John Watson slowly opens, and walks through the glass door into the front hall of his new school. He looks around the room and shuffles nervously as several students hurries past him, the hall isn't as large as in his old school and it's more homely, though there are a lot of doors going into different directions and a rush of students constantly cutting across the room from door to door.
He walks up to the tall desk, behind it a slightly chubby woman wearing a violently pink cardigan is patiently speaking on the phone with what sounds like a very disgruntled parent.
She eventually puts the phone down with a sigh, writes a note on a piece of paper and finally looks up unto John, with a quick smile.
"Yes dear, what can i help you with?" she asks.
"I'm John Watson, I just transferred here, and i was wondering if you could tell me which room Miss Larson's class is in?"
"Of course dear, go right down that hall and then turn left, it'll be the fourth door on your right" she smiles and points to the closest corridor.
John closely follows her instructions, and the second door he tries seems to be the right one, he quickly makes his way down to an empty chair almost in the back, still slightly flushed from having walked into the wrong class. A few of the other students are eyeing him curiously and a couple of the girls immediately starts whispering and giggling a couple of tables over. One of the braver girls, a dark eyed brunette, turns around and looks at him with a smirk.
"Hi, I'm Monique" she purrs while fluttering her long eyelashes at him.
"I'm John" John responds a bit disquieted.
"So, you new here?"
"Yeah, just moved here last week" John gives a slight smile.
She answers John's smile with a grin so wide John is slightly worried she's going to split in two, and then exclaims: "Brilliant, then you'll have to let me show you around after class"
Before John manages to answer her, the teacher walks in and makes the class settle down. Monique gives John one more glance before turning back around in her chair still smiling widely.
John is relieved, he really just wants this day to be over without any more hitches or embarrassments, and Monique is definitely a hindrance.
John can't quite remember when he realised that he was gay, but it was a couple of years back, and since then, as to taunt him, he apparently has become more and more appealing to the opposite sex. He isn't very tall, but he likes sports and is in good shape, he has a natural charm and he's often faced with giggling and flustered girls, them he can handle, it's the smirking, seductive, eye-bashing kind of girls that is the problem. Boys his age are expected to take part in the flirting and basically jump at any chance they have of getting with any fairly okay looking girl who as much as glances their way, and it never fails to attract unwanted attention when he turns down girls who are practically throwing themselves at his feet.
John is abruptly ripped out of his gloomy thoughts as he hears the teacher mention his name. He looks up and sees most of the class peeking at him over their shoulders. Luckily Miss Larson isn't the kind of teacher who'd make him stand up and introduce himself, and soon the class has again shifted their attention to the lesson.
During class John examines his new classmates closer, there are the giggling girls from before sitting around Monique, a couple of quiet kids by the windows to the left, seemingly more interested in staring blankly into thin air, or chewing on their pencils, than actually listening to the teacher, there are the kids on the front row furiously taking notes at everything the teacher says and then there are the group of loud guys at the back, some of them making the occasional farting noises or throwing small pieces of paper at other people, some of them laughing quietly and sending smug looks at the rest of the class.
A shrewd, but deep voice catches John's ear and he notices a boy sitting at the front of the class all the way to the left, he'd barely noticed him when he inspected the rest of the class.
The boy seems out of place somehow.
He has dark curls who covers most of his long, pale neck, and as far as john can see while sitting down, he is quite tall.
John doesn't hear the exchange of words between the boy and the teacher, but the teacher looks exceedingly huffed as she hastily continues the lesson.
The rest of the class goes without incident, John sits quietly in the back until he hears the bell ring. "Remember to answer question one through three for next time, and read the next chapter in your books" Miss Larson states loudly to the class as they start clattering with chairs and chatting with each other.
John begins packing his things into his bag, and as quickly as possible heads for the door, hoping that Monique has forgotten about her promise to show him around. Sadly, he barely makes it out in the hallway before he feels her finely manicured hand on his shoulder.
"So, what do you wanna see first?" She asks.
John hesitates for a second before hearing his stomach growl impatiently.
"How about the canteen, I'm kinda starved"
"Sure" she says, smile widening, "right this way".
She grabs John's hand, and he is forced to follow her through the crowded hallway. They go through the entrance hall, and past the pink clad receptionist, through another set of broad wooden doors and into a massive canteen, who is apparently also used for assemblies judging by the large stage in the other end of the room.
John buys some food and finds an empty table in a corner, Monique hasn't let her eyes off him since class, and now she's sitting uncomfortably close to him, practically climbing his lap.
"So, are you going to try out for the rugby team?" she asks, after a short silence where John has tried stuffing as much food down as possible.
He turns his head towards her "Yeah i think so, why do you ask?" he says, mouth overflowing with pasta, he thinks maybe if he could disgust her a bit, she would leave him alone. It works to some extent as she backs off a bit with a positively grossed out look on her face.
"Well, you just look like a guy who likes sports, all muscly and stuff" She says and gives him an undoubtedly fake simper.
Great, she's still flirting, John thinks. He stares deeply into his food as though it holds the key to his escape.
Monique keeps on asking him questions, and John keeps answering as briefly and abrupt as he can, to try and throw her off.
Finally she seems to be emptied out for ideas and they sit in quiet for a bit, she looks as though using all her brain capacity on trying to find something to say.
John supposes that she's used to some more keen conversational partners, and he feels kind of sorry for her, but he really just wants to make her understand that he isn't interested.
Finally it seems like an idea has formed in her head and her blazing smile returns.
"You know, I'm not doing anything after school today and if you're not busy then-"
John quickly cuts her off. "I'm sorry, i need to go talk to the PE teacher, about trying out for the rugby team, now" He gets to his feet quickly, and chugs the rest of his food in the nearest bin.
"Oh, well i guess I'll see you later then" she says disappointedly.
As John leaves the canteen, he sees her giggling friends make their way over to her.
John wasn't actually intending to go to the PE teacher right now, but now that he's used it as excuse to get away from Monique, he figures that he might as well do it, then at least he won't have told a lie.
The PE teacher, Mr. Hammond, seems only happy to get him on the team, they had apparently just lost a team member whose family had had to move away. They agree that he can join the training already this afternoon, to see if he matches with the rest of the team.
John is now standing in the hallway, rummaging in his back for his timetable and the little map of the school he's gotten from the receptionist, he has biology with Mr. Whitaker next, and he is determined not to be late, even though he has no idea where room '24b' is.
After running from one end of the school to the other a couple of times he finally finds the room, hidden in a little nook on the second floor, he barges through the door, still panting from having run all the way down the long corridor.
Most of the class looks a bit shocked at his sudden entrance. John quickly makes his apologies and settles down in the nearest seat.
Biology is seemingly not as popular as English had been and the class is quite small, John looks around at the other pupils, his eyes fall on the boy sitting next to him, it's the same boy he took notice to in english class.
Except for a small bruise by his jawline, the boys face is as pale as his neck had been, he has very prominent cheekbones and his lips are slightly crooked, his dark brown curls are somewhat tousled, a small lock of hair is hanging astray over his furrowed brows, John has to fight a sudden urge to reach out and brush it to the side. John thinks he looks bored. And if he has to be completely honest with himself he finds his face surprisingly appealing, maybe even handsome.
Suddenly the boy turns his head and looks straight at him, his grey eyes piercing him. John immediately looks down as he realises that he'd been staring at the boy. He feels the boy's gaze on him, as if he's reading every thought he's ever had. John dares to take small peak at the tall boy, who is still scrutinising him. He looks, John doesn't know quite how to describe it, not angry, but more annoyed, still looking slightly bored, and then slightly puzzled as well. After a little while, which for John seems like a small eternity, the boy looks back up at the teacher.
John doesn't dare look back at him, and instead finds himself looking at his hands, resting on the table. He has long and somewhat bony, but strong hands, his fingers slightly calloused and with lots of small cuts and scratches. John thinks they look like hands who would be good at playing the piano.
After class John makes his way round the sea of students who are all trying get out into the sunny, early autumn weather, his mind can't quite leave the image of the tall boy behind, and he was tall, John had had that confirmed when the boy had stood up swiftly and left the class before John had even packed his bag. He hadn't looked back. And why would he? It wasn't like John had said anything to him. Why can't he just let it go. It's not like he often has crushes on strange boys he's seen twice and never spoken with. "For fucks sake, get a grip John" he says to himself as he walks across the green football fields towards the changing rooms.
Most of the guys on the rugby team, he recognises from class, there are the two guys who looks like the person who created them was actually going for mountains, but made a small miscalculation along the way. Their names are Adam and Jake, and they're twins. They are also the ones who had made the farting noises John had noticed earlier the same day. There is Oliver who has charm and looks, but an utter disregard for other people's feelings. There is Robert who is a bit quiet and seems nice enough, but John can't quite make him out, and then there is Lewis who is a bit smaller than the others, even smaller than John, but he's fast, and though the others seems to often make him the butt of a joke, he's good at flinging that joke right back at them.
John is, despite his natural charm, not great at making friends, but the Rugby team takes him in as one of their own, the second they've seen him on the field. Finally something he's good at, John thinks as he run across the field, dodges and dives and feels his pulse speed up. After training Mr. Hammond pats John on the shoulder and welcomes him to the team. Mr. Hammond is a big man, and almost pats John into the soft soil, but John is just happy that he's made some friends, even though they might be slightly questionable.
In the changing rooms afterwards, John has an agitating conversation with the rest of the team, mostly about rugby, then a bit about girls and then some about farts, which seems to be the preferred topic of both Jake and Adam. John laughs at the farts and the rugby and maybe a bit too loud about the girls, he even laughs a little when Oliver makes the joke about fags, remembering what his mother had said about finding friends.
"I mean it's not like I'm hurting anyone" John tries to explain to himself when he's lying in bed that evening, "They're not that bad, and it's better than having no friends, actually I can probably do more good being friends with them than if I wasn't" John rationalises.
He stares into the cracks on the ceiling for a little while, sometimes a flash of light illuminates them when a car drives past outside. His mother had smiled when he came home that afternoon, asked him about his day. "Good" John had answered "made a whole bunch of friends". John enjoyed his mother's pleased expression, it was a while since he'd seen it.
The cracks are illuminated again, their shadows sharp against the white. John suddenly finds his thoughts wandering back to the boy whose name he doesn't know. John can see his piercing grey eyes when he closes his own.
A little way away, the boy with the piercing grey eyes is also lying in his bed. He hadn't meant to, but his brother had yelled at him for keeping the entire house awake, which really meant keeping him awake, and Sherlock had had to drag himself to bed. He's wide awake and his thoughts keeps swiveling from one thing to the other, he is doing an especially interesting experiment involving the effect of different poisons on blood and he is trying to determine just how long it's going to be before he can sneak back into his little lab and continue it. When Mycroft sleeps, he sleeps heavily, and with a bit of effort, Sherlock is sure he won't notice him again.
Sherlock moves restlessly, he really hopes he can make it back before the experiment is going to be ruined, it hadn't been easy to get a hold of the poisons he needed.
His mind seems to linger with the boy from today. John Watson. Blond, fit, charming, nothing special, but then again, it's like there is something bothering Sherlock, something about the boy that he can't quite make out. The way he'd been staring at him. Sherlock hastily dismisses it, he'd probably just been trying to figure out which insult would be the best to start out with. Sherlock doesn't care about the bullying, but it can be bothersome when it becomes physical.
Sherlock's thoughts returns to the quiet house, and he slowly makes his way out the door and into the cold hallway. "Sherlock!" he hears from a couple doors down. Dammit he hadn't waited long enough, Mycroft must be having trouble sleeping, drank too much tea before bed, Sherlock figures.