Authors Note: Thank you all for having so much patience with my updating! I would like to thank Book16worm, HamburgerLover25, J.F - Violet, JoKuL FrOsTi, MarieNight, MoiTrueDreamWriter, NotQuiteBerserk, RandomDalmatian326, Anitayvette94, catalunya-triomfant, TheConsultingTardisLlama, The Lord Writer, mayflower55, and all the guests:) You guys are wonderful and keep me inspired!

Sherlock walked down the desolate hallway to his locker, taking note of the rather alarming amount of abandoned papers and used chip bags that now sought refuge in the overlooked corners of the school. The only response, however, that the carelessly disposed of prepossessions managed to elicit was a scoff.

He pulled out his phone, bruised and worn from years of abuse and neglect at the hands of various chemicals, from his pocket along with a set of tangled headphones. Beginning the never ending, ever time consuming task of unknotting them. Seriously, its just a pocket for heavens sake. How do they even get tangled up so easily? Finally managing to sort everything out without throwing it to the floor to join the other broken objects he placed in his ear buds and surfed through his available music, settling on Mozart's 40th. He enjoyed music, it was calming and could be arguable considered a device of mind numbing. As of currently, he was teaching himself violin.

This time of the year, apart from the god awful weather, was Sherlock's favorite. He could come and go around the school as he wished without being disrupted by the after school rugby practice and the low human intelligence it attracted. The school consisted of two buildings, one for lockers and one for classrooms. Sherlock was in the classroom building. He would have to go to the other building. Which means going outside. In the cold. Great.

He wrapped his coat tight and headed out the door, into the battlefield. The war was against the elements, and Sherlock was determined to see his side claim victor. Enemy wind pushed ruthlessly against him, but in the end man triumphed. An attempt to halt his assent at the hands of an ice foe proved to be in vain. Another success. With one final act of desperation he reached the doors of the second building, touching the door handle was like claiming a blood prize. He had won. This time. With some unnecessary dramatic flair, he threw open the metal doors and entered the school, wasting no time to head to his locker.

Sherlock aimed to turn down the next hallway, but stopped when he heard conflict loud enough to make itself noticeable over his brain-numbing noise. Presumably, something pointless and not worth his time, so instead he took a detour.

Adding another 2 minutes and 36 seconds to his destination, Sherlock eventually reached his locker. He quickly dialed in his combination and opened it. The first thing he noticed was the puke inducing scent that came hand in hand with opening the contraption. He dug, holding his breath, to the source of the stench. It was a jar of toads feet, hiding strategically behind nothing. How could it have taken him so long to notice? He took the jar and threw it into the garbage, completely tossing the possibility of bio hazard out with it.

He returned to his locker once more and was getting his stuff ready to head to his house when he felt someone grab his hips, turning him around. Sherlock's natural instincts kicked in, telling him to fight back, he struggled for a bit causing his left headphone to fall out. However, that part of his brain shut up real fast when he recognized the face of his attacker. It was John, and his brain turned into less of a solid object and more of a brain-pudding.

Then John did something truly unexpected. He kissed Sherlock, this action went against everything he knew about basic human interaction and game theory. It wasn't in a way a mother would kiss their child's cheek by way of affection , but the way you'd see it in some type of stereotypical overplayed movie that prepubescent-preteen girls would gather to watch. And it came as a surprise to Sherlock, but he actually liked it. John was warm and comfortable, open and caring. Also, it didn't help that he smelt like he just walked out of some miracle shower.

Unfortunately though, the kiss ended as quickly as it began. Sherlock tried to put his mind together but honestly, it was like trying to build a sand castle in completely dry sand.

"SEE?! LEAVE ME ALONE!" John shouted. Sherlock looked of over to see at who, he felt his stomach drop. Of course, there had to be a reason for the other boys action, and Sherlock had just found that reason.

Of course, congratulations on getting your hopes up. John doesn't like you, of course he doesn't, why would he? No one could. You're a machine devoid of emotions, remember? John just needed you to get those girls away from him. What else did you expect? A relationship? Don't be ridiculous, love is just a chemical reaction that gets in the way.

Once the tidal wave verbal assault from the now emotionally compromised group subsided, and eventually vanished. John looked like to him, bunching in on himself, he was wearing a work out uniform. That would explain the warmth Sherlock felt, ha, it had nothing to do with emotions at all! Right?

John cleared his throat, "sorry, to like, kiss you like that?" He rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip. This was not fair. John, who had by definition just assaulted him, wasn't allowed to now assume such a low power pose. Touching the back of his neck was the last straw, the ultimate sign of insecurity, which was a stark contrast to the earlier events. And it was pissing Sherlock off. Pissing him off because he still couldn't form a coherent sentence, he didn't understand why his chest was tightening like this, why he was so disappointed even though he had been right, and above all because he didn't understand why, despite all of this frustration, he wanted to kiss John again.

Sherlock straightened his back, cleared his throat , and with as much confidence as he could muster replied, "good day, John." He then turned and headed for an exit without so much as a look back at the other boy.

He couldn't, and wouldn't be bothered by a simple act like kissing. Even if John was the participating other half. After all, tomorrow was Saturday, and he would be up bright and early to finish off his most recent experiment in the school science facilities. The last thing he needed was thoughts of John to plaque his mind.

But of course that didn't work. Johns face was already graffiti on the walls of his mind palace, and had been for quite some time now.

John woke up early to the repulsive sound of his alarm clock. The glowing digital numbers read that the time was around 8:00 a.m. His bleary early-morning mind tried to wrap its thoughts around what had at once seemed like a brilliant plan, but now seemed like a worse fate than Chinese torture.

He eventually reminded himself that there was a reason to his mimicking the living dead at such an inconvenient hour. His reason was plain and simple: Sherlock. The events he had put into action yesterday weren't exactly a 100% success, and John was worried about how the debris of the event might have affected Sherlock. After all it was his fault that he had so obviously made the other uncomfortable, and John Watson was not the type of person to ignore the consequences of his actions, especially when the innocent were the ones put in the blasting zone. His mission objective: right his wrongs and heal any undesirable wounds caused in their relationship.

So here he was, up at the bright and early hour of 8 (on a Saturday nonetheless) to go to school in hopes of running into a boy he wasn't even sure would be there. This plan was flawless. It was likely, however, that Sherlock would be there. Most weekends when John would find himself in the gym, he would also find Sherlock in the science lab. He was always adorable to watch wearing bulky glasses and over sized gloves. One time he even accidentally started a fire, and John had watched as he frantically tried putting out the fire with some unnamed liquid that had only managed to turn the flames pink.

Stepping into some sweats and throwing on a warm jumper, John went to his car and headed for the school. He arrived just in time to see his target enter the premises. Good, that would by him some time to think of what to say…