This was it, Jim thought, consumed by the crystal mesmerising poison that were Sherlock's deep sea blue eyes. The definitive breaking point of their relationship. The epitome of when their hate transformed into something that could eventually become love.
Sherlock's hand felt warm against the back of his neck and so did his breath now colliding on his craving parted lips.
"Sherlock," Jim mumbled almost inaudibly. Begging internally for the boy to lean in. He waited, holding his breath for what seemed like hours. What was Sherlock waiting for?
If it wasn't because Jim felt literally paralysed, he would have already beaten the shit out of Sherlock for being so fucking slow. And it was then when Jim was about to submit himself, to the furious rage that only Sherlock could bring out of him, that the curly haired boy finally leant closer. So Jim did the only thing that was left for him to do, he closed his eyes and waited for the delicious taste of victory.
"So good you could make it, James, I thought you were lost," Sherlock whispered in Jim's ear making his eyes immediately fly open again and then he just dropped the hand from his neck and walked away.
Epitome of hate becoming love. More like hate, becoming deep wholehearted hatred.
What was he thinking?
This was Sherlock Holmes, the best musician in the Holmes Fine Arts Academy, had actually earned that tittle by hard work and not just his name. Only shadowed by his sister Eurus, who was actually a violin prodigy, but rarely interested in any other subject than this. He by other hand, played and big amount of instruments, but still decanted for the violin, even when his sister surpassed him completely at playing it. Narcissistic, self centred, privileged piece of shit, clever jerk with no filter, could rarely keep his trap shut, had a compulsive obsession on having the last word in any argument, because he always believed he was right and he truly most of the time he was. Former drug addict with eventual relapses, regarding big amounts of cocaine and heroin. The black sheep of the Holmes family according to the press, which actually gave him the status of a bad rotten boy, and consequently drove every single girl in the academy bonkers about him, to the point of being completely unable to keep their knickers on, when he was around. Jim absolutely hated him.
He restrained himself from screaming in Sherlock's face and resisted the temptation of slapping his cheekbony face with the back of his hand.
"The only reason I was not here before, Sherlock, was because I just really didn't want to come," he said instead in a dull tone, like that was the understatement of the year, but he still didn't give two shits about it.
"No shit," Sherlock responded sarcastically, emphasising Jim's words.
"Sherlock—," Jim interrupted his sarcastic remark, "shut your fucking trap!" he yelled this time.
Surprisingly Sherlock actually did, which managed to make Jim feel somehow odd, since he was accustomed to the brunette boy's clever and always eloquent counterattacks. It didn't matter the place or moment, the more aggressively Jim would attack Sherlock the more he would just come back for more. It was truthfully infuriating, but if he had to be honest, having him in front just staring blankly at him, with no response, while he was furiously yelling in his face, was even more upsetting and enervating.
"As you want, James," Sherlock finally said, after a while of holding a stare contest with Jim, who was sure he was going to lose at some point, however the taller boy's voice was full with sorrow and Jim automatically regretted yelling at all.
Maybe he wasn't seeing the big picture here, maybe he was reading all wrong.
"Sherlock—," he started, guilt quickly crawling up his inner walls.
"Look, I get it James, you don't like me very much," Sherlock interrupted Jim's apolo—, was he really going to apologise? He truthfully wasn't sure, he was not someone for apologies, he didn't really know how to do it, it was simply not in his DNA. He was also no one to feel guilt, and yet here it was, consuming his insides like a cigarette spark burning an entire forest in minutes during a drought. "I think that's what makes you so interesting in my eyes, that unlike any other student or person in this academy, I am nothing in your eyes, and just for a second, when you look at me with that deep hate you feel, I can stop being just a glorified last name and I get to be who I am. However, if this is such a big inconvenient to you, I can always have a word with the professor and get you another companion."
Sherlock was a lot of things in his eyes, but NOTHING definitely wasn't one of those.
Jim gulped, as a big knot installed down his throat.
Was it possible that all this time he had spent professing disdain to Sherlock Holmes, the boy was only craving for more? Could Sherlock really feel so lost in a his world of privilege and praises to actively seek acknowledgement in someone that only had hate as an immediate response? But more importantly, did he actually hate Sherlock Holmes?
"Don't be absurd Sherlock, why don't you better shut up, so we can start planning our number?" Jim said avoiding Sherlock's eyes at all cost, he wanted to say something else to the boy, apologise maybe, he really didn't know, but he just couldn't find the words, so he did what his late father taught him to do, to deal with a situation like this, he just avoided all mention of it and waited for it to disappear.
The rest of the day they talked about music genres, rhythms, choreography, scenery, wardrobe and everything they wanted to do in their number. Of course it was just brainstorming and most of the ideas would be just eradicated either by them or their tutors when they delivered their final propose for the show, but it was a great start. To Jim's surprise Sherlock sounded ambitious about the dancing part, throwing ideas he knew any musician in his class wouldn't even want to go near to. This made him wonder, if maybe Sherlock Holmes had some secret talents he didn't know about and he guessed he was going to find out soon enough. Sherlock also expressed his desire to go for a electric violin number, instead of his traditional acoustic one, which was new for him but made him visibly excited, given that, according to him it would allow him to teach Jim while also getting a grip at it himself, and on top of that they would be able to go for a more freestyle dance, instead of the boring dances he always had to endure in the school events.
"At least now I know I've always had a fan in the crowd," Jim said ironically, a little offended by his words and Sherlock just shrugged.
"Do something less boring next time and I'll even wear a printed Tee-shirt and shout your name from the crowd," he offered.
"Do I get to pick the Tee's design?" Jim asked and Sherlock nodded in response, "alright then, you got yourself a deal."
When the school hours came to an end both of them started packing their stuff and headed to the door.
Sherlock was the one to reach for the handle, but before he could pull the door completely open, Jim placed his hand on the wooden surface and pushed it closed again.
"Wait Sherlock, there is something I need to know before you go, or its only going to drive me crazy for the rest of the night," he said and Sherlock turned around to face him, his back now leaning against the door.
"What is it—?" he asked, when the other just stood there in complete silence.
Jim inhaled deeply and then just dropped his question so fast it was difficult to discern between words.
"Were you planning to kiss me back then," he pointed over his shoulder to the exact spot everything happened that morning, "or were you just messing around with me like the rest of the day?"
"I wasn't messing around with you during the day," came as response and Jim's eyebrows darted up at the possible implications of that statement.
"But, were your intentions to kiss me though?" Jim asked still not satisfied by the answer.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you then?"
"Why do you wanna know?" Sherlock asked crossing his arms over his chest defensively.
"Don't respond to my question with another question Sherlock—," he scolded impatiently tapping his feet on the floor.
"I was waiting for you to respond, to show willingness and you did not, so I thought it was better to back off, before you drilled a hole in my face with your fist," the curly haired boy explained still holding the perfect barrier of his arms shielding his torso, while a faint red colour spread over the pale surface of his skin.
"You are an idiot."
"Well—, Excuse me if I have a little respect for my beautiful bone structure," Sherlock shrugged looking away.
"No, YOU ARE AN IDIOT!" Jim repeated, pulling from his chin to make him look his way again.
"You've already made your point clear, Jam—," he couldn't finish, since his retort was being placated by Jim's lips, before he could even register what was going on.
