No matter what school I went to and no matter what foot ball team I joined, I was always assigned the role of sweeper, this time was no different. I didn't mind, I actually enjoyed the position, but the damned thing always did a number on my knees. The joints of my knees seemed to creak as I walked to the school. The cool air didn't help either, slowing down the circulation and making the muscles even more stiff than they already were. The limp was noticable, but as I continued I began to straighten out, with no quiet protest from my body.
The metal handle of the door to the school was cold, the kind of cold that burned to the touch, but it was also the kind that over the years you grow accustomed to. The sudden change of temperature from the transition inside made my nose burn and ultimately caused me to sneeze.
I sniffed a little, holding my nose with my jumper sleeve, trying to warm it up to no avail. I blinked a few times and stared sleepily into space, momentarily forgetting where I was before proceeding to class. When I pulled my sleeve away, small spots of the recognizable rusted red color that was blood made its abode on the cloth.
"Dammit," I murmur under my breath, wiping my nose with my sleeve unconciously, probably smearing the blood across my upper lip and more so on the sweater. I was too tired to deal with this, too tired to deal with anything really, but my next hapless course of action seemed to be tripping over someone's carelessly placed textbook in the hallway. Some shoddy fucking beginning of a day this was.
I scrambled back to an upright position and looked around, my face no longer scarlet from the chilly weather, but rather from pure embarrassment. Few gazes seemed to be trained on me, and most of them were apathetic, leaving me to resume my way to human anatomy class.
The room was arid, its only decoration being a well portrayed graphite diagram of the human muscles and an over used chart of the periodic table, all on tasteless white walls that greeted the same bland, tiled floor. Any sunlight that came from the large window on one wall seemed to be cancelled out by the fluorescent lights that dominated the room, leaving the place looking more like a morgue than an actual classroom, excentuated ever more by the smell of disinfectant that came from the overnight cleaning. The pristine aura felt wonderful.
I sat at a black table top desk, setting my binder on it just to have the excuse for running my fingers over the smooth surface. There were no distractions in this room except for the students that may fill it, but nonetheless, I couldn't be more excited to be taking this class. Just being in here made me feel that much closer to being a doctor, Hell, even the room felt like a doctor's office, it all just made me giddy.
I watched as more students file in along with the teacher. There was one girl, her sandy brunette hair tied back and her eyes dark and soft. As she walked into the room, her attention fell to me and she came to an abrupt stop. Looking left, then right, then left again, she changed her course to where I sat, her gaze always shifting from side to side.
"I saw you trip in the hall, are you alright?" She asks, a timid nature masked by an outgoing voice.
A smile flickers on my face and I let out a tiny laugh, "Yes, of course, I'm fine. Just a little fumble, you know?"
"Oh, but your nose is bleeding." She says, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.
I perk up and involuntarily wipe my nose again, "Oh, yes I know, but that wasn't because- it's just dry and cold outside and this is what happens, well, I mean, typically happens with this weather." I take a deep breath and slow down, enunciating each word clearly. "This didn't happen because I fell."
She just stares at me and lifts her head in a slow motion like a semi-nod. Then, as though awoken from a trance, her hands flee to her purse and return with a tissue.
"Here," she says simply, handing it to me animatedly.
"Thank you," I reply just as purely, graciously accepting the tissue.
"It's alright. Well, I guess I'll talk to you later. My name is Sarah, by the way."
"Oh, I'm John. Thanks again."
Her only reply is a small smile and she walks off, taking a seat closer to the back of the class. I turn around just to get one last glance at her, her expression unoccupied now as she waited for school to begin. She was pretty.
A tall, lanky boy seemed to materialize in the doorway and walked with a long gait over to the lab table I was situated at. He was at the very least a head and a half taller than I was, and the high cheek bones and the particular pattern of the curls of his hair was recognizable in an instance. Sherlock had an off-putting, stoic expression with eyes that flitted to every crevice in the room. The patience he'd portrayed during his performance did not seem to be so relevant as he persistently surveyed the room.
My heart raced and mindlessly checked to see if there was anymore blood dribbling from my nose. My throat was closed and my heart raced without showing signs of slowing down. I'd never thought that the opportunity to talk to him would come up so blatantly. I tried to clear my throat, but it came out as a wheezy cough, the sound catching his attention. He gave me a side ways glance, the most unapologetic and least forgiving glower I'd ever received, although the sort of apathetic way his lips curved suggested that he wasn't actually that cold.
"You're not sick, are you?" He says, looking away when he asks the question. His voice didn't seem to fit his figure, deeper than it should be, yet smooth.
"Oh, no, I was just going, to, uhm, no, I'm not sick." My mind had put my body under the false pretense that I had actually worked up the nerve to start a conversation with him.
"You were just going to what?" His fingers were laced with each other, acting as a hammock for his chin as he focused his attention towards the front of the class.
I was flushed, I could feel it, my cheeks were on fire. "I was just going to say that, well, I really enjoyed you playing the violin."
"Was it necessary that you clear your throat to gain my attention if that was all you needed to say? I'm a human, John, you can address me as such." There was no contempt in his voice, it was just an observation.
I look away, my mouth opening once with the intent of saying something, but I close it in order to avoid any more bitter requital. I look over at my binder and see my name written plainly on it, the mystery of him knowing my name no longer such.
"Right, of course." I reply finally.
From the corner of my eye, I can see the edges of his lips turn up slightly as he says, "I appreciate that you enjoyed it though."
My cheeks become sore from suppressing an outright grin, my gaze just flickered from him to my hands. He appreciated my enjoyment.
"So," he says, turning to face me full on. I watch as his eyes glance me over from head to toe. "Rugby or foot ball?" Even though it was a question, the way he presented it felt more like a statement, like I was taking a true or false quiz.
"Foot ball," I reply, watching him. I wasn't surprised if he knew that I played a sport, most boys did.
"Sweeper?" He says, one hand in his lap and the other drumming on the table, a nervous twitch. He was certainly the impatient type.
"Oh, yes." I reply. Knowing of a sport is one thing, knowing the position was another. "How did you know?"
He looks away again as though to figure out how he himself did it and then glances back at me. "Your knees, your right in particular," he says, looking at me in response as though this made sense. He sighed when my face remained crumpled in confusion. "The way they hang from your chair, the way you slowly shift them implies injury or strain of some sorts, thus I gather a sport. Why not ask track and field? Because it's not the summer and you do not have the build of a runner; thus, rugby or foot ball. I would've assumed it was only foot ball except for the callouses on your hands, which now I can predict came from yard work over the summer considering the tan line that starts at the collar of your shirt.
"Now, how did I know you were a sweeper? Your right knee, which you move with special care and stretch it out in particular. Like I said before, you do not have the build of a runner, your legs are too short to keep up with the continuous running up and down the field. Why not midfield? Because it is the sweeper's job to slide and sweep. You were obviously doing so, mostly on your right side."
"Yes, but-" I try to interject, but he doesn't allow me to continue.
"But sweepers are allowed to roam the field? Yes, I am aware of this, but you're obviously an army brat and therefor practical and keen. You are aware of the fact that people are faster than you and you would not be able to keep up, so you remain on one half of the field; the opposing side. You keep up your stamina and use a boost of speed when necessary.
"Now, why didn't I assume goal keeper? One last time, you're too short. Also, my older brother, Mycroft, is the goal keeper."
He turns to the front again as though all that he'd just said had never been spoken. I stare at him, unable to comprehend how he'd noticed so much in such little time.
"That was impressive, amazing. You got everything right, except-"
"Except?" He whips back around, eyes squinted and curious. His nose wrinkled in the slightest bit as though what he'd said was left in the air and he was analyzing the text.
"I didn't do yard work over the summer." I say, finishing my statement.
His eyes don't leave my face until he closes them, lifting his head up as though a breeze had passed by. "Ah, I see. Army brat, military camp. That would explain the callouses on the palms of your hands, but the pads of your fingers on your left hand have callouses also-" a tiny grin presents itself on his thin lips. "You play an instrument."
"The guitar," I specify.
"Well, you've obviously practiced quite a bit if you've formed callouses. I think I'd like to hear you play some time since you got to hear me play the violin." He looks at me, the grin surprisingly still there. "You'll play for me." What was supposed to be a question ended up as an imperative, but it didn't even matter.
I raise my eyebrows, look around a little, and reply, "Yeah, sure."
