Oh god. I know, I'm trash. Writer's block is a horrid thing. But I think I've mostly worked through it. Regardless, I'm hoping to have more regular updates. Maybe once a week or so. Here's to hoping 2015 is a good year, filled with a lot of new compete ideas! Cheers!

John was nervous. Roger had mailed him earlier that week to congratulate him on his scholarships. All that was left was to actually make his decision and then announce it at the Banquet. In front of hundreds of strangers, Clara, and his family. Running a hand through his hair, John sighed and wondered how his mother would handle the news.

Ever since John's Clock had stopped, his mother had been over the moon about his decision to continue his education. Their house always smelled like various baked good, and was cleaner than it had been in a long time. In her excitement, Susan Watson had even sent her children into town, equipped with their onely credit card, to buy John a new suit for the banquet. As John buttoned his jacket and looked at his reflection in the mirror, he couldn't shake the quilt that had settled heavy and sour in the pit of his stomach.

He was quiet the entire ride there, tapping along to his mother's endless chatter against his leg. She wouldn't stop talking; telling him over and over again just how proud she was of his hard work, of his acceptance, of his perseverance and tenacity even when things had gone wrong. Harry was even more moody than normal, continually glowering at him in the side mirror. Shifting awkwardly in his seat, John turned to look out the window and wished, not for the first time, that he could have made this trip alone.

There were a surprising amount of new students congregated in the Student Center's lobby, young men and women clinging to their friends, families, and in one case, their spouse. Clara had joined them immediately, flouncing over to greet Harry with a chaste kiss, smiling as she ruffled John's hair. John's mother chattered pleasantly as her son fixed his hair and fidgeted in his new suit. Before he could calm down, they were being ushered into the large ballroom and urged to take their seats.

The ballroom was beautifully decorated, the tables covered in pale ivory with hunter green trim. There was a small stage, complete with a podium and thick, velvet curtains that were such a dark shade of green they were almost black. Along the back wall, just a little bit away from their tables, was a series of tables piled high with enough food to feed a small army.

John was startled when a young woman took the seat next to him, his eyes slightly widening when she firmly stuck her hand out to him and introduced herself as Camille Beauregard. Dazed, John shook her hand gently and did his best to pay attention as she rattled on and on about how her parents and her parents' parents had attended the Basteln Academy, how she was, naturally, grandfathered in with a full scholarship. John vaguely remembered thinking that she was a right snob before his attention was snagged as Clara's Uncle Roger gave the welcoming speech.

They were to enjoy their lunch first, each table dismissed one at a time as to not overwhelm the servers. Camille was still rattling on about her breeding, and Harry was glowering sourly at him from her spot across the table. She hadn't had anything for breakfast, and was no doubt blaming John for the fact that she was irritable and light headed. Clara smiled reassuringly at him, and his mother was engaged in a conversation with Camille's mother, no doubt the pair of them sharing their pride over their respective children. Reaching for his water glass, John sighed audibly as his fingers wrapped against the cool glass. Raising the glass to his lips, he sipped uneasily at his drink, eyes fluttering shut as the water slipped down his throat. He was nervous, there was no use denying it.

"John," Clara said, reaching over to shake his arm, jostling him from his thoughts. "Come on, it's our turn to go to the buffet."

Mechanically, John rose from his spot, pushed his chair in, and followed his family up to the buffet table. He stared at the spread for a few, lengthy moments before picking up a plate and loading it with everything he could fit. When they returned to their seats, Harry was smiling softly and John's mother looked as if her face would split in two due to how large her smile had spread. Quietly, John tucked in to his meal and prayed that his family would still be happy with him after his scholarship was announced.

It happened sooner than John expected; some of the families were still working through their plates with Roger took the stage again, the Dean of Students and various faculty members standing alongside him. Roger tapped on the microphone a few times to make sure it was on and running correctly before shuffling the small stack of papers he had with him. "As I'm sure you all know," he began, smiling at the room, "here at the Basteln Academy, we have a history of greatness. If you look around you, today, you are surrounded by the newest generation of great students. I know I speak for the Academy when I say that we all cannot wait to see what great achievements you will achieve.

Now I know that sometimes, greatness is impossible to achieve on one's own, and sometimes, we need some help to reach the next level. Today I'm pleased to announce that I have forty-three scholarships to award to our fifty-seven new students in the hopes that it will help aid their journey here at the Academy. So now, without further ado, I will announce the names of each of our students followed by any scholarships they might have earned. When I say your name, I'd like for each student to come up on stage so we can properly welcome you and hand you your scholarship. Let's get started with Thomas Avery…"

John watched as a small boy near the front leapt from his chair and scrambled up on stage, and shook the Dean's hand. "Mr. Avery has been awarded a Presidential scholarship, renewable at every semester, to aid in his studies here at the Academy," Roger continued, pausing to shake the boy's hand, taking care to make sure he had a firm grip on his scholarship papers before he let go. "The next student I'd like to welcome to the Basteln Academy is Camille Beauregard…"

And so, John sat at the edge of his seat and watched as his classmates were called one by one to the stage to receive their scholarships, every one of them smiling as they were announced and everyone clapped for their achievements. His fingers gripped and twisted the napkin in his lap, and his right leg bounced quickly up and down. His mother reached over and placed one of her hands over his knee, a soft smile on her face. "Calm down, Johnny. You'll be fine," she said, winking at him. John smiled uneasily in return and reached to gulp at his water, polishing off the glass before he shakily set it down. All too soon, Roger was calling his name, and he felt his body rise from his chair and gravitate towards the stage.

His stomach was lodged firmly in his throat and his heart was beating so fast that John was concerned it would give out on him. His hands were clammy and sweaty as he weakly shook the Dean's hand. He held his breath as Roger handed him his papers before ushering him to join his fifty-six classmates in a line stretched across the front of the stage. "Mr. Watson has been awarded a very special scholarship from the Royal Northumberland Fusiliers. In exchange for his service in the RAMC following the completion of his degree, they have decided to grant Mr. John Watson their only full-ride scholarship this year to aid his studies here at the Academy."

It took every ounce of self control for John not to wince as the rest of the families in the ballroom applauded for them. Looking out over the faces, so many of his classmate's loved ones looked proud, ecstatic for whomever they were there with. When John finally looked at his family, he felt his heart sink. Clara's jaw had dropped and she looked as if she'd been slapped. Harry's content smile had been replaced by the angriest contortion of a frown he'd ever seen her muster. And his mother… John couldn't bear to look at his mother more than necessary, for Susan Watson looked as if her entire world had crumbled before her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears boring sharply into John's with disbelief.

After a few moments, John and his classmates were excused from the stage and allowed to return to their seats. Camille wasted no time, latching on to his arm as soon as he was within reach. "An army man!" She squaled, linking her arm through John's. "Oh, how fascinating! All the girls love a man in uniform!"

John grimaced and tried to shrug his way out of her grip. "Yeah, that's exactly the reaction I was going for. Thanks," he grumbled, doing his best to weave around the tables.

"I wonder why they gave you the full ride, though. I didn't think the military would do that," Camille commented.

John clenched his jaw. "My whole family has been involved in the military. I'm just doing my duty. And all that," he replied, gripping the back of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. Hastily, he sat down and picked up his fork. Avoiding his family's stares, he focused on pushing his now soggy vegetables around his plate. "The buffet was nice, wasn't it?" he murmured, chancing a look at Clara.

"Lovely," she deadpanned. "Absolutely lovely."

"I thought so too. In fact, I liked it so much, I think I'm going to go back for seconds," he rambled, shooting up stiffly from his chair.

"I'll go with you," Clara said, stepping around the table to snatch John's arm. "The cake looked good and I want to see about getting a cuppa."

She wasted no time in dragging John up to the buffet table, her fingernails digging painfully into his wrist. Frowning, John allowed himself to be led, silently accepting his fate.

"How could you?" Clara hissed, picking up a plate while glaring at John. "After everything we've done for you, how could you just throw it away like that?"

John rolled his eyes and stood still. "I'm not throwing anything away, Clara," he sighed, staring at the stack of pristine, white plates.

Clara turned to gape at him. "You are so, John! You're throwing your life away because you don't feel you deserve it. I know you, and I know the way you think, John Watson, and this decision of yours is a mistake."

John glared at his sister's Soulmate. "Clara, just stop, please? It's my choice, not yours. It's my life, not yours. So please, just leave it. What's done is-"

John was expecting Clara's anger, but he was not expecting the hot burn of pain that seared across his cheek when she slapped him. the whole ballroom fell silent as everyone turned to watch.

"Right then," John murmured, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Thanks for that," he spat, pushing past Clara to exit the ballroom. The doors clattered loudly behind him, the finality of the lock latching driving him to move forward. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd walked a mile and a half to the nearest train station, bought a ticket, and plopped into one of the uncomfortable platform chairs to wait for the train to take him home.

When he got home, the house was dark, and the front door was still locked. Digging through the various potted plants on the porch, John found the spare key, unlocked the house, and went straight for his bedroom. As soon as the door shut behind him, John was in motion. He dragged out his pair of old suitcases and methodically emptied his set of drawers, his wardrobe, and packed as many books into his backpack as he could. When he was satisfied with the state of his belongings, John shouldered his backpack, picked up his suitcases, and walked out. He made sure all the lights were off and the front door was locked. He deposited the spare key back into the pot he found it in, turned, and walked away down the road.