The title sounds kinky because the story will get there. But for now, it's just some fluffiness.
Just One More of Flesh: New
Sherlock woke that morning, excited for his first day of school. But not because it was the start of a new year, but because it was a new school, and he wondered if people might except him here. He had heard that London was full a snotty prats, but he didn't want to believe such rumors.
So he dressed hurriedly for his first day of his senior year. Besides, he thought, even if they are assholes, I've only got one year left anyway.
Then he thought about how young he was compare to the other seniors. He was only seventeen while they're all eighteen and some even nineteen. But he didn't care anymore. He rushed down the many stairs he had counted as thirty two, and met Mycroft in the kitchen with Mum.
"Hi, Mum," he greeted her with a kiss to the cheek, "Mike," he simply nodded. Mycroft hated that nickname, but his mother told him that if he didn't appreciate his little brother she would smack him for all he was worth. Sherlock appreciated his older brother, but not as much he wanted to.
Let me elaborate, when Sherlock asks for help, (which he rarely ever does in the first place), Mycroft always taught him in ways that made it even more confusing. And then the twenty year old ass would say it's simple and leave Sherlock to figure it out on his own anyway.
So yeah, Sherlock appreciated his talents, but he hated his attitude. People even called him the "Iceman" because he never showed any fucking emotions. Sherlock shook his head once as a breakfast was pushed in front of him.
He was about to protest when his mother hit on the top of the head with her spoon, "You eat or I'll shove it down your gullet." She was only worried for Sherlock. She hadn't seen him eat since they left Bristol to come to London.
Then again, so much had happened to Sherlock in Bristol, why should he be happy to move? Even though, Sherlock was happy to leave. Too many memories were there. Like Gregory and Molly, his two best friends. Then there was Irene, the woman who played with his emotions, and Jim, the man who had turned him.
He hated both of them. He missed Greg and Molly, but he was happy to be rid of Irene and James. Irene was the reason he displayed no emotion. Molly had been worried for Sherlock, but Greg knew what had happened and hadn't questioned a thing.
Then there was Jim. He claimed he cared so much, but he didn't. Him and Irene had stolen Sherlock heart and broke it into pieces that he was only just now, two years later, picking up. But for those two years, he had become 'heartless' and people started hating him. Even Molly gave up. Greg tried, but couldn't get Sherlock back to himself.
You see, Sherlock was known as the 'brainiac' and 'the coolest fucking kid you'll run into', but before he left, he became 'the kid you don't talk to unless you want punched in the throat'. But he was going to change this. He was going to be the best in his class and he was going to meet someone who was going to help change him back into the person he wanted to be. Or at least he could hope, right?
Sherlock finished his breakfast and kissed him mum goodbye as he ran out to the sidewalk in front of their home (grabbing his backpack before he forgot it like the last time), and off the left, was a little glass bust stop. He was glad they had lived so close, or he would have missed the bus that morning.
Except, he hated that he was the second to last stop and there was only one seat that didn't have anyone in it, and it was near the front. Sherlock sighed and sat four seats from the bus driver. She was an interesting person to study.
Oh, I forgot to mention that people used to pay him to deduce things about them. And if he was wrong, they wouldn't pay him at all. But if he was right, they'd fork over whatever and the lowest he was ever paid was five pounds, it was awesome and people actually gladly talked to him. And he was rarely wrong, so he gladly talked to anyone.
As said before, when those two years hit, everyone left him alone. He wasn't talked to, not even in Biology, which was his best class and people used to ask if they would tutor them. But after those two ripped him into pieces, he talked to no one.
Yeah, there the occasional talk with Molly or Greg, but he never talked about himself. He didn't want to be reminded that the people he had loved most hated him. And upon thinking about his past, he hadn't noticed the boy with the blond hair sit beside him, seeing as it was the only spot left. He was glad this was the last stop then.
The blond looked at the mysterious brooding burnet, and noticed that he had never seen him before. And over the small chatter, he asked, "Are you new this year?"
The brooding arse jumped and looked to the blond beside him, "Um, yeah. Why?" he looked back out the window at the streets flying by.
"Just wondering. I haven't seen you around. Hey, what's your name?" he suddenly asked.
Sherlock twitched. This boy was too nice to him, "Sherlock. Yours?" he eyed the boy.
He smiled warmly, "John," and Sherlock saw no flaws. He saw nothing that indicated that his John kid would stab him in the back later. He only saw kindness buried into those lovely blue eyes.
Sherlock bluish grey eyes darted all around the boy as he made his deductions, and decided that maybe he could trust the boy in the jeans and a flannel that was covered by a jumper.
John could feel Sherlock studying him, "So, where'd you live before here?" there he was again with seeming to be too kind to the burnet.
"Bristol. I'm sorry, but why are you bothering me, John?" he didn't mean to be so rude. "Oh," he saw the look on John's face, "Sorry, I just…" John seemed to soften his features from the anger, "I'm not used to having someone who isn't being rude to me." and wasn't that the truth?
John nodded, "It's okay. Besides, anyone who doesn't think you're amazing is an idiot," John said suddenly. Even he was surprised he had said such a thing. What was that? He doesn't even know this kid except for his name!
"You- you think so?" Sherlock stuttered. "Usually people meet me and they automatically hate me," he said.
"Why is that?" John asked, swinging his feet under the seat and putting his hands to the edge, examining Sherlock's face under the curls in which he tried to hide.
"Because I deduce things that they don't like to hear," he admitted. Why hadn't he done that to John yet? He didn't know. He felt as though he wanted to befriend John. See? Not everyone in London is an ass.
"Deduce?" John laughed, confused.
"Yes, like the fact that your father was in the Army when he died a year ago. And your mother has been struggling to care for you and your sister ever since. But recently your sister became a drunk and your mother kicked her out, go moms, right? Anyway," he wanted to continue, but the look on John's face confused him. He was sad that his father was brought up, but seemed overjoyed.
Sherlock exhaled the huge breath he had taken in as John had thrown his hands in the air, "Brilliant!" what?!
"That's not what people usually say," he hid the surprised look and was still confused. How could someone even confuse him? He didn't know, there was something about John that made him suddenly interested.
"What do they usually say?" John asked, still smiling.
"Piss off," and they both laughed at that one. Sherlock found a friend, and little did he know, this would be his only, but very close friend. But that's for another chapter… : )
Please read and review? And any suggestions are welcome. :-)