This place smelt bad, all the mingled scents of some with to much body spray combined with that of people who must have shower allergies. It also gave him a headache. Constant idiocy poured from the mouths of people who should not have been granted the privilege of speech. If it were possible to catch stupid, this would be the source of infection. This was school. And god did Sherlock hate it.
Sherlock hated them all. His peers were nothing but hormone driven, self-righteous imbeciles and the teachers were just entitled monkeys with degrees. There was only one person in Baskerville high that didn't make Sherlock want to drink bleach and lose faith in humanity, and that wasJohn Watson.
John was interesting, he was popular but still vaguely intelligent. Also, he was the only well known, openly gay student in the school,. And people excepted him, or at least pretended to. Any outside perspective could easily see that even though he was excepted, it was for all the wrong reasons. He was what you could call a trophy friend. The male students thought having him as a friend made them look like a good person. As if offering their friendship was some sort of self-sacrificing charity work that made them more admirable. The female students desired the stereotypical gay best friend which he was far from, and had lasting wagers on who would be the girl to finally turn the famously gay rugby player John H. Watson straight.
But John was so much more than just his sexual orientation. He was a genuinely good person, who also happened to be funny as well as open minded. Also he was attractive. Extremely attractive to be exact. Even though he would never admit it, Sherlock would be lying if he said he didn't have at least a slight crush on John. John was never rude to him, never showed unnecessary malice like that of his equals. Sure he never really put forth extra effort to get to know Sherlock, but that was undoubtfully superior to the alternative.
The bell rang sending Sherlock hurling out of his mind palace. He was sitting in math, while the other students gathered their things and trudged of to their next class. Sherlock hurriedly collected his books and headed to his last class, Language Arts.
He walked in and took his place near the back of the class. He didn't bother to even get his stuff ready, they had a major essay due a few weeks back and today was in class work time. Sherlock, unsurprisingly, had already finished and turned it in a week ago, so instead he busied himself with some old unsolved murder case files. The room was soon filed with a blur of faces that belonged to unimportant names. Sherlock opened the first file and looked down to find 'BEWARE OF FREAK' scribbled in all caps on his desk. He sighed, it fit in perfect with the sick collage made up of similar insults that littered his worn desk. He went back to his papers ignoring the words that had evolved into just white nose in the back of his mind.
"Hey mate. Sorry to bug you but could you lend me a pencil? I'll return it I promise." someone whispered to Sherlock.
He looked up to find John stationed in his usual seat, twisted around , one arm leaning on Sherlock's artful desk, eyes looking at him expectantly.
Another ugly jumper and some more cheap jeans. Typical. Came in late as usual. Had a big game last night, slept through his alarm. Rushed to school and forgot his bag.
"What?" Sherlock questioned voice laced with confusion. His facial features scrunched up a bit.
John chuckled, "Pencil? Could I borrow one?"
Sherlock fumbled through his notebook, "yeah of course," he added. However, after a while of staring down at the floor with the pencil held out he didn't feel it leave his hand. He looked up to find John looking down at his desk, his face a mixture of appalled, angry, and concerned. Sherlock followed his gaze which lead to the recent addition. He cleared his throat and Johns head shot up.
"They're all idiots. You know that, right?" John said, hushed. His features soft. Sherlock only gave a tight lipped smile in response, still holding out the pencil.
"Oh right," John shook his head. "Thanks," he said taking the pencil and giving it a little shake before facing forward.
Sherlock rubbed his thumb over the writing, smearing it slightly in the process.
By the end of the period he had solved three out of the five murders that he looked over. When class was over he stood up collecting his stuff, most the kids had already ran out the door in a hurry to attend to their after school plans. He felt someone tap his shoulder.
It was John, "Hey thanks for letting my use your stuff, Mrs. Adler would have killed me if she found I forgot mine You really are a life saver."
Sherlock took the pencil. Squinting at the leftover teeth marks that now laid scattered over his writing utensil. "Doubt she would have actually killed you over something like that. However, you are welcome. But I do suggest that next time you sleep in 41 minutes late you put your stuff by the door so you don't run into this problem again. Also chewing a strangers pencil really isn't the most hygienic action for both parties involved and I would advise against it in the future." Sherlock wished he didn't come off as prude, he really was just trying to give advise and help. Most couldn't decipher the good intent that was buried deep under casually implied judgment of their intelligence.
John looked at him with an amused smile. "How'd you know that I slept in exactly 41 minutes?"
"Your clothes, you normally don't have the best choice in clothing, but even you wouldn't wear dirty jeans. How can I tell there dirty? There is a burrito stain near the left pocket and the cafeteria served that two days ago. You rarely wear the same thing twice a week so that tells me you do your laundry on the weekend. You haven't washed those jeans since then. Also, you didn't brush your hair, only ran your fingers through it, they leave behind wider gaps than a comb would. Assuming you only give yourself around the average of 45 minutes to get ready, to grab an unclean outfit and brush your teeth would take about 3 minutes. I gave you an extra to make up for morning sluggishness." Sherlock had spoken to soon and he wished he could take it back. But you can't change the past so instead he just braced himself for some type of backlash.
John nodded with approval, "That, to be honest, was amazing. You have a gift." John complimented. Sherlock was stunned but couldn't respond before the athlete was glancing down at his watch, "Damn I need to get going, oh and before I leave I guess I should apologize for ruining you pencil, thanks again for letting me use it. See you later," he added in a jumble.
Sherlock shook his head, "Keep it, doubt you have another."
John excepted with a brilliant smile and flew out the door without another word.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why can't they just leave me alone? John sped walked down the barren hall as an entourage of hopeful girls followed behind. Desperate pleas disrupting the silence. They shouted things like, 'just give it a try!" and, "no one likes just one gender."
John rounded the corner at the end of the hall, digging in his locker was the tall, rather cute, curly haired boy that sat behind him in Language Arts. John had always had somewhat of a mini crush on him. He was funny in his own way, always pretending to be so cold but John could see past that façade. John jogged up to him, a plan forming in his head.
He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders, spun him around ignoring the slight struggle as a result of personal space violation John gave one quick glance back making sure that his audience had a good view and kissed the other boy.
After a few moments he turned towards the discouraged crowd and yelled, "SEE!? LEAVE ME ALONE!"