Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sherlock glanced down at his phone to read the incoming text message from his definitely not boyfriend Sebastian Moran. The two had met the prior year when Seb cornered Sherlock in the music room of Saint Bart’s Boy’s Academy. Honestly, Sherlock had just assumed he came in to beat him up some more, as the boys in the academy deemed it necessary to punish the very cardinal sin of being a gay teenager. How everyone even found out remains a mystery. Sherlock himself was still very much questioning his sexuality, but it appeared as if teenage boys had an innate gaydar that could just tell long before you yourself were even aware. And Sherlock paid the price dearly. Of course he was no stranger to being tossed around the halls of Bart’s. He had a notoriously smart mouth and a habit of airing people’s dirty laundry. One ought to expect the occasional arse kicking if one wishes to behave like an arsehole. Sherlock knew this of course, but he also knew that it wasn’t his fault people left their dirty laundry laying about so visibly easy for even the common idiot to deduce.

8:15 am

The library doors opened, revealing a year eleven boy checking the surrounding area with great caution. He stalked over to the furthest row of bookshelves and rounded the corner.

“Holmes,” he said, relief in his voice, “You’re here.”

Sherlock looked up from the anatomy book he brought along with him. He wasn’t actually reading it, but God forbid he looked like a desperate damsel in waiting when Sebastian arrived for their little rendezvous.

“I said I would, didn't I?” He replied, setting the book aside and standing up. Sebastian shuffled his feet awkwardly.

“Yeah, it’s just,” he started, “I never really know if you’re actually gonna show or not.” He starts approaching Sherlock, a gentleness overtaking his movements.

“To be honest,” he continues, “I have no idea why you even keep agreeing to this.”

The boy’s lips meet and Sherlock allows coarse hands to encircle his waist. Truth be told, Sherlock also didn’t know why he kept agreeing to their arrangement. He didn’t particularly like Sebastian that much, and going by the numerous threats of murder in the event of their relationship outing, Sherlock was sure Sebastian wasn’t actually into him. Yet, every so often they’d gather in a dark corner somewhere and makeout. It was all very teen melodrama of them. In his mind, Sherlock rationalized it as an experiment of sorts. The boys at their school proposed a theory that he was a raging homosexual. His frequent makeout sessions with Sebastian were merely putting a couple hypotheses to test. It was working for the most part. Sherlock was at least certain that he did in fact like men to some extent. He was a teen boy afterall, how his body reacted to being in such an intimate proximity with another decent looking guy was a matter of biology.

Beep Beep Beep

Sherlock pulls away from the kiss and picks up his rucksack from the floor. A hand grabs his arm in protest.

“Aw come on,” Sebastian whines, “that was only the first bell Sherlock.”

Sherlock Shrugs his hand off, and makes his way to the door.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta go.” he replies, exiting the library.

~~~

Room B221, Mr Dimmock’s New Form

Sherlock yawns as he spots the room door highlighted on the letter. He begged whoever would listen to just let him take all his exams early so he wouldn’t have to trudge through another year of mind numbingly easy course work. The school admins said something about the classroom environment providing “enrichment” or whatever bullocks. Sherlock begrudgingly walked towards the door and turned the knob to enter.

“Well if it isn’t the one and only Sherlock Holmes!” Mr Dimmock announced. Sherlock ignored the scoffs and groans heard from a few of his “peers” and stood by Dimmock’s desk.

“Happy New Year Mr Dimmock,” Sherlock offered.

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it Sherlock,” Dimmock rebutted, then he looked down to the seating chart in his hands.

“Let’s see, where did I put you on the seating plan?” he did a quick scan of the room, “Ah yes, you’re over there.”

Sherlock’s eyes follow the direction of his hand.

And that’s when he sees him.

*Thump* *Thump*

“-Next to John Watson,” says Dimmock, “He’s in Year 11 so only a year older than you!”

Chapter Text

4 Days Later

The bell rings and Sherlock throws his head in hands, defeated. He can’t figure him out. Sherlock Holmes, the human computer, can’t pinpoint what it is about John Watson that’s just so…frustrating. The two hardly know each other at all, yet every morning without fail, John gives him a cordial greeting in passing. Since Sherlock started attending Bart’s, all he’s ever been greeted with are insults and sneers. Now all of a sudden, this golden retriever year 11 is smiling at him? Is this some new kind of joke? Have the bullies gotten tired of their usual rhetoric and sent this spy to try to get him to let his guard down or something? Is there some sort of stupid rumor going around about-

“Hey Sherlock?” A voice called, snapping the young genius out of his thoughts. He looks over to the boy on his right, who is covered from waist up in blue ink.

“Do you,-” John starts, but Sherlock cuts him off.

“Your pen exploded and you want a tissue,” He states. John stares back at him for a second and blinks.

“Well, yes.” He replies with an awkward laugh. Sherlock gives him another glance over, then looks away and begins opening up his textbook.

“Why are you asking me?” Sherlock says in an uninterested tone, “You should be more careful with your writing supplies in future.”

It was very petty of him, he reasoned, but still who was this John Watson to just go around expecting him to do him favors? Honestly, spilling ink on yourself like some overexcited puppy trying to act cute, it was nauseating.

“Sherlock!” Mr Dimmock called. He looked up to see John who had somehow teleported to Dimmock’s desk in the span of two seconds.

“Go with John Watson to the toilets to hold the door open for him will you!” he asked.

“Will not,” Sherlock replied.

“Holmes!” Dimmock warned.

~~~~
The boy’s bathroom

“Sorry about this,” John said as he rushed into the opened door.

“Hmm,” Sherlock replied, “At least I’ll miss some of first period.”

Watson laughs as he goes to the sink and gets the water on.

“Oh yeah?” John says, “What do you have?”

“Science.” Sherlock responds with an eye roll.

John pumps out the soap and scrubs his hands roughly.

“Why the air quotes?” He asks.

Sherlock stands up straight to let the bathroom door close, and fixes his uniform.

“Don’t get me started.” he replies.

John reaches for more soap and shakes his head.

“That's right,” he said, “I heard that you’re like some kind of genius right?”

For some reason, this causes Sherlock's face to feel weird. Usually when people call him that word it’s with a very different context. John said it almost like...he meant it.

“Mmh,” Sherlock said, “I’m not surprised they're already feeding you intell on me.”

“They?” John laughs, “Sherlock you make it sound like there’s a conspiracy forming against you or something.”

“That’s not coming off.” Sherlock says matter of factly, motioning to the blue ink still deeply staining John’s hands and clothes.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” he says, shutting off the faucet. “You think I can pass it off as gloves? Make it a new fashion trend or something? Maybe even claim it’s a tattoo!”

“Doubt it,” Sherlock scoffs, “the school hardly allows colored socks let alone tattoos.”

John laughs and grabs a handful of paper towels.

“You’re quite funny Holmes,” he says.

Beep Beep Beep

John tosses the bunched up paper towel in the bin.

“I can never remember if that's the first or second bell,” he says, “can you check the time for me?”

Sherlock dramatically sighs, eliciting another chuckle from John, and pulls out his phone.

((4 text messages from Sebastian))

-- music room 2?
-- holmes where the fuck are you??
-- ??? I’m waiting
-- so now you’re too good to text me back? everyone’s right about you, fucking useless prick.

“Sherlock?” John asks after a moment of silence.

“First bell.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock sighs as he sees a disheveled Greg Lestrade quickly running his way.

“Since when,” the boy breathes once he meets up with him, “have you and John Watson become mates?”

“Mates isn't exactly the word I would use.” Sherlock replied. The two were on their way to their usual lunch spot.

“Well why not then?” Greg asks, “he’s a popular rugby lad, and word around the block is that he’s actually quite nice.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“Nice?” He says, “He’s a rugby chav Greg, Phil Anderson’s friend at that. All they know is throw food, do sport, and belch.”

“Then whyyyy,” Greg teases, poking at Sherlock’s side, earning a glare from him, “have I heard that Bart’s resident genius has been attached at the hip with the number one sports star since the start of term?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Sherlock says, “maybe because these primitives have nothing better to do than create stories and pass them around as fact.”

Greg laughs, then sits down and pulls a sandwich from his lunch sack.

“I’m just shocked you’ve tolerated someone who isn’t me, Jim, or Molly for so long.”

Sherlock pulls out his own lunchbox and sets it aside.

“You’re right.” he says, “I guess it is about that time I tell him to piss off.”

Greg shakes his head.

“Yeah right Holmes,” he says, “if you wanted him gone he’d be gone by now.”

“Is that so?” Sherlock replies.

“Mhhm,” Greg says, taking a bite of his sandwich. “If I weren’t so sure you’re terrorizing the poor lad, i’d even suspect you maybe fancied him a bit?”

There’s a long pause, and then Sherlock is packing his lunch box away and standing up.

“So because I’m the school’s queer, I just fancy any guy who gives me attention is that it?”

Greg’s face drops and he shakes his head furiously.

“No wait sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean it like that Sherlock.”

“Right,” Sherlock scoffed, “regardless of how you meant it, Watson’s the straightest person on earth, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll carry on as I wait for the inevitable shoe to drop.”

~~~
At the school gate

“Oh my God, Sebby shut up!”

The year 10 girl giggles, and hops up on her tiptoes, planting a kiss on Sebastian’s lips.

~~~
11:14 pm

-- don’t want to meet up anymore (S.H)
-- ??? why (S.M)
-- I don’t understand, why now? (S.M)
-- what you’re scared of getting caught is that it? (S.M)
-- holmes, would you just stop ignoring me!!! (S.M)

Chapter Text

Monday 1st February, Year 10/11 P.E. Class

“Come on year 10s! We’ve been at this all year and no one’s beat Sherlock’s time yet! He’s like a bloody gazelle he is!”

John Watson stretches as he watches the scrawny curly haired boy zoom past a herd of struggling students on the other end of the fence.

“Fucking mad isn’t it?” Anderson remarks, slapping an arm around John’s shoulder. “How the hell does a little shrimp like that have so much stamina? Probably from being chased around all year right?”

John is only half listening. His gaze is transfixed on the rhythmic bobbing of black curls.

“Well it’s what he gets for making himself a target,” Anderson tugs at his golden haired teammate. “C’mon let’s head back, we're resetting now.”

~~~
At the lockers

“Sherlock,” Sebastian calls. The year 10 uses every muscle in his body to suppress a flinch.

“Sebastian.” He answers shortly.

“I need to talk to you,” Sebastian says, reaching for Sherlock’s hand, but he dodges.

“We are talking,” Sherlock replies.

“Don’t get fucking smart with me,” Sebastian says, “and answer my texts, it’s been two weeks, are you still having a fit?”

Sherlock bites his lip to curtail his anger.

“A fit?” he says.

“Yeah,” Sebastian replies, “what you expect me to believe freak Holmes just decided I’m not good enough for him anymore, no explanation needed?”

Sherlock slams his locker shut, barely masking his annoyance.

“Look Seb,” he says, “I told you this was over, just take it like a champ and leave me alone already?”

*SLAM*

Metal lockers dig into his spine as Sherlock tries and fails to wiggle out of Sebastian’s grip.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy freak,” Sebastian says, diving in for Sherlock’s lips. He struggles to get a firm hold on him.

“If I’m such a freak,” Sherlock says, “why do you keep trying to kiss me?”

His question is ignored as Sebastian finally manages to lock their lips. Sherlock struggles but despite his speed and endurance, he isn’t very gifted in the muscular department. Hands snake down his abdomen, and he feels trapped. His heart rate quickens as the reality of the situation dawns on him.

“Stop!” he tries, desperately trying to escape to no avail. “Please!”

“Look who’s nice all of a sudden,” Sebastian whispers in his ear, making Sherlock shiver.

“Sherlock?”

*Relief*

Sherlock’s shoulders fall as Sebastian’s weight is suddenly removed.

“John?” Sebastian says, looking between the two confused. John avoids his gaze and keeps his eyes fixed on the year 10 straightening out his dress shirt.

“I didn’t know you knew Seb,” he says, picking Sherlock’s bag off the ground. “I was looking for you.”

The boy in question took one more look at the pair and retreated.

“Talk to you later Holmes,” Sebastian said leaving the area.

There’s an awkwardness in the air. Neither boy knowing how to proceed. John clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, “why are you friend’s with a dick like Sebastian Moran?”

Sherlock ignores the very visible tremor in his hands, and refuses to meet John’s eyes.

“You lot have a very loose definition of that term.” he replies.

John offers him a half smile.

“I’ll assume you’re tutoring him in maths” he says, “or…something like that, yeah?”

“Something like that.” Sherlock replies. He takes his bag from John, and turns to exit the area. To his surprise and bemusement, John follows him out.

“I was looking for you,” he says, “like I said earlier.”

“You’ve found me,” Sherlock says. He almost wishes he hadn’t. A sudden tiredness has overtaken him and all he wants is to go home and disappear.

“Well the thing is,” John said before pausing. Sherlock noticed he hesitated a lot. Was that a John thing or did he just do that when they were together? Was he that annoying that even a social butterfly like John Watson couldn’t get through a conversation with him?

“Do spit it out Watson,” Sherlock says. If the shoe was due to drop, it’s better he got it over with so Sherlock could return to his normal miserable existence.

“Join the rugby team.” John says.

Sherlock stops dead in his tracks, genuinely lost for words. He’s not sure the exact words he was expecting but those weren’t it.

“Beg your pardon?” Sherlock says.

“You’re wicked fast,” John says, “and we’re sort of short a player…”

Sherlock’s mind buzzes several miles a minute as he tries to decipher what kind of ruse John must’ve been putting on. Rugby of all things?! Hell, Sherlock didn’t even know how to play, not that he’d ever admit that in a million years.

“Why me?” He says finally.

John laughs, as he’s fond of doing lately.

“Why not you?” he says, “granted you are a bit small for rugby, but no worries I’ll walk you through it.”

“I never said I’d join,” Sherlock says, but John’s already beaming at him.

Beep Beep Beep

“Great, so practice is next week!” John calls out as he runs ahead to his next class.

“John!” Sherlock yells, “I never said I’d join!”

“I’ll tell coach you’ll be there.” John says, “See you at practice!” he yells before disappearing into the crowd.

“Git!” Sherlock calls back, shaking his head. He suppresses the hint of a smile threatening his lips. The tremor in his hands have stopped.

Chapter Text

One week later in the boy’s locker room

“Sherlock Holmes though?”

“Yeah?” John replied, lacing up his trainers. If he were honest, he didn’t really think Sherlock would come to rugby practice. He tried to do the whole reverse psychology thing and dared him he couldn’t last a week on the field. But Sherlock was definitely too smart to fall for that sort of thing.

“But why him?”

“He’s a fucking stick!”

“He’s an arsehole at that!”

“Does he even like sports? Isn’t he like gay and stuff?”

*CREAK*

Sherlock enters the room with a blank expression. The other boys go silent.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Sherlock said, “I’d assume you were talking about me?”

John springs up and walks over to the raven locked boy.

“Hello there,” he says. His eyes lingering on Sherlock’s for a second too long.

“Hi…” Sherlock replies, not really sure what else to say. His gaze drops to the floor.

~~~
On the Rugby Field

“So the rules of Rugby,” John says, “There are four ways to score. A try, a conversion, a penalty, or a drop goal. A try is when you ground the ball over the line. Conversion and penalties are where you get the chance to kick the ball out goal without being tackled, and a drop goal is where you kick it through the post during general play.”

Sherlock could feel his literal brain melting. Regret started to sink in the further in they got on the field. Why did he even show up in the first place? It’s not like he owed it to John or anything…

“Sorry,” John says, “That’s a lot of information all at once isn’t it?”

“Don’t insult me John Watson.” Sherlock glared at him.

“Sorry,” the rugby player replied.

“You say that a lot,” Sherlock says.

“Sorry?” John says.

“Yes,” Sherlock smiles, “that exactly.”

“Oh,” John replies. He sneaks a peak over at Sherlock’s face before the young genius catches himself and drops the smile.

“You’ll probably pick it up after a few games anyways,” John says, picking up a ball.

“A few what?!” Sherlock asks, “I thought I was just a spare, you don’t actually expect me to play do you?”

John places a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

*Buzz*
*Thump*

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, “By the time I’m through with you today, you’ll be a better rugby player than me.”

John gives his shoulder a squeeze and runs down the field. Sherlock releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Chapter Text

The next morning

“Hi”

“Hi”

“You’re not actually doing your maths homework on the way to class are you?” Sherlock asks. Surely enough, that was exactly what John was doing. Sherlock could tell with just a quick look at the page that he’d already gotten several problems wrong, but somehow he didn’t have the heart to tell him.

"Maybe?" John replies.

"You're chaotic." Sherlock says.

"Coming from Sherlock Holmes?" John jokes, "now you're giving me too much credit. I'm not that exciting."

“At this rate,” Sherlock says accepting the banter, “you’d probably get it done faster if I just did it for you.”

John pauses walking.

“Are you offering?” he asks.

*Thump*

“...I was just saying,” Sherlock says, avoiding his eyes.

John continues walking.

“Good,” he says, “If I let you do my work, then how would I learn?”

“I believe they call it tutoring,” Sherlock says, his voice trailing off a bit. He fidgets with his fingers.

“You’d tutor me?” John asks. He’s looking at Sherlock as if he’s just unearthed a century old treasure.

“Actually…” Sherlock says, “I’d really rather just do it for you.”

Besides it not like he hadn't been forced to do other people's homework before, he was used to the extra work load. The young genius reaches for John’s notebook, which has now been moved just slightly out of reach.

“Oh please,” John says, smiling, “you just want to show off!”

“It’d take less than a second! Promise!” Sherlock says with a smirk, going for the book again.

:

Two small pen marks kiss the skin of Sherlock’s hand. John looks at them for a moment, then takes Sherlocks hand in his.

*Buzzzz*
*Thump* *Thump* *Thump*

: )

A half circle completes the drawing, and Sherlock's face mimics the image.

~~~

*SLAM*

“I did it again!” Lestrade says, dropping two juices onto the lunch table. “I bought Molly’s drink, AGAIN.”

Jim Moriarty looked up from his copy of Dune Messiah.

“Didn’t you do that yesterday as well?” he asks

“Yes Jim,” Lestrade says, “Yes, I did, and on Monday.” He pouted and deflated onto the table.

“Molly’s not here Greg,” Sherlock says.

“Thank you Sherlock,” Greg says, “excellent deduction.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” Jim interrupts.

“How about another deduction,” Sherlock asks, pushing his lunch to the side.

“Go for it,” Greg sighs.

“You miss her,” he says. Greg nods and looks wistfully at the second juice bottle by his side.

“I mean,” he starts, “obviously it’s better that she’s at an all girl’s school now.”

He leans over and steals Sherlock’s forgotten apple, and takes a bite.

“You know,” Greg says, “Mr Magnussen still refuses to call her Molly?”

“He’s a shithead transphobe,” Jim says.

“Which is interesting given his browser history,” Sherlock adds. The two boys stare back at him in confused horror.

“He’s compensating,” Sherlock elaborates. “Still a shithead.”

Greg thinks it over for a second, then returns to sulking.

“It’s weird,” he says, “there used to be four of us, now there’s three.”

He continues to waffle on about groups and trios or whatever, but Sherlock’s attention has shifted elsewhere. Just beyond the fence, a game of rugby has started. John Watson, star player, takes charge of the field. Sherlock is full on staring. Greg eventually realizes he’s being drowned out by his friends and decides to follow Sherlock’s gaze.

“Sherlock,” he asks with a cheeky smile, “you still hanging around the golden retriever boy that sits next you in form?”

Sherlock watches as John high fives a teammate.

“He is a bit like a retriever isn’t he?” He says practically studying the rugby match now. Jim and Greg exchange a look.

“Just, be careful Sherlock.” Greg says. This catches Sherlock’s attention.

“Me?” He asks, “When am I ever not careful?”

“You’re joking but, “Greg says, “just because John may seem nice, doesn’t mean his mates are too. Those year elevens look a lot like the ones that kept bothering you last year.”

“I can handle myself, Lestrade,” Sherlock argued.

“I know Sherlock,” Greg says, “just be careful is all. Ok?”

Sherlock looks back over to the field. John is being lifted by his teammates, a familiar smile plastered on his face.

*Thump*
*Flutter*

“I will.”

Chapter Text

Reichenbach School for Girls.

-- hey I have some news from Bart’s (G.L.)
-- spill! spill! spill! (M.H.)

“Lunch ends in five minutes girls!”

-- sherly’s got a crush on a rugby lad in his form (G.L.)
-- no way!! SHERLOCK does? (M.H.)
-- he’s totally in denial tho lol (G.L.)
-- why is he like this? Haha (M.H.)
-- no idea. (G.L.)
-- but anyway how’s things at Reich today?” (G.L.)
-- sooo much better than Bart’s. (M.H.)
-- no one’s chucked a sandwich across the cafeteria all week ^_^ (M.H.)
-- sounds like heaven (G.L.)
-- made any new friends? (G.L.)
-- what do you think? T__T (M.H.)

“Ahem,” Mrs. Smallwood held out her hand, “is that a phone Molly?”

Molly looks sadly at her phone and hands it over.

“We don’t make exceptions even for new students Miss Hooper,” Mrs. Smallwood says, “you can have this back from reception at the end of the day.”

The teacher walks away, with Molly's phone in hand, leaving the young girl alone in solitude.

~~~

Mrs. Hudson’s art classroom

“It’s been quite a while since you’ve hidden in here at lunch.”

The elderly woman shifts aside the freshly graded drawings. She smiles warmly at the curly haired boy cuddled in a corner on the floor by the cabinets. The boy in question opens his lunch tin. Mycroft has packed it with all his “favorites” again.

“I’m not hiding Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock argues. He closes the tin.

“Then what are you doing love?” She asks.

“Eating lunch,” he says waving the tin in the air.

The woman sighs and takes a sip of her cuppa.

“Are you sure everything’s alright dear?” she asks, “no bullies I need to ruffle up again are there?”

There are many rumors about how Mrs. Hudson handled Sherlock’s bullies from last year, each more harrowing than the last.

“No Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock says, “everything’s fine.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Mrs. Hudson steadily holds his gaze and takes another sip of her tea.

“Theoretically,” Sherlock begins, “if someone were to be…involved, with someone else-”

“Ooh involvements,” Mrs. Hudson chirped. “What kind are we speaking of dear?”

Sherlock hesitates.

“Non platonically,” he says. He looks away and waits. Moments later Mrs. Hudson makes a sound of acknowledgement.

“I see,” she says. “Go on then.”

“It would make sense,” Sherlock continues, “to actually like each other right?”

“Well that’s sort of the point darling,” Mrs Hudson adds.

“And be okay with being seen together?” Sherlock asks, “as a pairing?”

“Well one would hope so!” Mrs. Hudson chimes.

Sherlock goes silent again. Mrs. Hudson takes this as a signal to carry on.

“Theoretically,” she says, “if someone were truly interested in another someone, they’d be proud to be seen with them. They’d shout their love from the rooftops, if it were genuine, even if they were scared of the reaction. A relationship requires vulnerability.”

“I hate vulnerability,” Sherlock says.

“I know!” Mrs. Hudson protests, “it took me months to figure out you were being harassed.”

~~~
At the Holmes residence

Sherlock stares down his bowl of cereal. It’s been several minutes, and the flakes have all gone soggy.

“Morning!”

“Jesus Mycroft!” Sherlock jumps, nearly dropping the bowl. The older Holmes boy takes a moment to study his sibling. He squints his eyes, and Sherlock can’t help but to squirm under his gaze. Is this what other people felt like when he deduced them?

“Well?” Sherlock asks, setting the bowl in the sink.

“Well?” Mycroft returns.

“You’ve clearly drawn a conclusion,” Sherlock says, picking up his bag. “What information have you pried from my life this time?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a massive hypocrite?” Mycroft asks.

“More times than you can count.” Sherlock replies. He makes his way to the door as Mycroft grabs his car keys.

“Well done Sherlock,” he says, opening the door and leading them out.

“For what exactly?” Sherlock asks, sliding into the passenger seat.

“I’ve got a keen enough eye,” Mycroft says, starting the engine, “to tell when you’re one Knob of a human short.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as they drove off. Mycroft could also tell when a new addition had entered his life, but he’ll let Sherlock keep that one to himself for now.

Chapter Text

8:13 pm

John Watson was in his bed, sat on his phone and grinning from ear to ear. Did he just so happen to stumble on Sherlock Holmes twitter account after some accidental strings of google searches? Maybe. It was funny though. Holmes didn’t seem like the social media type. But boy did he have a LOT to say. He always had a snarky reply to everything, if the dozens of quote tweets calling him a “clapback king” was anything to go off of.

@ Panderson-- do you get off on being beat up weirdo? ur basically asking for it all the time
@ scienceofdeduction-- don’t speak anderson, you’ll lower the IQ of the entire street
@ Mikestamford-- LMAO

John continued scrolling, taking extra care not to accidentally like any tweets. He wasn’t cyberstalking, promise! Sherlock was just a really interesting person by nature. His profile was full of a bunch of random but super cool facts, and pics of science experiments. He was super into true crime too. A red flag for sure, but John Watson had a habit of looking at red flags through rose colored glasses. Speaking of red flags, John had meant to bring up the whole Sebastian situation at some point. He didn’t know how to approach the topic though. Talking to Sherlock felt a bit like walking through landmines. Still, he wanted the younger boy to know that he had his back. Something about Sherlock just made John want to protect him.

With a deep breath and some courage, John clicks onto Sherlock’s private messages.

-- hey so what happened seemed really serious|

| Backspace

-- I think you should stay away from Sebastian|

| Backspace

John threw his phone on his bed and ran his hands through his hair.

~~~
Sherlock’s Bedroom

The harmonious sounds of “Bach’s Violin Sonata No.1 in G minor,” fills the air, as Sherlock plays the tune with heavy concentration. He always loved the instrument. Playing it helped him to think clearly, and thank God for that because just minutes into the piece, he receives a notification on his phone.

((Twitter DM from @ JJohnWatsonn))

-- hey just wanted to check that you’re all good. Didn’t really talk about it, but Seb’s a dick! (J.W.)

Sherlock blinks at the message. He was hoping John had just miraculously forgotten about that whole ordeal. He thought it was embarrassing enough that he was even in that situation in the first place, let alone being caught like that. Sherlock deeply sighed. He did NOT feel like talking about this.

-- all good (S.H.)
-- sure about that? (J.W.)

Sherlock rolls his eyes. Of course John would pry.

-- you can talk to me about it if you want? (J.W.)

Why would Sherlock want to do that? The last thing John was probably interested in doing was sitting around while Sherlock bitched and moaned about his tragic intimate life. If you could even call it that.

-- looked like a pretty serious situation (J.W.)
-- but you don’t have to say anything (J.W.)
-- if you don’t want to I mean (J.W.)
-- but we are friends so I do care about you (J.W.)

*Thump* *Thump* *Thump*

Friends? Were they really that close that John thought of him as a friend? He couldn’t have read that right. All Sherlock had done was exist near him for a couple weeks, quite rudely for that matter. Sherlock was sure even that was starting to get old. He only really tolerated three people in his lifetime, so the concept of friendship was still fairly foreign to him. Were he and John friends now? Did he miss something? What did Sherlock do to make him start caring about him?

And how, he wondered, could he make him keep doing it?

-- ok (S.H.)

~~~
John’s bedroom

-- ok? (J.W.)
-- it’s a long and very dull story (S.H.)

John sat up in his bed and drew the phone closer to his face. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to imagine Sherlock wasn’t the kind to open up to people. John recognized this must’ve been a special opportunity. He felt privileged that Sherlock did trust him with this info afterall.

*Tingle*

-- I don't mind (J.W.)
-- last year some idiot six formers made the assumption that I was gay. I didn’t exactly correct them so everyone just ran with it. Turns out they weren’t very far off on their prediction. So Sebastian found me playing violin in the music room. Started rambling some bullocks story about me being “brave”, then just like that he was kissing me. I didn’t stop him. Fast forward a few weeks and he’s texting me to meet up. Neither of us really even liked each other so I don’t know why I kept going. Finally told him I was over it, and unsurprisingly he doesn’t handle rejection very well. (S.H.)

John could feel the heat rush to his face. He’d never wanted to punch someone so bad in his life. Nothing angered him more than people with dubious definitions of consent.

-- I fuckin hate him. Always knew he was dick but Jesus, Sherlock… please don’t ever speak to him again. (J.W.)
-- don’t plan to… (S.H.)
-- i’ll kick his arse if he ever tries anything again (J.W.)
-- while i’m flattered, you don’t have to get into a fight on my behalf (S.H.)
-- but nevertheless (S.H.)
-- I guess, thank you? (S.H.)
-- for the threat or for being there by the lockers that day? (J.W.)
-- perhaps both (S.H.)

~~~
Sherlock’s Room

The violin had long since been forgotten on the floor and Sherlock was now propped up against his bed. He hadn’t expected to share that story with John, but now that he had, he was almost glad he did. Sherlock remembered what Greg told him the other day about being careful. He reminded himself that John was still an unknown variable. He couldn’t just let his guard down over some kind words.

-- No problem at all <3 (J.W.)

Sherlock smiled at the emoji. He supposed if John was gonna make the effort to at least act like he cared, it wouldn’t hurt to humor him a little.

-- :[ (S.H.)

Chapter Text

The next day

Sherlock, Greg, and Jim sit side by side in their midday lesson. Hardly anyone in the class is paying attention, least of all Jim who is nose deep in volume 72 of Naruto. Meanwhile, Sherlock has his eyes glued to his phone screen.

-- i’m sooo bored (S.H.)
-- same here (J.W.)
-- just got assigned this awful geography project (J.W.)
-- who do you have? (S.H.)
-- mr smith :P (J.W.)
-- ew (S.H.)

Greg glances over at the subject of Sherlock’s attention. He shakes his head.

“Just so we’re on the same page here,” he says in a hushed tone, “John Watson is one hundred percent straight?”

“hmm,” Sherlock replies, not diverting his attention from his phone. Greg sighs, and looks over at Jim.

“Moriarty,” he says, “back me up on this.”

Jim briefly pauses his reading.

“Extremely hetero,” he replies, then returns to his manga. However, both responses seem to fall on deaf ears as Sherlock just carries on texting. Greg sighs in defeat. He lays his head on his desk, after sparing Sherlock one last glance, and prepares for a nap.

“I’ll hope for your sake,” he sighs under his breath, shutting his eyes, “that he’s at least bicurious.”

~~~
Reichenbach School for Girls

The bell rings and Molly Hooper walks into her midday lesson. As she prepares to sit, she spots Sally Donovan quickly approaching her.

“Molly,” she says, “you’ve dropped your pencil case.”

The curly haired girl hands Molly the missing item.

“Thank you,” she replies. This was the first time anyone in her year had talked to her.

“It’s really cute,” Sally continues, “where’d you get it from?”

Molly’s face tints pink. Someone was showing interest in her existence! She racks her brain to remember the answer to Sally’s question.

“Um,” she says timidly, “Paper Chase. But I’ve painted the flowers on it myself!”

Sally eyes widen and she beams a smile.

“Really!?” she exclaims, “That’s so cool! I can barely draw stick figures.”

Both girls laugh, and Molly tucks her hair behind her ears.

“Do you want to meet up with us for lunch tomorrow?” Sally asks.

“Us?” Molly replies.

“Irene and I,” Sally says, “we eat in the canteen so you can join us anytime.”

Molly smiles, but then hesitates. Her face falls as she comes to a horrifying realization.

“Oh no,”she says, “did Ms. Smallwood ask you to try and make friends with me?”

Sally looks at her confused.

“Um no,” she laughs, “why would she ask that?”

Molly perks up and straightens out her skirt.

“No reason,” she replies, “I’d love to sit with you guys.”

Sally sends her one more smile then heads over to her seat next to Irene. Molly also takes her seat, but can’t help overhearing the girl's conversation behind her.

“Have you finished your project?” Sally asks.

“Lemme think,” Irene replies, as she adjusts her lipstick in her compact mirror, “you mean the one due fourth period that you’re defo gonna help me finish?”

Sally laughs and bumps her shoulder.

“You’re lucky I love you.” she says.

~~~
Ms. Hudson’s art classroom

“Ms. Hudson I have a question,” Sherlock says as he hurries into the room.

Ms. Hudson is arranging folders on top of the cabinets, and doesn’t flinch at all at the boy’s sudden arrival.

“You often do sweetheart,” she replies.

Sherlock takes a seat, and tents his hands on the table.

“How do you know if you like someone?” Sherlock asks.

Mrs Hudson turns to face him and happily claps her hands.

“Do you like someone darling?” she asks.

“An answer Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock replies.

The older lady places a delicate hand on her hip, and rests the other against her chin.

“Well let’s see,” she says, “when I met my husband, we were around your age. I just loved spending every moment with him. I knew he was the one for me when I found myself missing his presence at the oddest times. Eventually I couldn’t imagine my life without having him in it.”

Sherlock hums and thinks this over. He deduced at first glance that Ms. Hudson was a single woman, so that didn’t quite add up.

“Why didn’t it work out between you two?” he asks finally.

“Oh!” Ms. Hudson laughs, “he was executed ages ago.”

Sherlock pauses, then immediately stands back up.

“Right,” he says with a sigh, “thank you for your help Ms. Hudson. Always the fountain of wisdom.”

“Anytime love,” she calls out to him as he exits the room.

~~~
The following day

John scrolls though his instagram page, explaining the images to a surprisingly interested Sherlock.

“This is Redbeard,” he says, pointing to the picture of his family dog.

Sherlock’s face lights up.

“You have a dog?” he asks in a slightly excited tone, “I’ve always wanted a dog but my stupid brother is allergic.”

John laughs and scrolls through more pictures of Redbeard.

“Yeah,” he replies, “we’ve had her for ages. My older sister Harry named her though. She had a pirate phase when she was younger.”

“So did I,” Sherlock replies, eyes practically sparkling as he looked through the gallery of Redbeard pictures.

*Thump* *Thump*

In that moment, John Watson realized that Sherlock Holmes was…actually quite adorable?

“Did you?” he asked.

“Huh?” Sherlock replied, looking up at John.

“You had a pirates phase?” he asked.

Sherlock’s cheeks tint a lovely shade of red and he quickly glances away to clear his throat.

“I was five,” he says, messing with his hair, “hardly anything serious.”

John does an amused laugh and puts his phone away. As he looks at Sherlock’s embarrassed face, he’s suddenly hit with a great idea.

“You should come over Sherlock,” he says.

The year 10 has a full body reaction, and his brows furrow. After a moment, he responds.

“S-seriously?” he asks, in disbelief. “You’re i-in- inviting ME to YOUR home?”

“Yeah,” John laughs, “you are the only Sherlock in the room right?”

“Why?” Sherlock asks incredulously.

“What do you mean why?” John asks, pulling back out his phone to check his calendar. “Are you free this Saturday?”

“I think so,” Sherlock replies. His body has gone stiff and rigid.

“I’ll text you the address then,” John says.

Chapter Text

The Holmes Residence

Sherlock ties the laces on his least worn out pair of old converses. His mother begged him to replace his shoes a million times. She said they were “unbecoming”, but Sherlock couldn’t care less about fashion and told her not to bother. He walks over to the mirror in the foyer and starts fussing with his hair. Had it always been so unruly?

“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked, seemingly appearing out of thin air.

Sherlock jumped and dropped his hands from his hair.

“God Mycroft,” he groaned, “don’t you have anything better to do?”

The older Holmes looked his brother up and down, then squinted his eyes.

“Where are you going?” he asked, ignoring Sherlock’s question.

Sherlock turned back to face the mirror, inspecting the mess of curls he couldn’t quite tame.

“You have eyes,” Sherlock replied, annoyed, “deduce it.”

Mycroft gave a cheeky grin and leaned his weight against the wall.

“Oh,” he said, “you wouldn’t like MY answer.”

Sherlock turned back towards his brother with a glare. He huffed, and drooped his shoulders.

“If you must know,” he said, “I’ve been invited to a friend's house.”

“A friend!?” Mycroft teased, his grin taking up his whole face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes so hard they hurt. This was exactly why he never told Mycroft anything.

“Please,” Sherlock said, returning to messing with his hair in the mirror, “reserve your stupid comments for yourself Mycroft.”

There was a beat of silence as Mycroft watched his baby brother move his hair around frantically. Sherlock would kill him for saying it, but it was rather cute.

“Greg’s?” Mycroft said, a bit of amusement leaking into his voice.

“No,” Sherlock replied shortly.

“Hmm,” Mycroft said. He waited a moment before asking again.

“Jim’s?” he asked.

“GO AWAY!” Sherlock yelled.

Mycroft laughed and threw his arms in the air in mock surrender. He began backing away from the room until Sherlock stopped him.

“Wait!” he called.

Mycroft cocked an eyebrow and froze in place.

“Is my hair too short?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft considered using the rare moment of insecurity to make a joke, but decided against it. Whoever Sherlock was getting preened for, had better be worth it.

“It looks the same,” he replied.

“So it’s ok as it is?” Sherlock asked.

“It looks the same,” Mycroft repeated with emphasis.

Sherlock scoffed and turned back to the mirror.

“Thanks for nothing as always,” he said under his breath.

This time Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“Have fun with such and such!” he says.

“His name’s John!” Sherlock yells on his way out the door.

~~~
The Watson Residence

Sherlock walks up to the average looking address that was sent to him via text message last night. He took a deep breath and went to ring the doorbell. His finger hovered for a moment, then with another breath he pressed it.

*Bark* *Bark*

The door swings open to reveal John Watson in a royal blue athletic jumper.

“Hi,” he says with a smile.

“Hi,” Sherlock replies.

“This is Redbeard,” John says, gesturing to the red haired dog at his feet.

Just as before, Sherlock's face lit up, and in moments he’s crouched on the floor, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi Redbeard!” he coos in a higher pitched voice, “oh you’re just precious aren’t you?”

*Thump* *Thump*

Seeing Sherlock gush over his family dog, made John’s hands go all tingly. He’s really glad he invited him over.

And that smile…

“You got a haircut,” John says as Sherlock stands up.

He reaches out and ruffles the strands.

“Do spare me the insults,” Sherlock replies, pulling his head away from John’s touch.

“Who said there were insults?” John asks, “I think you look…it looks great.”

*Thump* *Thump* *Thump*

Sherlock swallows, and secretly prays to every and any God he’s ever heard of that his face remained pale!

*Whine*

The two look down at Redbeard who is restlessly moving back and forth.

“You’d better come in,” John says, “before Redbeard thinks we’re going for a walk.”

~~~
In John’s room

*video game noises*

“I thought you’d never played smash before!” John whines, tilting his entire body along with the controller in his hands.

Sherlock sits cross legged on his bed, calmly navigating his vehicle on the screen in front of them.

“I haven’t,” he replies.

*video game tire screeching*

“Then how!” John exclaims, “are you beating me so many times!?”

“Because,” Sherlock says with a cheeky smile, “you SUCK.”

John gives him a playful shove, which annoyingly doesn’t throw him off at all.

“Shall I go easy on you?” Sherlock asks as he approaches his final lap.

“Oh shut up!” John laughs.

“YES!”
“NO!”

“It’s not fair!” John jokes, tossing the controller on the bed. “How come you get to be good at everything?”

Sherlock starts subconsciously messing with his hair again.

“Contrary to common belief,” he says, “I'm not actually good at EVERYTHING.”

“You are,” John rebuttals, “You’re a proper genius!”

*Thump* *Thump*

“Hardly,” Sherlock says. He’s never said that out loud.

“Oh come on,” John continues, “You’re naturally good at video games, literally every subject, especially maths and science, playing violin, befriending dogs.”

Sherlock scoffs but he can’t help smiling at the compliments.

“Oh!” John says, “and you’re also a brilliant rugby player!”

“Shutup!” Sherlock laughs, shoving John onto the bed.

“See!” John says, “that was an excellent tackle!”

“Huh,” Sherlock says looking out the window, “it’s snowing.”

“Great deduction,” John teases.

Sherlock throws another pillow, then the two boys stand up and head out the room together.

Chapter Text

The Watson’s Livingroom

“Okay,” John said, holding a hoodie out in front of him, “try this one.”

Sherlock pulls the hoodie over his head, and to no one's surprise, the garment hangs off of him. He lifts his hands up to show John the excess sleeve fabric drooping over them. John has to turn away to hide his chuckle.

“A bit too big?” Sherlock asks.

John picks up Redbeard’s leash, and tosses on a beanie.

“A bit,” he replies.

He sees Sherlock fidgeting around in the hoodie and tugging at the strings.

“Still looks good,” John adds.

Sherlock hums and clears his throat. He steps aside as Redbeard, impatiently makes her way to the door.

~~~
Just outside the Watson’s backyard

As the snow fell and gathered onto the ground, tiny flakes of ice also gathered in small hoards atop Sherlock’s curly hair. The young genius shakes his head, akin to a dog after a bath, and the flakes cascade to the ground.

*Tingle*

“Cute,” John whispers.

“Huh?” Sherlock asks, his nose already turning red from the cold.

John realizes what he accidentally said out loud and instantly has a mini panic attack.

“UErr,” he says, “I said it’s cold.”

“Yeah,” Sherlock huffs, wrapping his arms around himself.

He really was much too skinny, John thought briefly.

“Redbeard!” John calls out, “come here.”

The big ginger haired dog comes barreling out the door and joins the two boys. The sun is still shining and its rays reflect off the snow, casting a soft glowing silhouette around everything.

John looks up into the sky and opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue to catch the snow.

*Tingle*

In the dreamy lighting, Sherlock finally notices the little details. The way John’s hair was so golden it seemed to shine. The way he did everything with this confident yet gentle countenance.

The way he looked really cute in that shade of blue.

*Tingle*

Once he started noticing, he couldn’t stop. When John would crouch down to rub Redbeard’s belly and his smile radiated across his whole face-

*Tingle*

When he threw a snowball at Sherlock during their impromptu snowball fight, but managed to do so with the perfect form only a proper athlete would have-

*Tingle*

When Sherlock got more snow stuck in his nest of hair and John delicately reached out and shifted the curls loose as their eyes met-

*Tingle*

*Tingle*

*Tingle*

“Fuck.”

Sherlock thought to himself.

He mentally chastised himself for not realizing it sooner. Greg was right, and he was going to be SO annoying about it later.

Sherlock defeatedly sighs and lays on the icy ground. Moments later, John Watson enters his line of vision.

“Are you making a snow angel?” he asks.

It’s so earnest, Sherlock doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he was actually just laying down to wallow in despair.

“Want me to?” he asks instead.

John pulls out his phone and nods enthusiastically.

*One snow angel later*

Sherlock could feel the cold wet ice seeping into his clothes. He’s gonna need a steaming bath later or he’ll definitely be ill the following week. He considered getting up, but then John bends down and lays next to him before starting to make his own snow angel.

A little while longer wouldn’t kill him right?

*Two snow angels later*

Redbeard leaps in between the spot where the two boys are laying. Sherlock gives her a hug and brushes his cold fingers through her fur.

John is staring upwards again, looking completely at peace. He’s talking about his childhood memories of winters with his older sister Harry. Sherlock watches his mouth move, but he doesn’t hear a word.

~~~
Back in John’s room

“I’m freezing,” Sherlock says. His statement is then followed by a sneeze, as if on cue.

*Tingle*

“He even sneezes cutely,” John thinks to himself, shrugging off his jacket.

“You should have worn something waterproof,” he says instead.

Sherlock sits on the floor and pulls his knees up into his chest.

“Well sorry,” Sherlock pouts, “not all of us are the outdoorsy type Watson.”

John looks over to the shivering boy and his heart aches a bit.

“I hope you don’t catch a cold,” he says.

Sherlock buries his face in his knees.

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice muffled, “I’ve caught colds for far less. At least this time it’ll be worth it.”

There’s a beat of silence. Sherlock doesn’t lift his head from his knees, and John is thankful for that because his own face is beet red.

“Um,” he says, “Wait here a sec.”

~~~
Inside Sherlock’s Mind

“IDIOT! How could you say that out loud!? He probably thinks you’re a weirdo now! Maybe he didn’t hear it? Who am I kidding we’re feet apart of course he heard it! FUCK!”

~~~
In John’s room

“Here,” John says, holding out one of Harry's old blankets, “you can borrow this for the walk home too.”

Sherlock, still not looking up, grabs the blanket and wraps it around himself.

“Thank you,” he says.

~~~
The Watson’s front door

Sherlock, bundled tightly in Harry’s blanket, waves at John one last time before turning towards the direction of his house.

“Try not to slip and die on the ice!” John calls out to him.

“No promises!” Sherlock calls back.

If he were being honest, Sherlock was at least vaguely considering it. He pulls the blanket over his head and desperately hopes that Mycroft has gone blind in the time that he’d been away, because without a doubt, Sherlock Holmes had “CRUSH” written all over him.

Chapter Text

The Watson Dining Room

*Click*
*Swiiiish*
*Glug*

John pours the steaming water from the kettle into his favorite mug. At the dining table, his mother is sat, sifting through letters and nursing her own cup of tea.

“Sherlock seems like a nice boy,” she says, “When did you meet him?”

John thinks about it for a moment. It’s already been a few months hasn’t it?

“A couple months ago,” he says, “he’s in my form group.”

“Oh?” she replies, “He’s very different from your other friends isn’t he?”

Different was a bit of an understatement.

“You seem much more yourself around him,” his mother continues.

“Do I?” John asks.

What did his mum mean by that? John thought he was always just being himself.

“You do,” she replied.

John takes a sip of his tea, and scrunches his brows.

“Hmm.” he says.

~~~
The Courtyard between St. Bart and Reichenbach

John leans his back against the table where all his usual group of mates are gathered, conversing loudly about who or whatever. John was too busy having a conversation of his own.

-- I think I'm willing to take you up on your tutoring offer now (J.W.)
-- which offer was that again? (S.H.)
-- pleeease Sherlock, I’m desperate (J.W.)
-- maybe if I could find the time (S.H.)
-- I could POSSIBLY squeeze in a lesson or two (S.H.)
-- I am very busy after all (S.H.)
-- thank you for your sacrifice :D (J.W.)
-- you would owe me though (S.H.)

John looks up from his phone just in time to catch Sebastian Moran heading towards the table. They hadn’t spoken since John intervened at the lockers. He found it was much better that way. Just seeing his face upset him all over again. He looks back down to his phone.

-- Sooo would you be interested in hanging out again this weekend?|

But right before he could hit send-

“Who’re you texting?” Mary Morstan asks, plopping her purse down beside him. Her blonde short wavy hair bounced with her movements.

John subconsciously hides the screen of his phone against his chest.

“Your mum?” he replies.

*Teenage Laughter*

“Whoa,” Mary says sarcastically, “great joke John”

She scoots him over and sits on the table top right next to him.

“Come on,” she says reaching for his phone, “who’s dm’s have you slid into?”

“I haven’t,” John says, slightly annoyed.

Mary stands up perkily.

“Well fine then,” she teases aloud, “but he’s definitely chirpsing someone!”

*Lewd Teenage Laughter*

John looks back down to his phone.

-- Sooo would you be interested in hanging out again this weekend?|

| Backspace

He puts his phone in his pocket.

~~~
On the Rugby Field

Sherlock watches as John dashes across the grass, pushing past other players and charges straight for the goal. He sees Greg approaching the sidelines where he’s stood, out the corner of his eye.

“So?” Greg prompts.

“We’re doing well,” Sherlock states.

“Oh please,” Greg laughs, “don’t pretend you have any idea what’s going on.”

“Why should I?” Sherlock says, turning to face him “It’s not like I’m gonna be playing anytime soon, see.”

He pinches up the corners of his blue Jersey with the words “RESERVE” written across the back.

“Well atleast,” Greg continues, “tell me we’ve scored some points?”

“Some,” Sherlock says, “most of which were courtesy of the rugby king himself.”

“Oh,” Greg teases, “you mean you’re new best friend?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“Since you mention him,” Gregs says, “I actually wanted to ask about John.”

Sherlock cocks a brow.

“Ask what?” He replies.

“Well,” Greg starts, “Um it’s just that…are you like…”

He looks over to the field to see John being hoisted into the air by his teammates.

“Are you,” Greg continues, “one hundred percent sure he’s straight?”

Sherlock pauses for a moment and Greg takes the opportunity to elaborate.

“Has he ever,” he says, “like I dunno, seemed flirtatious towards you? Like when you two are alone together?”

“Why are you asking me this?” Sherlock says finally.

“I just think,” Greg says, “not to get your hopes up or anything, but maybe there might be a slight chance that he likes you back.”

“Greg,” Sherlock warns.

“What?” Greg says, “oh it’s obvious you fancy him! I just don’t want to spend the rest of the year watching you pine after him when you could be doing something about it.”

“How about,” Sherlock interrupts, “we leave my romantic business to me?”

“What romantic business?” Greg laughs, “face it Sherlock you’re a bit helpless in that department.”

Sherlock turns back to the field and pouts.

“Weren’t you the one telling me to be careful?” he asks.

Greg yawns and stretches. He pats Sherlock on the shoulder.

“I said be careful mate,” he replies, “not be clueless.”

“So what do you suppose I do?” Sherlock asks.

Greg thinks it over for a little while.

“I guess,” he says, “the first step is to find out if he fancies anyone?”

“Great,” Sherlock says, “since you suggested it, I’ll leave that to you.”

“Me?!” Greg asks incredulously, “no no no, that's not my division, I just give the advice.”

“Well it is now,” Sherlock says running in towards the field for the huddle, “text me whatever you find!”

“Sherlock!” Greg calls out to him.

Greg pinches the bridge of his nose. What did he just sign himself up for? He whips out his phone and texts his lifeline.

-- S.O.S Molly ! ! ! (G.L.)
-- emergency Sherlock meeting today (G.L)
-- (he’s not dead. just an idiot) (G.L.)

Chapter Text

Greg Lestrade’s Bedroom

Sherlock, Greg, and Jim are sitting next to one another on the floor by Greg’s bed. Sherlock’s phone is lifted to his face, opened up to John’s Instagram page. Greg peers over his shoulder, watching as he scrolls, meanwhile Jim is buried in the pages of “The Time Traveler's Wife” by Audrey Niffenegger.

“As your dear friend and ally,” Greg says, “it’s my duty to remind you that sometimes people are bi Sherlock.”

“It’s a fact of life,” Jim chimes in.

“Have you forgotten,” Sherlock says, “that I have an innate ability to read people?”

Greg and Jim groan in unison.

“Oh yes detective Holmes,” Greg says, “please humor us all with your findings.”

“Well,” Sherlock says smugly, “if you insist.”

Sherlock clicks through a few pages until he finds the profile of Sally Donovan.

“Here,” Sherlock says, “he’s liked this picture of a girl, but if you notice it’s one of two images he’s interacted with on her entire page, the other one being a happy birthday post. It wasn’t recent enough that they would be on consistent talking terms but a casual friend would have liked all her other birthday posts, or at least three or more of her other images or I’d assume so anyways, never really understood the appeal of this app, so in conclusion, he wanted to send a message saying “thinking of you” but without drawing too much suspicion or seeming too involved which would lead one to conclude…”

Sherlock paused for emphasis, as Greg and Jim just stared at him slack jawed.

“John has a crush on Sally Donovan,” Sherlock says.

“Brilliant,” Greg says with applause.

“Really?” Sherlock asks.

“No not really,” Greg says, snatching the phone from his hands, “you’re entirely jumping to conclusions to protect your own feelings, Sherlock. There isn’t a shred of evidence to back up anything you’ve just said.”

There’s a knock on the bedroom door, then it opens and Molly Hooper peaks her head in.

“Knock Knock,” she says.

“Molly!” Greg exclaims, standing to his feet and walking over to give her a hug. “Thank God you’re here, please talk some sense into Sherlock.”

Molly laughs and waves at the other two boys.

“When have I ever been able to do that?” Molly asks, putting down her handbag.

“Sherlock’s got a crush on a straight boy,” Jim teases in a sing-song voice.

Molly takes a seat on Greg’s desk chair.

“Oh Sherlock,” she says, in a pitying tone.

“It’s not a crush!”
“He isn’t straight!”

Greg and Sherlock exchange a look, then Molly holds her hand out in front of her, and Greg plops the phone in.

“That’s Sally Donovan,” she says, looking at the screen.

“So you know her?” Sherlock asks, sitting up straighter.

“Sort of,” Molly says, “she’s in my class at Reich, why?”

“Sherlock has a guess-” Greg starts.

“A theory!” Sherlock interrupts.

“Yea whatever, a theory,” Greg continues, “that John Watson has a crush on this Sally girl and therefore can’t possibly like him back.”

“John Watson!?” Molly exclaims looking at Sherlock, “the rugby chav from Bart’s? I didn’t think you liked those types.”

Sherlock glances away from her and purses his lips, and damn him if his complexion reddens a bit.

“Can you confirm or deny Molly?” Greg asks.

“Confirm what?” Molly laughs, “that John likes her? How on earth would I know?”

“This was a waste of time!” Sherlock says standing up.

“Not completely,” Molly says, “I haven’t seen you all for ages! Come here.”

She holds both her arms out, and Greg is the first to take up the offer. Then Jim puts his book aside and joins in the hug.

“Sherlock!” Greg scolds.

The young genius rolls his eyes, and reluctantly shuffles over as the other two boys pull him awkwardly into the group cuddle.

“Nice to see you Molly,” Sherlock says finally.

“Likewise,” she replies.

They all pull away from the embrace.

“I need a favor,” Sherlock asks, taking back his phone and slipping it into his pocket.

“Oh no,” Molly says, glancing over to Greg who shrugs his shoulders at her.

“Nothing high risk,” Sherlock continues, “just…keep an eye on this Sally character.”

“You want me to spy on her?” Molly asks, nearly falling out of the chair in shock.

“Not spying,” Sherlock says, “espionage.”

“Those are synonyms, Sherlock!” Molly replies.

“Barely,” Sherlock says, “look, I just need you to slip in a mention of John or two during one of your little girl talks or what have you, make some basic observations, and report back.”

Molly scoffs and crosses her arms.

“No way,” she says, “I will not spy on Sally Donovan for you.”

~~~
Reichenbach’s School for Girls, the next day

“Sally,” Molly says brightly, holding up her french worksheet, “do you mind if I join you two for the assignment?”

The teacher had just told the class to pair up and practice discussing friends and family in french. Molly saw this as an opportunity to get some more information on the John Watson case. Sherlock was definitely going to owe her one.

“Yes please,” Sally replies, “my pronunciation sucks.”

Irene, who was adjusting her hair, grins at the two of them.

“That’s true” she says slyly, “ç'est la reine de la succion.”

Sally nudges her, and the two of them laugh.

“Anyways,” Sally says, looking over the worksheet, “Irene, vous avez un petit-ami?”

Irene smiles at her and bats her eyelashes.

“Oui,” she says, “ j'ai une petite amie.”

Molly tilts her head in confusion.

“Um Irene,” she says, “I think you've just said that you have a girlfriend instead of boyfriend.”

“Have I?” Irene asks innocently.

Sally laughs and shakes her head.

“Moving on,” she says, “Molly it’s your turn.”

Molly squints at the worksheet.

“Oh,” she says, “ok, um, Sally vous avez un petit-ami?”

“Non,” she replies, “ je n'ai pas de petit ami.”

Her and Irene exchange another look and then burst into a giggle fit. Molly looks at the two of them, completely lost as to what was so funny,

“I’m sorry,” Molly says, “have I missed something?”

Irene takes her hand and gives it a light squeeze.

“Not at all hun,” she says.

Sally glances down at where their hands are touching and crosses her arms.

“Ahem,” she says sarcastically.

Irene drops Molly’s hand and grabs Sally’s instead. Molly just looks on with even more confusion.

“Really?” she responds, “cuz I do feel like i’ve missed something?”

The other two girls laugh, then begin to whisper back and forth to each other. For a moment, Molly fears they’re maybe having a laugh at her expense.

“We should just tell her,” Irene says, “the poor thing’s floundering.”

Molly’s face turns a deep burgundy and she’s just about mortified, until Sally turns back to her and holds out her other hand. Molly hesitantly grabs onto it.

“Ok,” Sally says, “after some deliberation, Irene and I have decided you are now part of the inner circle.”

“Pardon?” Molly replies.

“You’re our friend!” Irene clarifies, “and as a friend you can now be privy to the knowledge that Sally and I are infact…an item.”

There’s a long pause of silence. Molly just looks between the two of them at a loss for words.

“Oh,” she says in a whisper, the lightbulb finally flickering on, “you two are…”

“Lesbians,” Sally finishes.

Molly blinks, and then breaks into a smile.

“That’s lovely,” she says, “one moment please.”

She fumbles around in her bag for her cellphone.

-- LESBIAN!! (M.H.)
-- She’s a lesbian Gregory!! (M.H.)

“Sorry,” she says, awkwardly turning back to the girls and putting away her phone, "I had a text from my mum, as you were saying?”