He starts to fidget, feeling the confinment of his desk closing in. He taps his foot impaciently as he watches the clock move at an alarmingly slow pace. The slender black hand sluggishly hovering past each marking, mocking him, laughing at him, pushing tick is a nerve Sherlock's lost. And at this point, the lable on his pencil is becoming a welcomed distraction.
"That's why the civil war had started," Mr. Vega says, his monotone voice caring out through the entire room. Half the class is struggling to stay awake while the other fourty-nine percent already gave up on that fight. The one percent was focused on his writing device. But somehow, it's only Sherlock who gets in trouble for not being attentive. "So, Sherlock, what is your opinion on the war?" A minute passes in silence for no responce.
"Sherlock?" 's mouth twitches slightly, I can finally catch him off guard. His thick bushy brows raise, a gesture to answer. Sherlock sighs, rolling his beautiful blue eyes. "The war was unfairly weighted. During this time period, the south out did the north in numbers, it wouldn't help because some of the that population was made of slave, who served on the northern side. Plus industrialization and what not. I could go on but I don't care too." Sherlock speaks as fast as he loses interest in the topic. He takes a swift look at his world history teacher; the vein on the top of his shiny bald dome is defined, his fat cheeks are pillowed in pink, his gnawing on his now bloody lip, and his beady brown eyes are gazing at the ground.
Sherlock rises from his god forsaken desk and saunters over to the door, before the teacher can object, the bell rings. The students, who no more than three seconds ago were sleeping like the dead, jumps up and begin to pour out into the halls.
Sherlock strides down the path navigating the quickest way to lunch. The students giving him a wide bearth, trying to avoid him like a plauge. It was known to the entire student body that if you crossed paths with Sherlock that your darkest secrets or embaressments are brought to light as though he read it off your forehead. He calls it "deducing" and they call it "piss off". Though, Sherlock never really gives a damn how they felt, their opinion is hardly relevant.
As the dinning hall comes insight, he rips his phone from his pocket. Searching the news for something interesting. Sherlock's body collides with an object; sturdy enough to land him on his back and a cracking sound to echo in his ears. Damn that's going to hurt later. Sherlock grimaces, against the cool tiles. He grips at his head, feeling for any damage. Only a bump that was well hidden under his mopped black curls. Quickly he gets to his feet and pauses once he sees, not what but who he collided with. A short blond boy is collecting a few scattered papers from the ground. Sherlock takes note of the brand new planner, the blue rectangular sheet of paper, and a heavy weighted bookbag. A new student.
"Sorry, really. I didn't mean to- I should have watched where I was- sorry." The golden haired boy whispers, just loud enough to hear. Sherlock blinked, he was the one who should have been watching not the boy. "No," He begins but finds the words forcing themselves back down his throat. So instead, Sherlock continues to stroll down the walkway without finishing. Pausing for a minute while the urge to aid the blond fades.
Sherlock knows that boy's kind; he'd be nice at first but quickly turn on Sherlock when he heard what the other student's thought of him... if not that then his secret would.
Hello loves! I know JohnLock in school senarios are quite common but I hope you see past that and bear with me as it picks up within the next chapter or two. Please enjoy! Commet if you like. Thanks so much for just reading!
Danni