A/N: Welcome to the first chapter of my newest story. If you've read my other story Being 16 (and if you haven't you should *wink wink*), please know that this story is 100% different and not connected to the other one at all. I wanted to start fresh.

I hope everyone enjoys. I'm having fun writing this one and I'm uploading it on my birthday as a gift to you all.

Enjoy! Please review!

In a romantic comedy movie, the less popular member of a couple would make their appearance about now by stumbling into a room and tripping over his/her own feet, falling on their face in front of everyone. The popular kids would laugh, and the cooler member of said couple would try to shut everyone up, and then go to the aid of their very embarrassed significant other.

Like I said, this is what would happen to a stereotypical romantic comedy couple.

Not in Sherlock Holmes' relationship. The tall glass of water walks into the class (late, of course) as suave as ever. His long coat flows without wind, his eyes glistening crystal blue, and when he minutely snaps his neck, his curly, black hair flops into place against his forehead. He takes a deep breath, his chest broadening and his back straightening.

The teacher, Mr. Hall, snatches the paper from his hands.

"Busy...helping Ms. Weber? You, Holmes? Helping?"

Sherlock grins widely and as innocently as he can. He wasn't helping to do anything; Ms. Weber just has a crush on him so she writes notes for him all the time.

"Take a seat," Mr. Hall demands.

Sherlock adjusts his bag on his back and moves swiftly through the room.

"Watson?" Mr. Hall calls. "Watson!"

John watches Sherlock step passed him, Sherlock glancing down at John and doing that stupid half smirk that never fails to make John want to smack him.

With a kiss, that is.

"Watson!"

John nearly jumps at his name being called that third time. "Yes sir?"

"Done making eyes at Mr. Holmes? Or do you need a minute?"

John clears his throat. "I could use a second or two longer, sir."

The kids laugh and Mr. Hall rolls his eyes.

"Funny, Mr. Watson. Now will you please answer the question?"

John doesn't know the answer, he wasn't even paying attention when Sherlock entered the room. So he blurts the first thing that pops into his head. "Uhm, four?"

The kids laugh again.

Mr. Hall sighs. "Anyone else?"

Sherlock doesn't raise his hand like the other students, he just calls his answer over everyone. "Five hundred, seventy two point three," he says in his deep baritone.

Sherlock never fails to make him feel like an idiot; the boy had walked into the classroom not three minutes ago. One glance at the board and Sherlock knew the answer.

John blushes straight up to his ears. He can practically feel Sherlock grinning behind him; he doesn't need to look at Sherlock to know he's giving John the "I'm-smarter-than-you" grin.

John thinks he does it because though their relationship is fairly new, their friendship goes back to primary school, and in that time they'd developed a sibling rivalry, of sorts.

Sherlock claims he does it because he likes the way John's fuller cheeks look with a tinge of rose.

Mr. Hall passes out their take-home quizzes and dismisses the students early. He usually does so when he can actually hear stomachs growling.

Sherlock rushes out of the class, by way of the back door, and John quickly packs his things and runs after him.

"John!" Brady, his best friend, calls. "Lunch?!"

"Yeah, be right there!" he calls, then runs out of the room.

He catches Sherlock as Sherlock is emptying his rarely used books into his locker.

"Hey," John says as he stops next to Sherlock.

Sherlock glances at him and smiles.

"I hate when you do that," John says.

"Do what?"

"Distract me, and then make me look like an idiot."

"John, I don't ask you to stare at me every time I walk by. You're not very discreet in hiding your crush on me."

"A crush? A crush is what I had six months ago. Now I'm allowed to look, and when I do you never fail to make me look like the biggest airhead in class."

Sherlock laughs. "Four, John. Four?"

John shakes his head. "It's what you do to me."

Sherlock closes his locker and looks at John. "Lunch with Brady?"

John nods. "As always."

"Well, have fun."

"I'll see you later."

Sherlock smiles at him once, then turns down the hall to leave.

John watches him go.

John turns to walk away, but before he can he pauses and turns back to Sherlock. "Hey!" he calls down the empty hallway.

Sherlock turns around.

"I love you!" John shouts.

Sherlock smiles. "I love you, too!"

John smiles contently, then turns down the hall and leaves.

It's been six months since they became Johnlock, as John's friend Brady frequently refers to them. John hates it, he thinks it's stupid and childish, but he secretly loves it because he and Sherlock? They're a package. They're a team. They're a whole.

But their hope-to-be lifelong affair began long before that. In times when girls were supposed to be icky and boys were supposed to be the only good substance on earth (primary school), they were icky to each other. It's as if they knew; it's as if they saw that girls weren't for them and one was for the other, but of course seven-year-olds don't understand that. Seven-year-olds see another boy who they don't want to be near as an enemy, maybe.

But that wasn't the case.

Through their life, John will remember the way Sherlock's hair went all the way to his neck, and it was so dreadfully pretty that he wanted to brush it the way Harry let him brush her best dolly's hair, and Sherlock will remember the little stout boy that looked too cuddly to not want to cuddle.

And then John will remember the boy with the pretty hair opening his big mouth and being so annoyed and yet…so…amazed.

The first time they met, Sherlock successfully deduced what John had for breakfast, what he painted in art class, and that his jeans were too tight. John just watched, feeling both confused and in awe, and once Sherlock paused to breathe, John said, "Fantastic."

Sherlock, who had been called fantastic exactly never in his life, choked on the long breath he was taking. "What'd you say?"

"I said you are fantastic," John repeated, resting his chin in his hand and looking at Sherlock as if he was the most interesting program on television. "Don't stop," he said.

Sherlock smiled, and then did as asked. He didn't stop. And he hasn't stopped.

Since then they've been nearly inseparable. Now, nearly needs to be added because they can both be hard to handle at times. They've fought a lot, mostly the same way siblings would fight (shoving matches, petty arguments, irrelevant disagreements, for example). "Am I going to have to separate you two?" was a question frequently asked during their childhood together. Many times were their parents called because they were caught fighting on the playground.

But sometimes they'd fight like an old married couple with problems like one bossing the other around, one deciding that with their money put together, they can buy ice cream cones instead of a thermometer needed for an experiment, or that they just can't stand the sound of the other's voice.

They'd spend a while apart, saying something like, "I can't be near you right now.", but the while usually ended because one of them would say, "I miss him." and he'd end up calling the other. They wouldn't apologize, they never needed to, they'd just pick up where they left off before the fight. (Though, one time Sherlock made John extremely angry, so as an apology he picked John roses from his mummy's garden.)

Once they became teens, their childish fighting disappeared because they became men. Men don't fight with their best friend, men don't need timeouts or their parents to be called because their argument grows too heated. They learned to fight and move on, or to not fight at all (which was preferred by everybody).

Then last winter happened.

Eleven months ago

It was Sherlock's birthday. He was turning sixteen and he was ecstatic. John was already sixteen, and it was completely unfair that John got to be a whole age older than him for an entire nearly eight months, but every year, John made Sherlock's birthday extremely special. And this year was no different.

John was so proud of the book of bee slides he found Sherlock that he decided to give it to him the night before. They were in Sherlock's room, sitting on his bed while he opened the gift.

He was so excited for the gift, of course.

"John," he muttered, at a loss of words. "These are…where did…" He looked over at John, who was silent next to him. He was shocked to find John sitting so close, as one usually is when finding someone so close to them that they need to manually refocus their eyes.

Sherlock was so happy that the overwhelming desire to kiss John came over him, and he minutely leaned in to seal the deal.

Then, Sherlock just as quickly realized what a bad idea that'd be. Kissing? That muddled friendships.

He quickly stood with the excuse to show a slide to John now, but John didn't move. It's as if he waited for Sherlock to return for a kiss, as if he expected it.

Sherlock didn't mention it again, but after that incident, his brain was very…cloudy. He didn't know how he felt. Did he want to kiss John? Did he want John to want to kiss him? How long has he wanted to kiss John? What did this mean? How does he feel?

It took a very long time (about a week and a half) for Sherlock to realize that he had strong feelings for John as more than just a friend.

But of course, being a sixteen-year-old boy, this meant not mentioning anything to John.

For five. whole. months.

Sherlock was left lonely, often times sad, with a hole where his stomach should be because those stupid butterflies that appeared each time John was near ate their way through him. His heart was overworked and his longing was becoming unbearable, so he finally found time to tell John about how he felt.

He thought the best way to do this was through a nice dinner. He invited John over one evening when he was sure to be able to be alone with John, and had John's favorite meal waiting for him. John was very excited, if not a bit shocked, so they ate silently for what seemed like an infinite amount of time.

When they finished, they took a walk out to the pool, where they decided swimming wouldn't be necessary for the evening.

On their uncharacteristically silent walk back, Sherlock decided that enough was enough. He stopped on the trail and John stopped a few steps passed.

"Sherlock?"

"John," Sherlock sighed. "I have to tell you something. I…"

John looked at him with large, curious eyes. "What is it? You can tell me anything, you know that."

Sherlock ran his long fingers through his long curls. "I just…John, I really like you. And I'm…well, I'm sorry. I know you don't feel the same, it's just that this has been driving me crazy for…for months now, and I—"

John sighed relief and began to laugh.

Why is he laughing? Sherlock asked himself. Does my embarrassment amuse him? Does he think I am foolish?

"Jesus, Sherlock," John rubbed his face, "I thought you were asking me to stop hanging out with you. You've been so distant the past few weeks, I was sure you didn't want to be my friend anymore."

Sherlock felt extremely confused. "So, you're not…mad?"

"Mad?!" John questioned. "Of course I'm not mad, you dope. Why would I be mad?"

"Because…because you're you, and I'm…I'm a boy…and—"

"Oh, Sherlock," John sighed. "I thought…I thought you didn't like me. That night, the night before your birthday, I thought we had a moment, I was so sure that was it, but when you pulled away…" John paused, and then added, "I've come to terms with you not liking me like that."

"But I do like you like that, John," Sherlock quickly said.

John smiled as widely as he could. "Well, that's just fantastic then, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

John reached over and grabbed Sherlock's hand, like he'd done one million times throughout their childhood, only this time it felt different; it felt right. Then they kissed and it felt…complete.

They told each other that they love each other not long after that. It was something that they both needed to say a long time before they did, and once they said it, they felt where they should be. All the young fights, the unnoticed gentle touches as kids, the giggly happiness they had with only each other, it all made sense. Their only regret was not realizing it sooner.

Now

Now is lunchtime, so John goes to the cafeteria to eat with his best friend Brady while Sherlock goes to read in the library, just like they've always done and they always will do. They'll miss each other, sure, they usually do, but they'll both get through the afternoon with the anticipation of being together after school. And that's always a great thing to look forward to.