A/N: New story! This story is based on the 1987 movie Can't Buy Me Love. It's one of my favorites, so I had to borrow it. The characters I use in the story have nothing to do with the actual plot (for example, Irene, Sally, and Sebastian Wilkes are Sherlock's friends but they're not mean or evil or trying to kill him). I just needed people to fill characters from the movie. Hope you enjoy. I'm still writing it so I don't know how long it'll end up!
Rating: K+ (For now. It might change.)
Warnings: None.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, John Watson/Irene Adler, John Watson/Sally Donovan, John Watson/Mary Morstan
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes, Irene Adler, Sally Donovan, Anderson, Sebastian Wilkes, Sarah Sawyer, Molly Hooper, Mike Stamford, Mary Morstan, John's parents, Sherlock's mother, Harry Watson
Additional Tags: Humor, Romance, Friendship, Relationships, Teenagers, High school AU, Sherlock does ballet, John is a total dork
The roar of the engine is deafening through a silent neighborhood. It's the middle of the week, Wednesday, and this is the last time John will be in this yard, probably until next summer.
But ah, there it is. The familiar sound of the familiar white Mustang Convertible is heard over the loud lawnmower right as the car comes into view.
John stops the mower and leans on the steering wheel, pushing the straw hat higher up on his head and pulling the bandana down from over his mouth.
The car goes into park and everyone hops out. The car's small, but there's only ever three or four of them in it at once, and they're all thin enough to fit.
John watches them, envious. Their tight, expensive clothes on their gorgeous bodies and none of them are dripping a bead of sweat, unlike John, who needs to lift the bottom of his shirt to wipe his forehead.
They're all beautiful and flawless with perfect skin and perfect teeth and perfectly curled hair and the girls are wearing cropped tops and god their bodies show off their obvious hard work in the gym and…
John licks his lips as the driver and owner of said Mustang slowly and seductively gets out of the car. Everything he does is seductive, and John can't help but watch the sway of his hips as he leads the girls into the house. He carries bags and bags from designer stores and John envies them even more because of that.
They dress so well because of the image they have to uphold, their reputations are to be nothing less than the best. And John longs to be them. He wants so badly to hang around with them, to just once be seen as someone who matters. But he doesn't. And he won't.
"Sherlock!"
The boy in question grins. "Mother, my darling, how are you?"
"Sherlock, I said you could shop at one store. What was so difficult about that?"
"Oh, Mummy!"
Irene and Sally giggle behind him. Ella, Sherlock's mother, shoots them a glare.
"School starts on Monday!" Sherlock cries. "Did you really expect me to go start the year in last term's clothes?"
"Would it have killed you?"
Sherlock rolls his eyes.
Ella sighs and tries to peek into a bag.
"Ah-ah," Sherlock stops his mother. "I'll have a fashion show later."
The girls behind him squeal in delight. Fashion shows mean getting to use Mrs. Holmes' expensive makeup for makeovers.
"Don't you have dance practice soon? Tryouts?"
Sherlock picks up his bags again and gestures for the girls to follow him. "I moved it until five instead of two."
"You moved it? Sherlock, how irresponsible! I swear, I—"
"Mother, if I can't have the authority to move practices then what's the point of being captain?"
Ella sighs again. "Sherlock, Sherlock."
Sherlock smiles, kisses his mother on the cheek and starts up the stairs to his bedroom.
"Your brother is joining us for dinner!" Ella calls after him.
"Goody!" Sherlock sarcastically yells back, then his door slams shut.
The purple telephone in Sherlock's bedroom starts to ring as soon as the bags are out of his hands.
"Irene, be a dear."
Irene gladly answers the phone, then squeals and hangs up a second later.
"Turn on the telly! Channel 2! They're talking to Vic!"
Sherlock gasps and plants himself in front of the tiny television on his desk. He turns it on and flips through the channels until the familiar face he loves so much is projected on the screen.
"He looks fit!" Sally cries.
"Doesn't he always?!" Irene retorts.
Sherlock just watches transfixed, staring at his boyfriend's familiar frame and face. Vic's blonde hair is sticking to his head, clearly he just finished football practice. His uniform is dirty and sweat is seeping through the fabric, but he doesn't look any less pristine than he usually is.
"Tell me, Victor," the news interviewer says, "What's different from being here on the England U-19 team as opposed to playing at home?"
"Well," Victor smiles at the interviewer and the girls squeal again.
"Those dimples!" Irene cries. "Sherlock, I don't know how you stand it!"
Sherlock just laughs.
"There is one thing that I had at home that I don't have here, one thing I miss every day after practice."
"And what's that, Vic?"
The girls squeeze Sherlock between them.
"Sherlock's name on telly!" Sallly says.
"The old steam room in the locker room. That always made me feel great after practice!"
The girls awkwardly back off, but Sherlock tries not to show too much disappointment. Of course Victor's busy, and it was television so he probably doesn't want to brag about his dumb boyfriend back at home on a program seen by millions of people. Still, Sherlock's disappointment makes him want to take off Victor's club team t-shirt he's got on.
"Come on," Sherlock says. "'Rene, go get my mum's makeup. I'll fix you two up before practice."
Irene practically runs out of the room.
John's bike ride to school isn't far, and it's actually a nice ride. Since he's already sweaty from mowing lawns almost all day, he doesn't really care that he doesn't smell the best. Since he chose to wear a tank top anyway, he doesn't have sweat stains and that's all that matters.
So he rides to school, where he's set to meet Mike at five. They have to start now, before school even begins, to work on the yearbook. It's a year long process and this year it's all up to them.
John rides up to the school, the side nearest the fields, and kicks himself. He knew there was a chance the dance team would be outside today, and he should have known to not come this way.
The jocks are the worst.
The track team is doing their beginning of the year team time trials.
The football team is doing conditioning workouts like stretching and running.
And the dance team is…doing what they do.
John stops his bike to the left of the bleachers where he can see the dancers without being noticed. Not that he would be anyway. He's never noticed, the popular kids out on that field don't know who he is.
He looks around the girls following the captain. All of them are good, but not the best. They do leaps and pirouettes and jumps but they're just a second behind the boy in the front.
John's eyes fall on Sherlock and he watches, unable to look away even if he really wanted to.
His shorts are as short as the girls' behind him, his shirt is nearly as long as his shorts, but the sleeves are cut off to reveal his well muscled arms. John can see enough of his pearly white skin to imagine what the rest looks like, and the only part of him that's covered fully are his feet, where he wears a worn pair of purple Converse.
John watches those feet. They form a perfect point, from all the ballet training Sherlock had as a kid. John remembers back in primary school when Sherlock announced he was starting to do pointe ballet, and he explained in the middle of art class what that meant. At the time, John thought that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard, he wondered why anyone would want to do that to their feet, but now, eight years later, watching Sherlock's thighs strain from the work, it's the goddamn hottest thing he's ever seen.
"Watson!" he hears shouted from behind.
John's so startled that he nearly falls off his bike. He turns around and sees Mike coming towards him on foot.
"'Lo, Mike."
"Stalking the dance team again?"
John chuckles and looks back at the team. "No, I was—"
Mike laughs. "You don't have to hide it from me."
John watches Sherlock again. He doesn't do it discreetly.
Mike slaps John's arm with the back of his hand. "Come on, loverboy."
John sighs and follows.
They go to the library to gather all the old yearbooks they can carry, then make their way through the empty school to the yearbook room.
John can't stop thinking about all the dancers out on the field. Not only because they looked really good while doing it, but because he wishes he could be in their league. He wishes he could be cool like them, instead of a dork who mows all of their lawns during the summer.
"Do you ever wish we were popular?" he asks suddenly.
Mike immediately shakes his head. "No, why would I?"
"I don't know," John answers. "Just because it'd be fun."
"Fun?" Mike questions. "The attention, having to sit in that part of the cafeteria, the parties, the social calls? That'd be fun?"
"Uhm…" John's eyebrows lift. "Yeah!"
Mike shakes his head. "Stick to what you know, John."
John just sighs.
"Don't forget the Saturday night card game, right?"
John nods. "Right."
Sherlock makes the dancers go through the routine he choreographed four times before he lets them stop. He plops himself down on the bleachers and bends to remove his smelly shoes. Irene and Sally sit at either side of him.
The boys from the football team run over as they all take their dance shoes off to change into something more comfortable.
"Hello, ladies," the first boy says, clearly mocking because Sherlock isn't a girl.
"Anderson," Sherlock growls.
Anderson laughs. "Why do you hate me so much, Sherlock? Huh? What'd I ever do to you?"
"Nothing you do to me," Sherlock answers. "But if you continue to hurt my friend by seeing other girls behind her back, my hatred for you will grow."
Sally frowns deeply and Anderson's jaw drops.
"How—"
Sherlock can tell by the very, very faint but visible lip-shaped bruise on Anderson's neck, and he's sure Sally didn't do that.
"Nevermind," Sherlock says as the other boys join them.
"Sherlock…" the next boy, Greg, says with a grin. "A ray of sunshine on such a gloomy day."
Sherlock pointedly looks up at the practically clear sky. It isn't clear, but it's not gloomy. "And they say romance is dead."
Greg laughs.
"Oh Greg," Sherlock sighs, suddenly sounding needy. "Be a dear and fill my water bottle, would you?"
"Certainly," Greg says with a big smile. "Just a sec."
He pulls his shirt off over his head and dabs his face with it, and while he can't see, Sherlock rolls his eyes and makes a choking face at Irene. It's not that he doesn't like Greg, not like Anderson, but he doesn't like Greg like that. Still, with Victor away and clearly not thinking about him, he doesn't care about stringing Greg along a bit.
Greg tosses his shirt over his shoulder, then takes Sherlock's bottle and trots away.
The third boy, Sebastian, watches in awe as Greg gets to the water fountain.
"Man, how do you do that?"
"Do what?" Sherlock asks, taking his socks off.
"Get people to do whatever you want?"
"I can't get people to do whatever I want. I can get boys to do what I want."
"I wish I could get girls to do what I want."
"Girls have brains."
Sebastian looks at him, offended. "You're a guy! Do you not have brains?"
"I know how to use my brain," Sherlock says.
Greg makes it back to them before Sebastian can retort.
"Here you go!" he excitedly announces, handing the bottle back to Sherlock.
Sherlock smiles widely. "Thanks."
Greg blushes.
Sherlock doesn't even take a drink from the bottle, he just sets it aside and folds the socks he just took off. He looks at Irene, who is watching Sally and Anderson argue feet away from them.
He elbows her to get her attention. "Tell them about the party," he whispers.
"Oh!" Irene whispers back. "Hey boys, party at mine on Saturday."
"Alright!" the boys cry, then high-five.
John rushes home from the school before it starts to rain. He gets his bike into the shed and has it locked by the time the first drops start to fall. He looks up at the sky and feels the water start to wash his body clean.
"Aye, Johnny!" he hears, so he cranes his neck to the side to find the source.
"Harry!" he yells back. "Mum said to stay outta the tree house, what are you doing up there?!"
John's younger sister just shrugs and hops down, all the way from the top of the ladder. John's stomach drops as he watches her, fearing that she'll break another bone, but the little girl tumbles safely down and hops right back up immediately. John shakes his head and starts inside.
Sherlock's brother is terrible. He just has to come home once a week to be a pest and take Mummy away from Sherlock. He needs Mummy to help him pick out a first day of school outfit, not shower Mycroft with the attention he doesn't need.
The only redeeming quality that his brother has is that he dresses well. Sherlock hates that, too.
"Myc?" Sherlock calls through the house. Mycroft's room is only next door, Mycroft would hear him if he'd just stick his head out of his bedroom door, but screaming always proves to be more affective.
Sure enough, Mycroft is there in a second.
"What?"
"Can I borrow your white suede vest on Friday night?" He asks in his sweetest voice.
"Ha!" Mycroft cries. "Fat chance. What for?"
The act drops. Mycroft, on top of being terrible, is the only man in the entire world that Sherlock can't manipulate.
"Irene's party. It's simply fabulous and I have to have it."
"No way. You'll ruin it. That alone cost a thousand pounds."
Sherlock whines and turns back to his clothes. "I have nothing to wear!"
"I'm looking at your entire closet that begs to differ."
"Nothing good, Mycroft."
"What about all the clothes you just bought today?"
"And let everyone see an outfit before I wear it to school?"
"The horror!" Mycroft mocks, wandering back into Sherlock's bedroom.
The bags are still on Sherlock's bed, so Mycroft starts to peer into them.
"Why can't I wear that vest?" Sherlock asks, following Mycroft. "You never wear it! It sits here in your closet, sad and never worn."
"My clothes aren't sad."
"They are sad. They want to be worn by me. This Friday." Sherlock smiles widely.
Mycroft reaches into a bag and pulls something out. "You have a brand new white vest right here."
"Suede, Mycroft. Suede!"
Mycroft rolls his eyes. "For the last time: no."
Sherlock frowns and sinks.
Mycroft drops the vest and reaches into a different bag. "Uhm…"
Sherlock looks up to see the black lace panties Mycroft is holding. He shrugs.
Mycroft drops them with disgust. "And how is Mr. Trevor? I caught him on channel 2 this afternoon."
Sherlock doesn't say anything.
"I'm sure that hurt."
"What?"
"Not being mentioned as something he misses from back home."
"He's busy. He doesn't have to have me on his mind at all times."
"You haven't talked to him lately, have you?"
Sherlock doesn't make eye contact. Mycroft sounds a mix between concerned and that he's pretending to be concerned, but Sherlock can't tell which it is.
"What makes you say that?"
"Black lace underpants. You want attention."
"So?"
"So he's moved on, Sherlock. You should, too."
"He'll come back for me."
Mycroft just sighs. "Alright."
Sherlock watches Mycroft go to the door.
"Do not take my vest," Mycroft warns.
Sherlock rolls his eyes.
It's just gorgeous, John thinks, staring at the magazine in front of his face. The telescope he's had his eye on for years is finally in reach after mowing every lawn in the community twice a week for the past three summers. The magazine shows it in simple black and white, but it isn't any less beautiful on the paper.
"Not at the table, please John?"
John sighs and folds the magazine up to set it aside.
"Have you saved up enough money yet, son?" John's dad Ron asks from the head of the table.
"Yes sir. Every lawn in the community for three straight summers has finally paid off."
Harry wanders in from outside and pats John's shoulder. "Hey, maybe with that you can afford to not be a dork anymore." She laughs loudly and plops down next to John.
"Young lady, go wash your hands," John's mother Jane demands. Harry rolls her eyes and gets up from the table again.
"You'll buy it this weekend?" Ron asks, referring to the telescope.
"Yes, sir. Sunday, hopefully."
"Wonderful, son. I couldn't be more proud."
John smiles with pride, just as Harry returns to the room.
"So, John?" Jane starts as she sits at the table, finished with serving everybody. "Any back to school parties?"
"Nope," John says. "Just cards with the gang on Saturday night."
"Ahh, the old tradition," Ron says.
"Yeah, the perfect Saturday night," Harry says, her mouth full. "Cards, chips, dips, and dorks!"
"Harry!" John's mother cries.
John doesn't say anything.
"I, however," Harry adds, "Have an abundance of invitations flooding in. So, Dad, spot me some cash?"
Ron laughs and reaches to take out his wallet. "Nothing for you, John? You sure?"
John shakes his head, denying the money.
"Well, alright!"