"Damn, I hate Monday classes," Lucas complained, stuffing his books into his bag.

John shrugged. He had biology and chemistry on Mondays, and he didn't mind either. "What's so bad about Mondays?"

"Chemistry," Lucas complained. He was in a different class from John, but they both had chemistry with Doctor Holmes on the same day. "The teacher's a prick. Doesn't he realize everyone hates him?"

"He's not bad," John said with a shrug.

"Really?" Lucas sounded genuinely shocked. "Is he different in your class? Because in mine he's arrogant and cold and just so terribly boring."

"Nah, he's that way in my class too."

"How can you stand him? Jeff went for extra help the other day for the test today and Holmes told him he was 'a waste of a mind who lowered the IQ of the entire building every time he opened his mouth.'"

John stifled a laugh. "To be honest, that doesn't surprise me. He's just like that."

"Yeah, and it's awful. Were all the teachers like that in Britain or something? Is that why you have an exceptional tolerance?"

"No," John chuckled. "Teachers are pretty much the same everywhere. I don't think anyone's like She- Doctor Holmes." John thought about Lucas's words. He had a tolerance for Sherlock. Sherlock had a tolerance for John. He guessed that's why they didn't have issues. Well, that and their shared secret.

Lucas stared at John for a moment and John reddened, realizing he had almost called his professor by his first name in public. That would be strange to explain. "We're going to be late to practice," Lucas said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Hurry up, Pipsqueak."

John groaned. "Not you too. I thought we were friends."

Lucas grinned. John had to admire his friend's smile. Lucas was tall and tan, with sun-bleached hair and chocolate-brown eyes. His white teeth practically glowed against his darkened skin. He was beautiful and muscular. Sometimes John wondered why he didn't have a massive crush on his roommate. Although he was still extremely attractive. John had to occasionally remind himself not to stare. That was absolutely not how he wanted everyone to find out he was gay.

John had thought Sherlock knew he was gay. The first few times, when Sherlock told John that he was different, he could have sworn that's what the man was hinting at. John really didn't want to be outed by his chemistry teacher, either. The man was great at observing, and it was hard not to drool slightly at his thick black curls or tight satin shirts that clung to his muscular chest. Even if he was a little strange, he was certainly worth looking at. And it was true, John did tolerate him. Certainly more than the other students seemed to. He seemed to have a cold exterior and blunt, poor social skills (okay, basically non-existent social skills). But John knew there was more to him then that.

After the library incident, John had only seen Sherlock once. He had been arguing with another teacher; that much was evident.

"Just because your brother is oh-so-important does not mean you have any special rights," the teacher spat at Sherlock. She was a bitter old woman with wiry grey hair and thick-lensed spectacles.

"Never once did I mention my brother," Sherlock had replied in an eerily calm voice.

"You're a psychopath," the woman criticized, waggling a decrepit finger at the much taller figure.

"No, actually, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." Sherlock turned on his heel away from the woman to stalk away when his eyes met John's. John had unconsciously stopped and stared at the scene. Sherlock pursed his lips together and strode past, avoiding John's eyes.

John had to shake his head to get out of his thoughts. Football (soccer, whatever). He needed to focus on football. They had a game on Saturday and he was starting left bench if his performance didn't improve drastically within the next few days. And he had to get rid of that terrible nickname. Pipsqueak. It sounded pathetic. Lionel Messi is only an inch taller, he tried reminding himself.

Reviews make a happy author and a better story!