A/N: This story is kind of based on my school and my friend's school. I think that too many teen!lock stories involve him getting bullied, but idk, what if he wasn't?

There are so many stories about the intellectual boy, the one who nobody understood. He grew up jaded and alone, often with a hobby to fill the gap left by the company of others.

But I have a story for you.

Do you want to hear it?

It's set in a world where being brighter than the rest of the crowd is a cause for intrigue; not fear. It's a world where a boy doesn't have to declare who he's going to love before he falls in love. A world where those with value, are valued.

It's the world of our future.

Let me tell you a story that took place in a high school in this land.

Where the popular crowd was charismatic, yes. But the popular crowd had a future too. It was easy to hate this popular crowd because you knew you'd never have the satisfaction of being more successful than them in the future; they'd always be one or two steps ahead of you.

They were smart, they were charming, they were well-spoken, they played sports or an instrument, and they could make your English teacher cry with their poems.

There was one. He could do it better than the rest. He was tall and slender (aren't they always?) but that didn't matter. I think he could've been short and overweight and he would've still held the same appeal for everyone. They just clung to his every word. I clung to his every word.

We wanted to impress him. We wanted to be noticed by him. We wanted to be on the receiving ends of one of his smiles. We wanted to be on the same team as him. Always.

And the funny thing is, he never knew it. He never knew what he had, because he never knew what it was not to have it. He laughed at what he thought was funny. He did what he thought would be interesting. And he kept company with those whose company he enjoyed. He never thought to play the politics of it all.

He was rash, he was crass. He didn't think about what he said. But in a world where everyone overanalyzed everything till it emerged from their mouths a chewed-up-spat-out mélange of cliché, he was brilliant—effortlessly. And we adored him for it.

He was the alpha male of our hallways and of the real world. The rumors – oh the rumors – they were never malicious. Just some half baked stories about someone who was the greatest enigma of all.

There was this one rumor though. This teeny tiny one that almost everyone scoffed at before tuning in for more. It was the kind of rumor that two people shared between each other, passing it back and forth the way that we only do when we secretly hope it's true.

What did they whisper to each other in the hallways?

What was the rumor so farfetched, one could only laugh nervously at it, before pausing and wishing that it were true?

The rumor was this: that the most mysterious, most candid Sherlock Holmes, was going to ask the quiet mousy John Watson out on a date.

A/N: Well? Should I continue? Or is it too strange?