"I laughed my arse off mate," Mike chuckled, slapping John on the back, and beaming brightly at him as he strode across the small space, turning to hunch over his shoes.

John smiled and nodded, looking down and sighing a little as he glared internally at his rugby gear laid out before him on one of the wooden seats lining the locker room.

"Thanks Mike," He huffed and shrugged slightly, "It's just shit I'm not going to be able to upload as much," John shoved his foot into one of his cleats and began lacing up the strings attached, "what with Rugby season starting up again."

His best mate let out a hearty laugh and shook his head, beaming warmly and rolling his eyes just slightly at John's sour expression, "Lad, your fans will understand."

John chuckled breathlessly at the term because good god, he did have fans didn't he? Actual fans who actually loved and followed and supported him. "I guess," He responded, slipping his jumper off and reaching for his skin tight, workout tank, "I just don't wanna let anyone down, you know?"

With a sigh, he pulled on the shirt and turned fully to Mike, who had finally pulled his shoes on and was currently jumping up and down in place, stretching both arms, swinging them forwards and backwards, and exhaling deeply.

"John," He breathed and halted his small warm up, "You won't, mate."

John forced a small smile and sighed, nodding in finality and packing up his bag, forcing his school clothes in with his books, and turning to shove it all into his blue locker, only to jolt forwards as the loud click of the door opening and several footsteps, sounding hurried and impatient, emanated garishly around the near vacant locker room.

The rugby captain turned to witness a lanky, thin being sauntering quickly through the door, long legs striding outwards in front of him as he hugged a duffle bag to his chest. The dark haired boy glanced up from the mobile phone in his hand and froze, eyes widening as he came face to face with John, what looked like silver meeting ocean blue. John jerked back lightly in surprise and swallowed thickly, his body fluttering at the sight of the boy in front of him. All sharp edges and angular curves, high cheekbones and a perfectly sculpted visage, eyes like galaxies and seas combined, lips parted to perfection and - John really needed to stop.

Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. He'd heard of the kid - oh yes, he'd heard of him; he'd heard about how he could make a fool of someone in three seconds, expose their darkest secrets, point out every flaw that ever came to be throughout the whole of their depressingly short life.

But seen him? Hardly. The boy was like a ghost - one minute he was floating past you in the hallway and the next he was gone, gone as though he'd simply vanished through one of the corridor walls. This, right here, was a rare moment in John Watson's life.

"Oh, I -" He began and John arched a brow, admiring the deep nature of his baritone, rumbling thickly with every syllable, "I didn't know anyone was -" The boy paused, swallowed, glanced down at his hands, one fiddling with a corner of his phone case, and shook his head, turning around swiftly, obviously in pursuit of the exit.

"No, no," John smiled a friendly smile, and stepped forward, shrugging and grabbing his water bottle and gear, "We were just leaving."

Sherlock blinked at him, his eyes narrowing as though he were assessing the situation, and then nodded, heaving his duffle bag up further and hiding his face shyly, seemingly suddenly fixated on a specific spot on the floor.

John smiled softly to himself and gestured to Mike with a flick of his head toward the exit, sauntering lightly over to and passed the shy boy, curls falling atop his forehead and the back of his pale neck as he stared blankly at the ground, chewing on his bottom lip. John lugged his rugby bag further over his shoulder and reached for the handle of the door, only to freeze in his steps as that deep voice sounded again, low and small and quiet.

"I," Sherlock cleared his throat, and turned, facing John but still watching the locker room tiles, "I like your videos."

Both of John's eyebrows rose sky high, blinking in surprise at the dark haired being, standing timidly in John's midst, looking so very nervous, worriedly fidgeting as he mumbled his admission to John. The ashy blonde chuckled aloud, beaming brightly at the thin figure a little in front of him, blushing slightly at the compliment and bobbing his head gratefully. "Thank you, that's," He paused, scoffing softly and joyfully, "actually really amazing to hear."

Sherlock nodded once, swallowed, looked away and then turned around, striding off with the long length of his spindly legs and heading around the corner of the locker room and towards the showers. John bit his lip, grinned and then grabbed the door handle, walking out into the loud cacophony of sounds resounding within the walls of the school gymnasium and smiling to himself.

"That was weird." Mike snorted, catching up to him and walking beside his team captain as they headed out the two doors that served as the entrance to the gym, turning and sauntering in the direction of the large, green field where a few of their team members already sat, stretching.

John glanced at him, eyes narrowed, "What? Why?"

Mike scoffed, and arched a brow, "The school freak just told you he watches your videos."

John scowled down at his feet, choosing to watch their upward motion as he walked rather than the boy next to him, "He doesn't seem like a freak to me."

Mike huffed and shook his head, "That's because he hasn't divulged all of your most sacred secrets yet."

"Okay, so he's smart; that doesn't make him a freak."

Mike eyed John suspiciously but shrugged it off, humming to himself and sighing, "Maybe not, but it does make him an arsehole."

John flinched at the insult and sped up, marching a little faster towards his goal, finally reaching the grass and tossing his stuff to the side of the rugby goal, choosing to simply ignore Mike Stamford for the rest of practice.


Sherlock was both irritated and surprised with himself. Irritated because bloody hell he'd made a complete fool of himself in front of John Watson, the John Watson. And surprised because he'd never thought he would even be able to manage an entire sentence towards the boy without hyperventilating. And John was nice to him. Actually nice. Friendly, polite. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his inner thoughts and stepped out of the locker room shower, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his nimble form. Who was he kidding? That was just who John Watson was, how he was raised, just another reason why he was number one on nearly every girl's 'date list'. Some guys too, most likely. Though, John had never expressed any interest in that specific gender.

Off limits, Holmes, he growled to himself.
Completely and utterly off limits, one big bucket of no-no.

Sherlock shook his head, exasperated with himself and turned to the mirrors, staring at his wet curls and sharp expression.
John would never go for someone like him anyway. Too exotic. Too unusual. Too freakish.

He sighed and reached into his bag for his change of clothes, yanking out his plain, black sweatpants and baggy white v-neck. He was only going home. No need to dress for any occasions.

He ran slender fingers through his hair and shook out some of the wetness, water droplets flying this way and that as he bent down, tucking his previous clothes, a boring old jumper and skinny jeans, away and grabbing his duffle, hoisting it carefully over his shoulder. He snatched up his phone and tapped the screen.

No messages.

Why would there be? He rolled his eyes at himself and unlocked the device, flipping through his few apps before finding YouTube and hitting it lightly, watching as his channel popped up and the red circle beside the notifications symbol alerted him of several new comments, subscriptions and likes. He smiled softly to himself with inner pride, biting his lip and sighing happily at the new number.

4,910.

Ten new people who enjoyed his artistry.

His latest composition and routine had gotten quite a bit of attention and appreciation, and it made his heart swell to know his hard work was paying off, and, better yet, being admired. With a touch of newfound joy, he slipped his phone into his back pocket and readjusted his duffle bag before heading towards the locker room exit.