John's first lesson began at 9:15 exactly. Not ten minutes late like his public school lessons, but 9:15 on the dot.
He stumbled into Algebra 101 only two minutes late, and was met with the dead, cold stare of a judging classroom of students. He was late, he hadn't murdered the headmaster.
"Well, now, a fresh face, I see." The teacher have an unamused chuckle, rising from behind the desk slowly. The students eyes were all fixed upon him, awaiting his next move anxiously. His voice was like a low thunder on a silent night, unnearving with a threat of danger.
John fiddled with his bag strap, "Sorry, sir. I got lost." he lied.
The man's lips were a tight line, though laughter burned within his eyes, "You know, whenever I had to move to a new school, I'd make sure I set off at least ten minutes early, so as to not disrupt the lesson. Did this idea not occure to you, Mr. Watson?"
John's cheeks were aflame, his stomach twisted in knots, "... No, sir. Sorry, sir."
He scoffed, "You apologies too much. Sorry is just a word, just another combination of the same twenty-six letters. You don't say you're sorry, you prove that you're sorry. How will you prove this to me, Mr. Watson?"
John felt every eye in the room watching him, every breath held in anticipation. Hushed whispers and silent giggles ran through the room like a breeze. "U-Umm..." His voice shook awkwardly, he tried to mask it by coughing, "I don't know, sir."
"I do, Watson." He was so close John could smell his breath; minty and cold. His hair fell down in dark, neat locks, two piercing eyes within his youthful face, "You're going to take a seat, you're going to give me every ounce of your attention, limited as it may be, and you're going to keep quiet. Do you understand me, Mr. Watson?"
John swallowed hard on the growing lump in his throat, determined to keep his lower lip from trembling, and nodded.
"Then what are you waiting for? For an escort to lead you to your chair?" The teacher asked, hands impatiently on his hips.
John hastily weaved through the desks to the one at the back, avoiding eye contact with the sniggering students. He dropped his bag and slumped into his seat. He tried to look as if he didn't care, John Watson, public school bad-boy who didn't give a crap what his teachers thought of him. Somehow he doubted they'd be fooled.
The teacher had returned to his desk area, scribbling a name onto the large blackboard. "Now, my name is Mr. Adler, I'll be the one you'll all hate but had better listen to three lessons a week. I don't care who any of you are. Now be quiet and pay attention."
The lesson continued without any further interruptions, although Mr. Adler was rather surprised by John's work.
"Well, Mr. Watson, I'm almost impressed. I'm so used to public school morons coming into my class..." He glanced over to another student, a sandy haired boy who looked down awkwardly, "But it's nice to see at least one made it onto the right side of the evolutionary curve."
Whether this comment would get him praise or ass-kickings, John had yet to find out.

Soon enough, a long, shrill bell sounded break.
'That awful sound will take some getting used to...' thought John as he and the other students filed out of the classroom, into the rapid river of students that met them in the hallway. He'd overslept too long to get to the breakfast hall before class, so he wasn't left with much. Nevertheless, he took his stale toast to the library, the only place at public school he ever felt comfortable.
As it turned out, public school libraries were so comforting thanks to the lack of students. At this school people actually wanted to do well in class, and there were no free desks or computers in sight. But, there was nowhere else to go, so...
John made his way through the labyrinth of shelves, computers and desks, avoiding eye contact with every other student, pretending to be reading the titles of books as he did. A little part of him was looking for someone; the tall, dark haired boy from across the hall. All day he'd been trying not to think about the night before, but losing your virginity to a drugged up stranger you just met isn't something easily forgotten.
Even now John wasn't sure how he felt about the experience. Sure, it was amazing; thrilling, satisfying and exciting. But at the same time... looking back at the way he helplessly obeyed the tall boy, the way he moaned and begged, it all sent a shiver of shame and regret through his body. He felt like a complete idiot. Who does that with someone you'd just met, especially when they're not in their right mind? God only knows what he had taken. The only other explanation for pupils being that size would be the eye drops doctors used to check if you needed glasses, and John doubted he'd just gotten back from a late night eye test at two in the morning.
Soon enough, John uncovered an excluded area in the corner of the huge room, blocked off by two large, wooden bookshelves. He slid through them to find two large, tattered, green sofas and a small coffee table. They looked so out of place among the old fashioned, Victorian-inspired furniture in the rest of the school, but who was John to complain? It was secluded and very cosy looking, and John didn't hesitate to slump down on one of the sofas, popping his feet upon the table, and fishing a book out of his bag. He adored this book; it was about this detective who had to solve this mystery about a huge dog who seemed to be something supernatural. The author must have been nothing short of a genius.

Just as John was getting into the thumb-worn novel he'd read a thousand time, he was interrupted by the book being rudely snatched from his hands. He reached out to grab it back, but was too late. Before him stood three guys, looming above him. The one holding his book was incredibly tall, with a handsome face and neatly gelled hair. He looked thin, but John doubted he'd be any less hard then his two accomplices, both stock and muscley. He handed the book to the boy on his left, "Victor, go shove this book into the shelves somewhere... hard to find." he instructed, the tone of his voice ranging from high to low in a way which made John feel very, very uncomfortable. The boy gave a smirk, grabbing hold of the book.
"N-no, that's mine! Not the schools!" said John.
None of the guys seemed to care, "Do you have any idea where you are sat?"
John wasn't in the mood for more weirdos, "Look, if this is your den or something, I don't care. Just please hand me my book back and I'll go."
The boy in the middle's eyes flashed dangerously.
"Who the fuck d'ya think ya talkin' to?" Asked one of the accomplices.
The middle guy sighed heavily, "Zack, what did I say about talking?"
The boy, Zack, shifted awkwardly, "... Don't do it..." he mumbled.
"Exactly." The middle boy turned his attention back to John, "Now, you must be new here, or an idiot... or both." He leaned down to press his face very closely to John's and whispered darkly, "And I don't appreciate the company of an idiot."
John felt a quiver of fear or rage in his chest, "I'm not an idiot." He said with gritted teeth.
The boy looked amused, "If you weren't then you wouldn't be speaking, would you?" he said, fingers playing with John's tie.
"Get the hell out of my face and give me back my book." John said slowly, a weird courage bubbling up inside of him.
The boy's face hardened, his eyes burned into John's, "... Nobody... ever... speaks... to... me... like... tha-"
"Not again, Jim."
The boy span around, the middle boy slower then the rest, to find Sherlock Holmes, casually lent on a shelf, hands in his pockets.
The boy glowered, "... Holmes."
"Moriarty."
"How's the insanity?"
"Can't complain. You still look like a praying mantis."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." he stepped forward, Moriaty's accomplices cracked their knuckles as he did, "Are you harassing this kid?"
'Kid?' Thought John, 'How can you think of me as a kid after last night? You sucked my cock, you skinny bastard!'
"Of course not! Would I do such a thing?" Moriaty stepped towards him, their faces inches from each other.
"We both know the answer to that question..." Said Sherlock quietly.
"We do... don't we..."
An awkward silence followed, Moriarty and Sherlock continued what looked like an intense staring competition with each other.
Moriarty ran his tongue over his bottom lip, "Pleasure seeing you, as always." his tone suggested otherwise, "Victor, Zack, we're leaving."
The boys exchanged a glance, but hurried after their leader as he left. Before they could, Sherlock stopped the one named Victor with a finger to his chest, took the book, and let him go.
He tossed the book to John, who caught it, and their eyes met again.
Were they finally going to talk about what happened? An apology? An explanation? Anything?
Instead, Sherlock looked at him, said "You really shouldn't sit here in the future" and was gone.
John could have screamed.
Did that night mean absolutely nothing to him? Was it just a fuck? Was John just in the right place at the right time, did Sherlock even care about John in the slightest, did taking his virginity mean anything to him?!
The bell rang for the start of second period, but John didn't go. He pulled up his legs and sat there, consumed with a burning anger, shame and regret for the next ninety minutes, before retiring to his room, attempting to lose himself into his books and forget about that goddamn Sherlock Holmes.