Sorry! My upload did something wonky so I have to repost this. Lame.
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"John, it's the uniform." His teacher said exasperated. "You have to wear it."
"I'm sorry, but no." John said quietly.
"It was okay for you to not dress-out for phys. Ed. because of your cast, but now you'll have to put on the clothes or I'll have to give you a demerit." He responded.
"Give me a demerit then." John answered.
"John," he continued. "Why would you want a demerit on your record over something so insignificant?"
John looked down dejectedly at the confusion in his teacher's voice. He'd tried on the shorts the night before and had felt panic claw through his system at the very visible scar peeking out from the bottom of the uniform. He'd agonized over what he was going to do for hours. The truth was that he would much rather get a demerit than have to endure the questioning glances and curious inquiries that were unavoidable if they got a good look at the red, puckered line running up his thigh.
"Are you alright?" His teacher asked concerned. "You're really very pale."
John felt his vision go a bit funny and stumbled a little bit against nothing. He felt his teacher grab him lightly by the elbow, guiding him to a chair and maneuvering his head between his legs as his vision went spotty.
"Take a deep breath for me, John." The teacher said. "That's good, keep breathing like that while I get you a cold compress."
After pressing the packet to John's head, they sat in silence for a while as John felt normality slither back over him. He felt embarrassment flood through him and he felt incredibly warm in the small office. He took a deep breath before whispering, "I have a scar."
"Oh," His teacher responded lightly.
"I got it in the car accident that…that my dad died in." He continued.
"Oh, John." He answered. "I understand now. You don't want anyone asking you questions about it."
"Yeah." John said keeping his eyes away from his teacher.
"Well, I appreciate you telling me what was bothering you, John." His teacher responded. "I'll think about it and get back with you on Monday before class. Does that sound alright?"
"Yeah." John said hoarsely.
"Alright." His teacher said. "Are you alright to get home?"
"Sure." He said. "I'll be fine."
"Have a good weekend." He said.
"Yeah," John replied. "You too."
John walked out of the gymnasium and up a flight of stairs. Today was also his first time attending Biology Club too. Needless to say, he really hated today. He entered the Bio Lab quietly trying to remain unnoticed to the other dozen or so students already perched on stools. He sat at the very last worktable across from a tiny girl poring over some text the size of his head. She glanced up as he accidently dropped his bag loudly on the floor.
"Oh," She said sweetly. "Hello."
"Er…hi." He said with an awkward wave.
"You're John." She said with a nervous smile.
"Yeah." He said tilting his head slightly. "How did you know?"
"We have trigonometry together." She said with a shrug.
"Right." He said.
"I'm Molly." She said happily. "Molly Hooper."
He walked home that night in a tentatively happy mood. The Club was interesting and unassuming. They had organized going to the Science Museum next month. He'd had a pleasant time listening to Molly chat about the club and her interest in becoming a doctor. He found himself laughing along with her as she explained some hilarious story about her mother, a wet cat, and a hairdryer. They'd past the time happily and even made plans to meet for lunch after their class next week. His aunt was working until 7pm that night so he made himself a plate of eggs and collapsed in front of her computer. He'd talked to Lestrade the night before and they had plans to IM on GChat in about twenty minutes. He was logged on when he got a ping.
SH: John, please don't log out.
JW: Who is this?
SH: It's Sherlock. DON'T log out.
John felt his breath hitch and his head go a bit funny as he stared at the screen. He couldn't even catalog the emotions and thoughts that were attacking his psyche at a hundred miles an hour.
SH: John? Please talk to me.
SH: Please, John. Just talk to me.
JW: What do you want?
SH: How are you?
JW: What do you want?
SH: I miss you.
John felt something painful grip at his heart as he fought back against the anger making bile rise in his throat.
JW: You don't get to miss me.
SH: I know that what happened wasn't ideal, but I never meant to hurt you.
JW: "Wasn't ideal"? Honestly? That's your brilliant assessment?
SH: I never wanted to leave you. I don't like being so far away from you.
JW: Sherlock, you got high and cheated on me with Jim.
SH: It wasn't like that.
JW: Like what exactly?
SH: I didn't do that with Jim because I wanted to. I had to prove that I was smarter than him.
JW: And you did that by letting him fuck you?
SH: We only kissed. Kissing doesn't mean anything.
JW logged out.
John pulled back from the computer and stumbled to his room. He collapsed on his bedspread and curled up against the wall. God, he felt awful and used. Sighing heavily and fighting back tears, he lay there until the early hours of the morning.
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"Tell me about John." His therapist asked.
"No." Sherlock growled.
"Why not?" She asked.
Sherlock said nothing as he continued to stare out the window. He'd been here two months already and these therapy sessions were by far the dullest thing about this entire experience. He had to attend one every week if he wanted to earn time out in the fresh air. He had been surprised how much he wanted to spend his free time outside wandering around the grounds. But with some relatively simple deductions, he'd determined that it was his mind's way of staying close to John. He'd sit under a tree and let his memories overwhelm him as he remembered the scent of John's shampoo, the tanned hands running over his skin, the sound of his giggle drifting along the air. It was the only time he wasn't bored. The only time he didn't feel like his brain was atrophying at the idiocy around him.
"So," She said. "Maybe he didn't mean as much to you as your mother thought."
"Don't say that." Sherlock snapped.
"You do care about him then?" She shrugged.
"That's none of your business." He sneered.
"Why not?" She asked again.
"Because I'm not going to let you use what John and I have as some sort of chum in your hunt for how I define myself." He almost yelled.
"What you had." She clarified.
"What!" He asked angrily.
"What you had." She said again. "What you had with John. You don't really have anything with him right now."
"Don't." He warned.
"Well," She said undeterred. "You did a fantastic job of mucking it up."
"I'll fix it." He said determined.
"How do you plan on doing that?" She asked curiously.
"I'll explain everything." He said. "He'll listen to me."
"What will you tell him?" She asked. "Why you took cocaine again? Why you were kissing another boy? Why you couldn't go a week without him before betraying his trust?"
"Shut up!" He shouted. "I can fix this! I'm fucking brilliant and I don't need someone like you with a community college therapy degree and six cats to lecture me!"
He stood stock still staring at her feeling his pulse beat loudly in his ears. She hadn't even reacted to his outburst. She just sat there writing on her infernal notepad. She wrote for several more seconds before glancing up at him with impassive eyes.
In a calm voice, she said quietly. "There isn't a doubt in my mind, Sherlock, that you are one of the brightest young men of your generation. But not everything can be solved with facts and logic. You can't just tell John about how you changed. You have to be willing to humble that giant ego of yours and show him."
He felt his legs begin to shake and he collapsed back into his chair. "How do I do that?"
"You're brilliant, Sherlock Holmes." She said with a sad smile. "You'll think of something."
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"Did you dye you hair?" John asked curiously.
"Oh! Yes." Molly said with a grin. "Do you like it?"
"It looks nice." He answered.
"My mom thought it would make me look a bit better." She said with a shrug.
"Molly," John scolded lightly. "You looked fine already. You shouldn't let her talk to you like that."
"She knows what she's talking about." Molly said turning a bit red. "She's an actress."
"Molly." John said a bit more firmly. "You are great just the way you are. You don't need your awful mother's litany of thinly-veiled, completely untrue insults getting you down."
Molly shrugged again and John let the conversation drop. He'd only met Mrs. Hooper once but he was fairly certain that she was one of the coldest people she had ever met. She was some two-bit actress that maybe played a minor role in a play every couple of years but she always made herself out to be some starlet. It was bloody annoying and he could practically feel the discomfort of his friend when it happened in public. He shook off the anger and focused back on the sandwich in front of him. He was going on his third month here and felt himself slowly adjusting to this place. He'd gone out to lunch with Molly and her mother that day but her Mum had decided to take an important call about a half hour ago leaving them at the table by themselves. Not that he really minded after all.
He was just wiping his hands on his napkin and tossing it on his plate when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned and started coughing at the sight of Mycroft Holmes twirling his umbrella a few feet away.
"Drink of water, John?" He asked politely reaching around to press the glass into his hands.
He swallowed slowly trying to let his brain adjust as Mycroft took a seat and placed his umbrella on his knee.
"Hello." John said politely feeling anguish flood through his system. He'd been trying so hard to push away all of his memories of the past summer and laying eyes on Mycroft had them viciously clawing into his mind. He glanced at Molly and watched as her face flickered between concern and confusion. John sighed before making introductions. "Mycroft Holmes, this is…"
"Molly Hooper." Mycroft said politely shaking her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Hi." She squeaked before glancing back down at her plate.
"So sorry to just drop in on you like this." Mycroft said, turning back to John. "But I was in the neighborhood and just wanted to check in."
"Check in?" John asked confused. "Check in on what?"
"On you, of course." Mycroft said.
"Why?" John asked.
"My family is very aware of the negative impact my brother's behavior has had on you…" Mycroft began before John cut him off.
"Please just stop." John said firmly feeling his face flush. "I don't want to talk about this. Just tell me what you're doing here."
Mycroft studied him slightly before clearing his throat, "The Christmas holiday is coming up. I assume you're returning home to your mother's house."
"Yes." John answered.
"Mummy wanted me to extend an invitation to come to the Manor over break." Mycroft said. "She would love to see you."
John had trouble swallowing against the lump in his throat. He felt indecision grip him as he stared resolutely down at his plate trying to form an answer.
"You don't have to decide today, John." Mycroft said reassuringly. "But it would mean so much to her to see you again. She's very fond of you."
John nodded dumbly but didn't say anything else as Mycroft rose quickly and placed a hand on John's shoulder.
"Please think it over." Mycroft said before squeezing slightly and wandering off.
John sat there quietly trying to regulate his breathing and felt normality slowly re-assert itself before glancing back at Molly with what he hoped was a comforting grin.
"Who was that?" Molly asked.
"Nobody really." John answered simply and was never happier to see Mrs. Hooper scuttle back to the table and commandeer the conversation for the rest of the afternoon.
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Chapter conclusion:
John has a crap day, Sherlock's thick, and Mycroft is creepy.