"John, you will be paired with Sherlock," the teacher called from the head of the classroom

John leaned over to whisper in Mike's ear, "Who?"

Mike simply nodded his head towards the far back corner of the room, completely opposite where he and Mike sat. He had never really paid much attention to the dark, drafty corner and had simply assumed nobody sat there but, sure enough, when he stood ever so slightly to peek over the heads of his peers a dark mop of unruly curls could be seen hunched over the desk there. John, being captain of the rugby team and all-around popular guy, made it his goal to know the names of all the students in his year at least. He had never met a face he couldn't place or put a name to until now, which made Sherlock extremely intriguing.

When the teacher split them up to talk to their partners, he slowly picked his way through the cluttered narrow maze of desks to the corner where Sherlock sat, hunched over the desk. He didn't so much as turn his head from his paper, upon which he was writing furiously, as John plopped himself down in the seat in front of Sherlock, sitting backwards so he could face him. He waited a moment for Sherlock to address him. When he still made no attempt to communicate, John attempted to initiate conversation.

"Hello! I'm John. I don't believe we've met before. Pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand to be shaken. Sherlock, head still bowed over the desk, continued to write at inexplicable speeds, even as he slowly raised his hand to grasp John's. As soon as was socially acceptable Sherlock tore his hand back to his paper where he had begun to do what appeared to John to be some rather complicated calculations. When Sherlock still ignored him after shaking hands, John once again attempted to engage with the boy.

"So -" he started, clasping his hands lightly together and breathing out slowly, "How is it we've never met before? We're in the same year I'm assuming, since we're in the same class right now, but I know everyone in our year so how come I don't recognize you? Are you new?" At this Sherlock's head shot up, cold verdigris eyes piercing John to his core, leaving him feeling both shot through and full to the brim all at once.

"Of course not, John. We simply are not in the same year and I keep to myself. I tend to avoid the kind of tedium that accompanies a 'group project' at all costs. I prefer to work alone so as to also avoid mingling amongst the idiocy of my peers. I am in the year below you but all of my classes are advanced a year because my teachers cannot provide me a proper challenge so as to occupy my mind and are therefore forced to endure me at my most bored, in which case they find me both insolent and insubordinate, so the headmaster advanced my classes to accommodate both myself and the teachers. I also do not attend lunch in the cafeteria, for similar reasoning. Hence you do not recognize me." He spoke quickly and succinctly, ending his speech with a quick nod and then falling into a still silence as he observed John with a sharp eye.

He spoke with a frankness that John found both bothersome and yet endearing, who responded to the awkward silence that followed with a warm smile that Sherlock seemed to find shocking, as his eyes widened and mouth slackened just slightly enough to be barely noticeable before pulling back to his cold, closed off expression, eyes pinched slightly and mouth set.

"So, this project, it's something isn't it? Never been much of a chemist myself, my marks certainly aren't fantastic, so I might struggle a bit with it." John huffed a short, amused breath, a self-deprecating smile alighting his features.

"Never mind it," Sherlock said, waving his hand like one might shoo away a fly. "I certainly don't mind doing it; I'd do it all on my own anyways if I was given the choice. We won't even have to see one another if you like," he scoffed, returning to his calculations with a sharp turn of his head, almost angrily. John was thoroughly caught off by the statement.

"I don't mean that you'd do it all on your own Sherlock. Jesus. That's not what I meant at all! I simply meant that I might not move as quickly as you, seeing as you've already done about half the project on that scratch paper," John said, gesturing to Sherlock's paper before giving it a closer look, eyes squinting as he leaned forward to read the hastily written calculations and notes. When he couldn't see it well enough upside down he grabbed the paper directly from beneath Sherlock's pencil and turning it towards himself. "Dear God, you really have! You're a genius, honestly! I could never do calculations like this. Brilliant! You're brilliant!" he said reverently, glancing up just long enough to catch the shock written in plain view across Sherlock's face this time, and this time it hadn't dissipated when John looked up to meet his eyes again.

"What?" John asked. "All I said is you're brilliant. Is that a problem? Because if it is I won't say it again."

"Nothing, nothing. Simply caught me off guard is all. I don't often receive such praise for my intelligence," he said, control firmly back in place, yet his eyes were downcast slightly, not quite meeting John's.

"What do people normally say?" John asked, genuinely confused as to how someone couldn't appreciate the genius in front of him, despite having only known him for 5 minutes.

"Piss off!" Sherlock said with a smirk, but there was a sadness, a dimming of the sparkling electricity behind his eyes, that John only just caught as Sherlock's eyes left his again. It left him feeling an inexplicable sadness, to see the spark dimmed in the cutting eyes that had already left their mark on him. Despite having only just met the young genius, John had already grown protective of him, seeming to sense a fragility hiding behind the sharp cheekbones, the piercing eyes, the cutting words.

"Anyways, I would very much like to work this all the way through with you. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two, help me out a bit? I really am hopeless in this class."

"Might as well. You don't seem completely, hopelessly idiotic," Sherlock said with a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Gee, good to know," John replied good-naturedly, rolling his eyes as he bent over to stuff his notebook and pencil into his already overcrowded bookbag. When he looked back up, Sherlock seemed to be blushing somewhat, but it was hard to tell considering how pale he was if it was blushing or just from getting some blood pumping as he also prepared to leave.

"Shall we meet after school today at Angelo's to work? I don't have anything on after school today. You?" Sherlock said, just as the bell signaling class change yelled out from the speakers.

"Yeah, should be good for me! I'll see you there!" And with a quick wave and a warm smile, they parted ways at the doorway and both joined the screeching, pounding, thrumming cacophony of the crowded hallway and were swept away by its relentless current.

That afternoon they met at Angelo's. Sherlock was there already when John arrived, once again hunched over his paper, calculating frantically, muttering quietly to himself beneath the curtain of his frankly adorable curls. John could feel himself falling for the younger boy; his angular features, soft brown curls, and untempered wit drawing him in quicker than anyone he'd ever met, which was something considering how quickly he had always made friends. There was just something about him that was irresistible.

They sat and worked, chatting away over their project well into the evening. At first all Sherlock would talk about was the project, rapid fire calculations and facts about the chemicals and their reactions and all manner of crazy facts, to the point where John's head was spinning on an axis that shouldn't have been there, lost in the complicated terms Sherlock was spouting off like a textbook. When he finally managed to get a word in edgewise he was so befuddled he didn't even know what to say, he just sat there staring at the walking, talking, exploding enigma before him, until Sherlock cleared his throat loudly, shaking John from his reverie.

John had proceeded to shower him with praise, allowing Sherlock to preen wantonly, something he obviously was able to indulge in rarely if his huge, gleaming smile, the first true smile he had seen from Sherlock thus far, was anything to go by.

Once John had succeeded in loosening Sherlock up a bit he was all of a sudden privy to a side of the young man he rarely let show. He spoke animatedly about experiments he had performed and planned to perform, about his aspirations to be a consulting detective , whatever that was, and a plethora of other things. He spoke quickly, eyes bright and shining with excitement, hands flying as he played out his words with his hands in the way only those who are inexorably excited do.

It was obvious to John, who had always been surprisingly skilled at reading others, that the boy he found himself so inexplicably drawn to did not have many friends, and probably hadn't for most of his life. This realization only made him more protective of Sherlock, and more determined to win his heart.

Now John had never been one to hide his bisexuality purposefully, but he had never had a true relationship with a boy before so this was, admittedly, new territory for him but he was a captain and a leader, always ready to brave the new horizons. Throughout the evening he attempted to make his feelings more apparent without frightening Sherlock, who didn't seem the type to have been in many relationships.

He didn't even know if Sherlock was gay but he didn't want to broach the subject so bluntly as to ask him outright, knowing it would be the ammunition for an extremely awkward conversation, so he simply put himself out there as far as he dared and hoped Sherlock would take the bait.

They spoke for hours, jumping from topic to topic so often it was impossible to follow their train of thought, well into the evening. Sherlock, throughout, didn't appear to catch onto John's flirting in the slightest. When they parted ways though, it was with great reluctance on the part of both boys, which made John hopeful that perhaps Sherlock had caught on to his flirting more than he had let on and was just scouting the unfamiliar territory as well. They made plans to meet after school again on Thursday, as John had rugby practice on Wednesday, but this time at Sherlock's house.

When Wednesday rolled around John stood with Sherlock on the curb outside of the school for Sherlock's car to retrieve them. John was shocked when, not a normal parent's subtle sedan or van pulled up to the curb, but a sleek black towncar with dark tinted windows rumbled up to them. His shock was increased exponentially when, almost the second the car stopped, a primly dressed man in a driver's uniform popped out of the car and pulled open the rear door for them. Sherlock slid in neatly and plopped his bag down on the floorboards, then looked up at John expectantly.

"Are you coming? Or are you just going to stand there gaping like an idiot?" he said sarcastically, a joking sneer alighting his features.

"Of course, yeah," John said as he slid in beside Sherlock, shaking his head with the incredulity of the situation. "Just wasn't expecting to be picked up by a bloody limousine." He paused to admire the sleek leather interior of the car. "It's very posh, very nice," he said, running his hands over the plush seat.

Sherlock seemed surprised at John's response but he didn't voice his confusion; he simply smiled at John warmly and turned back to face front. The silence was comfortable as they slowly made their way through the crowded streets of outer London and into the wide open spaces of Windsor. After the 20 minute drive, they finally pulled up outside of Sherlock's house. Although, house isn't really the word; more like, manor.

They pulled through the large wrought iron gate and down the gravel drive where the house was revealed in all its glory. Set atop a hill that rose up from the sprawling, neatly cut grounds was the grandest house John had ever seen. Two huge main stories could be seen through the aged yet pristine windows that covered the front of the house. The worn terracotta bricks and mosaic of colored tiles on the roof gave the house a lovely antiquated look. The car pulled around the circular drive and stopped in front of a long set of ancient stone steps that looked older than the house itself with beautifully carved stone banisters on either side leading up to the large, round-topped cottage style doors. When Sherlock led him through the doors he was met with an equally grand entrance hall, complete with priceless fur rug and ornate side table.

Sherlock's grand entrance to his home was quickly subdued as he led John through the house to his room on the second floor, routinely interrupted by cheers of "Brilliant! Fantastic! Gorgeous!" from John as he admired everything they passed with wide, excited eyes. When they finally arrived at Sherlock's room the boy in question was positively sulking.

"You alright?" John asked, concerned at Sherlock's exuberance fading so quickly.

"Nothing, nothing! Just ..." He faded off, eyes glued to the floor and head bowed. "The last time I had a friend overīšŖ," he sneered out the word friend like it's a curse - "it didn't end very well. Mainly because he was jealous of my home and the riches my family has. Despite my best intentions and pleas, he fled the house on foot, calling me a freak and other such hateful expletives until he was long out of sight in the drive. This was several years ago, and not only did I never speak to him again, but I have not had a friend over before nor since. Not as if I had any friends to invite anyhow." There's a sadness in his eyes as he related his story, but as it came to a close so did his features, finishing the monologue with a turned up nose and a haughty snuffle, as if he's above the idea of having friends. John could tell that the rejection of his previous, and apparently only, friend had stung more than Sherlock was going to let on.

"Sorry about that, Sherlock. That's really nasty of him, whoever the sorry git was. You don't need that in your life anyhow. Anyways, I promise you won't see any jealousy out of me; I'm perfectly happy not having to take a 5 minute walk to get to my kitchen in the middle of the night, thank you very much," John proclaimed with a smile. There was a moment of silence where the two boys just stood and smiled at one another, before they both simultaneously burst into raucous laughter. John's bright giggles mixed gorgeously with the smooth bass of Sherlock's hearty chuckles, his curls flying about as his head bounced with the hitching of his chest as he tried to catch his breath; John couldn't help but be mesmerized by them.

He was quickly subdued by this thought, caught up in the warmth it brought to his chest. He really did care for Sherlock, despite not knowing him very long. He was coarse and sometimes John couldn't understand a word he was saying, he would speak so quickly as to make it impossible, but he was charming and clever and beautiful, and he had endeared himself to John in a way none of his previous girlfriends had. The problem was he had no idea if Sherlock felt the same way.

They studied for several hours, well into the evening. When dinnertime came around both Sherlock and John were surprised at the knock on the door, jumping at the interruption. They had been so engrossed that when John looked at the window he was shocked to find it was dark out, the sun long fallen below the horizon. Just as he was about to hop out of his seat and apologize for intruding so late in the evening, Sherlock's deep voice shocked him back into his seat.

"You aren't intruding John. In fact, you are welcome to stay for dinner. My mother and the cook were both made aware beforehand that there might be an extra mouth to feed come dinnertime, so there is already a place setting waiting for you at the table."

John, not yet accustomed to Sherlock's ability to seemingly read his mind, leaned back in his chair, jaw dropped in incredulity, eyes shining with adoration. After a moment he shook himself and a broad smile took over his features.

"Well, alright. Let me just message my mum and let her know. I'll meet you down there, I have to run to the loo as well."

Sherlock simply nodded his head once before turning and heading down the stairs. After messaging his mum and washing his hands, John followed down the stairs and into the dining room he had passed on the way into the house earlier, now beautifully lit by a glittering crystal chandelier and set with a full china set, white with inlaid gold designs around the edges of every plate and cup. Sherlock and his family had already sat down at their places and were conversing quietly so he slid in next to Sherlock as quietly as possible so as not to interrupt. When Sherlock's mum noticed him her face immediately brightened and she abandoned the conversation she was having with Sherlock's brother to address him.

"John dear, how lovely to meet you! It's been so long since we got to meet one of Sherlock's friends. I hope he's treating you alright!" she said cheekily, a sly sort of look on her face, like she knew something he didn't. She asked after his family and his schooling and rugby, chattering at him nonstop as they ate. Dinner was through at an ungodly hour so Sherlock, blushing as he did so, offered for John to stay the night.

"I can sleep on the floor if you like, and you can borrow some of mine or Mycroft's night clothes. In the morning we can stop by your house so you can get ready, I don't sleep much anyways so getting up early isn't a problem."

"Don't sleep on the floor on my account," John assured him. "I'm sure we can figure out a more comfortable sleeping arrangement. As far as the morning, I have some spare clothes in my rugby bag, so neither of us has to be up early; might even sleep in a bit."

Sherlock blushed even harder at this, though he was very obviously trying to hide it. John smiled inwardly, he knew he had hooked him, now to reel him in. When both were dressed and brushed and clean they clambered into Sherlock's overly large bed, having determined it to be the most comfortable course of action. Neither questioned it a bit as they settled, facing one another. They stared into one another's eyes for a long few minutes until John's eyes closed of their own accord and fell into deep sleep.

He woke to find himself wrapped in the tentacle-like embrace of Sherlock's enormously long, gangly, firmly muscled limbs clutched around his chest and legs, like Sherlock had tried to devour him in the night. It was warm and firm and comforting and it took all of his considerable will-power to turn himself over and rouse his gorgeous friend (though hopefully more than that before too long), whose face was even more beautiful in the orange yellow glow of the just risen sun streaming in through the window. Sherlock's long, fan-like lashes slowly fluttered open as John called his name softly, the usually piercing verdigris-grey eyes softened by sleep and morning sunlight met his. There was a soft intake of breath from Sherlock as John leaned in a bit closer, their noses just brushing. They could feel one another's breaths on their faces. They lay like that for just a moment before together they leaned forwards and lips met.

They kissed chastely for just a moment before separating, staring at one another with bright smiles, before untangling themselves and prepping for school. When they arrived they held hands and kissed again when they parted for their separate classes. When they had chemistry John sat with Sherlock instead of Mike, who watched them confusedly for all of class; though neither of them noticed, to engrossed in one another to be aware of any of their surroundings. Eventually everyone knew that the exceptionally gorgeous rugby captain, John H Watson, was taken, much to the chagrin of girls and guys alike. Sherlock still didn't have many friends, despite being in a long term relationship with the most popular guy in school, but he doesn't have friends, he has one, perfect, beautiful boyfriend . And that is all he needs.

Actions