his mouth), and
3) starts smoking (asking someone for a light doubles as a good flirting technique).
He also decides to try illicit substances for the first time. Spending some of his accumulated chemistry prize money on chemical mood enhancers amuses him. He contemplates making some party pills in the department's labs, but caution prevails: he does not want to be sent down for something as plebeian as drug manufacture.
Sherlock starts with a very small quantity of ecstasy, calibrates the dose for the optimal effect, and then branches out into other stimulants. He methodically works his way up to cocaine, which immediately becomes his drug of choice: it combines a fantastic energy rush with a sense of unparalleled mental acuity.
[Sometime in the future, Sherlock's coke habit will become a major problem. For now, though, he is certain that he has it under control. After all, he takes just enough to relax his inhibitions and increase his social confidence before a big night out.]
***
This time around, older and more cynical, Sherlock takes a very different approach to meeting guys. He has no intention of finding a long-term partner, or bestowing his affections upon anyone; he just needs more data, in order to formulate a coherent theory about his own sexual preferences and limitations. So he doesn't care about showing off his intelligence, or ascertaining every suitor's IQ. He doesn't even try to make conversation anymore, beyond a perfunctory exchange of name/subject/college.
To make things more interesting, Sherlock decides to make the pulling process into a bingo game of sorts: he will try to have sex with at least one student from every college. He goes after his goal with single-minded determination. Sometimes he has two or even three partners per night. Fortunately, he's young and has a short refractory period.
Most of his encounters are brief - an exchange of handjobs or blowjobs - and relatively pedestrian, but some are far more memorable. For instance, there's the time he wears a sequined silver dress, fishnet stockings, and heels to the Halloqueen bop at St Antony's, and dances on a table with a drag king dressed as Elvis.
The evening gets really interesting later on, when he goes home with a Wolfson student and his Linacre boyfriend. The threesome conveniently fills two bingo squares with one stone, but Sherlock will only think about that later: at the time, he's too busy having his mind blown as never before.
He experiences total overload, trying to process all the sensations the two men elicit in him. Being sandwiched between their bodies, one lover kissing him while the other bites at his neck, makes Sherlock writhe; having his inner thigh licked through the fishnet stocking makes him shiver. Being sucked off by one guy while the other fucks him makes him incoherent with pleasure. His orgasm is so powerful that he passes out.
While on his self-appointed quest, Sherlock has sex all over Oxford. Most often, it's in the toilets of nightclubs, or up against the wall outside. Sometimes, actual beds are involved. He never invites anyone to his room, however. That's his private space, where scientific experiments are in progress on every flat surface and the walls are covered with photos of famous criminals. The college scouts are no longer willing to clean his room, so appalled are they by its contents; he hates to think what prospective sexual partners might say.
But Sherlock also takes in some of the city's sights. He gets off under the Bridge of Sighs opposite the Bodleian, and on a punt floating down the Cherwell River. Oxford's beautiful interiors are not neglected either. Sherlock admires the view from the Minstrels' Gallery above Teddy Hall's 17th century dining room, and contemplates the intricately carved stone ceiling of Christ Church Cathedral while he's on his back in the choir stalls.
As well as doing his own peculiar kind of sex tourism, Sherlock takes the opportunity for a little oblique, petty revenge against his family. There's a photo of Maggie Thatcher on his parents' mantelpiece, but none of Sherlock. So it gives him great pleasure to visit Mummy's old college, Somerville, and suck a guy off while he's leaning on the wall of the Margaret Thatcher Centre.
Defiling Magdalen, where Mycroft, Father, and several previous generations of Holmes men studied, is even more enjoyable. He convinces a Magdalen student to sneak into the college's hallowed Deer Park, late at night, and to fuck him against a tree. Despite his back being scratched by the rough bark, Sherlock smiles his way through the entire encounter. He hopes his brilliant brother somehow discerns this sacrilege over Christmas dinner, and chokes on his mouthful of turkey.
***
No proper experiment would be complete without a control subject. So Sherlock approaches Felicity, one of the bisexual girls he's met through LGB Soc, and asks her to participate. He chooses her for two reasons. Firstly, she is a biologist, so she can appreciate his argument about the scientific method. Secondly, she's from Oxford's only remaining women's college, St Hilda's, so he will get to tick off that elusive bingo square after all.
Sex with Felicity is...acceptable. Her breasts are interesting to play with, and he knows enough from his anatomy texts to pleasure her to climax, twice. But her body does not make his heart race; afterwards, he is physically satiated but not satisfied. He kisses her cheek, and returns to his room to sleep alone. His initial assumptions about his orientation (gay, not bi) were correct, evidently, though it seems he can still appreciate women in an aesthetic sense.
By the end of his final year, Sherlock gets through nearly all of Oxford's colleges (36 out of 39, to be exact: he's missing Templeton, Kellogg, and - unsurprisingly - All Souls), and a couple of the PPHs as well. He's quite proud of himself. It's certainly the hardest he's worked in his four years, even if nobody will be giving him any prizes for this particular achievement!
[A decade in the future, Sherlock will wonder at the purposeful promiscuity of his younger self. By then, he will have given up on casual sex - on sex in general, really.
He will declare to John that he is married to his work, and he will sincerely believe that no man could tempt him to be unfaithful. Just a few months later, Sherlock will be proven spectacularly wrong...for once, though, he won't mind at all.]
part 3
***
Soundtrack
1) Sherlock & Sebastian: The Indelicates - "Stars"
'I'm in love with the boy next door
He treats me like a filthy whore
I give him everything he wants
For nothing in return...
And the stars don't shine for me and you
They shine no matter what we do
And every day is shorter than the last.
For all the years in bedrooms lost
In you I calculate the cost
Of never staking my claim to the stars.'
2) Sherlock's self-diagnosis & drug use: The Indelicates - "Ill"
'You'll never take enough of those pills
You know you're too clever to be mentally ill
You'll never fashion your damaged soul
Because you're too clever to lose control...
Your sickness is your shibboleth
Your sex is your sickness'
3) Sherlock hits the club scene: Bloc Party - "The Prayer"
'Standing on the packed dance floor
Our bodies throb in time
Silent on the weekdays
Tonight I claim what's mine...
Tonight make me unstoppable
And I will charm, I will slice, I will dazzle
I will outshine them all'