John really, really likes sports. Sherlock hates sports. Absolutely despises them. It's not that he just hates them to hate them; he hates them because he doesn't get them and he's no good. He'd never admit to that, but that's the real reason.
John likes sports, as previously stated. There's not a limit to his sports interest. He liked European football and cricket and golf and tennis. But all of those things were seldom on television. And it was the summer.
He'd known a long time ago what baseball was, but he thought it was complex and boring and wasn't interested. Until he was stationed in America. While John was in America, stationed there for a year about ten years ago, John became brutally obsessed with baseball. He'd gone to a game with his friend, James, and fell in love.
His favorite team was the San Diego Padres, mainly because he was stationed in San Diego when he discovered his love for baseball.
John was in love with baseball and actually missed it a lot while he was at war, then back to England. Everyone he knew thought he was weird, so he couldn't talk about it or anything. Luckily, he had internet, though.
And then the MLB made baseball games available to watch online, for a price. And that price was nothing compared to what John would pay to watch his new passion.
"John? John, pay attention to me."
"Hang on. Two outs."
"I don't know what that means."
"One more and I'll pay attention to you."
Six minutes later.
"Ok, what, Sherlock?"
"I need your help."
John glanced at his computer screen, "How long will it take?"
"I don't know, anything from a minute to an hour."
John groaned, "All right, make it quick, then."
John assisted Sherlock in the experiment he was doing. John worked as quickly as he could, while Sherlock took his dear sweet time, which was an hour.
"All right, done."
"Thank you!" John put down everything he was holding and went back to his computer. "Oh, geez, the Dodgers scored."
"What's a Dodger?"
"A team."
"No, I mean what is a Dodger?"
"I don't know, Sherlock." John was distracted now.
"This has to stop, John. You're obsessed with a sport."
"Sshh."
"Oh my god."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and left the room. He disappeared, as far as John was concerned. Only could Sherlock be dead before John needed to be concerned.
The same thing kept happening every day all summer. John would turn on a game, any game, all day sometimes, and Sherlock would whine for his attention. Sherlock whined a lot, yes, but he really, really didn't like coming second to a sport.
But then Sherlock would try to understand. He'd sit next to John and watch the games being shipped from America on this tiny screen. Sherlock even went as far to buy John one of those cables that he could hook up his laptop to the television, so he wouldn't need such a tiny screen. Yes, Sherlock tried.
"What's that?" Sherlock asked the first time he sat next to John and actually wanted to know what that was, because he wanted John's attention and John to have someone to talk to about his strange addiction.
"A bat."
"What does it do?"
"You, uhm, you hit the ball with it."
"Like cricket?"
"Yeah, sort of. Except this bat is round, like a stick. And cricket bats are like a paddle."
"Oh, yeah," Sherlock was silent for approximately twenty-six and a half seconds and asked, "What's that?"
"That's a glove."
"What's it do?"
"You catch the ball with it."
"Why?"
"To protect your hands."
"Logical." Sherlock was silent for even less time than before, "What's that?"
"That's the ball, Sherlock." John took his eyes of the television for a second to give Sherlock a 'oh-my-god-you've-got-to-be-fucking-with-me' look.
But Sherlock was definitely not fucking with him. "Why do they wear shoes like that?"
"They're called cleats. They have spikes on the bottom so they can dig into the ground and run faster. Like in football." Sherlock gave John a blank look. "You don't know football then, either?" Sherlock gave him another blank look. John looked away to hold back asking, 'oh-my-god-you've-got-to-be-fucking-with-me'.
"Why do they wear uniforms?"
"Just to know what team they're on."
"Seems a bit dense, wouldn't they know that?"
"Yeah, but it's like a police uniform. In battle, or game, you know what side you're on."
Sherlock nodded. Something he understood, finally. "Why do they play outside?"
"Some teams don't. Some teams play indoors."
"What's an out?"
"It's like, uhm, a strike. You know, three strikes you're out?"
"But there are also strikes, right?"
"Yes."
"How do you know the difference?"
"Well, a strike is something only a batter can get. That's the batter, there." He pointed to the batter.
"Holding the bat?"
John held back his 'oh-my-god-you've-got-to-be-fucking-with-me'. "Yes. And the pitcher, that's him there," He pointed to the pitcher, "He throws the ball as hard as he can and at different pitches to try to get the batter to either swing and miss, and that would equal a strike, or hit the ball so the players in the field can get him out. Also, if the batter doesn't swing but it's still in the strike zone, that box there," He pointed out the strike zone, "Then it's a strike. The strikes equals an out. Three outs equals side change." John took a breath, "But if the pitcher throws the ball and it's outside the strike zone, and the batter doesn't swing, of course, then it's a ball. Four balls equals a walk, that means they go to first, there," He pointed to first base, "And once a runner makes it all the way around the bases and touches home, that's there," He pointed out home plate, "That counts as a run, or a point. Whoever has the most runs, or points, at the end of the game wins. The game lasts nine innings, eight and a half if the home team is winning. The home team is, well, the home team."
John stopped talking. Sherlock was genuinely trying to retain the information, but he couldn't understand. It must have been something he was destined to delete, so his hard drive wasn't even picking it up, it didn't recognize. He just stared at John and blinked.
"You didn't get any of that, did you?" John asked, half annoyed.
Sherlock shook his head, no.
John sighed, "Do you want me to go over it again?"
Sherlock nodded, yes.
John sighed even louder and went over it all again, this time slower, and he added hits and errors. Sherlock nodded the whole time, trying so hard to understand. He knew he wouldn't, and John knew he wouldn't, but this is how they started a fall of John teaching Sherlock the game of baseball, and even though they didn't bond over the game, they bonded over the explanations and words.