The Soldier and the Freak

Teenagers

1.

Over the years John and Sherlock's friendship remained mostly the same. They both seemed to slip into their respective roles that kept the harmony of an odd comfort. It was probably strange but it worked for them. John found that he quite liked sitting and watching Sherlock's brain whirl around. Once or twice he had got up suddenly with his eyes wide and bright, his mouth turned up in a smile of pure happiness and excitement, and he left without a word. John's had gotten into the habit of bringing a book or some homework whenever he and Sherlock were hanging out, and he was slowly becoming quite the student. This meant that they were both accepted into the same middle school, and John was delighted to have his best friend with him for the journey. Being friends with Sherlock had stopped anyone else from approaching him in the course of friendship, but he hadn't been bothered with it during first school or the first year of middle school, the name calling however, had begun to bother him greatly.

Walking past the group of school bullies was a scarring and terrifying experience, but it was the only way to get to PE; the class that was soon becoming his favourite. The group of five boys liked to hang around hidden by the wall of the hall smoking heavily and skipping class. The days were getting hot again, and John has his jumper tied around his waist by its sleeves as there was no room in his bag. Even with only his red polo shirt a layer of salty perspiration was settled on his top lip has the sun abused the back of his neck. He gripped his bag tightly, ignored his rapidly beating heart and took a deep breath before marching confidently in front of the group. There were only a few clouds lounging around on top of the blue sky like lilos, the grass had recently been cut and the sweet hazy scent tickled John's nose and made him drowsy. The trees were lush and full, their thick leaves shivering in delight as the breeze blew through them. A bird called out to its friends in the distance and they gave a cheery reply.

"Oh look who it is!"

John winced but kept his eyes firmly ahead of him, walking quickly without making his urgency too obvious.

"He's ignoring us, how rude!"

John ran the last few meters to the door, the dry air getting stuck in his throat. A few choice words were called after him and he ignored the tears in eyes, walking swiftly forward to find his friend. At least they hadn't stolen from him or hurt him this time. Inside he was hit by a wave of air from a battered looking fan that someone had plugged in, attempting to create a breeze. The walls were a faded and dirty grey colour painted right over the brick from the amount of fingertips pressed against it, but the teal borders were still crisp. The floor was a dark blue and the lights a musty yellow that made John's head ache. The room was thick with the scent of sweat and lynx deodorant, making his nose wrinkle in disgust.

Sherlock's appearance had changed greatly during the short years since they met. He had a number of large growth spurts and had turned tall and slim. His once sandy coloured hair had slowly darkened and was now almost black in colour, although his eyes were as intriguing as ever. John found him sat outside the changing rooms in his kit scribbling furiously into a notebook. He sat with his legs crossed, his bony knees sticking out at sharp angles from his black shorts. His skin was nearing translucent in colour and his lips a rosy pink. He looked up when he heard John cleared his throat and a rare smile flickered across his features.

"What are you doing?" John asked, smiling back.

Sherlock said nothing and cocked his head to one side. His tongue darted out of his mouth and traced his bottom lip, making it shiny with saliva, "What happened to you?"

Even though it happened at least once a day, John was always shocked when Sherlock caught him out like that. It was almost as if he had the ability to reach right into his mind and pluck out whatever he desired.

"Just a run in with the jerks," John admitted bitterly.

Sherlock's expression darkened in anger, the dangerous look in his eyes made John shiver, "Did they hurt you?"

"No, no I'm fine. I'll be back in a bit," John told him, slipping into the changing rooms.

Sherlock nodded to himself and fell back into a stony silence and returned to his notebook.

2.

John gulped down huge lungfuls of intoxicating fresh air. Sweat tracked down his face on a determined mission to fall to the floor or at the very least soak his shirt. Sherlock stood on the sideline, stretching three of his long and elegant limbs and occasionally walking up and down as though he was taking part. He still had his notebook tucked tightly under his left arm, acting as though it contained the most precious thing in the world. John knew better than to ask, even if Sherlock told him the likelihood of him understanding was almost nil. John hoped silently that the notebook was full of little sketches, possibly of cats in top cats. Sherlock's ability to seem human was something he was not skilled in, nor did he seem to care, but John still thought there was something under the unemotional exterior. Sherlock gave up acting and sat on the floor, he took a pencil out of the mess of curls on his head and opened it up. The instructor just left him alone, he'd given up trying to get Sherlock involved within the second week of term, he only took part when they ran (he also always won.) His thin frame flew through the air as though it were unaffected by gravity.

"John! What are you doing?"
His attention was brought back to the game of rugby, and he blushed furiously when he realised he had been staring intently at Sherlock on the sidelines. Thankfully his cheeks were already flushed from the exercise so it was barely noticeable.

He cleared his throat and ran forward as one of his teammates slapped him on the back. However a giggle caught his attention, his head turned around to see two girls stood on the other end of the field. They clutched each other's arms when he noticed them and giggled again. A warm feeling spread over John's shoulders and he held his hand up to them in greeting. One of the girls was quite a bit taller than the other, but both where blonde and wore school black skirts (which were possibly a little shorter than regulation specified) and red poloshirts tucked into them. The one on the left had her jumper tied around her slim waist and the other who was a little broader had it slung over her shoulder. They both waved back and quickly rushed off the pitch.

That day after school Sherlock stayed over for barely half an hour. He and John sat on his bed in silence doing their respective work, John his homework and Sherlock still writing down his thoughts in his book. It was still light outside and John's curtains were pulled back and the window open to let in a slight breeze. It rose goosebumps on John's bare arms and tickled the top of his spine in a threatening shiver.

"UGH!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth. His shirt was askew and ridden up to show part of his pale stomach as he stretched his arms above his head, his joints clicked as though he had been sat down for days but he seemed anything by satisfied. He let out another grumble and began pacing again.

John jumped at the unexpected violent motion, his pen slipping off the page and leaving an irritating mark, he huffed in anger and stared at the stray mark in anger before he addressed Sherlock with, "What's with you?" His voice sharper than he intended.

"Nothing you'd understand," Sherlock snapped back straight back, not sparing John a glance.

John blushed in embarrassment, Sherlock thought he was stupid. He didn't know why that upset him so much, in comparison to his friend's intelligence he was nothing but a flea; and yet he felt a sharp pain in his chest, "How do you know that?"

"Because I'm surrounded by people with the IQ of a peanut,"Sherlock threw his arms up in exasperation, "It's so booorning."

John chewed his lip and put his homework to one side, "Well I'm sorry," he muttered darkly, a heavy weight falling on his shoulders.

Sherlock paced back and forth a few more times before he seemed to register that John had spoken and made his reply, "It's not your fault you're so inferior."

"Why do you bother with me at all?" John asked, playing with his hands before looking up at Sherlock through his eyebrows while telling himself he didn't care.

Sherlock paused in his pacing and looked at John as though he was a math problem, his brow creased in concentration, "...I don't know," he said quietly.

John felt tears sting his eyes and he looked away embarrassed, "Right."

"I'm going home."

Sherlock had left the room before John had even looked up, he saw that the boys notebook was left on the bed and in his anger he picked it up and threw it powerfully across the room. It it the wall and slide down into the bin. John blinked at it for over a minute before he fished it out and lay down on his bed, hugging it to his chest.

His phone beeped a few minutes later and he lunged for it, hoping to see the name"Sherly" light up the screen. Instead it was a Twitter notification that made his face fall. Sherlock didn't have any social media. Regardless he opened it up and saw one of the girls who had waved at him earlier had followed him, he screwed up his nose at her heavily made up face but followed back anyway. Almost instantly "Kirstzee Benton" sent him a direct message.

Hey, you played really well today (: (: (:

John raised an eyebrow and wiped any remaining tears from his eyes, he stared at the message for a little while and the emotions after it. Sherlock's messages to him were always so emotionless and blunt no matter how many times he put exclamatives or emoticons.

Thank you (: (: (:

John felt a smile linger on his lips as she replied again within seconds.

So I was wondering if you wanna see a movie this weekend? :$

The smile faded and his cheeks glowed red. He read the message again and again until the words seemed to dance around on the screen. He had no idea. He and Sherlock were meant to go to the bookstore this weekend but now he guessed that it wouldn't be happening. Sherlock never asked him to do things, he only agreed when John suggested. Maybe he hadn't wanted to do anything with him this whole time. He felt slightly quesey.

Sure (:

He sent the message before his brain had even registered the decision. He started at it in shock and chewed his lip, surely it couldn't hurt to go? He stood up and shut the window to stop the breeze that was chilling his skin and got changed into his pyjamas before returning to his phone.

I'll send you my number :D

3.

Looking back John had never really thought all that much about relationships; his mind was always preoccupied with something different. His homework, his Dad, his friends, his future. Maybe that was the reason it felt weird walking down the road with a girls hand entwined with his own, or maybe even if he had thought about it he would still feel slightly...uncomfortable. He felt a strange tingle in his shoulders that he couldn't quite describe and that he wasn't sure he liked. He found his brain full of silly thoughts. He worried that his hand was too hot or too cold or even...sweaty. However the day, lucky enough, had a light breeze that blew Kirsten's blonde hair around her face and cooled the back of John's neck. He thought that he was dressed to formally or too casually. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a purple shirt. He loved the colour purple. What if she hated the colour purple? He shouldn't wear purple next time. Is there going to be a next time? Does he want there to be a next time?

"What did you think of the movie?" Kirsten asked him, interrupting his thoughts. Her head was tilted her head to one side; her eyes were a pale blue and surrounded by smoky make-up and thick clogged lashes.

"It was good, what did you think?" John smiled at her, wondering how long he'd been silent and lost in his muddled thoughts.

"It was good," She swung their arms back and forth between them happily, "Do you want to get something to eat?"

"I'm okay, we can if you want though," John backtracked as they walked past a bustling cafe. The smell of chips and sweet tomato sauce wafted from the open windows, a small child waved at them through the glass and split coke all down his shirt.

She squeezed his hand and he jumped a little in shock as they continued , "Nah I'm good."

"So what do you wanna do?" John laughed and looked at his feet move forward, "It's really weird that our feet just...move without us thinking about it."

Kirsten laughed, a sweet sound that bubbled up from her throat like a fountain, "You're so strange."

John felt his cheeks turn hot and he chewed his lip, "Sorry."

"No, it's cute," she reassured him with her lips glossy with pink goo turned up in a smile.

John didn't know what to say so he gave a slightly strangled laugh.

It wasn't as busy he thought it would be today, especially with the pleasant weather. During the weekend most of his classmates would be hanging around the town, buying treats from the Lidl bakery and chugging Freeway coke. To his surprise he'd only seen one group of them sitting on a bench outside the town hall looking bored and watching Youtube videos and they hadn't seen him. It was cool enough that Kristen was wearing a grey boyfriend jacket over her bubble pink dress. Her high heels rattled precariously along the pavement and she hopped elegantly over potholes and uneven ground. She had her blonde hair curled and falling down over her shoulders, around her wrist was a bracelet with small golden dolphins. John had told her she looked nice when they met in the foyer of the Cinema, but it was more out of something to say and of 'dating customs' than really noticing it, but now he was left less nervous he realised that she really was very pretty.

"I like your dress," he told her.

She giggled and blushed, smoothing down her dress with her free hand, "Thank you. You look nice too."

They walked around for another hour or two and went in and out of shops. John brought her some flowers and chocolate when she was looking somewhere else, and they shared an overly priced ice cream before he walked her home. She cradled her gifts delicately with bright eyes and a constant smile. Her house was only ten minutes away, and when they got to her front door she put her gifts down on the doorstep to pull him into a hug.

"I had fun," she smiled, pulling out of the hug but still standing dangerously close to him. She smelt sickeningly sweet.

"Me too," John said genuinely, flashing her his own smile, "You'll come to the next game?"

"Of course, text me if you want to meet again."

John nodded and she bent down to kiss him briefly before turning around and going inside. John waited for the door to shut until he swiped the sticky gloss off his mouth and wiped it on his jeans. He walked back down the drive, shoving his hands in his pockets, half expecting for some kind of feeling to come over him after his first kiss but nothing happened. He made his way home.

The evening was just drawing in when he noticed that a dark figure was walking behind him. Leaves rustled as the breeze blew through them, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He wondered if the person behind him could smell him on the breeze and then cursed himself for watching so many movies and reading so many books. He gripped his phone in his pocket and tried to steady his breathing to hide that he was aware of the person's presence. It was just starting to get dark and the streetlamps slowly flickered into life behind him. The person stayed a decent distance away, and John was waiting for the almost non existent sound of his footsteps to quicken, but it never happened. He was only a few feet from his front door, maybe the person wasn't following him at all and just happened to be going in the same direction. Again John blamed himself for watching too many movies. He got to the door and turned around to see the figure walked past...and pause, and John recognised him immediately. The thin shape of his face and the dark curls falling down into his eyes.

"Sherlock? What the hell!"

"Hello John."

"Why were you following me?" John demanded.

"I was...curious," Sherlock replied carefully.

"About what? How long were you stalking me?" John snapped walking towards him.

"A while."

John noticed something strange in Sherlock's voice. An undertone that he'd never heard before...maybe anger?

"Are you okay?" John asked, forgetting his own anger at the boy.

"I'm fine John, thank you for enquiring," Sherlock replied, suddenly in a rush, "I've got to go."

John frowned as he hurried along the pavement silently, before turning around and heading back inside his house.

a/n: Reviews are greatly appreciated