"The Plan" continues. John spies on the Plastics and keeps an eye on Jim Moriarty, and also tries his best to teach Sherlock how to respect people. And Moriarty claims to have known his little secret.

Case Fic intro ends with a murder in the next chapter, with bits of friendly and fighting Johnlock in between.

"And there's this Burn Book," John reported back to Mycroft obediently, "they have all sorts of things in there. Mean things and scandals about most of the students in the school, and probably much more!"

John, Greg and Mycroft had decided that if they had to meet, it would be at Greg's place or at John's. Mycroft did not talk much about his family, except for the occasional mention of 'Mummy', so John and Greg decided not to push their luck.

"It's all there in Irene's phone. Phil knows only a little bit and I tried to smuggle stuff about them out of him. But Jim and Irene are very careful... they always watch him and make sure that he doesn't talk much."

Mycroft rested his chin on his palms. They were in Greg's room, where John was telling them about his day with the Plastics. It had been tiring and very pointless, but Greg had been very excited by the idea that they had been to Knightsbridge, and Mycroft had looked appalled at his feverish excitement.

"John, you have to steal that book," Greg blurted out.

"What? No! I can't spy on them anymore. It's getting weird-"

"Come on, bub. We could publish it. Then everyone would see how mean they really are!"

"No, Greg. We can't do that," Mycroft muttered, "People would hate you more for publishing all the scandals. And besides, John said that there was nothing to indicate that it belongs to Irene. You will be getting yourself into trouble if you do anything of that sort. No, John, you said that there could be something else... for insurance. If Jim Moriarty is to be exposed, we have to go through the other Plastics. And you'll have to keep hanging out with them."

"BBO's in December, hardly five months remaining. I'll require a lot of time for studying. You can't expect me to go for shopping and hang out with them whenever they feel like."

"Do you know, John?" Mycroft looked like he was about to start with a fairy tale, which he did, "Last year, one of our seniors got expelled. He was wrongly accused of using drugs and supplying them to some freshers. We all know that he was nothing like that, very serious and studious. The only thing a few of us believe is that he had overheard Moriarty and Mr. Stamford discussing about something that he never even told anyone. That's what James Moriarty can do-"

"All the more reason I don't want to mess with him," said he, looking away from their imploring eyes.

"John," Greg shook his head and spoke slowly, "There are two kinds of evil people in the world-"

"Yeah, I know that crap. And I'm not- I'm just saying- there's nothing in there for us. Screwing Jim Moriarty's life wouldn't get us anywhere-"

"Yeah- but think of all those peeps whose life won't get screwed up because of him. You told us that he was going to drop by Ms. Smith's. Probably mess up her life as well."

"Well, she made out with one of her students. It was wrong on her part as well-"

"Yeah, that was a bad example but just think, John! And Jim won't ever find out, it'll be like our little secret!"

He looked down, wondering why he even said yes to mainstream-schooling, "Okay, fine. But as soon as I feel that it is becoming a burden, I'll quit. And no changing my mind after that."

John's life in Westhaven was quite smooth. He found out that he was able to balance his studies, his social life and Sherlock Holmes admirably. He was forced to hang outside of the school with the Plastics at least twice a week. Sherlock had called him on only one other case. Although it wasn't the sort of case where he needed an accomplice like John, nevertheless he had called upon him. John knew that he could fool himself by thinking that all this was a deep-seated cover for the desire for John's company, but he knew better. Although he couldn't deny the sparks that were there, he knew from observing Sherlock's behaviour that the aforementioned 'sparks' would be there only when Sherlock needed his help or companionship, and would be practically absent in all other situations.

John sometimes felt that Sherlock had a hunch about John's attraction towards him and that he used it to his advantage. Obviously because Sherlock Holmes knew everything, and John's crush was painfully obvious.

The next big thing happened two weeks later. John had just returned from a football match and was about to go in for a shower when his phone rang.

"I know your secret," came a soft Irish voice from the other end of the line.

John's heart rate shot up exponentially at that.

Oh God, busted! Okay, tell him that you meant no harm and that Greg and Mycroft had forced you into it. No, no! No, play it cool! Deny everything.

"What secret?" John managed to keep his voice steady but puzzled and a little curious at the same time.

"Irene told me that you like Sherlock Holmes," he paused, deliberately giving him time to prepare himself for the news. John did not respond to that. He knew that every word that he said would be against him.

"It's okay, I don't mind," Jim sounded reassuring, "No one can help it after all. But let me tell you something about Sherlock Holmes. All he cares about is his books, his experiments and his own after-school life that he never tells anybody."

Wrong. Sherlock told me that he wanted to be a detective on a freelance basis and that he solves crimes that the Scotland Yard had deemed impossible.

"Right."

"But I could talk to him for you... if you want."

Was Jim giving him permission to...

"Really? You would do that?" came John's hopeful reply, "I mean, nothing embarrassing though, right?"

John could practically hear Jim smirking over the phone, "Oh no, Johnny dear! I know exactly how to play it. Trust me."

John felt so blissfully happy at that.

"But wait. Are you so mad at Irene for telling me your secret?"

John frowned, thinking that he should have expected something similar from Irene, "No not really-"

"Because if you are, you can tell me. It was very wrong on her part to tell me something like that. I mean what if she had told this to someone else!"

John cocked his head to his left side at that, "Yeah, I guess it was a bit not good. But, she can't help it, she is just so immature-"

"See Irene darling," Jim crowed before John could even finish, "I told you. Johnny's not mad at you."

Irene? Where did she come from?

"I can't believe that you think that I'm immature!" came the shrill version of the cool and calm voice of Irene.

"Nighty night, Johnny," came Jim's voice, "see ya tomorrow. Don't let the bedbugs bite!" And the line went dead. Although John now understood what this could mean, only one thing remained in his head. He could hang out with Sherlock Holmes now.

And with Jim's blessing, he would not have to restrain his conversations with Sherlock anymore. He could talk with him. He was allowed to like him. Things were finally changing for the better.

When Sherlock arrived inside Room C, he found the seat next to John empty. He smiled inwardly and plonked down gracelessly into the chair and stared at the blackboard, as if trying to pierce it with his gaze. He was aware that John was watching him out of the corner of his eyes. Somehow, that thought made him feel giddy with anticipation.

"Hey," came a hoarse voice from someone beside him. Sherlock turned his head in the direction of the blond boy.

"Good morning," he replied and resumed his scrutiny of the board, as if something really interesting was going on there.

"Got any new cases?" John's weak voice reached his ears.

"No."

An annoying buzz was filling Sherlock's head, something that threatened not to leave unless he occupied his head with something, anything. He looked down at his Chemistry textbook, useless as ever. He knew everything in there. He looked around the class in all places, wherever John wasn't there. He decided to give in, "I would have had if that idiot Lestrade would allow me on the Capital and Counties bank heist case."

His heart gave an odd flutter as he watched John smile at the word 'idiot'.

"You think everyone's an idiot?"

"Yes."

"Including me?" there was a small uncertainty in John's voice, one he had heard only when he had a gun pointed to his head.

Sherlock recalled that night. He still hadn't forgiven himself for placing John in danger like that, "You're a lesser idiot." And you're not everyone.

John's smile grew wider, as if he was amused by the conversation, "But I am an idiot, according to you."

Sherlock looked away, "There. You said it," and he decided to bestow him with a wink. He really enjoyed making people uncomfortable and blushing around him. John wasn't an exception.

After a few minutes, John resumed conversation that was more to Sherlock's liking, "So... you're following up the -er- case?"

"No. Apparently DI Lestrade has described me to every PC and told all of them that I am an annoying reporter from a broke newspaper firm who's always looking for sensational news. So, I'm effectively banned from crime scenes."

Mr. Saunders started teaching them about the products of Perkin reaction. Sherlock and John were hidden very well from his view by a massive boy sitting in front of them. Seeing that they were quite safe from his wrath, Sherlock decided to continue talking to him, "And sadly, newspaper reports are woefully inaccurate. But I've managed to put together a rough picture from whatever I've researched about it. Seems like a delightful and refreshing case."

Sherlock noticed the gleam in John's eyes as he spoke, "Well then, will you... do you want to... tell me about- it?"

Stuttering. How adorable! So afraid to offend me with the wrong words.

"Sure."

All through the Chemistry class, Sherlock told John about the group of professional robbers who had undertaken the successful heist in the London Branch of the Capital and Counties Bank, stealing gold worth 30 million pounds without pointing a single gun.

"They consist of a safecracker who also specialises in alarm systems, a gunman, a driver and a conman who used to be an extremely skilled stage artist. That means he's quite good with disguises and with being the perfect Mr. Charming. They are virtually untouchable. Their last performance was somewhere in Belarus and they escaped right under from the nose of the police. Their next target could be anywhere. It all depends on their highest bidder."

"Bidder?"

"Yes. They are sort of a freelance organisation. They take the job of the highest bidder, demand a twenty to thirty percent commission for their job and all the expenses, and get it done. The one time they failed was in Antwerp City Diamond Center vault. But they got away, nonetheless. They've got a sort of protector. They could never be convicted because of substantial lack of evidence."

Sherlock found himself subconsciously watching John wetting his lips. He gave himself a mental shake and pretended to write mini notes as Mr. Saunders roamed around the class.

"Then... how do you know that they've done it?"

"They leave their signature. How else would they advertise for themselves every time they hit the success counter?"

John nodded, trying to understand the situation, "Okay, so what happened?"

"This is what I've gathered from the newspapers and I have no idea which is true and which is not. Two months ago, a Mr. Leonard Hoffman, who introduced himself as a gems trader based in South Africa, rented a safe-deposit box in the bank. He was very charming, very friendly as he wormed his way into the trust of all the bank employees.

"Now, whenever you want to get to your deposit box in any bank, there's usually a guard who accompanies you in there. Hoffman's case was different. He visited his deposit box so often that the security personnel became quite accustomed to his frequent visits and let him in anyway. All he had to do was to flash his holder card at the camera. The only way in which they monitored him inside was with the help of CCTV feeds, which was rendered useless as the cameras were found to be wrapped with black paper after the heist."

"Wait a second, are you saying that his deposit box and the safes that contained the gold were in the same room? How's that possible?"

"Major security lapse, I know. They trusted their technological defenses too much. But no one knew that the gold existed. It had been lying there for years. It was borrowed by the British Government from BNP Paribas bank in the eighties, thirty six million Euros worth in gold at present value of the currency."

John nodded to show that he caught on.

"On 13th September, the day of the incident, Hoffman came as usual in the morning, stayed in there for fifteen minutes and left, no questions asked. He was cheerful as ever, no change in demeanour. Now, the day was a Saturday and banks have half-working days on Saturdays and are closed on Sundays, so a pretty good chance of escape for the robbers over the weekend.

"Now, I'll tell you about the security system down there. It's very good, they've got all sorts of alarms. The door to the antechamber of the vaults is able to withstand 8 hours of continuous drilling. Further, any sort of drilling attempt would trigger off the seismic alarm anyway... It's sort of a motion detector," he added, noticing John's vacant expression.

"Yeah, I got that."

They quickly hastened to their notebooks when they noticed Mr. Saunders a couple of desks away. Sherlock turned to John, eyeing him hesitantly, "John, um, do you... want to come with me? I could use some help."

John's eyebrows shot up at that, "What, now?"

"No, don't be absurd! Not now. I'll text you. I know that the Detective Inspector will come running to me in a few hours. After all, it's been four days since the incident."

John smiled reassuringly and nodded, sending a strange warm feeling running through Sherlock, "Yeah, I'd... love to."

Sherlock turned his attention back to the blackboard. There was a strange thing he had been feeling since the last few days. Usually, it was easy, and frankly, natural for him to be able to manipulate people for favours and then detach himself from them. James was an exception. He was not just 'people'.

But the strange thing was that when he was with John, he did not have any reason to be bored. And he found it incredibly difficult to detach himself from the five feet seven blond boy with those bloody imploring deep blue eyes.

A possibility came to Sherlock's head, something he discarded as soon as it was conceived. Liking John Watson? But he was so ordinary.

Although there were very defining character traits in him that suggested otherwise, and that kept surprising him all the time. For instance, no one had ever said that his deductions were amazing. And he had not expected the quiet, docile mama's boy to get off on danger. Sherlock had never expected the flicker of hunger beneath the good boy facade, the fire in those eyes when he had a revolver in his hands. A proper, grade A adrenaline junkie.

Not so ordinary.

"Thank you," said he, his gaze still fixed on the board.

He could feel John's eyes linger over him for more than a moment. Body was betraying him. Attraction was one of those thing that had never been under control. He looked at John's tanned hand sitting across the table and he felt his own twitch uncontrollably. The only way in which he could suppress some very inappropriate urges was to talk about the matter at hand. But his mouth had become very inconveniently dry.

John was the one to resume conversation, "You aren't writing any notes."

Sherlock looked down at the blank pages of his book, "Amazing, John! Could you teach me how to make such subtle observations?"

He frowned, upon which Sherlock thought that John hadn't understood his sarcasm.

"That was sarcasm."

"I KNOW THAT! Jesus, Sherlock! But why aren't you writing any notes? Do you know that this stuff isn't in the textbook?"

"Yup," he said, popping the p, "But I know all this."

John's eyes narrowed, "You're joking. You know all of this?"

"And more. Chemistry is the only sensible thing out of whatever we learn in high school."

"Then-?"

Sherlock turned to his side as John trailed off, "Then what?"

"Why did you write notes that day? On the first day?" said he, with an expression of genuine bafflement on his face.

That was the most difficult question Sherlock had ever been asked. As difficult as the question that Mycroft had asked him when he had decided to continue with 10th grade Chemistry instead of taking 12th grade ones like Mycroft did. Not that the reason was related to John anyway... He convinced himself that it was because it didn't make any difference to him, because he knew it all, no matter which class he was in.

"Don't know," said he, looking away in the direction of the classroom door, "Can't remember." He could hear John gritting his teeth.

He was indeed, "God. I feel like such an idiot now!"

And before Sherlock could stop himself, he turned to him with a casual smirk on his face and exclaimed, "Haven't you got acclimatised to it yet? I'm surprised!"

John's eyes narrowed, "Oh, I'm sorry that I'm more of an idiot than Sherlock Holmes! You know what, you can go to hell for all I care!" And with that, he shifted his desk away from him noisily and focussed his full attention on Mr. Saunders.

What happened there?

The bell rang and John dumped his books into his bag without looking in Sherlock's direction even once, which was a good thing because Sherlock had his imploring puppy dog eyes on. That plan failed as well when John walked out of there.

Sherlock belatedly realised that he had done something that was a bit not good.

The next day, Sherlock's phone beeped with a message that sent excitement running through his veins.

Coming to you for the heist case in 20 min. Lestrade

Yay!

But John wasn't speaking to him.

Sherlock had tried every desperate move. He had followed John around for two minutes after the end of the school, something he would never have done under normal circumstances. But he had simply ignored him and waved in the direction opposite to him. Sherlock had to make himself scarce when he noticed James and Irene waving back, with big grins on their faces, grins that Sherlock knew were fake.

Sherlock had sent him at least three sorry (although not very explicitly worded) texts and seven more that were somehow targeted at John's biggest weakness. Sherlock knew that John wanted another case, and he had seemed very hopeful when he asked him about the newest one. But John hadn't replied to even a single one. It was almost as if he had stopped acknowledging Sherlock's presence.

The annoying buzzing had taken over again. Sherlock took out a cigarette and waited for Lestrade impatiently behind the alley that led to Bart's. He considered texting John again, and then voted against it. John had made his position quite clear. But whenever Sherlock recalled how effective John had proved during that first case, he considered it again.

In another couple minutes, a cab showed up and Lestrade walked out of it, as inconspicuously as possible. Sometimes, he went to great lengths to preserve Sherlock's anonymity. He was, if not anything else, grateful to the DI's common sense upon having taken a cab instead of marking the spot conveniently with police lights.

"Yeah?"

"Been four days," he shrugged, "You won't be allowed inside the vault but I can supply you with the evidence."

Sherlock gritted his teeth in annoyance, "And pray tell me what good will it do? Your highly specialised team will have missed out all the obvious clues, hmm?"

"What are you suggesting then?"

"Let me in," Sherlock couldn't help but marvel at his stupidity, "Simple as that!"

"Sherlock! You know that all this is classified information and I'm breaking all sorts of rules by letting you in."

"Clearly you've never seen me in an appropriate disguise."

Lestrade frowned, "What do you mean?"

Sherlock smirked as a daring plan formed in his head, "I'll need your police car. I can manage the disguise."

John parked his bike and started towards his school when he was cornered by a tall beefy policeman, with chunks of fat threatening to protrude out of his uniform. John stared at him in undisguised alarm.

"Hey, kid! Whatcha think you doin' parkin' your bike there?"

John frowned and looked at the spot, "Why, what's wrong?"

"That no-parkin' spot, son. I need you ter come ter the station wimme."

"What? Why?" John started, alarmed.

"You been parkin' 'ere for a month. You think I gonna let you go?"

"It's not mentioned in here or anything," John protested.

"Yeah, an' sun goes round the earth. That's general knowledge. But is it written there? Don' try an' fool me kiddo. I've met loads like you an' I know how ter handle 'em. You come wimme this instant!"

After John was almost dragged to the police car and Sherlock had locked the doors so that John couldn't escape, the grumpy voice of DI Lestrade arrested him, "Sherlock! Is this why you wanted to bring the police car around?"

"Sh-what?"

John was super dumb. Even after putting on an American accent, he couldn't figure out how a man with a distinctive American accent was in the London Police Force. Sherlock had made special provisions for him to see through his disguise, but John...

Instead, he stared in disbelief as Sherlock's face suddenly lost all the flabbiness to it. He took off the police cap, and lots of fluffy cotton stuffed in the uniform and smiled toothily at both of them, "Not completely, Lestrade," his voice became the same deep baritone instead of the mellow American accent he had put on especially for John, "We'll need a car, won't we-?"

"Let me out of here," John's quiet voice came from Sherlock's side.

Lestrade reached out to unlock the doors when Sherlock interrupted, "No, please John. Come with me-"

"No! You need to start giving people some respect, Sherlock. Until then, you can play Mr. Adventure all by yourself."

"When did I disrespect anyone?"

"Oh really?! Mr. ... DI Lestrade, if you would please."

"Don't ask me," he raised his hands up in the air in defeat, "He can be incredibly idiotic sometimes."

Sherlock looked from John to Lestrade, both of them conspiring against him together.

Is he cross with me just because I said that he was an idiot?

"Are you cross with me just because I said that you were an idiot-?"

"It's not about calling people idiot, Sherlock! Oh god, you are phenomenally stupid. Sir," he turned to Lestrade, "could you please let me out?"

"Jooohn!"

"Stop Jooohning me! And don't ever try and kidnap me again!"

Meanwhile, he discovered that Lestrade had unlocked the doors. He turned the hinge and slipped out of the car, careful enough to not let Sherlock see the small smile that had crept up on his face. He had never really been cross with Sherlock, but he didn't need to know that, did he?

There were no words in the dictionary to describe how incredibly boring John's day at Westhaven had been, more so because he kept wondering how different his day would have been had he spent it with Sherlock. Sherlock was right. He was an idiot to have decided to go on this ridiculous case-strike just to make Sherlock learn some manners, something that couldn't happen at all. It was a lost cause.

But John had not really expected Sherlock to react so magnificently. He had showered him with attention, had bribed him with cases that John knew weren't real because he had developed this weird habit of reading criminal news every morning and he knew which ones had really happened and which ones hadn't.

Now it had become too much. Now, Sherlock was surely going to stop talking with him because he hadn't known when to stop sulking like a five-year-old.

He imagined Sherlock's lithe figure kneeling down on the floor with a hand lens and a pen and a pocketbook, ready to jot down anything of interest. No one knew how much watching Sherlock work turned him on. He recalled the last case. John had simply stood there and listened to Sherlock's thoughts and conclusions about the murder victim. He had no idea how his presence was supposed to supplement Sherlock's mental powers as he had claimed, but then, he was Sherlock.

During the lunch, the Plastics argued only about which was a better brand: Westwood or Paul Smith. Jim was all for Westwood, while Irene and Philip took the other one. John tried to hide his face, not participating actively in the conversation. No one seemed to pay any attention to him as they remained engrossed in their arguments. John excused himself from their table before lunch ended, complaining about severe stomach ache and skipped his next class.

Am I still allowed in the bank heist case?

The answer, as usual, was instantaneous. Outside Angelo's. 3:30 pm. SH

John was more than grateful that Sherlock had not decided to give up on him.