John wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower. It felt good to finally get the sweat and mud off himself. He glanced at the clock and groaned. It was already past nine and he had yet to eat. His stomach grumbled in protest. Quickly slipping on sweatpants and a clingy t-shirt, he headed towards the cafeteria. He sourly noted how unlikely it was that he would see anyone he recognized. He had talked to a few kids today, and his roommate, but he knew Lucas had already eaten and the others likely had too.
He was surprised to see the cafeteria somewhat crowded when he entered. Quickly he grabbed a plate of pizza and headed towards the nearest empty table. He scanned the crowd for a familiar face but saw mainly groups of friends laughing and chatting, a few students slumped over textbooks, one girl snoring loudly next to her plate of pasta. He definitely needed to figure out how to manage his time.
John was biting into his pizza, grease dripping down his chin, when he heard a deep voice near him. "Mind if I sit with you?"
He glanced up. It was Doctor Holmes. John quickly wiped the grease off his face and swallowed. "Uh, sure, I guess."
Sherlock sat down in the seat across from John, who self-consciously wriggled in his seat in embarrassment. Why was his teacher sitting across from him? Did he do something wrong? "Do you normally sit with your students?" John asked without thinking.
Sherlock looked up with his piercing grey eyes. "No," he said. "I normally don't eat here at all. I was working late in the lab and lost track of time. Is my presence bothering you? I can move."
"No," John said hurriedly. "It's fine. I mean, I don't mind. It's just... unusual, isn't it?"
Sherlock sighed. "I know this is your first official day, but I'm sure you've heard rumors by now. I'd hardly consider myself typical. Besides, I don't think it's too unconventional. I'm only twenty-three. I'm much closer in age to students than the old dinosaurs they call teachers."
John shrugged. "Yeah, I guess that's true. How'd you get this job anyway?"
Sherlock laughed. "My brother. He thinks having a teaching job will keep me out of trouble. Although I'd hate to admit he's been right so far."
"Does your brother normally give jobs teaching at a college to twenty-three year olds?"
Sherlock smirked. "I'm young, but I'm still qualified, John. Likely more so than most of the old bats around here. I do have several doctorates."
"Right, of course." John took a giant bite of his pizza to shut himself up.
"You're different," Sherlock mused out loud.
John nearly choked on his pizza. "What do you mean, different?"
Sherlock shrugged and took a sip of his water bottle. "Just different," he said.
"Are you going to tell you what you mean by that?"
"No." Sherlock grinned. "You have to figure that out for yourself."
John's face was flaming red. "You're weird."
"I'm different."
"I've noticed. What do you mean, I'm different?"
Sherlock laughed. "John, relax. It's a good different. And don't stress over what others think of you. Just be happy to be you."
"What kind of good different?"
Sherlock bit his lip and looked into John's eyes. "Everything about you," he whispered. "The look in your eyes. The way you walk. The way your face flames up when you're embarrassed. The way you try to hide the bruises on your arms, the ones that are old and faded, because they're not from soccer, they're the reason you put an ocean between yourself and your home. The way you scribble down every word in your notebook and your eyes sparkle when you understand. And you understand. You absorb. You're not as dense as the average student. You're better." Sherlock sat up straighter. "You're different." He shrugged nonchalantly.
"You've just met me," John said, flabbergasted.
"I'm observant," Sherlock replied, getting up and throwing out his tray. He walked away without even a glance back, leaving John confused and staring at the retreating figure.
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