A/Note: Thanks Kaorilamb and Melusina's Descendant for favoriting this story this early. Hope all of you who already did will continue to enjoy it. I usually like to reply to my reviews but for some reason they show up on my email but not here. So thank you!

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5. The training

Just as Mr. Bart had warned, the boys were resentful of the fight and the taunting and name calling was vicious now, which Sherlock promptly ignored. They didn't mess with John; he was the rugby captain and they knew what he could do on the field. Sherlock was just pleased they didn't attempt fighting him again. He guessed it helped that John was at his side at least some of the time now.

People thought it strange that John was his friend now. John made no excuses and made it clear that, to him, Sherlock was just like everybody else. "Smarter, if anything." So most of the others that taunted Sherlock toned their name calling down for most part, especially the ones in the rugby team - John had told them about the fight. A huge bonus.

The strangest thing though, was that Sebastian was quiet. He didn't voice insults like the others, but seemed to be brooding, studying him. His silence helped to keep the others from trying to fight him again, as usually they just followed his actions. From time to time, Sherlock would catch him staring at him, and there was something in those eyes that made the hair on his nape stand up. Sebastian was a dormant volcano, simmering and gathering strength to erupt anytime now. He really needed to watch his back.

...

Sherlock was equally loving and regretting the classes. They met every Saturday afternoon and practiced at John's backyard, on the grass. John's parents worked on Saturdays and his sister usually went out, so they were mostly on their own. He had debated about asking Mr. Bart for extra classes, now that he had a sparring partner, but gave up on the idea. For one thing, it would attract his father's attention, who had insisted this fanciful practice would take away from his academic progress. He would certainly demand they end this "waste of time". Another reason, he'd rather have John just to himself.

The pro of the whole thing was obvious: they had developed a friendship. A friendship! Something that Sherlock had never imagined he'd have; something he had never imagined he could possibly want, never mind enjoy. But enjoying it he was.

John was exceptional: he accepted him as he was and never thought of him as "different", "strange" or "freaky". Much the opposite, he seemed to admire Sherlock's intellect. For the first time in his life, he had a first hand experience on what being appreciated by a peer was like.

The con of the whole thing: so close, yet so far away. John was currently dating yet another frivolous girl. He still couldn't determine what exactly had happened between John and Allan, only that he wasn't amenable to kissing other boys, apparently. He watched attentively, but John never showed any interest in other boys. None of them ever made him turn his head like girls did. Not even any of his other team mates. The only possible conclusion: he was straight and Allan was a pushy bastard, who got away with (hopefully just) kissing John.

Being in such close physical contact was delicious, yet torturous. And they hadn't even covered floor wrestling. Sherlock never mentioned it; he thought best to keep to moves that didn't require so much contact. Those had been embarrassing enough with Mr. Bart, it would be nearly suicidal attempting them with John. He would certainly be the first person to ever die of embarrassment if they were to try it.

...

'That was fun, Sherlock. It's actually fascinating to learn how well the techniques work.'

Sherlock sat down next to him on the backdoor step. 'Those were my thoughts exactly. I'm usually not interested in sports or anything that physical, but I found some of the techniques to be pure physics.'

'I've noticed that.'

'That's especially true on this last throw.'

'No, I didn't mean the throw. I meant I've noticed that you're not interested in anything physical.'

Sherlock frowned. John smiled, 'I never see you show interest in anybody. This year, with your new haircut and how much you've grown over the Summer, many girls took notice.'

'They have?'

'You haven't noticed? Come on!'

'I'm really not interested. People are boring.'

'I'm "people". I'm offended, Sir,' John mockingly made an indignant face and placed a hand on his own chest.

Sherlock chuckled. 'Who noticed?'

'Several of them. I see it in our classes, I see it on the corridors. Their eyes always slide towards you.'

'But it's you they always talk to. Bloody rugby team captain jock,' he teased.

John chuckled, 'Nah, their excuse to get close to you.'

Sherlock thought best to divert the conversation away from dangerous territory. 'How are things going with- eh,' he moved his fingers in a "come on" motion.

'Maggie.'

'Yes, her.'

John smiled. 'Well, we have a date tonight.' The smile faded. 'I usually don't like to talk about this, Sherlock, but I feel I can trust you.'

Sherlock frowned at the unexpected seriousness. 'What do you mean?'

'What I'm about to tell you.' John stared straight ahead, then lowered his gaze and kicked a stone. 'I think tonight is the night.'

Sherlock still frowned. John kept staring straight ahead. Oh. He wished he hadn't asked. He too, stared straight ahead.

'John, I believe this is the correct application of the expression "too much information".'

John snorted and chuckled a bit. 'You're right. It's just that I'm a bit nervous, that's all. I keep getting distracted.'

'I noticed. You weren't focused at all today. Why would you be nervous? You've dated countless girls already- Oh.'

'Yes, oh.' John was beetroot red, now staring at the ground.

'John. This is really not my area.'

'Things have been progressing, you know? We like each other, and our last couple of dates were pretty uh, intense.'

Sherlock stood up, he couldn't stand this. 'John, I'm really not the best person for you to talk to about all this. I think I should go.'

John stood up too, 'Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just - I consider you a close friend, you know? Who else would I talk to?'

'You seem to have no shortage of friends.'

'Yes, but none as close. I think of you as my best friend. I'm sorry, I'll shut up about it.'

They stayed standing awkwardly, looking away from each other, not knowing what to say. Sherlock was pleased, though. John not only said he was a close friend, but his best friend.

'Oh, I know, Sherlock. Could you help me choose an outfit for tonight?'

'Dear God no, that's even less my area.'

'Look, I have a couple of ideas, all you have to do is just vote yay or nay. Please? Come to my room.'

Sherlock's stomach dropped. If only those words had a different meaning... He sighed, feigning disinterest. 'Fine. But I'm leaving after this.'

'Thanks, mate!' John smiled brightly.