( Hello there.! Thanks so much for coming along to read.!c: The title is sort of a play on words. Well, I researched the "equation for love" and there is an actual equation for it, but I couldn't fit it in the title. Alternate title is "i ^3u". If you were wondering, that is the actual equation for saying "I love you" in math terms.
I think that in school, Sherlock would have been a brilliant and intelligent student; but also quite cocky and proud of himself. Much like he is now. I feel that John would have been one of those shy students, and its fun to think of their relationship if they met in their teen years. Based in a Highschool au. Warnings for adult situations, mentions of drug use, and Johnlock later on. )
( Criticism is welcomed. But try not to be too harsh, please. )
( Please, remember to like and favourite my work if you want to read more of it.!
New chapters will be updated weekly. )
( Love and hugs, )
pastachann.( x )
Chapter one. - To Quell my Boredom.
"Okay, class, today we are learning how to write and understand both the Scientific equations and symbols for chemical names …"
Sighing with clear irritation, the young male gently drummed the tips of pale slender fingers against the smooth marble work surface. Frosty blue eyes stared blankly forward to the front of the class as the teacher; a quite stereotypical male dressed in what you would expect from a Science teacher, namely a smart suit pressed neatly under a long white lab coat. For the most part of half an hour, the bored student had not been paying full attention to his lesson. Well, actually, he had paid absolutely no attention to the lesson, finding the calm nature scenery from outside the window a lot more exciting; and, from the sound of things, a lot more important. It was just another tedious test. Besides, what was the point of Chemistry when you fail to actually create any concoctions? Pointless.
Mustering the force to idly straighten into a more upright position, he used one hand to gently brush through dishevelled onyx locks, the male blinked up with sharp surprise at the sound of his own name being called by a not so calm looking teacher.
"Sherlock Holmes, will you please show a little more interest in my lesson! You've been daydreaming for a good ten minutes now," came the bitter remark from the grey haired man, crossing both arms across his chest and tapping his foot loudly as he waited impatiently for some sort of explanation from the student.
The newly introduced Sherlock breathed calmly, a slight frown forming on his cherry pink lips as he registered his teacher's comment. "But, Sir, I know everything about this subject, so why should I need to listen again?" he answered with confidence laced firmly in his tone, slowly shifting to rest his chin on the palm of his hand. This reply, however, might have not been the best idea, as when the cerulean eyed boy glanced over, his teacher was looking the least bit impressed by now.
"Oh," he began sharply, narrowing deep oak eyes peering over square-shaped glasses with clear annoyance. "So if you already know, that means you can just sit back and relax? I'm afraid that isn't how it works, Mr. Holmes. Look, you have to do the work that has been set for you, because you'll need it for the exam at the end of the month! Now," sighing, he paused for a second, as if composing himself, before continuing, "I suggest that you sit up straight, take that amused look from your face, and finish your work!"
That was it. As much as he disliked boring classes, the one thing that really exasperated the charcoal haired Sherlock was having being spoken to in such an aggressive manner. Oh no, the last thing he was going to do now was finish off his work. "Mr. Callagher. I still fail to see why I should re learn something that I already know. And, to put it simply, this school's exams are far from challenging, wouldn't you agree? I don't think that missing a single lesson is going to affect me in any real way." Smirking quite proudly at this point, the young Sherlock cocked his head to the side slightly, raising one eyebrow in question as he waited to see what reaction he had got out of the older man.
Great, just perfect. Due to his witty yet tremendously plain ignorant reply to his teacher, the young Sherlock Holmes was now the only student unfortunate enough to be residing in detention for the rest of the hour. He really shouldn't have pointed out that, with his immense knowledge and talent for deducing things, he knew the teacher's wife was having an affair all with the help of how he was dressed this evening.
Sitting rather bored looking at the small wooden desk at the front of the classroom was the Science teacher Sherlock had never even considered remembering the name before; although he did remember his face from his previous visits here. Not that he was a bad student or a troublemaker, oh no. In fact, the raven haired male was the school's top student, excelling in all subjects and outstanding the staff with his wit and intelligence. That was, though, when he wasn't getting into this kind of occasional trouble with both his peers and his fellow students.
Just one more hour, and then he'd be free to leave and make the quite tedious journey back to his home; which, to make it even worse, was about another half an hours walk down the stretching pavement paths of London. Just one more hour of this God awful punishment. Letting waxen coloured fingers smooth gently across the pine wood surface of the desk, the ashen haired Sherlock waited in silence for a good ten minutes before the older man even bothered to get up from his seat and speak up to him.
"Mister Holmes," he began, using one hand to push up his glasses frame as it cautiously began to slide down the bridge of his misshapen nose. "This is the third time over the past few weeks that you've been here. You might want to start getting ahold of yourself and start acting like the bright young student that you've shown to be." If the young man would have even had the courtesy to look up and meet his peers gaze, then he would have noticed the look of something close to sympathy flickering in those deep coloured eyes. Silly, why would anyone feel sympathetic to him? From experience, it was more the complete opposite; jealousy. It wasn't always a positive thing that Sherlock happened to be educationally gifted, and many of his fellow classmates would often tease him or even go so far as to hurt him, both mentally and physically. It didn't actually bother the coal haired Holmes, though, as over the past years he had learnt not to take any notice of those idiotic people, and not to take any consideration for their threats.
Blinking, Sherlock answered, although he still kept his frosty coloured gaze on his slender fingers. "I know that this is my third time here, but I don't see why I am here in the first place. I learn and I remember everything, so I fail to see the point of revising and picking up on something that I have no need to learn again. My mind is perfectly capable of remembering, as I am not dumb, neither do I need to be shown something twice." He finished, shifting in his seat to prop his upper half up on both elbows, clasping his hands together and bringing them to his lips. In reply, he earned an exasperated sigh from the Science teacher, obviously understanding that there was nothing else to speak about, as he turned and made his way back to his desk. Clearly, reading through and marking test papers was far easier than trying to explain something to Sherlock Holmes.
Another half an hour passed with little to no excitement for the young student, having been reduced to fingering along the natural lines in the wood desk surface. Sherlock was about to give up all hope of being entertained in this utterly boring detention, well, if it wasn't for something catching the corner of his sharp sapphire eyes. Turning his head to really get a good luck at what had caught his attention, the pitch-dark haired Holmes found himself staring out of the slightly ajar door standing at the far end of the room. It was another student; pale skin and champagne blonde hair brushed to frame neatly around a heart-shaped face. With a smirk, he noted the distasteful deep grey and brown school jumper fitted comfortably over the regular plain white shirt. From the looks of things, the young man was now lost in a book of some sorts; probably to help to revise with the upcoming test all years had to take at the end of this month. Either all, this stranger was going to save a very bored and distressed Sherlock from any more of this suffering.
All the charcoal haired student had to do was wait for an opening, and to his much-loved luck, that came sooner than he had thought. Standing abruptly and gathering the messy stack of work papers flung across his desk, the teacher turned and addressed Sherlock with a slight frown. "I have to give these papers to the Head Office. I expect you to be sitting right there when I get back." And, with that, he had disappeared through the door, promising to be back in the next thirty-two minutes or less. More than enough time for the brilliant Holmes.
Once he was sure that the older male was gone and out of sight down the stretching hallway, young Sherlock made his move. Standing swiftly and pulling his inky black strapped bag over his shoulder, he quickly made his way to the front of the class and next made a beeline for the door. Should have locked it, thought the young male with a wide toothy grin, having to use little force to make the door swing open. Now, where was that all too enchanting stranger? Two things that Sherlock now had figured out; one, that blonde was going to be his little toy of amusement for the while, and, it's far better not to leave him unattended alone in a room for too long. With one quick movement, he hurried out of the door in an excited blur of black and white.