"Hey."
Sherlock looks up from his book. The boy smiles at him. He's blond. Short and blond. His eyes are big and a bluish gray color.
"You're the other Holmes kid aren't you? Everyone says you're a prat but all you're doing is reading."
Sherlock doesn't respond. He just stares at the boy. He can hear his heartbeat quickening. No one ever talked to him. Unless it was to make a joke. This must be some trick.
The boy laughed lightly, as if to show he didn't have a care in the world.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Eighteen years of age. Not an only child. Sister, a few years older. Sister gets into trouble. This one's the responsible sibling, looks out for her. Loyal, kind. Outgoing. Probably has an craving for danger like his sister but is afraid to indulge in it for fear of getting into the same trouble she's in. Could this be John Watson, Harriet Watson's younger brother? Harriet Watson dropped out of school in her junior year. John would have been a freshman. The event must have made quite an impact on him. Interesting.
"So, what are you reading?" Small talk. Dull. Sherlock lifts the book up so that John can see the cover.
"Cool. I haven't read much Edgar Allen Poe. Actually Harry just got a tattoo-"
He hesitates nervously, then continues. "She got a tattoo with the line 'My heart would feel to be a crime/Unless it trembled with the strings.' from his poem 'Romance'. I thought it was great, but mum and dad had a fit-" He stops as if embarrassed that he had said too much.
"Oh." is Sherlock's only reply. What else is he supposed to say?
John appears to be blushing, but Sherlock brushes the thought off, deciding it to be a trick of the light.
"Er-anyway, so you like poetry right?"
"Yes, I suppose so. Why do you ask?" Sherlock's voice is cold. He is still suspicious of the blond boy.
"I dunno, I like poetry too. Mostly Wordsworth. And Robert Frost. And Shakespeare. He counts right?"
"You're just pulling names out of our literature class."
John's eyes widen and then he explodes with laughter, startling Sherlock.
"Alright, alright you got me, I'm a total fraud. I don't know a thing about poetry..."
He goes on for several minutes but Sherlock stops listening. Finally John leaves.
Sherlock's in a terrible mood the rest of the day. Until lunch.
"Hey you!"
Sherlock recognizes the voice and reluctantly turns to the boy running towards him.
"I have a name you know," he mumbles as the John Watson comes to a stop in front of him.
John grins sheepishly-is he blushing?-and dramatically tries to catch his breath.
"Right, sorry. Sherlock. I was in the library for study hall and I saw this book of poetry, by Edgar Allen Poe, and I remembered how you had said you liked his stuff and-"
"I never said I liked his work. I just happened to be reading some of it."
"Shut up and listen for a second, alright? So I looked through the book and-I found the perfect thing-"
He digs into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. He attempts to flatten it out, but gives up quickly and hands it to Sherlock, still wrinkled.
Sherlock takes the paper. It's one of Poe's poems, copied messily onto a scrap of what looks to be an old physics worksheet.
"Go on, read it." John is grinning from ear to ear. Sherlock finds the boy's expression unsettling, and therefore dubs it annoying.
"Sonnet - To Science," he reads aloud. He looks back up and the smiling boy. John just nods encouragingly. Sherlock looks around the hallway. Empty. Every one's at lunch. There would be no point for John to pull a prank on him if no one is there to see it. He gives in.
"Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?"
Sherlock looks at John again. His heart is fluttering. Poetry tends to have this effect on him. He'd always been a secret romantic. In later years, he'll extinguish the characteristic after experiencing his first heartbreak.
"Well?" John prompts.
Sherlock blinks.
"Well, what?"
"Well, did you like it? I picked it out especially for you. I like to imagine that you act like you don't care about anything but hard logic and facts and science, but on the inside there's a poet, trying to create something beautiful, but is constantly being tormented by that Vulture called Science." He practically giggles.
Oh. Sherlock realizes his mouth hanging open.
John tilts his head to one side.
Sherlock feels like his heart is ready to fall right out of his chest. His hand involuntarily moves to hold it in. The silence stretches on.
John's smile fades.
"Did I...did that bother you? I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have-" He looks at the floor and scratches his head, switching his weight from one leg to the other and back again, trying to avoid eye-contact.
"I-I should just go, before I make anymore stupid assumptions..."
"No, no. Wait." Sherlock grabs John's arm. "Don't go."
John freezes as soon as Sherlock touches him. He doesn't flinch or wince or seem to be bothered at all by Sherlock's grasp. The blond boy licks his lips without thinking. A habit of his.
Sherlock watches John's tongue. His own tongue unconsciously flicks out to replicate the movement. He catches himself doing that often. Practicing expressions he sees on other people; studying their social interactions and copying their reactions.
John seems as focused on Sherlock's tongue as Sherlock was on his.
Finally Sherlock gives into his hormonal urges. In one lightning quick movement he slides his outstretched hand behind John's back and pulls him into a kiss.
John moans quietly. He sounds like a purring kitten. The vibrations from the noise surge into Sherlock's mouth and down through his body.
Something wet pokes through John's lips. Sherlock gets nervous, the reality of what he's doing hitting him like a cement truck. He pushes John away.
The blond boy looks at him curiously through a hazy cloud of oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin and confusion.
"John."
"Sherlock...?"
"We can't."
"Why not?"
"It's gay." Sherlock feels like a awfully guilty. He was the one who initiated the kiss after all. But he can't. They can't. Surely John understands...
He doesn't. John's eyes burn into Sherlock's with an intensity he hadn't thought was possible from the always amiable John Watson.
"What. Is wrong. With that." John hisses through gritted teeth.
Sherlock hesitates. That hadn't been a question. It had been a dare. A dare, a challenge. A warning. If he wasn't careful, he could end up with a broken nose. He had seen John Watson throw a punch before. It hadn't ended so well. At least for the other guy.
"My parents would kill me-"
"My parents too." John answers sharply. "In fact they were shrieking like harpies when Harry brought her girlfriend home."
Oh. That would explain his defensiveness.
"But then why-"
"Hey look, kid, you're the one who kissed me. Don't fucking act like it's my fault! For all you know, I was just being friendly with that stupid poem!" John shoves him into the wall.
Sherlock cries out, half in surprise, half in pain.
John suddenly freezes, just like he had when Sherlock had touched his arm. He lets his fists drop to the side. His fingers uncurl. The tension in his shoulders melts away and he stands there, just glaring at Sherlock in that sad sagging stance.
He looks down at the floor and sniffles.
"God, if you make me cry, Holmes, I'll kill you." He rubs his right eye with the heel of his hand, and laughs weakly as if finding his own misery amusing.
Sherlock is shocked. For once, he has no idea what was going on.
A bell rings. Lunch is over. Students would soon be spilling into the hall and John would be dragged away by his group of friends.
Sherlock doesn't move. Neither does John. Then, just as predicted, waves of teenagers swarm the hallway and they are no longer alone. Someone calls John's name and he slowly turns away from Sherlock and disappears into the crowd.
Sherlock doesn't go to class. He spends the rest of the day in the forest near the school, under the same tree where he had first met John that morning.
John, his first friend.
John, his first kiss.
John, his first crush. No, that sounded too childish.
His first infatuation. No, part of that definition was 'short-lived'. Too much like something a grown-up would say condescendingly. He imagined Mycroft calling John an infatuation. He didn't like it.
His first fixation. No, that wasn't correct. He was often fixated on puzzles, or books, or a particularly interesting series of crimes in the newspaper.
His first obsession. Sherlock shuddered and kicked the word aside, annoyed.
His first love. No. Passion? Still too strong of a word.
His first love interest. No, definitely not. He wasn't some character in a book or a television show.
Romantic inclination. He tries not to smile, even though no one would see it otherwise. His cousin, Vanya, had used that phrase several times last Christmas.
It really did fit. Had all this really happened in one day?
He is so deep in thought that he doesn't notice the group of laughing boys on the other side of the tree he is leaning on until someone says his name.
He realizes they would not have been able to see him at the angle he is sitting so they couldn't have been talking to him. He stays quiet and listens.
He recognized the voices as John and his gang. His heart skipped a bit.
"-Yeah, Johnny, tell us more about your new friend!"
"Shut up, Luke. He isn't my friend, okay?"
"Oh, boyfriend then!" Another voice chimes in.
"I'll beat you all to a bloody pulp if you start telling people that-"
"He doesn't deny it! Johnny's got it ba-aa-ad for the Holmes freak!" Luke shouts.
There is laughter but it's cut short with a gasp and a thump. The laughter rises again. John must have knocked Luke to the ground.
"Geez, you've got a bloody temper. We were only joking around. No need for you to get physical..."
There is a pause. A whisper. Everyone seems to be holding their breath. Sherlock is holding his too, praying they haven't seen him.
Then one of the boys shouts out a bit louder than necessary, "Yeah, John, no need to get physical like how you got with Holmes during lunch!"
Laughter erupts among the group. This time John is laughing along with them. Sherlock isn't sure whether he's relieved or if he's going to be sick.
"Well, guys," He can hear John smiling in the way he is talking. "If we did get 'physical', I can assure you that he'll be wanting more very soon. I can already hear his breath quickening..."
Sherlock stops breathing when he hears this, realizing his breath had started to quicken.
"Ooh Johnny, tell us more!" The boys all chatter eagerly, imitating a bunch of gossipy girls. Sherlock is totally dumbfounded. Again. Twice in one day? Damn you, John.
"He's probably thinking about me right now..." John's over-dramatic voice gets closer and Sherlock guesses he is leaning against the same tree he is. "I bet he's somewhere wanking off, imagining me-" he pauses, feigning breathlessness, and continues with a flourish "making love to him!"
"Or else you sucking his dick..." someone mumbles. Laughter again.
He imagines John blushing. It's all he can do to keep himself from imagining what John and his friends are talking about. He closes his eyes tight hoping they'll leave soon.
"We may never know," John agrees, mock-gravely. "Or, we could just ask him."
Sherlock barely has time to open his eyes in surprise before arms grab him and pull him up onto his feet. John's standing in front of him, arms crossed, looking incredibly intimidating.
John's taller than him, even though he's short. The two boys pinning him to the tree by his shoulders are taller still. Sherlock hasn't hit his growth spurt yet even though they're juniors.
"You were quite an arse earlier," John says calmly. "So this is my payback."
Sherlock scoffs.
"Hey, I wouldn't be laughing if I were in your position," John puts a hand on the tree inches away from Sherlock's neck. He leans in until their noses are inches away as well, and smiles mischievously. "We totally outnumber you."
Sherlock would never admit it, but all he really wants at this moment is for John to completely take over and have him right there. He probably would have done anything for John if he had demanded it from him. He looks around at the boys surrounding him, then leans even closer to John so he can whisper in his ear.
"I couldn't care less."
John doesn't take it the way he meant it.
"You should care," he says. "We could probably kill you if we started beating you up."
"That isn't what I'm talking about," Sherlock grimaces in annoyance.
"Then what the hell are you talking about?"
Sherlock rolls his eyes and pulls John towards him by the back of his neck. Their lips are mashed together. John tries to say something and pull away but Sherlock is stronger than he looks. His words are muffled by the dark-haired boy's mouth. Finally Sherlock releases him.
"You had your eyes open the whole time, didn't you?"
John nods.
"Bloody fuck-" starts Luke, who is one of the boys who is still pinning Sherlock to the tree .
John cuts him off.
"Not a word you guys. I need to talk to this bloke alone a second."
The boys slink out of the forest still staring at John and Sherlock with what seems to be mostly surprise.
Thinking they're out of earshot, the boys start talking again. Someone says "I thought he was kidding the whole time, but he really is gay for Holmes..."
John rolls his eyes.
"Sorry."
John stares at Sherlock and then explodes.
"What the bloody hell do you mean, 'SORRY'?"
"I-"
"No, not a word from you either. I'm going to talk now. Sit down, it'll take awhile."
"So when you said you didn't care, you meant you didn't care about it being gay?"
Sherlock shrugged.
"It was more like I didn't care what people thought about it. I really-"
He stops and looks at the ground.
"You really what?" Of course John wouldn't let him get away with anything like that.
He hesitates too long.
"Sherlock, look, it doesn't matter if you're a girl or a guy. I like you. That's all that matters."
Sherlock turns back to him and looks him right in the eye. Any other way would be cowardly.
"I really like you, too," he says. "More than I've ever liked anyone else." You're my first everything, he thinks.
John smiles and kisses his cheek.
"I know. Remember earlier today, when I had you read that poem?" Sherlock nods. Of course he remembered...it had only been a few hours ago. "Well, the truth is, I just really wanted to hear you read that. Your voice is probably the sexiest sound in the world."
Sherlock tried to hide his smile. "I dunno, the violin is pretty arousing."
John laughed. "You playing the violin would be even more arousing."
"So does this mean I'm your boyfriend?"
"Only if I get to be yours," John says.
Sherlock grins back at him.
"Fair enough," he says.
John takes out a pocket knife.
"What are you doing?"
"Commemorating this glorious day."
He scratches "JW + SH" into the tree and then carves a heart around it.
"What do you think?"
"I think it's stupid and cheesy." He actually thinks it incredibly romantic.
"Fantastic." John grins and kisses him one more time.
Sherlock opens his eyes. Light is streaming through the window. He recalls his dream and almost laughs.
He pulls on a pair of trousers and a t-shirt. It's Saturday, no need to dress up, no work to do. Mrs. Hudson is out every Saturday as well, so there's no one to nag him to change.
John comes downstairs sleepily and Sherlock hands him a cup of coffee.
"Where's the tea?"
"We've run out. Coffee for us this morning." Sherlock grins.
"You're in a cheery mood today..." John points out suspiciously.
"I had a dream about you."
John raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yes. I dreamt we were in school together."
"Oh dear god. I hope we got along well enough...?"
"Oh, very well." He chuckles. "Though you almost broke my nose."
"Why'd I do that?"
Sherlock just shakes his head.
"Let's go to the park. I'll show you what happened."
"Er, alright." John is still suspicious. "I'll just go get dressed."
"Am I your boyfriend then?" John asks, when Sherlock finishes confessing his love for him.
"Only if I get to be yours."
"Fair enough." John smiles at him.
Sherlock pulls out his pocket knife and begins scratching "SH + JW" into the tree they're leaning against.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John exclaims, trying to suppress his giggles.
"I'm commemorating this glorious day."
He carves a heart around the letters.
"What do you think?" he asks when he's done.
"I think you are the most incredibly odd man I've ever met."
Sherlock grins. "Fantastic."