There Is Nothing Wrong With Me

Girls' (And Sherlock's) Night Out

    Sarah arrived not a minute later, clambering into the backseat while donning all sorts of red and silver, from an obscene headband to a Wisteria tee shirt she must have bought at the school store.
"What's all that for?" Sherlock wondered in disgust, thinking she looked more like a walking advertisement for Wisteria than an actual fan.
"Well for Mike of course, I'm showing my support." Sarah said proudly, beaming at the two of them while her feathered headband (oh yes, feathers) flopped across her forehead.
"You look ridiculous." Sherlock said truthfully, sitting back in his seat finally.
"Well at least I'm not going to wear a scarecrow hat." Sarah snapped rather defensively.
"It's not my hat!" Sherlock defended, and the two girls just laughed.
"You look very spirited Sarah, I'm sure Mike will appreciate it." Molly assured, as if she thought Sarah needed some sort of reassurance before she walked into the stadium all decked out like a Wisteria super fan.
"Well don't worry kids; I brought you something as well!" Sarah assured, reaching into her purse and bringing out two very brightly colored red and silver pompoms. Sherlock just laughed, remembering how, in his first letter to John, he had sarcastically assured that he would bring his pompoms. Well here they were, it would seem.
"Oh yay..." Sherlock muttered nervously as Sarah handed him one of the pompoms, just strips of plastic attacked to a little plastic strip, and yet the girls seemed so happy about them that he almost forced himself to smile.
"We should get going soon; I don't want them to sell out!" Molly decided, pushing open the door and dashing out into the parking lot. Sherlock groaned, however he rolled out of the seat and closed the door sharply.
"Here are your sunglasses Sherlock!" Molly called, throwing a large pair of tinted sunglasses at him from the other side of the car.
"Ya, why don't you yell my name across the parking lot, way to be discrete Molly!" Sherlock growled, but nevertheless he very moodily slid the sunglasses over his eyes. He looked like a complete idiot, wearing sunglasses at night, and coupled with the straw-hat he looked like some sort of gangster scarecrow, oh it was obscenely humiliating! However it was necessary, and even though he cringed as he checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, it was better to look like an idiot than be locked in a jail cell. So, very reluctantly, he stowed his newly acquired pompom into his pocket and slouched along with Molly and Sarah, both of who were laughing and carrying on about how horrible he looked. There was an air of excitement hanging over the stadium, everyone was just bursting to see some rugby violence and some blood spilled between the two teams. Of course Sherlock new nothing of this game, other than it got rather bloody at some times. The players wore basically no protective equipment and yet they tackled each other and threw each other around like rag dolls, Sherlock wasn't even sure what direction they were moving half the time! And yet, of course, he got to watch John run around in an adorable little uniform and short shorts, beating people up and flexing his muscular arms...
"Three tickets please." Molly said politely, handing over the appropriate amount of cash to the woman behind the ticket booth. She looked over the small group for a moment, her eyes dwindling a little bit on Sherlock, who was trying to keep his head down while his stupid hat kept slipping down over his eyes. This pathetic thing itched, too, as if some straw was poking into his scalp and tickling him every time he so much as titled his head. He looked pathetic, of course, but it seemed to be enough to get them inside because soon Molly was handing out tickets proudly and leading them to the short line to get in the gates. When they handed their tickets to the collector they meandered through the crowd and tried to find the best seats on the bleachers. Sherlock got some very odd looks, and yet he much preferred strange looks from strangers than horrified looks from boys in crisp red ties. The stadium was alive with people, crowding every row of the bleachers from families to parents to students of every grade. The other side of the stadium was almost equally packed by strangers of course, all sporting that horrible color of yellow.
"Here, back here there's some space." Molly said happily, pushing her way through a small crowd of little children and finding some seats near the very top, were surely no one would be looking. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief, doing a quick scan of the surrounding crowd before ripping off the stupid straw hat and tossing is aside.
"Well that worked." Sherlock growled, keeping the sunglasses on for a bit longer, just until everyone got situated. He knew that it wouldn't be his eyes but his hair that gave him away, and yet he felt a little bit better knowing that he could hide behind something for the time being.
"Oh don't complain Sherlock, you're in, aren't you?" Sarah snapped, still seeming a little bit offended that Sherlock would insult her outfit so quickly. Sherlock just smirked at her, pulling his arms around himself in an attempt to fight off the chilly wind and trying to crane his neck down to the field to see if the teams were out yet. They weren't, of course, it would seem that they were still hiding away in their locker rooms, strategizing or something like that.
"So do you even know how rugby is played?" Sherlock asked Molly, who just shrugged.
"No not really, I'm not one for sports." She admitted, as if that was almost something to be ashamed of.
"Ya, me neither. I imagine they'll look cute playing it though, right?" Sherlock guessed hopefully. Molly just laughed, nodding quickly and blushing just the slightest bit.
"I'm sure they'll look very masculine." She agreed. Sherlock nodded in contentment, looking around the stands once more. There were obvious packs of Wisteria boys, they stuck out like a sore thumb with their combed hair and their black sweaters, all sitting up straight and yet quivering with excitement as they waited for the game to begin. Sherlock knew that sporting events were the rare times when these boys were let loose, when they were allowed to slacken the ties and go a little bit crazy. That worried him of course, because a boy's definition of crazy was certainly different from a prissy headmaster's. So far that very distinctive head was absent from the mix, and yet why would he even be here? Victor hated sports, well he hated everything that had to do with happiness and excitement, and sports would probably fall under that category as well. Sherlock was sure that he wouldn't be present unless he had a specific reason to be, which of course, would be the suspicion that Sherlock would be here as well. If Victor had reason to suspect Sherlock's presence then certainly he would be among the seats, looking around for Sherlock's curly hair through the masses. That was half the reason Sherlock wanted to keep the glasses on, but the hat would just draw Victor's eyes to him immediately. No, best leave the hat alone.
"You seem tense." Molly observed, looking over at Sherlock and patting his shoulder as if that was supposed to be reassuring.
"Well yes of course I'm tense, everyone here thinks I'm, well..." Sherlock muttered.
"A rapist?" Sarah offered quickly, peering over Molly so that she could see Sherlock better. Sherlock groaned heavily, he hated when people used that word.
"Yes, that." Sherlock agreed heavily, stooping even lower and staring fixedly on the metal bleacher below.
"Don't worry about that Sherlock, that only means everyone here believes a lie. We know the truth, and we'll be happy to spread it to anyone who has reason to doubt your innocence." Molly assured, patting his shoulder once more before leaning over to say something to Sarah. I suppose that was supposed to make Sherlock feel better, and yet somehow Molly's words made him even more disgusted in himself. In the eyes of the wisteria fans he was a criminal, a disgusting fiend who had slunk his way back into the stadium just to be in the presence of all these helpless boys. They probably saw him as someone who deserved not only a jail cell but the gallows as well, they didn't see him as a victim but more something they had dragged in on their shoe. He hated this horrific school. At that moment, however, there was a massive cheer from the crowd, and suddenly the Wisteria boys rushed from the locker rooms. They were wearing very nice red uniforms trimmed with silver, running in a mass so that Sherlock was having trouble distinguishing John from the rest of the pack.
"Oh there he is, there's Greg!" Molly exclaimed happily, slapping Sherlock as if to try to direct his attention to the boys on the field. Finally the pack split and they took their positions, all the boys jumping around and doing last minute stretches, cheering each other on and looking like complete idiots. The crowd, however, was going wild, ringing bells and blowing horns and shrieking like their life depended on it. As the other team ran out Sherlock took advantage of the silence to scan the field once more and, aha, there was John! He was playing up towards the front, on the far side so that Sherlock had trouble seeing him immediately. And yet he was here, of course he was here, looking beautiful as ever under the powerful lights of the stadium. He was stretching out his legs, that or he was doing some sort of weird dance, and talking to the boy next to him, who Sherlock recognized as Greg Lestrade. Occasionally the two of them would scan the bleachers, and yet there was no gasp of realization or excited waving from either party, so Sherlock could only imagine their searching got them nowhere.
"Oh doesn't he look wonderful?" Molly wondered excitedly, gazing upon her boyfriend with pride.
"Oh yes he does." Sherlock agreed, about John of course. Molly probably caught on with the no name game, because if she had been under the impression Sherlock had been checking out Greg she certainly would've thrown him over the top of the bleachers herself. The opposing team lined up, looking something like a horrible stain of mustard on the field in their disgusting jerseys, and the teams sized each other up, trying to look intimidating. Sherlock had to admit, he wouldn't want to be on that field right now, every single boy on that field was about twice his weight, with powerful bodies and throbbing muscles, he had no desire whatsoever to get pummeled by even the most attractive boy on that field. Of course, the most attractive boy would be John; however Sherlock liked him when he was gentle, not when he was throwing boys around in mad fits of athletic rage. Nevertheless, he was pretty handsome when he was violent. The game began in a flash of boys running, balls being thrown (wait, which way were they going again?) and screams being screeched from the stands. Sherlock and the girls waved their pompoms and screamed right along with the crowd, and yet for the life of him Sherlock couldn't figure out what on earth was going on down there. John had the ball but then he didn't and then he had it again and then he threw it again and then was tackled to the ground by a huge boy in yellow, oh was he alright? Yes he's fine, he just got up...A whistle was blown and the Wisteria bleachers went mad with excitement, and it was all Sherlock could do but haphazardly wave his new pompom around and hope for the best. He could only assume they had scored by the player's celebrations; however he had no idea what had happened for sure. John was smiling; oh he could see that from here, what a beautiful smile, what a beautiful boy. Sherlock wanted them to score more often if that smile was the reward the crowd received. The game was intense; there was no doubt about that. Sherlock had thought that John was just being dramatic when he talked about blood and violence, but at least two boys (one from each team) had to be taken off the field, limping and bloody. After seeing the violence that happened down there Sherlock took his nervous boyfriend role, and every time John got knocked over Sherlock would wince, getting to his feet to make sure he was the first one to see him get up. But every time John did, in fact, get to his feet. It was amazing, he'd have that ball and he'd run on down the field, get tackled by two or three guys and the crowd would go silent. As John lay in the pile of limbs and sweaty boys, however, Sherlock was already imagining the hospital bills, the permanent damage, the bones broken and the blood lost, and then of course John would spring up like a new flower, running around like an idiot three seconds later. It was almost as though he was made of rubber. It was odd, really, to be a supportive boyfriend to one of the players, odd in many aspects. One of those aspects would probably be the fact that this may just be the most heterosexual sport known to man. I mean they run around and plow into each other, they did intimidating little dances, they hooted and screamed and took everything much too seriously, it was like straight boy heaven down there! And to think that one of the star players was his boyfriend, well that nearly blew poor Sherlock's mind. No wonder no one suspected John of having any romantic feelings towards him, for God's sake he had blood streaming from his nose and yet he still managed to run down the field and wait for the winning pass. It was all a very confusing game, Sherlock gave up trying to understand it but in the end he caught on with how to celebrate. Every time the crowd started to go crazy he would go crazy as well, and soon he was sure he blended in with the rest of the crowd, simply judging on his reaction time. He almost looked like he knew what was going on. In the end Wisteria won, or at least Sherlock could only imagine they did because the stands went positively crazy, racing out onto the field as if the team had won some huge event or something. It was just a little old game, or at least that's what Sherlock thought, but as soon as the crowd started to move Molly pulled him to his feet and stuffed the hat over his head, dragging the two of them down the bleachers and onto the field.

    "This is a bad idea Molly, a bad idea!" Sherlock exclaimed, desperately pushing his sunglasses over his nose as the crowd thickened. Wisteria boys weren't just present; they were right next to him! They were stepping on his nice leather shoes, they were bumping into him on their way to see the players, Sherlock even though he recognized the very math teacher that was there that night, pulling him to the ground! It took one person to recognize him, just one, to sentence him to a life in prison. Oh this was such a bad idea...
"Mike, Mike!" Sarah called desperately, bouncing up and down and waving her pompom desperately. Sherlock couldn't see a thing, or at least he could see people, many people in fact, just not the ones he was looking for. Some of the players were trying to push through, and yet most were far out of his sight. Mike rushed over through the masses, appearing in Sarah's arms as if he had simply appeared there through the crowd. They shared their affection, to which Sherlock suddenly found an interest in the grass beneath his feet, and finally Mike was leading the small pack to wherever John and Greg might be hiding. Thankfully they were off to the side, taking off their shoes and drinking water, stretching and looking very manly with their newly acquired scrapes and bruises. John's nose had stopped bleeding and yet there were still flakes of blood clinging to his upper lip, as if he hadn't bothered to clean it up yet. Greg's leg was all scratched open, presumably from a horrible tackle that sent him sliding across the grass. It wasn't bleeding, however, so he wasn't paying much attention to it.
"You two look like you went through a warzone!" Molly exclaimed, gasping in horror upon seeing the state of the two of them. Greg just smirked, shrugging his shoulders as if ignoring the pain somehow made it cooler.
"Well we kind of did." John agreed, his eyes pausing on Sherlock's hat and his face contorting into something of confusion. Sherlock just laughed, pulling the hat desperately off, feeling his cheeks blush a little bit as the pathetic thing crinkled underneath his fingers.
"Molly's idea, it was a sort of disguise." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"It think it brings more attention to you really." John admitted, and Sherlock just looked over at Molly with a mocking look of surprise.
"Oh stop it Sherlock what else was I supposed to do?" Molly snapped, and John just laughed, shaking his head as if hoping he didn't start some sort of conflict between the two.
"As long as it worked it's fine. You look dashing in it Sherlock." John assured with a charming smile, and Sherlock basically melted into his shoes. In John's letter he had mentioned that he loved getting Sherlock all flustered, and of course it was working just fine now.
"That was an amazing game, by the way." Molly added quickly, as if she didn't like this now awkward silence that settled over the small group.
"Oh well thank you very much, we crushed them if I do say so myself." Greg boasted, puffing out his chest dramatically as if trying to make himself seem buffer than he really was.
"I was worried you guys would get crushed...bone wise." Sherlock admitted. John just laughed, however he was one of the few that found that amusing.
"Well it's not the safest sport, but it's definitely the coolest." Mike assured, and the boys all nodded in agreement. Sherlock didn't really know what to say, and it seemed that no one else had any input they would like to add so they all just stood there in a small little circle, not quite sure what to do with themselves.
"So do you guys want to go out for pizza or something? The shop on the corner is always open after games, and they give players a discount." Mike recommended quickly, looking between the girls (and Sherlock) as if looking for their opinion.
"Ya I'm good with pizza, in fact that sounds wonderful." Molly agreed excitedly, and all the rest nodded in agreement.
"Cool, just keep your uniforms on alright?" Mike added to the other boys (not Sherlock), and they all nodded in agreement. Sherlock had a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn't take their jerseys off for the life of them, it certainly was a good bragging right and they all strutted around in their red and silver, puffing out their chests with their beautiful girls (and Sherlock) on their arms.