John quietly followed Sherlock into the building as they traveled silently to the library, Sherlock keeping his head down. Once in the freezing but silent room the Librarian nodded at him. "Mrs. Hudson" he replied. Sherlock showed himself to the back where the reference and nonfiction lay. He randomly grabbed a book on forensic photography and John furrowed his eyebrows.
"Forensic photography?"
Sherlock smirked. "Do I question your preference for Superman over Steinbeck?" He answered and sat at a small table near the back
John shrugged, "Fair enough." He sat down across from Sherlock, "Is it interesting?"
Sherlock arched a thin eyebrow. "Obviously" he said and flipped it open. "I've never found the appeal of superheroes" Sherlock said a few minutes later.
"Why not?"
"Heroes don't exist. False hope leads to demise." Sherlock looked up from his hefty book. "Am I boring you?"
John shook his head, "Not at all."
Sherlock sighed. "You're lying. Through your teeth." He retorted and leaned back cockily. "Do you have a fag?" He asked out of the blue
"I'm not lying," he retorted, "and no I don't."
"Good boy then, you crave attention but not to the point of extremes. You want people to approve. Golden hair, blue eyes, coy smile, and doesn't do drugs. You're perfect" Sherlock snorted disdainfully. "It's almost sad. Do you go to parties?"
John leaned back in his chair, he was getting used to the deducing thing, "Sometimes."
The only reply was an unexplained "hmm" before Sherlock began his book gain. He wanted to see if John would stay dead quite, as Sherlock had asked he remembered a bit sadly, or give into temptation and ask him something.
John didn't say anything for a while, and then he furrowed his eyebrows and couldn't help but ask, "What do you mean I'm perfect?"
"Perfect...as defined by the status quo." Sherlock back pedaled. His word choice could have been more tactful. "You have the potential to be popular, to rule the school. You don't like fighting and you've got a soft spot for broken things. Don't look at me like that, I've seen you take the broken textbooks when you've forgotten yours. You're happy, you're sane, and you're kind. Perfect." Sherlock leaned his chair back on two legs. "Not to say you're inhumanly good. You're prone to anger, you have a tendency to clench your fists and your jaw when you get mad. Which has been rather recently, going by the imprints on your palms."
John leaned forward on the table, "Why would you think you were boring me?"
Sherlock smirked. "Because most people expect conversation. I don't talk for days on end, and then I won't shut up for weeks." He scratched the back of his head in thought. "Then again you aren't most people are you?"
John tilted his head, "I suppose not."
"Good." Sherlock said finality in his voice. He examined John. He was a normal boy. The bullies making him their target made no sense outside of territorial rage. He could be normal. And Sherlock guessed he envied him for that.
John nodded, "You aren't like most people either."
Sherlock bit back a laugh as he flipped through the book. "That's quite an understatement, Watson" he remarked
John smiled, "How long have you lived here?"
Sherlock groaned. "I've never been able to escape this provincial town. Not for long. I've been stuck here with my insufferable family all my life" his eyes darkened. Why would he tell John that?
John frowned, "You don't like it here?"
"I wouldn't imagine one takes kindly to being regarded as the town freak his whole life" he said bitterly
John's frown deepened, "Why do they call you the town freak?"
Sherlock looked up with an arched brow. "You really are new here." With a deep sigh and a quick hope John wouldn't run screaming from the library he said "my name is Sherlock Holmes. It's my business to know what others do not. I can tell from your bag that your father has left or died and your sister hasn't managed to well. Why else would she give you the bag that reminded her of him? I can tell you put it in the front hall next to a pair of leather boots, varnish on the side pocket. You over stuff your backpack because you can't bear to lose anything, you're clingy, something had been taken from you before." He stopped himself before he could verse too far where he was unwanted. "I could go on" he mumbled and hid behind his book
John looked at him in awe, "That's brilliant. How could you tell all those things?"
Sherlock leaned forward as well putting them uncomfortably close. "Deduction. Where you see I observe"
"It's amazing," he replied, not moving.
Sherlock sat back in surprise. "That's not what they say" he said in outline.
John frowned, "What do they say?"
Sherlock looked down and fiddled with the pages. "Fuck off" he said quietly.
"Oh," John looked down at his hands in surprise.
"No, no they say that, not that I'm telling you to-forget it" Sherlock sighed and pinched his nose
John looked up at Sherlock, "No, I get it... That must be hard on you."
"I'm fine" he said distantly
John shook his head, "No you're not... You can always talk to me about it." He suggested weakly.
"You!?" He asked pompously. "You're a stranger."
John looked down at his hands, "I... I just want to help, that's all."
"Ever so helpful" he quipped. "You need to help others because you feel helpless about something or someone."
John shrugged, "I like to help people."
'Kind soul' Sherlock thought. "Yeah" he said lamely.
John looked at his hands and didn't say anything. Sherlock looked around aimlessly, searching for something to talk about. He liked John. John was calm, like cold water to a burn. He wanted to keep him. Not that people are owned, of course, but he wanted him as a friend
John looked at the book Sherlock was reading, "Is that what you want to be? When you grow up?" He wanted to keep the conversation going.
Sherlock scoffed. "Not a photographer. No, cameras are not my...field of interest. Crimes, however, are. They're so simple, so easy." He rolled his eyes. "Pictures offer perspective, however biased."
John looked at Sherlock, "Oh. That's interesting. Have you ever solved one?"
"Solved one? I've solved many. Not that anyone will listen" Sherlock muttered, disdain in his voice. "I'm just an insolent child." He drummed his long fingers on the table before him. "You know the case on the news? The kidnapping? It was the uncle. The one from last week? The robbery? Staged. It was a cover up to gain insurance money."
John looked impressed, "Really? That's amazing."
"You're very monotonous. Don't you want to ask me how I know? I could be lying." Sherlock ran a hand through his curly black hair enticingly.
John chuckled and looked up at Sherlock, "Ok, How?"
"The uncle has been deflect paparazzi for days. He just bought a new car, his hand is always in his pocket, playing with a new key, saw an interview. He needed the new one because the old one has the DNA in it. He's somewhat smart. Also look at the way he holds the mothers hand. He is guilty" Sherlock cut off. He never got far in explaining this usually. People cut him off or walked away.
John raised his eyebrows, "That's it? That's how you knew? Where's the kid then? What about the robbery?"
"Yes that's how I knew. That's all I needed to know. I can guess from the car type they're probably in woods somewhere if not dead. The robbery was obvious from the women's eyes. She hadn't been crying. Her windows were shattered her possessions were taken her life endangered and she didn't cry. But the slip of paper in her pocket, as seen in the sun a few days later, confirmed it." Sherlock crossed his arms. He watched John soak it in. His nose did an adorable crinkle when he was thinking too hard.
John thought it over, "That seems reasonable."
Sherlock shrugged. "Do you want to get out of here?" He asked finally an stood up without waiting for a response
John stood up as well, "Where are we going to go?"
"Coffee. I need coffee" he smiled. It was the most mundane thing he could think of.
John chuckled, "Alright."