Chapter one: September
"Would you like to introduce your self?" says a snotty woman in the front of the class. First period: English.
"Yeah. I'm John Watson. My family just moved to London so here I am."
"Alright, John you can have a seat back there." The woman points to the only empty seat on the class. It is in the back row, behind a boy in dark clothes who is slouched over. John takes his seat and pulls out his binders. In front of him when a voice says, "Birmingham" John looks around a realizes the boy in front of him said it.
"Excuse me."
"Birmingham. You're from Birmingham." The boy sits up and turns around to face John. His eyes are a lovely green- or where they blue. Neither the less his eyes are lovely. "The names Sherlock Holmes."
"uh John Watson-"
"Clearly,"
"- uh what? Um how did you know where I was from?"
"You're shirt and shoes."
"How?"
"You clearly come from another major city. It's in your attitude. It's your first day, so you want to wear your best clothes. These, I am guessing, are your best clothes. And despite trends becoming more universal, they still move through countries in waves. And the obsession with those shoes ended awhile ago." Sherlock turns back around to his desk.
"What was amazing."
Sherlock whips back around. "What?"
"That was amazing."
"Really?"
"Yeah, what do people normally say?"
"Piss off." John laughs a little and receives a stern look from the teacher.
John sits with Sherlock in all of the other classes that they have together. He quickly realizes that the other kids don't enjoy him. Sherlock even calls hanging out with him, "social suicide." That is in second period algebra. When john walks into chemistry, everything is different. Sherlock is alone as usual, but the other kids are watching him as he lines up graduated cylinders on the lab table. That are studying his movements, some are even mimicking him. John stands next to Sherlock. "They are all copying you." He states.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I'm the only one with a clue in this class."
"So they mess with you in every class but the one they copy you in?"
"That seems to be the way."
"Why do you let them?"
"Oh it's fun. I'll switch chemicals around. Nothing dangerous. Just enough to make someone hop in the emergency shower."
"That's evil."
"That's even. Plus Mr. Hadik lets me work on special projects sometimes and then they all get lost." It is on that note that Mr. Hadik walks in.
"I see you are all set up." His eyes glance to Sherlock. "So yes today we are catalyzing Hydrogen Peroxide by using Potassium Iodide..." Sherlock had already started measuring out chemicals
"Shouldn't we finish listening to the instructions?"
"Nope." One of the liquids is already in the graduated cylinder and Sherlock adds another. "Step back." John moves back in the last second to avoid being covered in the foam that erupts from the top of the container. They swivel their heads.
"Uh, very good Mr. Holmes." Speaks Mr. Hadik. Sherlock doesn't acknowledge the compliment and washes out the equipment before setting them up in front of John. Sherlock measure out the chemicals and sets them in the two cylinders.
"Just add that," Sherlock points to the Potassium Iodide, "to that," the Hydrogen Peroxide, "when he says to start."
"So now what do you do?"
"Whatever I want." says Sherlock pausing after each word.
"That's fun."
"Yep." Sherlock reaches in this bag and pulls out a book.
"The Origins of the Parliament." reads John. "That thing must be five hundred pages."
"Five hundred and twenty-eight pages Took it off my brother."
"Your brother sounds like fun."
"Yes. Now mix your chemicals and let me read."
John sighs, turning away from Sherlock. He swears he feels Sherlock's foot brush against his calf.
Chemistry was the last class John had with Sherlock until lunch. And at lunch he couldn't be found. John went through the rest of his classes looking for the kid. When the final bell rings John runs out the door. He notices a black mop of hair already bouncing down the street carrying a large bag. John's feet pound against the ground as he chases after the boy. Finally he reaches Sherlock. "Hey."
"Been about two months since you last played football."
"What? Actually never mind. What's in the bag, a body?"
"A perfectly logical assumption."
"Wait are you serious?"
"No."
"Well, where are you going?"
"That isn't really any of your business is it?"
"Okay no harm in asking." Sherlock scoffs. "Oh hey," John pulls out an old receipt from his front pocket and finds a bitten-top pen in his back pocket. He scribbled down something and passes it to Sherlock. "There's my cell number."
"Okay. Now if you don't mind I'm going to be late."
"To where?" Sherlock turns and glares. "Okay, okay. Go run off to wherever you have to go. My street is the next one anyway."
Sherlock pounded through the door of Elizabeth's School of Dance.
"Sherlock! You're late!" cries a voice from one of the studios.
"Yes. I know." Sherlock slips out of the pants he is wearing to reveal tight black pants almost like leggings. Under his jacket he is wearing a white shirt. Sherlock hastily slips on his well-worn pair of black ballet slippers and grabs his water bottle before jaunting into the studio. He slips in between two girls at the barre and mimics them in extending his foot to tondue.
"Now that everyone is here, I do have the cast list for this years Nutcracker." Sherlock never liked doing the Nutcracker. It was the same thing every year. But still he couldn't help but getting caught up in the hype of figuring out who you will be cast as. "Now we have just under 3 months to prepare this, so everyone need to be fully committed. Right after this competition season starts, but you all know that so I'll just read the list." Sherlock zones out only listening for his name. It is said followed by the words "Nutcracker Prince." That is a lead role. Sherlock smiles lightly. As much as he dislikes the Nutcracker, leading in it is wonderful news. There isn't that many guys at the studio, rationalizes Sherlock. He is right. But Sherlock refuses to believe that he was any good. "So rehearsal schedule will be posted after class and will start next week. But now to the center."
After 3 hours of ballet and one of modern (a style Sherlock didn't particularly enjoy, but liked just enough to continue taking the class) the young man walks home. As he enters the 4 four bedroom house, his mother stops him. "Where do you go all the time? You're never home."
"Out." Responds Sherlock making a break for the stairs.
"You always say that."
"Then stop asking." He walks down the upstairs hallway and goes into his room. He strips from his sweaty dance clothes and stuffs they way down in this bedroom hamper. The thoughts of John haunt him. Why did that boy take a liking to him? No one ever took a liking to him, but this boy seemed persistent.
After John's mother persisted that he tells her every detail of his first day, John pounds up to his room and dumps his bag at the door to his messy room. There is something mysterious about the tall boy in a coat who reads long books about the British government. It is almost magnetic.
After dinner John sits on hit bed playing a game on his phone when a text arrives.
07649 892 4660: Hello? -SH
John: Hey. How was you're mysterious appointment and the mysterious location?
John adds Sherlock to his contacts hastily.
Sherlock: Mysterious
John: Oh come on.
Sherlock: Nope
John: Are you a spy?
Sherlock: No.
John: Vandel?
Sherlock: No.
John: Is it something illegal?
Sherlock: No.
John: I will find out what this secret legal act is.
Sherlock: No you won't.
John: Yes I will.
John: So what's the English homework
Sherlock: Nothing. She never checks it.
John: Or do you just not pay attention?
Sherlock: Probably the latter.
John: Thought so.
Hey! This is my first Sherlock fic and I hope you like it! R&R please!