Hey, Im really sorry it's taken so long! But I moved out of home recently, and I have no internet, but to make up for it this chapter is quite long. There is probably a lot of spelling mistakes, but I just wanted to get it posted, so oh well.
Please review, I do love them and they encourage me to write more :D
Enjoy
John shifted uncomfortably as they pulled up outside his house. It wasn't that his house was really run down or small and embarrassing or anything, but it did need a few repairs, and the paint needed a touch up too. Normally he wouldn't mind so much, but Sherlock had his own driver, so John figured he probably came from a rich family and a big home.
"Well uh… thanks." He murmured, glancing at Sherlock as he grabbed his bag off the floor of the car and opened the door to the car. He glanced at the front of the car. "Thank you." He added to the driver who glanced at him in the rear view mirror and nodded gratefully. "Alright, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then." He said uncertainly. Was it weird to speak like they would talk tomorrow? Chances are they wouldn't, this didn't really make them friends, but he had defended Sherlock and even gotten in a fight for him, and Sherlock had given him a ride home. So it seemed more ruder to not say it.
He slid out of the car slowly, wincing at the pain which was starting to sink in completely now that the adrenaline was starting to disappear. He heard the opposite car door open, and turned to see Sherlock slide out and stand up, glancing at him over the top of the car roof. John raised his eyebrows questioningly, not knowing what to say.
"You need a bit of medical attention and I doubt you are going to walk to the nearest doctors surgery, which is a 15 minute walk from here when you're not injured." He looked down at something John couldn't see, but he could hear the familiar sound of phone keys being tapped. "I'll help you get cleaned up and check for anything serious. Also I thought I might get some ice." His hand flickered up to his face and his expression turned to one of disdain. "For my eye."
John looked up at his front door anxiously for a moment. Was Harry home? If she was she'd be drunk, like she was every day, he didn't want to bring Sherlock, a virtual stranger into his house if she was mucking about like a bloody fool. He didn't want the embarrassment, for himself or for her, though he was very aware that she bloody well deserved it. But he also couldn't deny the fact that it was probably a good idea to let Sherlock help him.
"Yeah… yeah alright," He finally agreed, and waited as Sherlock nodded and leant down, speaking to the driver before walking around the car to meet him.
"Do you need any help?"
"No I should be right."
"Okay."
There was music playing when John unlocked the door, but thankfully it wasn't too loud. He slid off his shoes at the door and dropped his bag and lead Sherlock into the kitchen. He silently thanked the universe that he had cleaned yesterday, and told Sherlock to sit on one of the stools at the bench and said he'd be right back.
He found Harry upstairs in her room, half undressed and throwing a ball at the wall. "Stop it you idiot." He hissed, pulling the door closed and turning down her radio, which seemed a fair bit louder up here. "I have someone downstairs and I don't need you making me look like a bloody idiot. Drink some water and sober up will you."
She frowned and looked over his him, struggling to focus. "You've got blood on your face John. What happened."
"Nothing Harry, don't worry about it."
"Did you get in a fight?"
"No… yes, but I didn't start it."
"Tell me what happened."
"No, it's none of your business and I don't wanna talk about it."
"Tell me!"
He waved his hand at her and walked out the door, hearing something hit it just as it closed behind him. Sherlock was waiting patiently in the kitchen when John managed to get himself back down the stairs, his eyes scanning the room, taking everything in. John felt a little exposed but tried not to show it as he put the first aid kit of the bench and sat carefully on one of the stools, biting his lip at the pain in his leg. The rest of him hurt too, but it was overshadowed by his leg.
Sherlock opened the kit and pulled everything out, sitting it all on the bench in some kind of order. He took a small cloth and wet it in the sink.
"I appreciate this." John said while his back was turned.
The curly haired teen gave him an odd look as he walked back across the room to him. "You got in a fight defending me, but you're saying thank you because I'm going to help you clean up the blood?" He raised an eyebrow, as though it somehow proved his point even more, and pressed the cloth against John's head. It was warm, so he'd obviously heated up the water before wetting the cloth. John was glad for that, it was quite cold out today.
"Still, I mean… if you were as much of a dick as everyone seems to believe you are you wouldn't be helping me." He flushed a little realising that might sound rude and looked away. "I didn't mean that to be rude, sorry."
"I perfectly understood what you mean John." He replied, wiping the blood away from his eye. "You've stopped bleeding, but if you're not careful they will start again." He cleaned the cut on John's lip, and they both avoided eye contact while that as happening. When all the blood was gone from his face Sherlock pulled out the disinfectant and John glared at it. He hated that stuff, it stung when you put it on and it smelt weird.
"That's not really necessary, I don't need it."
Sherlock simply gave him a look that said 'Stop being a child', and dapped some of the disinfectant onto a small cloth from the little box. The stinging liquid was promptly placed onto his cuts, and he even managed not to wince at the annoying sting. When he was done he slid slowly off the chair and grabbed the mess, dropping it in the bin on the way to the freezer. He grabbed a few ice cubes and wrapped them in a small plastic bag and then in paper towel and handed it to Sherlock.
"Thankyou," He said quietly, holding to his eye which was already very bruised and looking more than a bit painful. If it hurt to hold the ice there he didn't show it. "How is your leg?"
"Pretty painful… Anderson probably did a lot more damage by kicking it… I'll probably have to see a doctor soon or-"John's sentence was cut off by a loud crash upstairs. He felt his cheeks heat up as they both looked up the ceiling, the music that had been playing before getting louder. There was another crash, followed a few seconds later by a loud bang.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, then turned his eyes on Sherlock who was staring at him instead of the roof now. "I'm sorry, my sister is in a bad mood, and she loves to be dramatic. She's a bit not normal." He gave him a false smile and glanced up at the roof again. "Did you want me to disinfect that cut at your eye?"
Sherlock studied him for a couple of seconds, like he was deciding if he could trust John enough to do it. John waited patiently, considering the way everybody seemed to treat Sherlock it was understandable that he would be a bit mistrusting. "Yes, that would be good." He finally agreed in that quiet murmur of his, and sat on the stool so he wouldn't be so much taller than John.
John gave him a small smile and got out another small piece of cloth and soaked it in the disinfectant, turning it from clean white to a weird yellowy colour. He stepped in front of Sherlock and the taller teen moved ice from his eye. It was a bit swollen, and there was some pretty obvious bruising, but John was pretty sure if he kept ice on it, then it shouldn't be too bad the next day at school. Not that anybody would be bothered if Sherlock Holmes came to school with a black eye. They'd probably try and find the person who did it to congratulate them.
He held up the cloth and very gently dabbed at the cut beside his eye, it hadn't bled as much as John thought it had, it wasn't very deep, but there was still a little trail of blood going down his cheek. He made sure the cut was clean before he wiped off the blood from his cheek. "Ah… want me to get the cut on your lip too?" He asked, trying not to make it awkward. Sherlock just nodded and he quickly went about wiping away the blood and making sure it was clean. When he was done he stepped back, creating a bit more space between them and dropped the cloth onto the bench.
"There's something I don't understand." John said as he moved slowly across the kitchen to turn the kettle one. He really wanted a cup of tea. He turned and leaned against the bench, looking at Sherlock across the kitchen. "I mean, from what I saw today, you know how to fight. He dodged every punch Anderson threw at you, and you got hits in on him too. If Greg hadn't tried to stop you from fighting he probably wouldn't have got you in the face at all. So if you can fight like that, why don't you ever defend yourself when they come after you?"
Sherlock fidgeted with the scarf around his neck before he spoke, loosening and the retightening it carefully. "It's a little complicated. It does sound easier, to just defend myself and scare them away because they know I can fight back, but it doesn't really work that way." He wasn't looking at John while he spoke, he was embarrassed about being bullied, and embarrassed about having to stand there and let them beat him up even though he knew he was capable of fighting back. "I'm not going to go into the details as to why its easier to just let them do it, it's boring and tedious, but I know from experience, it causes me less problems if I let them get it out of their systems every couple of days."
His attitude towards it made John angry, a little at him, but mostly towards Anderson and his stupid mates who all thought it was okay to eat up people who weren't as popular as them. "You don't deserve to be bullied Sherlock, and you shouldn't have to take them beating you up because it's easier that way. That's just…." He ran a hand through his short hair as he searched for a word that even fit in his sentence. "It's just idiotic."
The kettle started boiling behind him, and he turned to flick it off. "I can't believe they were doing this so often and I didn't even notice." He shook his head and turned back to face Sherlock, whose blue eyes were on him. "To be honest I don't think I wanted to notice. But… I'm sorry, I really am… and I'm especially sorry for not stopping them that first day I was there… I feel like a complete dick."
Sherlock began to speak but John didn't get to hear what he was going to say because he was cut off by Harry coming into the kitchen, her eyes moving immediately to Sherlock. Her hair was damp was done and she was dressed in a skirt so short it barely covered everything it needed too, a pair of boots that just screamed 'fuck me', and a shirt that showed off her chest. She gave Sherlock a flirty smile after clearly deciding that he was attractive, and looked over at John. "Who's this John?" She asked, and he was glad to hear that she didn't sound drunk. She was probably only a little tipsy.
"Sherlock Holmes." He introduced himself, eyes taking in her appearance once before looking back her face, his expression rather blank. "You must be John's sister. Pleasure to meet you."
"Sherlock Harry, Harry Sherlock." John introduced with a wave of his hand, eyes on his sister. "Sherlock's is a friend from school." He added, and he nearly missed the way Sherlock's eyes darted to him for a second before looking away.
"Oh how exciting, you hardly ever bring home friends from school. I was beginning to think the ones you talked about were made up and that you actually had none." She smiled when she teased him, but John knew that she was bothered he never bought friends over, she didn't like him being ashamed of her, though he'd told her before if she'd just sober up he wouldn't be so embarrassed to bring people over.
"You've met Greg and Molly." He said dismissively, "And anyway, anyone else I was friends with aren't really worth mentioning now anyway." He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and glanced back at Sherlock. "Do you want some tea or coffee?"
"Coffee please, black, two sugars."
He got down an extra mug and started making their drinks.
"What do you mean John?" Harry asked, "About your friends not being worth mentioning?"
"I meant exactly what I said," He replied simply as he poured the hot water into the mugs. He finished them up and picked them up, walking over to put Sherlock's in front of him. He gave John a small smile and picked it up. "They aren't worth mentioning, and I don't really think I'd consider them friends either."
"Has this got to do with all the bruises and cuts and bruises on your face?" So she was more sober than John thought, she wouldn't have put so much effort into finding out if she was drunk. Her eyes darted to Sherlock's face. "And his black eye and split lip?"
"I guess you could say that." He sipped his tea, which was very hot, and sat on the stool he'd been on before. His leg was throbbing and he had to breathe slowly through his nose to keep himself from showing just how much pain he was in. Harry knew his leg had been hurt, but it was so much more painful now, and she didn't need to know that. "I got in a fight with Anderson." Harry hadn't met him, but John had mentioned him enough that he knew Harry would know who he was talking about.
"Why? I thought you two were friends?"
"Yes well that was before I found he was beating people up for fun while I wasn't around." He said, his anger very clear in his voice, he glanced sideways at Sherlock, who was looking at his coffee. When he looked back at Harry he knew his glance at Sherlock had told her it was him being beaten up. "When I told him to stop it today he punched me in the face." He shrugged. "And then we quite clearly got in a fight."
"Good." She said, walking across the kitchen to take her phone of the charger. "I'm proud, you did the right thing John. I hope you got him better than he got you."
Sherlock chuckled quietly. "He did. He tackled him over some tables."
Harry laughed and patted John on the back as she came back past and he did his best not to wince. "Are you going out?"
"Yes, with Clara, I probably won't be home tonight." She slid her phone into her bra and adjusted herself, not ashamed to be practically grabbing her own boobs in front of John and Sherlock. Though John was surprised to see Sherlock simply look back down at his coffee when she started doing this. Probably a good thing considering the suspicious look Harry gave him when he did, but when he looked back up she turned attention to John. "I ate the chicken you left out for dinner, there was nothing else to have for lunch."
John closed his eyes for a second, convincing himself not to yell at her while he had someone over. "Alright." He replied, "No problem, I'll find something else. I think there's some chips in the freezer."
A horn sounded from the front of the house. "That's my ride, see you tomorrow sometime John, bye Sherlock." She jogged out of the room and John took a long sip of his hot tea, the burn of it going down his throat distracting him from his anger.
"Were you with someone more normal than myself your attempts to hide your anger might be a little more effective, but seeing as you're with me it might benefit you not to stress yourself more by trying to hide it."
John chuckled but there wasn't much humour behind it. He swallowed another mouthful of tea and put his cup down beside him. "Sorry… I forgot that you notice these things."
Sherlock shrugged and sipped at his coffee. "You don't like your sister very much." He commented. "She knows it and doesn't like it. She wants you to be friendly with her again, but I don't think that will happen until she stops partying and officially gets back with her girlfriend will it?"
John raised his eyebrows and smiled a little, his anger dissipating a little. 'I'm surprised you picked up on that, what with all the flirtatious smiles she was giving you, not to mention that she practically felt herself up in front of you. I think most people would have taken that for being straight, and interested in getting you into bed."
His lips twitched into a small smile and he lifted his coffee to his lips pausing to say, "She thought I looked gay and wanted to see if I would react to her flirting," before taking a sip, his smile a little wider now. "Of course she wasn't aware that I knew exactly what she was doing and could choose exactly what I wanted her to think."
John snorted. "So you chose not to react and let her continue thinking you're gay? I was wondering about the look she gave you when looked at your coffee instead of her chest. I guess that explains it."
He shrugged. "It was easier for me to let her continue thinking what she wanted to, it wasn't worth the effort of pretending I was interested in her."
John considered his statement and tried not to make his curiosity too obvious. "Is ah… is she right?" He asked, picking up his mug. He wanted hit himself for such a poor attempt at being subtle.
Sherlock put down his mug and eyed him carefully. "Would it matter if she was?"
"No, no of course not, I have a gay sister, its fine, if you like guys I mean."
"I know it is fine," His eyes, looking very blue in this light, didn't leave John's face.
"Alright… good," He said awkwardly. "So, she was right then?"
"Oh, I never said she was right, but I was curious to know if it would matter if she was."
John was aware that Sherlock was neither agreeing or denying with Harry's assumption, and thought he was probably doing it on purpose. He wouldn't be surprised, he'd had hardly any conversations with the other teen, but it seemed like he was someone who tried keep his control over every situation, and without people knowing it most the time. "Fair enough, I hope I passed the test then."
"Yes, I would say so." He answered, finishing his coffee in one go. He slid from his stool and picked up John's empty mug and went to rinse them in the sink.
"You didn't need to do that, it's my house, it's sort of my job to clean up."
"Doesn't matter, plus your leg is hurting you quite a bit, best to keep off it as much as you can. Did you check for swelling?"
"No I didn't, to be honest I've been avoiding checking it." He knew that he'd have to feel around properly, to check for everything, dislocation, torn or pulled muscles, fractures, basically anything.
Sherlock put his bag onto the counter and pulled out a small a small box and tossed it to John. "Here, it's probably stronger than anything you keep in the house with your party loving sister around." John picked up the box and read what is was. It was a box of pain killers, but not the crappy kind that hardly worked, this was a much stronger brand. Sherlock was right, he didn't keep any strong medication in the house, if Harry came home drunk and took something it could end up very bad for her.
"Thanks." He said great fully, opening the box to pop out two of the small pills. Sherlock handed him a glass of water, though John hadn't told him where to find the glasses. He swallowed the pills with a gulp of water and tried to hand the box back to Sherlock.
"Keep them, I have more at home, and you'll probably need them."
"You sure?"
"Yes, it's fine."
"Thanks."
He looked at the bag on the bench, which was full of water, now that the ice had melted. "do you want some more ice for your eye?"
"I'll get it." Sherlock said, tossing the old bag out and moving to the freezer to get some more ice. He hesitated before he closed it, and then dropped the ice into a bag.
"You lied to your sister." He said, as casual as if he was talking about the weather.
"What do you mean?" John asked, frowning at Sherlock who wasn't looking at him, his eyes on his bag of ice as he wrapped it in a bit of paper towel.
"You lied to her, you told her there was chips in the freezer." He looked up at John, frowning slightly. "Although considering that she knew there was no food for lunch she probably knew you were lying to her about that."
"Yeah that's just how we work, I lie to make her feel better and she pretends she doesn't know I'm lying, it's a good system." Sherlock was still watching him. "It doesn't matter, just forget it."
"If you'd like." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped at the keys for a bit before looking up at the clock on the wall, causing John's eyes to follow his gaze. It was ten to six. "I don't mean to sound rude but I need to go, I have plans tonight and I'm going to be late."
John was curious to know what kind of plans Sherlock had, but he didn't ask, they weren't exactly best buddies, and he thought it would be a bit weird to ask what he was doing. "That's alright; I have homework and stuff to get done."
Sherlock grabbed his bag and slid the long strap over his shoulder. "Thank you for the coffee and the ice."
"No problem." John said with a smile, getting off the chair to walk him to the door. He chuckled, embarrassed. "Thanks for helping my clean up my face, would have been a bit difficult to do it myself."
Sherlock pulled open the door but stopped before stepping out. He looked like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure if he should. Eventually he just settled for "Thankyou."
"Really, it's fine. I'll ah… see you tomorrow?"
Sherlock nodded and smiled a little before walking out the door, eyes dropping to his phone as soon as he was walking down the path. The driver got out and opened the door for him and he slid in gracefully, not looking away from what he was doing.
John closed the door and limped back into the kitchen, taking his time to clean up the first aid kit. He was alone now, so he didn't bother to hide the hisses and groans of pain every time he moved wrong or put too much weight on his leg. He didn't know how he was going to manage getting around school the next day, but he told himself he'd deal with that when the time came.
At 6 he made his way upstairs, expecting to have to apologise for being a few minutes late, but when he signed on he was surprised to find that Lament975 wasn't on yet. He settled on his bed, stretching out his sore leg, and pulled out his book to read while he waited. He finished it quickly, he hadn't had much left to read, and wasted time on the internet while he waited. He was annoyed to find that news of his fight with Anderson was all over face book, though he was glad to read that someone who'd seen both of them leave the school seemed to believe that John had done more damage than Anderson had.
Apparently Anderson was sporting two very good black eyes, a couple of cuts and bruises, he was limping (probably from being tackled over the desks), and was heard complaining that he thought one of his ribs might be bruised or cracked.
A beep from his speakers told him he'd received a message and he closed his facebook tab and opened up his chat window.
Lament975: Sorry I'm late, I got held up.
Host975: No problem, gave me a chance to catch up on some reading anyway. How was school for you today?
Host975: Wait let me guess, Interesting, right?
Lament975: What would you say if I said you were wrong, that I was going to say something else?
Host9975: I'd call you a liar.
Lament975: And you'd probably be right. It was pretty interesting.
Host975: Did you hear about the fight?
Lament975: The one between John Watson and Anderson? It's all over facebook, I think everyone knows about it now.
Host975: Yeah I wouldn't be surprised. I heard it was pretty bad. Though with rumours you never know what's true and what's not.
Lament975: Yes, and no doubt most of what's being said isn't true. And I'm sure there will be twice as many incorrect rumours by the end of tomorrow.
Host975: No doubt. Not that it really matters, people will think what they want to.
Lament975: All I need to know is that Anderson is an idiot, and that enough information for me to get an idea of what happened today.
Host975: Haha, well you're not wrong there.
Host975: I finished that book by the way.
Lament975: Tell me you hated the main character as much as I did?
Host975: Oh god she was annoying wasn't she! All she did was whine, and when she wasn't whining she was pining after her partner. You'd think seeing murder everyday would have toughened her up a bit.
Lament975: I'm glad you agree, the author is a good writer, but she really made a mistake with that character. Did you guess who the murderer was?
Host975: Yeah about halfway through. When she found the blood splatter on the trophy.
Lament975: You got that much quicker than I thought, most people don't figure it out until they find the watch.
Host975: No it was pretty obvious. Not the best book I've read, but it was alright. What do you want to read next?
Lament975: You can pick what we read next. Take a look around the library or something and let me know tomorrow night.
John agreed and then they chatted about the book for a while longer before they were interrupted by the doorbell.
Host975: I'll be back in a minute.
"Just a minute," He called down the stairs as he limped down at the fastest speed he could manage without hurting himself. When he finally got downstairs he was surprised to see a delivery boy on the other side. "Uh hey… I think you've got the wrong house." He said, leaning against the door frame.
"No this is the right address." He glanced down at his paper. "Are you John?"
"Yeah, but I didn't order any pizza."
"Yeah I have a message that says it's from your sister Harry, and that it's already paid for." He handed John the box and a receipt and before John could complain or argue he jogged down the drive and got into his little car. John closed the door and opened the pizza box. Just cheese, his mouth watered from the smell, and he carried it upstairs.
He sat and ate half the pizza while chatting to Lament, closing the box and sitting it on his desk next to him when he'd had enough. He knew he'd be asking some questions about that tomorrow, but at the moment he didn't really mind. It was delicious. He stayed online for a few hours talking before he had to give in to his exhaustion and go to bed.
When he got up in the morning John was in at least 4 times more pain than he expected to be, and standing up bought tears of pain to his eyes. After inspecting his face in the mirror he decided it wasn't too bad, the cuts were kind of obvious, and there was a bruise on his check but otherwise he looked alright. He wrapped a bandage firmly around his leg, making it a little easier to walk on, though it didn't much help with the pain.
He swallowed two more of Sherlock's pain killers and put the box in his bag with a bottle of water for later. When he walked outside he was surprised to see a car out the front of his house, a man in a suit leaning against the door. He walked down the path to his house, eyeing the man cautiously. "Mr Watson?" He asked. John nodded nervously, standing a bit away from him. "Mr Holmes said you might try to walk. I'm here to drive you to school."
"I'm sorry but you understand how I might be a bit hesitant to get in a car with a stranger?"
The man chuckled, nodding approvingly. "I understand that, but I was also given strict orders not to let you walk with an injured leg, and I'd rather not disobey those orders, neither of the Holmes brothers are particularly forgiving when they are disappointed by the employees."
John sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "Alright, whatever." He said against his better judgement. "It's not like you couldn't force me if you wanted too anyway." He slid into the backseat, feeling more than a little awkward as the man got back into the car and drove him to school.
A few people looked at him when he got out of the very expensive and fancy looking car at the front of the school, but he did his best to ignore them. "Thanks." He said to the driver, closing the door behind him. He tried to ignore the curious glances from the other student as he walked up to the doors, doing a pretty good job of not making his limp too obvious. Of course it was easy to notice, but it was worth the pain it was causing him to look like it wasn't bothering him too much.
Anderson was his first class of the day, and when he walked in he was very satisfied to see that his face was in a worse state than John's, two proper black eyes visible and looking extremely ugly. He glared at John as he walked in the room and John just smirked and took his seat. His mood only got better when he noticed him clutching at his ribs every time he moved too much.
Thankfully there wasn't any problems during the day, a few of the popular kids, who he'd considered friends before, shot a couple of nasty comments at him, which he simply ignored. Two people gave him a pat on the back as he walked past, which made him feel a bit better about being kicked from his group. At least not everybody hated him. That was two less people who'd want to beat him up when the time came.
When the bell went for lunch he considered not going, it would be embarrassing and weird, he couldn't sit at his old table, and he'd never really made good enough friends with anybody else in his year to ask to sit with them. But if he didn't go it would look like he was scared, and he barely had to stop and think to decide that that was worse than coming and having to find somewhere to sit by himself. He knew there were a few people who chose to sit by themselves, so he wouldn't be the only one, and the few times he'd seen Sherlock in the lunch room he'd been sitting by himself. Of course everybody hated him, but if he could manage with everybody hating him John knew he could manage with only a few people hating him. Couldn't be too hard.
He was moving a bit slower than the other kids who shared the lunch room, but thankfully his classroom was quite close, so he wasn't the last person to get there. He wasn't going to buy anything, but he decided to line up and get a cup of tea from the coffee shop so he could look and find somewhere to sit. He scanned the table while he waited for his tea to be made. Almost all the tables were taken, he was disappointed to see, most them with at least two people at them, most of them more. He could see one empty table, but it was right next to Sally's, Greg's and Andersons table, and it wasn't worth it to sit there.
He was beginning to think he'd have to leave and find somewhere else to sit when he noticed a table across the room with just one person sitting at it, book in hand and bag on the table. John smiled, finding himself glad to see the head of curly black hair, and picked his tea up from the counter, the cardboard mug just keeping his hand from getting burnt. He walked across the room, and stopped beside the table, biting his lip and shifting his weight from his sore leg while he waited for Sherlock to notice him standing there.
A glance to his side showed Anderson's table, and quite a few others, watching intently. He wasn't surprised. Only once before had John seen anybody ask to sit at the same table as Sherlock, and after a moment of quietly spoken words the girl had run from the room sobbing. John felt his heartbeat leap with from his nerves when Sherlock looked up, piercing blue eyes locking onto his own.
"John." He greeted.
"Hey, Sherlock." He greeted back with a hesitant smile. "Can I uh," He motioned to the chair with his spare hand, "sit here with you, I don't want to look presumptuous but um, I figured it might be alright, considering I can't really sit at my old table." He chuckled a little, silently cursing himself for sounding like such a fool.
Sherlock smiled a little, though it looked like it was mostly because he was amused by John's ramblings, and waved his hand invitingly. "Go ahead." He watched as John sat down carefully, sitting his bag in front of him on the table, "I'll just be a moment, please don't speak until then." He said as he turned his eyes back onto his book.
John took a gulp of his tea, scalding his tongue and throat as he swallowed, and opened his bag and dug under his books to pull out his water bottle and the little box of painkillers. Sherlock looked up and closed his book, without a book mark, and sat it on his bag. "I'm glad they helped."
"I never said they did." John said with a small smile as he took two from the packet and slid it back in his bag.
"Yes, but you've bought them today after trying them yesterday, I'd say that's evidence enough to say they worked better than anything you were keeping hidden in your bedroom."
John laughed and nodded. "Yes you are right." He tossed them in his mouth and swallowed them with a big a mouthful of water. "And thankfully they work pretty quickly too, my leg is killing me. I thought it hurt as much as it could yesterday." He rolled his eyes. "Oh how foolish I was, I'll tell you though, the painkillers definitely made it easier to get up and down the stairs."
At this reminder John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. "By the way, I get the feeling your too blame for the pizza that got delivered to my house last night?"
Sherlock frowned and leaned back. "What?"
"A delivery guy showed up at my house last night with a paid for pizza and a note saying it was from my sister Harry for dinner." John leaned back in his seat and waited for Sherlock to say something.
"So it had a note saying it was from your sister, but you think I sent it? I'm wondering how you reached this conclusion in your mind, because logic points to the fact that the pizza was in fact from your sister who ate your dinner and left you nothing to eat."
John snorted. "Harry would never send me pizza for dinner, she was out she didn't have to think about it. She doesn't care if I go hungry, she's too selfish. And you're the only other person who knew she'd eaten my dinner, plus you've kind of made obvious that you have money, which you don't really seem to care for all that much." He shrugged, hoping he wasn't wrong and wasn't going to embarrass himself. "It seemed the most logical explanation to me."
Sherlock smiled, his eyes bright and impressed, and he leaned forward again, inspecting John's face before he shrugged and leaned on the table with his left arm, his right hand moving to stir the plastic spoon that was sitting in his black coffee. "You're smarter than I thought you were." Although it sounded like an insult he said it like a compliment, like people didn't too often surprise him. "I didn't think you'd figure it out until at least after your sister told you she didn't send it. So yes, it was me."
He interrupted John as he started to speak. "And please don't make a fuss of it, as you already pointed out, my money means close to nothing to me, and I owe you for yesterday. Plus it was stupid for you to not eat dinner just because your sister is less than caring."
"Thanks." John answered, drinking more of his tea. "How'd you know I like just cheese?"
Sherlock just tapped the side of his head with one long finger, his eyes glancing over John's shoulder. "Hmm, looks like someone isn't too happy." He murmured, directing John's attention to Anderson's table where Molly sat, a horrified glare on her face as she spoke to Greg beside her. Anderson said anything, and John was surprised her next words were quite clearly 'shut up.'
They spoke for a few moments longer before Molly stood up and grabbed her bag, hitting Greg on the back of the head as she stalked away from the table towards where John and Sherlock were sitting.
She stopped beside John looking a little flustered. She glanced at Sherlock and looked back at John. "John I can't believe that Anderson hit you! He's such a pig, I read it on face book last night that you two were in a fight, but you know how these things are, mostly rumours. I made Greg tell me everything." She put her bag on the table angrily, but her expression was regret full when she looked at Sherlock again. "I wish I'd known they what they were doing… I know I couldn't have done anything, not like John did… but I've been sitting with them every day not knowing the crap they were doing. I'm sorry."
Sherlock looked confused. "Why should it matter to you?" He asked.
"Because I don't think you're a bad guy, you're different, and a little weird, but that's not a bad thing, and they have no right to be so cruel. I'm done with hanging out with them. I just want you two to know I'm on your side of this."
"Thanks Molly." John said, taking her hand and squeezing it for a moment. She squeezed back and smiled. Sherlock eyed their hand for the few seconds they were connected, and glanced at John when they let go.
When Molly started sliding her bag off the table he stopped her with a hand on her bag. "You can sit… if you'd like. I think John could use as many friends as possible right now."
John expression was one of surprise, but he didn't complain. "Thanks Sherlock, but don't forget about yourself."
"What about me?"
"I think you could use some friends right now too. I mean, clearly you've already got John, but I think one more friend can't hurt."
Neither of them said anything, Sherlock frowned and glanced over at John, and John didn't think he noticed it himself, but Sherlock actually looked a little vulnerable. John couldn't help the way that stabbed at his chest , he was confused by how strongly it made him feel, but Sherlock had always seemed so calm and collected from afar, like he liked it that he had no friends, wanted it that way. John thought that maybe Sherlock tried to tell himself he didn't want friends, but the look in his eyes in that moment told John that wasn't the case. Sherlock just wasn't used to having friends. Wasn't used to people wanting to be his friends.
He swallowed and his fingers twitched against the table top. He didn't know how to react or what to say, and John could see from his confused glance at him that he didn't know if John actually considered him a friend. So he took over and spoke for him. He smiled at the other boy warmly, "Yeah, I think we could all use another friend right now. Three is always better than two." Sherlock looked away for a moment, and when he looked back he seemed a bit more composed.
"Thankyou Molly, I appreciate it." He said sincerely.
"It's no problem. I've never really liked them anyway. I only sat with them because John and Greg were there. And now I'm angry at Greg for being so stupid and letting that happen. And you seem like a nice guy… you know, when you're not making people cry." She grinned to show she was teasing him, and John chuckled.
"I don't think he knows your joking with him Molly." He laughed, giving Sherlock a playful smile.
He seemed a little confused, but not like it bothered him.
Molly giggled and pulled a bag of crisps out of her bag. "Hungry" She asked, opening them and offering them to John who took a few, and Sherlock who shook his head, before taking one herself.
"How'd you hurt your hand?" He asked, nodding to the bandage John had noticed on her hand the day before.
"Oh I slipped in the kitchen on the weekend, landed badly." She replied quickly, twiddling her fingers while she looked at her hand.
"Anything serious?" He continued, eyes locked on her face.
"No, just a bit of bruising and an ache, it's pretty easy to ignore." Surprise flittered across his face, but it was gone so quick Molly didn't notice.
"Hmm, interesting." He muttered, turning his attention back to his coffee.
John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. "What are you not saying?"
Blue eyes flashed to Molly's face, back down to his coffee. "Nothing. It's unimportant; she'd tell you if she wanted too."
"What's he talking about?" Molly asked quietly.
"He knows something."
"What do you know?" She asked, and she appeared to be torn between curiosity and nervousness.
Sherlock stared at her, his blue eyes intense, he took a sip of his tea and folded his hand in front of himself, long fingers entwined. "I know your lying about what happened to your hand, I know exactly what happened to it, and who did it, and I know that you haven't told anyone what really happened because you don't want them to get in trouble." He looked away when he was done, frowning at the table, looking concerned, resigned, and slightly fearful. That look on his face was almost enough to distract John from he said.
"What happened Molly, who did it?" He asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. He lifted her hand and she didn't stop him as he unwrapped the messy bandage and examined her hand, keeping his concern from his face as much as he could. The hand was bruised over both the top of her hand and her palm, and there was a large number of cuts covering her palm, 2 of them quite large and painful looking.
She sighed and shook her head. "My sister, we got in a fight, she didn't do it on purpose, and I don't want her to get in trouble for a mistake. She didn't mean it." John said nothing and carefully bandaged it again, handing her two of the painkillers Sherlock had given him.
"Thank you." She murmured, swallowing them with a sip of Johns drink.
"Don't thank me, they're Sherlock's. And don't worry, if it's what you want I won't tell anyone, I know what it's like to want to keep things to yourself for someone else."
"I've no interest in gossip." Sherlock said simply. "Your secret is yours to tell, not mine."
"Thanks guys." She said, relaxing a little, leaning back in her seat to eat a few more chips. Offering them to John again. He took some more. Sherlock refused again.
"I need to go to the library before lunch ends, I need to go take this book back." She held up the book John had seen her with yesterday.
"Oh what did you think of it?" He asked curiously. He noticed Sherlock eye the book curiously.
"It was alright. Bit annoying. The main character was a bit annoying wasn't she?"
John laughed. "Yeah, couldn't stand her."
"That seems to be a common agreement." Sherlock cut in. "Did you figure out who it was when they found the watch?"
'Oh no, it was so obvious after the blood on the trophy."
John laughed and nodded, munching on a few more chips. "I'll come with to the library; I want to look around anyway." They stood up and gathered their stuff. "You coming too Sherlock?" He asked when Sherlock hadn't moved.
He seemed surprised for a moment then his face went back to its usual blank, uncaring expression as he nodded and stood up, gathering his stuff and walking with them across the large room.
"See ya freaks." Sally called as they passed.
Sherlock glanced at her as they passed and smirked, looking a little sadistic, John thought. "Have you told Anderson the condom broke when you had sex, and that you're not on the pill." He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "And your late for your period too, now that's a situation isn't it." He turned away and continued walking as the people around them started in shock and Sally and Anderson. Usually John would have thought that was harsh, but he simply laughed and followed, Molly walking next to him with an amused smile on her face.
John and Molly searched the shelves at the library together, Sherlock trailing a little bit behind them, plucking things off the shelf delicately, skimming the blurbs before dropping them back in the place. John and Molly read blurbs together, talking about if that book sounded good, or this one sounded crap, they'd review a review here or there saying it was good.
"See anything good so far?" John asked.
"Hmm, how about this, looks pretty good." She handed him the book she'd was holding. He inspected the cover. It was called A Game of Thrones.
"Isn't this a tv show?" He asked, flipping it to read the blurb.
"Yeah, it's really good. And the books sound amazing."
John nodded when he finished the blurb and handed her back the book. "My mum loved fantasy, so I probably have it at home somewhere." He turned to where Sherlock was standing, a little bit down the shelf. "You found anything, Molly found one." She held up the book to show him and he wandered over to them.
"I've heard good things about that series." He said. "The bell is about to go, are you ready to go?"
The bell rang just as he finished speaking and John nodded. Picking up his bag from where he'd sat it on the ground.
"Did you two want to come out for lunch after school?" Molly asked, picking up her bag. "We can go to the shops and get some chips or burgers or something. I can drive."
"Yeah that sounds pretty good." John said, thinking it would be nice to go out with some friends. "You want to come Sherlock?"
The taller teen just nodded, hands in his coat pockets. "That sounds… pleasant."
"Alright, meet me at the car, you know where I park John. See you later Sherlock." She said with a smile, heading over to the counter to borrow her book while John and Sherlock left to go to class. Sherlock didn't speak, just tapped at his phone, seeming preoccupied. John smiled. Being rid of his old friends didn't seem as bad as he thought it was going to be.
I know, not much happened this chapter, but I figure it's better than nothing, and next chapter I can start getting into Sherlock and johns developing friendship much more.
