Elementary
John didn't have any friends. Not since the accident. Before, he was a wonderful rugby player, and had the admiration of the girls as well as the jealousy of the boys at Brookstone High School. But when he got in the car wreck that sabotaged the better part of his left leg, he was burdened with a crippled physique that would never allow him to return to his former glory, all the attention he got now was looks of pity.
Well, except for one boy, whose brilliant, kaleidoscope eyes looked at him not with pity, but with curiosity. The boy that belonged to those eyes consisted of appealing angles and contrasts. A jet black mop of waved hair on soft, pointed, skin that was pale as a sheet. His hair was as if it was purposefully tousled, but his clothing tailored and made of fine cloth and cut. He rarely talked, only to correct the teacher, Mrs. Higgens, and insult others on their "insolence". From what John could glean from his former friends, everyone hated the boy. His snide remarks and rich-snob type of air did not help his case. Yet the boy was all alone. John knew how it felt to be a misfit. And misfits stick together.
One day, John, complete with his damaged leg, abruptly stood up at the empty lunch he sat at in the corner of the cafeteria. Go talk to him whispered a small, courageous voice inside his head.
John complied with this thought, and hobbled over to the opposite side of the cafe. People glanced at him with pity as he made slow but sure progress, but he ignored them. He locked eyes with the strange boy and refused to look away as he has always done. The boy's eyes widened slightly before narrowing and adopted a blank face, but his eyes were full of some strong emotion that John couldn't quite place. It was only when John plunked down resolutely on the seat adjacent to the staring boy that he broke his gaze, instead focusing on putting his crutches somewhere they wouldn't get in someone's way. An awkward silence followed.
Well, John had waited this long.
"Hi."
John stated, hoping he didn't look too terrified.
"Hello."
The boy finally spoke, his voice, though cool and calm, were betrayed by the way his eyes lit up at John's voice. If John never saw that twinkle hidden in the boy's strange eyes, he might have chickened out, and got up, left, and never attempted to speak to him again. But John was desperate for a friend, and this strange person drew him in. He was the only one who seemed not to care that John was crippled. Besides, he must need a friend too.
"I'm... my name is John. John Watson."
At this the boy simply dipped his head once.
John was about to abort this crazy mission of friendship when the boy started talking rapidly, but surely, as if the words had been rehearsed.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. And you, my fellow, used to be to be a rugby player, forced into it by your alcoholic father of course... and your mother disapproves of the sport secretly, probably because because she wants you to become a doctor instead, but went along with her husband. Your grades are failing despite your extra time, but you are considering putting more effort into them because you've decided to pursue a medical degree as well. And you've been wearing that crutch for 12 weeks now but your doctor wants to move you to a cane in a month. He's a fool, though. Pretty much everyone is. You'll heal faster if you just stop twisting your kneecap every time you sit down."
John sat, unmoving, almost in shock at the rapid-fire information that was departed with intensity and surety, despite that the boy had only just met him.
"That... that was..."
At this Sherlock flinched and looked away. "stupid, stupid.. why.." he was muttering.
"Fantastic."
John completed, finally gaining his wits.
"How in god's green earth did you do that?!"
Sherlock brightened, eyes almost glowing with pride, and gave John a hesitant half-smile.
"Well... it's elementary, my dear Watson."