Over the course of the next week, Sherlock found himself watching the curious blonde boy from his swimming lesson. He never talked to him: they weren't in any lessons together except PE and unlike Sherlock, John had friends to hang out with. Not that Sherlock really minded. He was perfectly content with watching him from afar. Plus, he didn't want to run into Anderson again.
Sherlock was furious to discover that the slimy git had taken to hanging on the edge of John's friendship group, probably so he didn't get humiliated by the compact teenager again.
Sherlock found himself blushing whenever he saw the back of John: he just couldn't get the image of the boys naked backside out of his minds eye, despite the fact that since that day it had been covered by fading school trousers. It seemed like that small exchange in the changing rooms was affecting his observation abilities.
He thought about John Watson a lot. More than is considered 'normal' by 'ordinary' people's standards. Then again, he had never been considered either of those things. He worried slightly for his sanity; what the hell was going on? Sherlock hated having questions that he didn't have the answers to and it seemed that John was just that: an unanswered question, waiting for Sherlock to pull it apart then reassemble it to make sense.
The next time they had a lesson, Sherlock found himself mysteriously nervous. Not because he was worried about being awkward with John (he was Sherlock Holmes, he REFUSED to feel awkward about ANYTHING (Despite the fact that he acted considerably awkward on a daily basis)), but because he couldn't think of any scenario that could top last week's lesson.
It was all now going to be one big disappointment.
'Y'ok?' John said, lowering himself into the pool instead of going for the bombing approach from last week.
Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement, his chin dipping into the water slightly. He had been in there for a while already, preferring to get used to the sensation than be pushed in.
'Good,' John said, tentatively beginning to tread water, 'Any idea what we're going to be doing this lesson?'
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.
'I hope it involves floats,' he muttered, remembering how last week, not having to use his arms had made it a lot easier to talk to John than having to splash around.
John laughed a little bit.
'I thought they were a tad patronizing,' John smiled, stroking his chin in thought as if it would make him appear more intelligent.
'Well yes, they were, but they stop you from going under so I won't complain too much,' Sherlock said, turning back to face the other boy. His hair was still dry from not jumping in and his eyes had that permanent sparkle that Sherlock had noticed last week.
Without warning, Sherlock lifted his arm from under the water, bringing a tidal wave of pool over John's head. John spluttered a quick string of curses as his head overcame the cold shock, which soon turned into a laugh.
'Well done Sherlock,' he panted, clinging to the side of the pool, 'Didn't know you had it in you!'
'You were obviously trying to avoid getting wet for fear of the cold water,' Sherlock explained in his 'honestly' voice, 'I only sped up the process you would have eventually engaged in.'
Suddenly, a splash came from nowhere, startling Sherlock and making John burst into a huge fit of giggles. Sherlock frowned, but at the sight of seeing a giggling John, he decided that he'd try to exact his revenge.
'Right, that's it,' Sherlock said, preparing to launch an attack until a voice came from the other side of the pool.
'Boys, please, no splashing,' cried the swimming instructor, 'Your floats are on the side, do a few lengths while I sort these boys out.'
John and Sherlock did as they were told, grabbing their floats and lazily kicking their legs in an unspoken no-splash truce. Despite the fact Sherlock had never had a lesson in his life, he seemed to be getting the hang of this swimming business. It was just a simple matter of kicking your legs and not putting your mouth and nose under the water for extended periods of time.
It helped that he could probably walk on his toes everywhere except the deep end.
As they completed their third length of the pool, the pair heard a loud shout of dismay and looked over to the advanced swimmers lane: Greg Lestrade, one of John's friends, had somehow acquired Anderson's trunks and was threatening to shove them into the filter.
'John, why do you hang out with such idiots?' Sherlock asked. It was a question that had been bothering the dark-haired boy all week, and Sherlock really didn't like having a question that he didn't know the answer to.
'They're not that bad,' John started, looking over to the other boys, 'They can just be a bit stupid sometimes is all.'
'John, they're so dull,' Sherlock muttered, only to realize that John had a deepening frown on his face.
'They're my friends Sherlock, I can choose them for myself,' John muttered, angrily speeding up his leg movements.
'Ha, you seem to have very poor taste,' Sherlock said, more out of his bitterness that it wasn't him earning the defense of John Watson.
'Well,' John said, anger rising in his voice, 'Why don't YOU tell me who to be friends with if you know what's best for me.'
And with that, John increased his kicking tenfold and swam away from Sherlock. Sherlock sighed; why did this whole friendship thing have to be so complicated. Everyone had always told him that he should always tell the truth. Sherlock knew that he could be tactful on rare occasions, but it wasn't something he exercised on a regular basis.
And now it could cost him a friend.
He caught up with John who was panting, his body obviously not ready for the sudden need of speed. Sherlock lowered to the same height as John and leant against the pool.
'I can't pick friends for you,' Sherlock said, staring off at the other side of the pool, 'It's not like I have any myself.'
Sherlock felt John's eyes on him at that moment and chanced a look down. What met his eyes was an expression that conveyed a mixture of sadness and confusion.
'Sherlock, I'm your friend,' John said, 'That means you must have great taste. Unlike me.'
Sherlock realized that John was making a small jibe at his own personality and let himself smile a little bit.
'Well, you're certainly the best friend I've ever had, even if your taste isn't quite as excellent as mine' Sherlock said. He meant it. He normally didn't even get past the introduction stage.
'I'm honored,' John said, a little sarcastically, but with a genuine smile on his face, 'I get what you said. It's just, I've been friends with them for so long, I can't imagine what would happen if I left.'
Sherlock sighed. 'I get what you mean. Sorry I insulted them. Even if they are imbeciles.'
John laughed a little at that and, knowing that this had been the closest to an apology he would give, Sherlock laughed along.
'YOU TWO, GET SWIMMING,' came the shout of the instructor and the startled boys kicked their legs with renewed vigor, sharing a smile as they propelled themselves down the length of the pool.
Fortunately, the swimming lesson soon came to an end. Sherlock realized that time seemed to go by faster when he was with John (despite the fact he knew that it was impossible). They made their way to the changing rooms, taking the shower cubicles they had taken last week. As soon as he was under the water, Sherlock began scrubbing the chlorine from his hair.
Despite the fact that swimming was becoming slightly more tolerable, the thing that Sherlock still hated was the disinfectant-like smell of the pool that seemed to cling to him hours after his session. It was annoying.
After washing his hair thoroughly several times, Sherlock exited the shower. As Sherlock walked past the neighboring cubicle, he couldn't help but take a deep breath as he passed John Watson's towel. It was a different towel from last week; a red one, complete with fraying corners and faded patches in the middle, perhaps from being sat on repeatedly at the beach. As he inhaled, the smell from last week was present and, thanks to it saving him from a potentially embarrassing moment, it was now a smell he associated with safety. He knew it was a bit weird for him to go around smelling other boy's towels but he found he just couldn't resist that homely smell.
Dragging himself away, Sherlock emptied his locker and proceeded to change. His nose picked up the John-towel-smell and he smiled when he realized that John was stood next to him, towel loose around his hips and clothes in hand.
'Alright,' he said, proceeding to pull his trousers from the particularly haphazard pile of clothes.
'Fine, thank you,' Sherlock said, turning his attention away from John's toned chest. He had seen it for a whole half an hour in the water, and yet it was so much better when not distorted under the surface.
'Good,' John said, smiling and turning back to his clothes. Soon, the two were dressed and making their way out of the changing rooms. Suddenly, John pulled Sherlock round and looked at him for a second. Sherlock's breath came out of his body in one big burst of surprise, ruffling the dry tips of John's hair a little.
He'd heard of moments like these.
Yet instead of cupping Sherlock's face, standing on tip-toe and leaning in to press his lips against the other boys, John raised a hand, gently tousling Sherlock's hair back into place, just like last week.
'That's better,' he smiled, turning on his heel and making his way from the changing rooms, leaving Sherlock to stare at his retreating back.
A/N: Thanks for all the awesome feedback guys! I'm so happy that liked this enough to want more! I love this story so much!