Lots of love to my beta in this story, Distantstarlight!

The school opened again the next Monday, but the holidays' festive flair had vanished quickly, and the uneasiness was still hanging over Greenwood as a grey cloud, a dense presence that turned the air almost unbreathable. The security guard dressed in black at the front gate didn't help to raise the moods. John saw at first glance that Rick was on his watching place, sitting on a bench and pretending to read a comic-book; he approached him and sat by his side. A quick rest before the lessons of the day would do wonders to his aching leg, anyway.

"Morning, John!" Rick greeted him. "I hope you had a great time on Christmas."

"Not bad. Hope yours was good, too. Nice presents?"

Rick's face lit up and he opened his mouth to speak, but then he seemed to change his mind and spoke quietly:

"I told my father about S. and about Sherlock's list."

John's heart leapt, excited. His eyes swept the school gate: still no suspect at sight.

"He was glad that I told him, and he thought it was really clever. But he agreed with us, without evidence we have nothing against S. And Sergeant Gregson is too stubborn to listen to any external help, he said. He told me he would suggest S.'s name at the Yard, as if it was his own idea, and he asked me to have our eyes open and phone him if we ever observe anything off."

"Good. We can't do anything else, can we?"

Rick smiled.

"We are the school watchers! Not bad for me!"

John smiled back. The huge and distinctive shape of Simon Wells entered the corner of his eye, and Rick and he turned to look at him and then pretended to be talking about something else. Simon arrived with a friend, and didn't seem to notice them or the security guard. After a moment, Rick and John stood up and followed Simon across the grounds. Nell was leaning casually against the stone parapet at one side of the front doors, listening to music on his phone, and she seemed to be just waiting for a friend before going inside the building. Simon looked at her, and when he passed by her side he greeted her with a nod. John thought for a moment that the boy was going to stop and talk to her, but he finally followed his friend inside. Nell noticed, too, and avoided his eyes. She looked down the front stairs instead, and her gaze found John's and Rick's watching her; her relief was obvious and pretty visible. Rick stopped by her side and John stepped in the school building alone, his eyes fixed on Simon's movements. They were going to the same classroom, so it wasn't strange that they took the same corridors and the same stairs.

Another huge shape interposed between the student and his tail, though. Mike Stamford, smiling widely, came closer and patted his back.

"John! I thought I was going to hear from you these holidays!"

"Oh, hello, Mike!" John greeted, his eyes still fixed on Simon's back. "I'm sorry, but I went to my parents' house for a couple of days."

"Ah, of course. Was it very awful?"

John chuckled. Simon was in front of their classroom's door now; according to their schedule, Sherlock would be already inside the classroom to keep an eye on Simon, so he could relax a bit.

"No, not awful, just boring. Well, my sister is still a pain in the arse, you know."

Mike laughed.

"Yes, I remember that… How could I forget that Medicine party when your 17 year old sister got completely plastered and snogged Christy Evans in front of everybody? Shit, I still don't know if I was more jealous or turned on! Christy Evans, nonetheless… The most beautiful woman in our group, three years daydreaming about her and then your sister arrives and takes her…"

"Well, Harry always has had good taste, I have to give that to her."

The school bell chimed, and they waved goodbye, smiling, and parted ways. John stepped in his classroom and took a quick glance in his way to his desk. Simon was sitting on a table, close to the open window, chatting with a male mate. He was in general a quiet person, with just a handful of male friends, and he wasn't cocky or a troublemaker as some boys of his age and constitution. John hadn't even thought about him or talked to him before all this happened; Simon usually was diffused among the anonymous "main group", as John noticed now. After all, teachers don't have time to spend with students who don't protrude above or below the mass.

Slowly, the rest of his pupils came in the classroom and started to throw his coats off and sit down. Rick arrived then; Marcie and Nell were still chatting at the door with a group of girls. Sherlock was already sitting down, playing with his phone as usual.

Sherlock.

The boy was wearing a purple silk shirt again, and the deep colour made his skin look still paler and creamy, and his hair darker by contrast. John gulped and focused again in his lesson, deciding that anything unrelated to Chemistry would have to wait, be it teenage violent rapists or beautiful and clever pupils.

They kept the scheduled surveillance exactly the same as before Christmas. If anything, they had now a sense of anticipation, given that they all thought the next attack would be very soon: Simon had had all the Christmas holiday to plan, after all. The surveillance team spoke little of the topic, but the tension was there. Sherlock, in fact, didn't talk at all, and he seemed distracted during the lessons. Neither of them both mentioned the Christmas messages, but at the end of Wednesday's lesson Sherlock approached John's desk with a little smile. What's in your mind, Sherlock? What are you devising against our attacker? John really felt the need of talking with the boy, but they didn't have any excuse, and Simon was always too near.

"My birthday is tomorrow", Sherlock said instead.

"Oh! Really? But of course, you said it was in January, I just didn't expect it was so soon."

Sherlock lowered his eyes, still smiling.

"Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow?" he asked the boy. "Well, Chinese takeaway will have to do, of course."

Sherlock raised his eyes again, bright green and clearly excited.

"It would be the best birthday present I can think of", he answered.

John smiled back. Good. He took his thick folder and his bag.

"See you tomorrow, then."

And he went off before someone else noticed his warm cheeks.

The next day's lessons and surveillance seemed to last forever. John usually pondered thoroughly before deciding anything, but once the decision was made, he couldn't relax until the deed was done. That day's periods, especially the last one, had included lots of nervous finger-tapping on the table and lip-licking, and his leg was giving him a terrible time. He almost wished he could go home as soon as possible, and lie down on his couch with a blanket and watch tv the rest of the day. But that wouldn't do, he had plans and wouldn't, couldn't chicken out now.

The last lab time finished and the students started to clean their tables and the equipment. Sherlock did the same, but took his time on purpose. John had tried to avoid staring at him during the lesson, but now he indulged in a long glance, half smiling. The boy was dress in sharp black, and by contrast his neck and his hands (the parts John could see right at that moment) looked pearly white, almost shiny. But then Sherlock turned, feeling John's eyes piercing him, and his green eyes outshine everything else. The boy smiled widely and approached John's desk, his schoolbag hanging loosely from one shoulder and his coat carefully folded on his arm. They waited a couple of minutes that way, standing by the desk and waving the last students on their way out, until they were finally alone. Sherlock was about to go out the door, too, but John asked him to wait with a gesture. He closed the lab door and went back to his desk; he fumbled with his bag, trying to take something big from inside and not succeeding at first.

"I've got a birthday present for you, Sherlock… if I manage to take it from my bag, that is, damn it! Ah, finally!"

And he handed Sherlock a thick and battered volume. The boy's eyes widened at seeing it, and he opened it at once, browsing through the pages, stopping now and then to read a handwritten note or observing carefully a diagram.

"My Chemistry teacher gave it to me as a present in my last year at Barts", John explained, smiling.

Sherlock raised his eyes from the book to look at him, shocked. He glanced at the huge book again.

"John, you can't give me this."

"Of course I can, and I'm doing it. You will take more advantage of it than me, believe me. And… ah, there's a dedication on the first page."

Sherlock hurried to look for it. There were some of them, in fact, each one in a different handwriting. Sherlock's mouth went dry; the book had obviously passed from teacher to pupil in a number of occasions. Somehow it made it even more valuable for him, and he had to resist the urge of running his hand over it, caressing the worn-out yellowish paper. He read aloud the last and obviously more modern dedication:

"To the best student I have ever dreamt of having. You make it worth it, Sherlock".

He looked at John again, visibly moved, and seemed to be trying to find words, trying to say 'thank you', when John simply stepped closer, put one hand on Sherlock's cheek, tip-toed slightly and joined his lips to Sherlock's. The boy opened his eyes wider and gasped. The kiss was light and really short, just a small peck, but afterwards John watched Sherlock expectantly. Is he mad at me? Afraid? Too shocked? Shocked was the right answer, it seemed. John took the book from Sherlock's hands and placed it carefully on his desk. The second he turned again towards his pupil, the boy grabbed his shoulders and almost threw himself on top of John, crushing his lips with his mouth. John laughed through the kiss, and after a moment he managed to dominate it, going from the mess of teeth and saliva Sherlock was doing to a deep and slow snog. He settled his hands on the warmth and softness of Sherlock's waist, caressing it lightly with his thumbs, and savoured at last that mouth that had haunted his dreams so many times. He moved aside a bit to breathe and look again at Sherlock's face. The boy had closed his eyes, and his mouth was red and completely messed up, his lips parted in a silent beg for more. John chuckled, fondly, and wiped Sherlock's mouth with his hand. The boy opened again his eyes, surprised, and John came closer again (tip-toeing, we need to do this sitting down, damn it) and caught Sherlock's lower lip between his, nipping it carefully and eliciting a delightful gasp from the boy. Sherlock was watching intensely now. His upper lip followed the same path as the lower one, and John traced the peeks of it with his tongue and his own lips. He noticed that Sherlock was holding his breath; John then tilted his head and went to kiss Sherlock again, but stopped just an inch from his lips, his breath ghosting on the barely open mouth that was waiting for him. Sherlock couldn't help it, he moved forward and captured John's mouth, deeply, hungrily, but trying to be less messy this time. His strong hands ran by John's shoulders and arms, still shy of going further. John sighed, content, his own hands still at the small of Sherlock's back, and enjoyed the warmth and dampness of that mouth for a few minutes more, loving the taste of it, tea and cigarettes and something sweet that only could be Sherlock himself, and the unusual hardness of the body between his arms, all sharp and angular when he was used to hold rounded and soft flesh. Unusual but not in a bad way, he thought, encircling that brief waist that promised a skin as smooth and delicate as a girl's.

At last he moved away and looked him in the eye.

"Hungry?"

Sherlock nodded, smiling, and let go of his shoulders. They took their coats and bags and went out the lab. John closed the door with his key, aware of the stupid smile still plastered on both of their faces, and resisted the urge of holding Sherlock's hand along the corridor. They walked out side by side instead, Sherlock carrying the thick book under one arm, his coat folded on the same forearm, and his bag hanging from the opposite shoulder. They went out the building and the grounds without a word, in a comfortable silence, and ordered their food at the Chinese take away in the corner. They sat in the same bench as last time; it was just in front of the school, but at the same time out of it, so they felt free, in a way, but still conscious of their situation and the amount of eyes that could be watching them. They sat closer that the previous time, though. Sherlock waited until they had opened their food boxes and readied their sticks to ask, finally:

"I'm not complaining but, why have you changed your mind? What happened with all that "I don't fancy boys, and I'm your teacher" and the rest of that moral rubbish?"

John pretended to study his chop suey for a moment, picking at his food with his wood sticks.

"I had plenty of time to think about it these Christmas", he said at last. "The main reason teacher-student relationships are wrong is the fact that both participants are not even, the teacher is always in a higher position and takes advantage of someone younger and with less experience that looks up at them." He turned to look at Sherlock's eyes. "But in our case, Sherlock, it's not like that. I look up at you. You are the most amazing person I've ever met."

"So we are even?" Sherlock smiled.

Have you listened to me? Have you looked at yourself? Of course we are not even, John thought. But didn't dare to say it aloud.

"Not exactly", he said instead, smiling back. "But I don't think you have to learn anything from me, that's the point."

"Well, my kissing technique needs some improving, I regret to say".

John chuckled.

"Apart from that, obviously".

"And… what happens next?" Sherlock asked after a moment. "Are we a couple?"

John sighed.

"With two conditions, and they are non-negotiable. First one, it has to remain a secret."

"Until I finish at Greenwood?"

"And after as well. I'm sorry, but you are still seventeen. I feel bad enough, I would feel even worse if people started pointing at us in the street. So no-one from Greenwood can know, and neither your family."

He studied Sherlock's face in search of signs of disappointment, but he couldn't find any.

"That's OK. I'm not that close to anyone, so it won't be a problem. I don't want to bring you problems, John, you can trust me." John nodded and put another piece of food in his mouth. "And the second condition?"

"No sex, at all, until the summer."

"Hey, that's mean! I'm seventeen, John, I'm grown up enough to have sex!"

"Not with a teacher, sorry, that's out of the table. Listen to me, someone has to be the adult here, and it happens to be me. I'm not sleeping with a pupil, I wouldn't even if you were already eighteen. So if we are patient enough to wait until the summer, it will mean something. If we are not, well, then it will mean that what we feel is just attraction."

Sherlock's face fell.

"I'm being tested, then."

"The two of us, not only you", John hurried to correct. "Don't be so upset, Sherlock. We need time to know each other, after all."

Sherlock didn't say anything, but focused in eating his lunch. At the end, he stood up, smiling warmly at John, and went to throw the food containers to the bin. John went after him and placed his hand on Sherlock's hip, casually, as he threw away his own lunch remains. Sherlock smiled wider, and let the heel of his hand rub John's chest in his way back to the bench. Both men sat down again, feeling warm and satisfied, their hands itching to touch but settling for letting their knees bump together. Some of the students, the ones that had lunch at home or out the school as they had done, were coming back to the grounds, but they barely looked at John and Sherlock. It was really nice.

"Well", John sighed at last, "now all we need is to know who will be the attacker's next victim".

Sherlock grinned mischievously.

"Oh, but I already know that…"

John arched his eyebrows in disbelief. No way. This boy is going to be the death of me…

"And when you were going to tell us, I wonder?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Who is it?"

"It's Nell. Haven't you noticed how Simon looks at her? She's the only girl he has paid any attention at all during all this year, in fact, so it is possible that she was his intended victim since the beginning… John, are you listening to me?"

But John was looking frantically inside his bag, until he extracted their surveillance schedule. He looked up at Sherlock.

"It's her turn today at lunch time, Sherlock… She is following him, alone!"

And with that, he grabbed his bag and started to run towards the school building.