Don't own Sherlock, or anything recognisable.

So here it is, "Tripping Up (Part 2)". I decided to change it into a three-shot, so there's another part after this.

I don't have a lot to say about this, other than you'll see Lestrade, Molly, and Irene as teens!

Anyway- enjoy!


Chapter 7 - Tripping Up (Part 2)


When Sherlock went into school the next day, he couldn't say he was surprised. Naturally the posters about the formal were still slapped on every available surface, filling the corridors with bright colours and not-so-catchy slogans. Pretty much everyone had someone to go with, everyone had a date, everyone had someone who liked them.

Except for Sherlock.

Well, at least that's what he thought. He had never seen so many couples walking the halls of the school, nor had he heard so many groups of girls swooning and gossiping about how their dates had asked them, or so many boys trying to one-up their mates in how hot their date was.

Boring. So bloody boring.

Which is why Sherlock wanted to go with John. John, who was probably the only person in the whole damn school who just barely passed boring.

John was normal. John was a typical teenager. John wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor. He wasn't exceptionally smart, but he wasn't an idiot like everyone else, either. John wasn't different... but he was.

He didn't expect to see John. They fought, the typical teenage thing to do would be ignore each-other for a few days until someone caves and apologises, and then they could go back to the way everything was. Simple. Right?

Wrong. Always wrong. With John, for Sherlock, nothing was ever "simple". How could it be?

"Is this love?" Sherlock thought, as he walked down the corridor towards the assembly hall for lunch. "The fact that someone could mean so much to me, could affect me so much, could make me see things differently?"It was too much for Sherlock. Too many conflicting emotions, too many contradicting thoughts.

He spun on his heel and walked back the other way, his hunger dissipated. His mind was running through too many thoughts to focus on food.


A week passed, and it was the night of the formal.

John and Sherlock still hadn't talked, and both teens were getting agitated.

Sherlock was at home, dressed in a simple, black tux and white shirt. His mother forced him into a bow-tie, simply because, "It's more formal, dear, and you look absolutely darling when you're wearing it! Open collar is too casual for a Holmes!"

The formal was supposed to start at around seven, but, knowing teenagers, most probably wouldn't arrive until around eight or nine. Sherlock arrived at nine, and noticed that the boys were dressed in similar attire, but looked uncomfortable (either forced into their suits by their parents or their dates). The girls were dressed in elegant dresses, some with their hair pinned up, some with their hair down. The colour of their dresses matched their dates' neck-ties and bow-ties.

He slipped into the hall unnoticed, hiding in the dark spots around the edge of the hall. Decorations littered the hall, banners hung from the rafters, balloons floated around the room, and the lights were dim. A few spotlights were shining at the center of the hall, occasionally changing colour from white, to blue, to red, to green, and back again. There was slow music playing, and a few couples were dancing slowly in the center of the hall.

Sherlock scowled, and went to get a drink.


John scowled, and went to get a drink. His head hurt from studying, and he was in a bad mood because he still hadn't talked to Sherlock.

He checked the time when he reached the kitchen, realising it was ten. Sherlock was either at the formal, or at home brooding.

John sighed and took a glass from the press. He got some water from the tap and sat down, rubbing his eyes. He wanted to go to the formal, and he knew how to dance. He always knew. He took lessons with Harry when she started drinking, trying to get her out of it by giving her a new hobby.

Just the thought of going with Sherlock to a dance...

It made his heart race, his stomach flutter, and his mind go blank.

John knew what that meant, but he didn't want to think about it. After all, it was Sherlock. You couldn't just think of Sherlock-bloody-Holmes like that. He was a self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath!

Was that what was stopping John? The thought that, if he told Sherlock how he felt, there would be no doubt that Sherlock would shoot him down? Deep down, John knew that there was slim, if no, chance that Sherlock could even possibly reciprocate his feelings.

John stood up, sighing again, and began to walk back to his room to resume studying. As he walked into his room, he closed the door behind him and turned towards his desk. But something caught his eye.

His own tux, a sort of off-black with a matching neck-tie, was hung on the back of the door. There was a note pinned to the sleeve, and John walked over slowly to read it.

Sherlock's brother Mycroft left this for you, just in case you change your mind,
-Mum xx

John sighed, scowling. Of course Mycroft would send him a suit. He was trying to guilt John into going to that bloody formal.

Why should he go? Was there even a logical reason for John to go to that formal?

Sherlock would be there.

John yelled out in frustration, kicking the side of his bed. He slumped onto his bed, sitting down heavily.

Sherlock would be there. He would never give up an opportunity to test his deducing skills.

And maybe John could actually tell Sherlock how he felt. What's the worst that could happen? A rejection? Sherlock wouldn't care, John's feelings would disperse, and things could just go back to the way they were.

Nodding once, John stood up and grabbed the tux from the back of his door.

He hoped he made it on time.


Sherlock was right. Without John, the formal was so unbearably boring. The tension at the start had slowly disappeared, so now it was a calm, relaxed atmosphere. Couples danced, friends danced, people talked on the sidelines, people cheered on the second band that came out, who played a mix of both classical and modern music.

But Sherlock was just bored.

That was, until she showed up.

"Here alone, Sherlock?" her voice came from behind him, and he turned around from deducing a couple. He scowled, and she smirked.

She was wearing a black dress that hugged her waist, but flowed out around her hips and to the floor. Her lips were cherry red, and her dark hazel eyes were sparkling. Her long, dark hair was twisted into an intricate hair style, and she wore black gloves. Her silver jewellery glittered from the lights.

"Irene," he greeted simply, raising an eyebrow, "I thought school formals were below you, of all people."

"You'd be surprised at how many of the boys asked me, Sherlock," Irene Adler smiled, "and I was surprised that you weren't among them. Did that fling mean nothing to you?"

"Did it mean anything to you?" he retorted, not bothering to be polite.

"Of course not," she scoffed, "but when people heard I was the great Sherlock Holmes' first, my reputation sky-rocketed. You did wonders for my ego, darling."

"Everything does wonders for your ego," he snapped, glaring.

Irene tutted, "Not so calm without your little friend, now, are we? Where is dear John?"

"He couldn't attend," Sherlock replied, looking away, "he had somewhere else to be."

"Aw," she cooed, "did he turn you down?" She sighed, "I told you, Sherlock, Jim was right, no-one would want a self-proclaimed sociopath."

"Self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath, Irene," he replied curtly, "get it right before you try to insult me."

"Hardly an insult if it's self-proclaimed, now is it?" She checked her shining silver wrist-watch. "Oh dear," she sighed, "must be off, I was supposed to meet up with Jim. Ciao, Sherlock," she kissed his cheek and he grimaced. She smirked as she walked away.


John arrived at the formal at around quarter to eleven, dressed in his suit. He climbed out of his dad's car quickly and waved as his dad drove away. He went to run into the hall when he was stopped.

"John!" Greg Lestrade greeted, smiling, "Thought you weren't coming?" Greg was dressed in a grey quit with a dark blue tie and a white shirt. He was a couple of years above John in school, but they were both on the rugby team. Molly Hopper was clutching his arm, smiling softly. She was wearing a long, dark green dress. Her hair was pinned back, and she was wearing dark make-up.

"Changed my mind," John replied quickly, looking over Greg's shoulder towards the door, "nice to see you both. Didn't know you came together."

They both smiled, looking at each other. Molly blushed, "Oh, we didn't," she replied, looking at John, "but my date left early, and so did Greg's. We decided we may as well just hang out for the rest of the night."

John nodded, shuffling from foot-to-foot, "That's lovely, but listen, is Sherlock in there?"

Greg paused for a moment, frowning. "Oh yeah!" he exclaimed, "I saw him with Irene before we left."

John froze, looking at Greg, "Irene Adler?"

Greg nodded, then narrowed his eyes, "Yeah, Irene Adler. Why?"

John paused for a moment, then shook his head, "Nothing, nothing. Are Anderson and Donovan in there?"

"They left earlier, at around quarter past. Anderson's girlfriend went off with another bloke, and Donovan went off with Anderson. I don't really know what's going on between the two of them, it's like some confusing, twisted love triangle. But anyway, I think Sherlock's still in there."

"Alright, cheers, Greg. Have a nice night," he clapped Greg on the shoulder and smiled at Molly, giving her a quick hug.

"'Night, John," she said as he hugged her, "and make sure you tell Sherlock."

John pulled back and blinked, but Molly just smiled. The couple walked past and John smiled softly at them.

After a moment, he snapped back to reality, and went into the hall.


"Sherlock!" Irene called again, and Sherlock sighed. It was the second time she bothered him that night, couldn't she just leave him alone?

"What do you want now, Irene?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her. She smirked, moving closer to him.

"I was wondering," she began, running a hand slowly up his arm, "if you would like to dance?"

"No," he said simply, "I'm not interested. Go ask your latest toy," he stepped closer, "or better yet, why don't you just stop manipulating the male population of the school and run off with dearJim."

"Are you jealous, Sherlock?" Irene asked, giving him a shark-like grin.

"Hardly," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"So why won't you dance with me? I mean," she looked up into his bright eyes, "it's not like you've got anything to lose."

Sherlock hesitated, looking around. There were couples on the dance floor, anyway, and a slow song was playing. He looked down at Irene, who was still smirking up at him. He sighed.

"Fine, one dance. Then I'm leaving."

"I'll take it," she grasped his hand a dragged him to the center of the hall. He places his hands on her hips and she placed hers on his shoulders. They began to sway slowly to the music.


John's eyes widened, and his heart stopped.

Sherlock and Irene were dancing in the middle of the hall, slowly swaying and moving in circles.

They stood apart from the other couples. He was tall, dark, and, admittedly, handsome. Irene was a head smaller than him, dressed in a long, black dressed that showed off quite a bit of cleavage and her back. They looked like everything any couple would want to be, dark, sexy, mysterious.

John's breath caught in his throat.

He knew about Sherlock and Irene. A year beforehand, they had gotten together for less than a week. As far as John was concerned, Irene had used Sherlock for her own benefit, Sherlock got too wrapped up in the relationship, and in the end got his heart broken. John was there to pick up the pieces, John was there to make sure Sherlock didn't slip back into taking drugs, John was there, when no-one else was.

But now they were dancing, together, out-shining everyone else in the hall.

They spun around so Sherlock's back was to John. Irene looked over Sherlock's shoulder and caught John's eye. She smirked at him, raising an eyebrow as if to say, "You thought you could win him over?"

She said something to Sherlock, who spun around quickly towards John. His eyes widened when he saw him, but John didn't do anything. Didn't smile, didn't wave, didn't storm over and drag Sherlock out of there like he wanted to.

John simply turned around, and walked out.


Aw, sad John is sad! Trust me, though, there's a happy ending coming up in the next part!

Also, I've been thinking, maybe I should start taking requests? I'm running out of ideas, and I have this policy where I have to have at least TWO chapters finished before I upload another one. So if you have an idea you want me to do simply drop a review with the details and I'll get them done as soon as possible! :)

Muchlove.