Name: Do Opposites Really Attract or Is There Too Much Different?
Summary: John went back to collage and his most prominent teacher is Professor Sherlock Holmes. Will the astute teacher deduce John's problem? Will John succeed in wooing one of his interests? Will John realize Sherlock's secret? Johnlock
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Sherlock stared at the new student intently.
"Wait, you're the teacher?" The man asked. He was a head shorter than the professor and had blond hair and kind blueish grey eyes.
"I prefer Professor." Sherlock retorted.
"How old are you?" John asked incredulously.
"26." Sherlock responded.
"You're bloody younger than i am!" John gasped.
"Would you please sit down?" Sherlock snapped. John scurried over to his seat with a few mumbled apologies. After class had concluded and everyone had filled out Sherlock began packing up his things.
"How did you get this job so young? I thought there was special schooling you needed to go through to become a teacher." John asked walking up to Sherlock's desk.
"I graduated collage at 17." Sherlock retorted tightly.
"Wow. You're a genius." John said in awe.
"As much as i would love to hear your war stories i really must be going." Sherlock said walking out the door with a heavy looking black bag on his shoulder.
"Sorry." John said watching the retreating form of the teacher. I hope i haven't frightened him. I have so many questions but i guess they'll go unanswered.
"He does that." Said a feminine voice from behind him. John spun around.
"What?"
"Runs off. You were lucky to get a single word in." Said a black woman with frizzy hair.
"He must be a busy man." John said. Why am i defensive over him? We've only just met.
"More like a snob. That man is a freak." She said bitterly. Sherlock listened from around the corner frowning. He had forgotten his scarf in his hurry and had stopped to listen on his way back. Why is he defending me?
"He seemed delightful when i was talking to him." John shot back angrily. Sherlock's frown deepened.
"No need to get defensive. Once you get to know him like the rest of us have you'll understand. He's a freak." She said before walking away.
"I'll never agree with that rubbish." John said bitterly.
"You don't need to defend me." Sherlock said stepping around the corner.
"You were listening? The whole time?!" John asked incredulously, his entire face turning red.
"Of course." Sherlock said dismissively.
"Why didn't you say anything?" John asked angrily.
"I feel no need to argue with people mentally inferior." Sherlock said unlocking the door to his classroom. John suppressed the urge to slap him like the spoiled little brat he was being.
"Thats a bit demeaning to someone mentally inferior; don't you thing?" John asked, keeping his tone flat so as not to impress the fact that he wanted to throttle his professor.
"I never said you were one of them." Sherlock's voice came from inside the dark room before he suddenly reappeared.
"Thanks." John said sarcastically. "Best compliment i've ever gotten; you're not mentally inferior."
"What do you notice about me?" Sherlock asked tying his blue scarf around his neck hastily.
"You're tall and skinny. Came from wealth, and you don't like people. Bit of a stuck up posh child to me but its not my place to judge."
"You were in the war but were sent back after being shot in the leg. You decided to go to collage because you dropped out to join the army. Afghanistan is a brutal place. You were a medic in the army. Your brother is a drunk just like your father. Dad used to hit you and your brother when he got drunk and he, your brother, turned to drinking to cope. You turned to the army once you were legal and got out of that place. Am i right so far?" Sherlock asked.
"Bloody brilliant." John said astonished. Sherlock stared at the little war vet wide eyed.
"So i got it all right?" Sherlock persisted after he regained his composure. John thought for a moment.
"One thing wrong." John said thoughtfully. "My sister; i don't have a brother." John said looking at Sherlock as his face twisted in a grimace.
"There's always something." The professor said angrily.
"Still brilliant." John muttered. What was that smell? It was so familiar?
"Well i must be going." Sherlock said turning to walk away.
"Wait!" John said quickly. Why should he? What am i doing? "We should go out for a drink sometime. You can impress me some more with that deduction of yours."
Sherlock stared at John wide eyed before shaking his head. "I do not participate in relationships with my students." Sherlock said before walking away. John repressed the urge to kick himself.
"Stupid!" John said at himself before walking to his next class. He would be dreadfully late but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Mr. Watson, you are late." The instructor, whose name was Lestrade, said.
"Sorry. I was just talking to my last professor."
"Sherlock. The only one who enjoys begin called professor." He responded bitterly before waving to the only empty seat in the room. "Take your seat."
It was next to a small brunette girl. She smiled to him sweetly.
"Hi. My name's Molly." She whispered to him.
"John." He smiled back.
"So you have Sherlock as an instructor?" She asked.
"Yah. Forensics." John said sighing.
"Oh. Forensics, thats his favorite subject to teach." She said happily.
"He doesn't seem like the type to get happy about teaching." John said.
"You seem a bit old for collage." She said.
"I dropped out and I'm just now getting back to it."
"Oh. Was it money?" She asked sympathetically.
"If you two are done with that we can get back to class." The teacher said bitterly to Molly and John. They both blushed and dropped their conversation. After class John was going to try to talk to Molly more but she was gone as soon as class ended.
"John!" Came a voice from behind the man in question. John turned around to find Sherlock standing there nonchalantly.
"Um... Yes?" He asked hesitantly.
"You need to find someone to tutor you to catch up in my class." Sherlock said shortly before he turned to walk away.
"Sherlock." Came the voice of Lestrade. Sherlock stopped and turned around. "John was late to my class. He said he was talking to you. Next time you want to keep him late you need to give him a note." The grey haired teacher said.
"The next time i feel the need to keep a student late it will be none of your business so i suggest you keep your threats to yourself." Sherlock retorted.
"There was no threat. Simply, if you keep one of my students late and they don't have a note they will be subjected to the proper punishment." Lestrade said. Sherlock turned and stomped away with John trailing after him.
"Professor?" John asked timidly.
"Yes John?" Came Sherlock's calm smooth voice.
"Why did you vouch for me?" John asked.
"Because i didn't want to see that stupid smug satisfaction on his face." Sherlock bit back.
"Oh." John said a bit sadly. That was when he noticed it. He had smelled it earlier when he was talking to the professor but now he realized what it was. There was the scent of blood in the air and John's superior nose picked up on it, honed in on it, and locked itself on target. John's body stiffened as he took a few more sniffs to be absolutely sure. The coppery scent was unmistakable. "Are you bleeding?"
Sherlock spun around and glared at him. "No." He shot back angrily. John held up his hands in a defensive posture.
"Didn't mean to offend you." John said startled at Sherlock's sudden hostility. He turned to leave when he figured he was no longer welcome and was not obstructed. The rest of the day went uneventfully.
Getting home John checked the calendar. Tonight of all nights? He let out a loud sigh before moving downstairs to the cement basement. Closing the massive door he prepared were some things going through his head at the time.
Every month. It hurts. Searing pain. Is that Sherlock in the corner? Couldn't be. I smell blood. Is it me? It usually is me. Blood. Everything hurts. Am i crying? Probably. Crying is such a useless thing. Why me? Why did i have to be cursed with this?
The next morning John woke up with a pounding headache. He had scratch marks on the back of his hand and it was bleeding but not too bad. He felt like he was having a major hangover while being punched in the face by rocks. The neighbors were blasting music again and he let out a pained groan. Forcing himself up he saw white flashes dance across his vision. He made it out of the basement and up to the table in the living room. He never had any guests so he was fine leaving medical equipment out on the table. He sanitized the wound and the pain made him dizzy but he forced himself to continue. He put gauze on the wound and tied it off. Flexing his hand he vaguely thought he should be wearing a brace on the hand but brushed off the thought. He was sure he was late for school but thought he could just skip the day. Second day of the fourth quarter and he's missing it, John thought bitterly. He spent the day emailing all his teachers asking for a syllabus he could use to catch up.
"Emailing seems so obsolete. I hope its still used as much as i remember it." John thought to himself aloud. Suddenly his phone buzzed. He scrambled over to it and picked it up.
"Hello?" He asked. No answer. "Hello?" He repeated. Still no answer. Then he realized it was a text. He laughed uncomfortably and was glad no one was there to see his falter.
From: Mike
U mssd schl tdy. I h8 2
snd lk a kid bt u lft me
all aln n ths plc wth ths
ppl. Nt cool.
John stared at it for a while, still feeling very groggy from last night. Mike was the one who got him into the prestigious school on a full scholarship. John thought for a while before typing his response slowly.
Sorry Mike.
Hitting send John watched as his little message flew off. There was an instant reply.
D u wnt me 2 gt ur hw?
John thought for a moment before deciding.
Yes please. Thank you Mike.
John sat back on the couch pleased with himself. John found typing hard on a normal day but with his hand all bandaged up it made it double hard. It may have been his left hand but it was still useful on a regular basis.
And with that message sent John let his mind drift. His eyes slowly slid shut and he was instantly bombarded with memories.