As September went by, John got more used to Sherlock, sure they had their arguments—John had discovered after days, foul smells seeping out of Sherlock's wardrobe, he was growing something slimy and mouldy in there. John had yelled, Sherlock had calmly explained the experiment. John had yelled some more and Sherlock binned the experiment.
As the blistering winds of October arrived Sherlock had gotten himself a cold. He'd spent too much time outside smoking without a proper coat. John now had to endure the endless torture that was the sick Holmes. John thought himself a patient man but his nerves was on end all the time at the moment due to Sherlock's endless whining about being sick, or as he said it, fatally ill. Greg, Oliver, Freddie, and Mikkel were spending more and more time on the football field so John was spending more time in his and Sherlock's room, after a week of a moping and coughing Sherlock, John had finally had enough. He pulled Sherlock out of bed and dragged him down to the nurse's office, nearly throwing Sherlock onto one of the beds, John turned to the nurse.
"Look, he's been ill for over a week now, I think it's just the common cold but he has some symptoms of inflammation, he had refused to see you since he thought it beneath him to seek help. I am going nuts by his moping and coughing, can you please do something?" It sounded more like a command more than a request, but as soon as John was finished speaking he strode out of the door, once again fuming with rage because of his roommate. John returned to their room and replied to his mum's endless texts.
Hi Mum, yeah I'm fine. School is going well, my new roommate is okay, no I am not on the football team yet and I don't intend on being so. Love you, say hi to dad and Harry. John X
John lay back on his bed and closed his eyes, he was knackered; PE in the morning was dreadful, followed by double French and double English, ended with a lecture on safe sex and STDs, fucking marvellous—listening to an old man talking about condoms and showing pictures of willies with funky stuff growing on them. He closed his eyes and feel asleep still clutching his phone in his right hand. A while later he awoke to the door opening and someone sniffling. Sherlock was back from the nurse's office.
"So what did she say then?" John growled.
"That I have sinusitis. She gave me some penicillin and demanded that I quit smoking." Sherlock scoffed, "As if!"
"They will kill you, those foul things, you know that?" John scowled at him.
"Bah Humbug!" Sherlock replied with a grin and threw himself on his own bed. "The nurse said that I am to be bedridden for a week; I will surely die of boredom." He grunted and crossed his arms.
"Look, I'll bring you your homework, food and other stuff to youif you promise not to do some disgusting or dangerous experiment in our room. I can't stand anymore foul smelling things seeping out of your wardrobe!"
Sherlock turned his head to look at John, giving a sceptical look and said, "Why on earth would you do that for me?"
John looked back and raised his brow, "Because that's what mates do, they help each other when they need it."
Sherlock sat up in his bed; he folded his hands under his chin, his long, white fingers supporting his sharp jaw and looked hard at John, reading his face. John knew by now what that posture and facial expression meant.
"Mates, you…" Sherlock paused and trailed off, his expression softened, "You think that we are mates?"
John chuckled, "Yeah, I mean you're not especially easy to be mates with but yeah, you're pretty much my only mate at the moment because of fucking football, all the lads seem far too busy with it to hang out with me anymore."
Sherlock shuffled in his seat, "You, you are my first,real friend John. People never really like me." John smiled a Sherlock feeling a bit sorry for the poor, annoying, weird, bloke.
"I'll go to Mr. Roberts' office then and tell him you're too ill to attend his classes the next seven days, and that I'll be fetching your homework alright?" John didn't wait for a response as he walked out of their dorm. He headed down the hall, down the stairs and to the opposite side of the dormitory halls where the teachers' offices and rooms were. John knocked on the door and heard the familiar voice of his English teacher say "Enter."
John entered the office, he hadn't been in here before; it was different to Mr. Abbott's office. It was in any way as neat as Mr. Abbott's, piles and piles of books and papers covered every inch of desk, shelf and tables in no apparent order. Mr. Roberts was leaning against his cluttered desk and smiled at John.
"Hey Watson, what can I help you with?" John looked at Mr. Roberts and felt a slight flush start spreading across his cheeks. Mr. Roberts was wearing tight, black jeans with a similar, tight, blue t-shirt with a Doctor Who print on it; apparently he hadn't shaved this morning, for a slight stubble was visible on his face.
"John! Are you okay?" Mr. Roberts asked, John had apparently been lost in his observations.
Mentally shaking himself, "Oh, sorry, ehm, Sherlock Holmes has been told by the nurse that he should stay in bed for a week. I'm here to collect his homework." John looked down at his shoes trying to hide his blush.
"Right, er, can you come back later to fetch it? I er, don't have it ready now." Mr. Roberts glanced around his office and ruffled his hair which made John's cock twitch slightly and his face flush even more.
"Okay, I, I'll come back later then, bye." John rushed out of the office and ran down towards the lakes. He ran as fast as he could and found a secluded spot to think. He sat down against a tree trying to steady his breath—why did he always blush like a fucking school girl whenever he saw Mr. Roberts? John's subconscious was screaming the answer at him but he tried not to listen to it. He thought long and hard, he couldn't, could he? He didn't mind people who were, his own bloody sister was and he loved her—well sober her.
John had kissed girls, even touched girls boobs, he believe to have been in love Vanessa those two summers they dates; she broke up last summer, she wanted something more permanent than a summer sweetheart. He did think it was odd he didn't get hard when he touched her boobs, that sort of thing should have made a fifteen year old boy come in his pants. John finally listened to his subconscious and buried his face in his hands and whispered to himself—"Oh god, I really am gay."
He hoped that no one was around; he didn't mind being gay, he minded the consequences that followed being gay in an all boys school. He didn't fancy anymore bullying; he'd been bullied in primary and secondary school for his dodgy legs, he didn't need to add anything else. John sighed deeply and climbed to his feet and headed back up to the school, back to his room. He found Sherlock curled up on his own bed, a frown on his face and book in his hands.
"Mr. Roberts didn't have your homework ready yet." John forced a smile and threw himself on his bed. Sherlock looked over his book at him.
"Well that took you look enough, what made the penny drop?" John sat up in his bed and looked at Sherlock.
"What do you mean?" John asked trying desperately not to sound like he already knew what Sherlock meant.
"I am not an idiot John, I am a genius remember?"
"Yeah, well," John frowned and looked up at Sherlock, "wait, how long have you known that I, that I am...I'm," John faltered.
"That you're gay? Well I deduced it in our first English class; you were a bit obvious in your attraction to Mr. Roberts, John," Sherlock chuckled; John looked down and fiddled with his phone.
"Oh, right, and you are okay with me being," John gulped, "gay?"
"Why wouldn't I be? I see nothing illogical in finding sexual attraction in a person of the same sex. Besides people who display homophobia are often insecure in their own sexuality, I mean look at the rugby team. Clearly a third of the players are sexually frustrated because they are experiencing an attraction to a person of the same sex. Besides it would a bit right coming from me." Sherlock looked at John with those piercing blue eyes.
"Oh, so you're, er, you're gay too?" John blushed; he was a bit embarrassed by this whole conversation.
"Great deduction there Watson." Sherlock chuckled in that deep baritone; he rose and grabbed his long, black coat. "Well this has been sufficiently awkward, excuse me, but I need a fag. Pardon the pun." He was off.
John laughed as soon as Sherlock was out of the door. Yes it had certainly been awkward but not as much as it could have been. Now the question was, should he tell his mum and dad? They'd yell a lot, they did when Harry came out to them. Then again Harry had been very drunk and high as a kite the night she yelled, "Yeah, well I'm a lesbian too, hate me more!" John had locked himself in his room that night while they argued downstairs. He also agreed to himself that what his parents didn't know didn't hurt them (or him!).
Sherlock returned fifteen minutes later reeking of cigarette smoke.
"You really should stop with those you know; they're destroying your lungs!" John smiled at Sherlock, knowing it was a lost cause to try and get him to quit.
"Bah, breathing is boring." Sherlock retorted. "So are you done with your little identity crisis or am I to expect crying?" Sherlock asked as he carefully hung up his cat on the door and turned to his desk.
"Nah, I'm good, no crying—I promise." John chuckled.
~ o O o ~
The week went by horribly slow. John ended up as Sherlock's nursemaid; fetching homework, food—well John fetched the food that Sherlock rarely ate, and books from the library. By the end of the week John thought that he ought to feel like killing Sherlock but he somehow didn't. Sure he was annoyed with his dark haired roommate but he was perfectly content with the situation. One day John had some (no, cross that, a lot) of difficultly with a maths assignment, Sherlock, who by his own diagnoses, was dying of boredom, had noticed John's difficulty and decided to tutor him.
John wasn't given an option to accept Sherlock's help or not but he didn't mind, at least now he wouldn't fail maths. He didn't mind either how Sherlock kept calling him stupid or an idiot; he knew Sherlock really didn't mean anything by it.
John was also starting to enjoy spending time with Sherlock. Granted he wasn't easy to be around, but when you got know the gist of what he was like, John found he actually liked Sherlock's company. It was still in part because it was pretty much the only company he had, Greg and the lads were still wrapped up in football, but he did see them in class and during recess. They had practice every bloody night so John's only source of company was his annoying but utterly fascinating roommate.
Greg and the lads couldn't understand how John could stand being around Sherlock for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Mikkel was still Sherlock's chemistry partner and he had revelled in his Sherlock free week.
John loved listening to Sherlock rant on about their fellow pupils and teachers, deducing what they did, who they did, their secrets, and so on. John's marks in maths started to rise—only because of Sherlock's tutoring, while Sherlock was doing better in English and Chemistry due to John giving him some advice in how not to piss off everybody around him. Still he managed to piss off a couple of people but he wasn't beaten up as much as he used to.