Summary: A/U John is the new kid and comes to the rescue of a someone he mistakes to be a girl
Disclaimer: I own nothing of BBC Sherlock
Rating: T+
Pairing: John and Sherlock
THE NEW KID:
It wasn't fun being the new kid in yet another school after yet another move. John Watson stood on the sidewalk looking up at the new high school he had to attend. The day was half done and lunch was upon them. John, as of yet, hadn't made a single friend. Everyone shied away from him like he had the plague or something. "Brilliant," he muttered ambling over to a tree trunk where he could lounge against the base of the tree and hopefully take a nap. He was bone weary already. As soon as he settled into a comfortable position John's attention was drawn to the sound of taunts and shouts being called out. He heard the words: Freak. Weirdo. Alien. John pulled himself up to go and investigate what he was hearing. When he turned the corner of a building he saw three teens lobbing insults at a girl sitting against eh brick wall. She seemed to not be paying attention them. Too bad John was. "Oi! Go on! Why don't you pick on someone who can handle themselves!" He shouted. The three large boys turned to him, but he wasn't backing down. John stared them down. He knew he didn't look like much, but he knew how to fight when the situation called for it. The boy in the middle gave him the finger and signaled his cronies to follow him.
Sherlock had been reading his book when the three bullies came over to him for their daily insult fest. A while ago he had learned to tune them out until they were just back ground noise to him. To Sherlock it was like having the tv on and not paying attention. At least he was able to tune them out until a new voice joined in. This voice was different, new, and it was getting them to stop. Sherlock didn't give the game away that he was now paying attention. Though the long spill of his hair he saw the blonde stranger. The boy his age was medium build, shaggy blonde hair, a lean waist, broad chest, and Sherlock could tell he had strong arms that would hold up in any fight. This boy was defending him. He was confused by that. Then, it occurred to Sherlock. The new kid might think he was a female. The hair, the slender build he was known to have fooled anyone at a distance until they were looking at him straight on. Sherlock turned his attention back to the three who regularly harassed them to see them moving away. Sherlock looked to the other boy walking towards him now.
John was never ceased to be amazed by the cruelty of other kids towards someone who was different. He quickly closed the distance between him and the girl sitting on the grass. "Hey," John crouched down in front of her and got a shock to the system. "You're not a girl." He stated. The boy before him was slender, frail almost, with harp cheek bones and full lips, bright blue eyes, and long dark brown hair that was curled lightly, naturally. How could he have thought this boy was a girl? John knew how. The pale skin, the hair, the way he had been sitting. It was beauty. The boy in front of him was beautiful. John like girls, he liked the female form, but this boy seemed to make all of his girlfriends pale in comparison. "Are you ok?" John asked standing up offering his hand to the other boy. He looked from John's hand to John's face with confusion coloring his perfect blue eyes, "What's the matter? It's a hand not a shark." John teased. "Come on," He wiggled his fingers, "The grounds cold anyway." This time the boy took his hand making John smile. "I'm John Watson." He introduced himself in a friendly voice with a smile on his lips. John pulled the other boy to his feet seeing that they were roughly the same height, only the fare skinned boy was half a head taller than him. "What's your name?"
Sherlock wasn't sure he should answer this boy named John Watson. But he did speak, "You were shocked I wasn't a girl? Why?" He asked. John went to open his mouth, but then closed it. "I'll tell you why." Sherlock said gently. "You have this protective streak in you geared towards women. You either have a mother or a sister that is being abused by a drunken father almost constantly. You want to do something but you can't because the father or the uncle is out of your weight class." Sherlock continued on and on with his deductions not seeing anger registering in John's eyes, but shame and that confirmed what was being said. The look made Sherlock stop, to close his mouth, and then to simply say, "Thank you for what you did, but it happens every day. I've learned to tune them out." His words washed over the other boy and the look of shame fled. Then he added, "I'm Sherlock."
"Sherlock," John muttered, "How did you know that?" His voice was small, making him seem younger than 18 years of age. Everything Sherlock had said was spot on right down to his mother being abused.
"I can smell the alcohol in your clothes." Sherlock answered looking away. Then, in a sudden burst of kindness, he was sure why, Sherlock suggested, "How about we skip the rest of the day?" Frankly he wasn't looking forward to going back into the pit of eternal despair filled with moronic students and stupid teachers and he really didn't want to run into his blustering brother Mycroft who undoubtedly would poke and prod him about the days name calling.
"Sure," John said hardly believing that he was still holding Sherlock's hand, but the warmth felt right somehow. "Can you not say…" Sherlock shook his head in silent agreement not to repeat what he had said. "Thanks." John breathed out with his hand still in Sherlock's. Their fingers were laced together with neither one of them noticing or trying to get free from the light hold. "Where are we going?"
Sherlock, keeping his hand in John's not wanting to pull away, said, "My house. It's not far from here." Still holding John's hand, Sherlock tugged him around the brick corner and towards the tree line that separated his large house and the school. Walking a trail he knew all too well, he made sure to traverse it at a reasonable pace so that John could follow him easily and not lose his grip on his hand. The trees grew thicker and then thinned out as Sherlock stepped out onto the manicured lawn of his back yard. The house on its best day was a tomb, but today, he could sense, it would feel different.
John looked at the massive house before him and couldn't help but say, "Wow…" He was in awe, "You live here?" Sherlock made a noise that he wasn't entirely pleased that he did so while John lived in a tiny house on the edge of town that was nearly falling apart. His family, father, mother, and sister, could move in there and not see each other for a week. "How many rooms do you have in that place?"
"There are 83 room, almost as many bathrooms, a parlor, sitting room, formal dining hall, a modern kitchen, pool off to the side," Sherlock motioned with his free hand in the general direction, "Plus a host of other rooms, even a massive library." The dark stone, at one time so depressing, seemed different today. "No one's home, no one ever is except for myself and my brother, and probably some servants." Sherlock shrugged. When the insults FREAK and WEIRDO didn't work, some of the other kids would call him privileged and that enraged Sherlock. He wasn't rich. His parents were. He just had the misfortune to be their son. He didn't want to be rich, but that was what he was. Grasping John's hand, he pulled him towards the back patio French doors. "Come on, I'll show you around."
John scoffed, "If someone gets lost in this mansion, you send out a search party right?" he asked. Unless he had a map and a compass John was never going to wander around that house. It was more than he was used to. He was from a low income family, but he went to a pricey school because of the military. After he graduated in a few months, he was joining the army to pay for medical school. Obediently he followed Sherlock to the polished and sparkling doors and inside to the immaculate interior. John made sure to shove his free hand in his pocket so he wouldn't touch anything.
Sherlock tugged John along through the kitchen and up the servant's stairs to where his large suite waited for him. Half of the room was hardly fit to be called a living space as he had half completed experiments, books, and a make shift lab put together. But, the bed, the couch were still somewhat usable. At least he thought they were. The couch might have a few bullet holes from one of his many experiments. Sherlock wasn't sure. Though, his mother could have replaced all of hi furniture, again, after the last mishap. "I should mention that my room…" he started to say as he pushed open the door.
"Is a certified disaster area," John finished after the door swung open. "How do you live in here without the fear that you may get crushed under a pile of books?" He inquired stepping into what should have been a very large bedroom and walking between two pillars of books. John eyed the books warning them with his brain not to fall and crush him to death. H wasn't sure what worried him the most, the books or that he was willing to get into a fight with three bullies over a boy he had thought was a girl.
"All these books are staked accordingly to size and weight." Sherlock answered absentmindedly navigating his way through the make-shift maze. Behind him, John's broad shoulder's clipped a stack of books making it teeter, nearly falling over. Sherlock spun, still holding John's hand, and placed his free hand on one of the many towers of books to keep it still. This put him dangerously close to John and the feeling of warmth flowing from his tanned companion and into him.
John's heart was in his throat. He should step back, risk an avalanche of books, but he had to move back. There was something in Sherlock's blue eyes that held him firmly in place. Instead he breathed out, dangerously close to Sherlock's mouth, "I'm not gay…' For some reason he felt he had to be clear on that fact. Sherlock didn't move back, didn't let go of his hand. Instead he moved closer just a fraction of an inch. It was then that he felt Sherlock's breath against his lips. More than anything, in this moment, he wanted to close the distance between them and start the kiss he knew was brewing between them. Why was it Sherlock?
Sherlock read the need in John's eyes knowing full well that his companion was not into other male, but that he was finding Sherlock very attractive. "Just relax.' He muttered taking steps back that would lead out of this maze of book pillars and to a more comfortable setting. This had to be John's choice. Normally Sherlock got the kind of intimate attention from another source, but they were paid and didn't linger to make small talk. "I won't do anything." He said quietly and John nodded. All of it had to be John's choice.
They were finally out of the maze of book pillars to see a deep leather couch, matching chair and love seat placed at a comfortable distance from a stone fireplace. Further away, resting against the wall John saw a large four poster bed with thick curtains in a deep maroon secured to each post just waiting to be free to block out the light of the floor to ceiling windows. For a minute he was relieved to have space to breathe, but the tension escalated the moment he sat on the couch. Sherlock perched on the dark wooden coffee table in front of him. John could hardly breathe again. "What's going to happen now?" John could barely ask, barely breathe with Sherlock, this kid he hardly knew, leaning closer to him.
"Whatever you want." Sherlock answered once more placing his hand in John's. "You can always say stop." He said. "Nothing will happen that you don't want to." Sherlock had never been interested in women, barely looked twice at men, but he did. Men just appealed to him. John appealed to him al it more than he should have. Why this new kid? Was it the thrill of a new conquest? Sherlock doubted it. He didn't think like that. Was it the blonde hair? Was it his lips? It was a mystery as to why this new kid brought out a new found lust stirring in his body.
"How come you don't have a girlfriend?" John asked suddenly. Sherlock was a classic gothic beauty with an air of sadness looming around him. It wouldn't surprise John that Sherlock would have wings sprout out of his back at any second, black wings. Black suits Sherlock. John wasn't sure why he knew what would suit Sherlock, but John just knew. John reached out and grasped Sherlock's wrist.
"Female's don't interest me," Sherlock answered, "But you interest me," He said angling his head to kiss John. At first John didn't respond giving Sherlock the second thought that he should pull back, but then John opened his mouth to him, to his tongue sweeping into John's mouth. The kiss was subtle, just a press of lips, but then it grew, heated. Sherlock moaned and then broke the connection. "You can always say stop." He repeated not wanting John to feel pressured into anything that would make him uncomfortable. Though, Sherlock was sure that John wouldn't stop.
"I don't want to," John said bringing his hands up to cup Sherlock's face. His heart fluttered at the thought of what he was about to do with a virtual stranger, boy no older than him. This time Sherlock stood and held out his hand to him. John took it, letting his body be pulled off the comfortable couch. Sherlock guided him to the bed. He felt this was going to be a good thing; something he was supposed to do. Perhaps coming to this school, scaring the bullies off, was supposed to happen to him. Willingly, he followed his delicate looking soon to be lover to the bed eager for what could happen.
TO BE CONTINUED