Like a Fairytale

No One Shall Know...

The weekend past uneventfully, Sherlock day dreamed and theorized and waited, but no kind of communication came from John, to Sherlock's disappointment. So when school came Monday Sherlock couldn't wait, but also was extremely nervous. What would John say, what would he do, would he tell the kids, would the whole thing spread around the school like wildfire? Sherlock spent a while in the bathroom again, staring at himself in the mirror, making sure his hair was perfect, his clothes were perfect, everything was perfect and nothing was flawed. This would be John's first impression of him after the kiss, and that would be very important to show him that Sherlock could actually function properly. When he finally got out the door, bag in hand, he rushed down to school, pausing, of course, to get coffee, but other than that it was smooth sailing. He knew this sort of relationship something or other he and John had going would have to secret, so it wasn't something he could brag about and it definitely wouldn't save him from thugs like Anderson and Greg, and even John would have to make fun of him a little bit to ease any suspicions. In a way this was miserable, like a secret millionaire getting made fun of for being so poor, but in a way it was also amazing, like a fairytale, they were secret, living in their own world of love. Well, hopefully, that was if their love went on from here, but Sherlock thought what the heck, his luck had gone this far, what if they ended up getting married? Before even talking to John like an equal seemed like a drug induced hallucination, but now, in only a few short weeks, he had kissed him twice, once accidently and once intentionally, and if someone told him that just a year ago he'd laugh his head off. Now look at him, nearly skipping down the street, drinking coffee and treasuring what might be one of the last warm days of the season. When he got to school he forced his mood to sadden, but inside there were rainbows and unicorns prancing around, flowers blooming and the sun shining. He threw his coffee cup away and made sure to scowl around at the surrounding kids just to show he wasn't completely broken. On the way down the hall Mary Morstan, looking as cheerful and jerky as ever, bumped into his shoulder, but she only gave him a cruel laugh and walked on. Sherlock couldn't but smile at the thought that, unknown to her; he had kissed her boyfriend under the bleachers. Obviously she was unaware, and John hadn't broken up with her yet because there was still a smile on her face. Of course it kind of sucks to lose your boyfriend, and maybe, in some parallel universe, Sherlock would regret it, but she was the biggest jerk he knew, and suffering would only suit her perfectly. Sherlock twirled the combination on his lock as second nature, stuffing his lunch box and some books into it and closing it with a shut, half expecting to see John lounging on the lockers, but it was empty. Sherlock was a little bit disappointed, he didn't know how long this hair was going to stay perfect (he was trying to minimalize his head movement if at all possible), but it was also a good thing since he didn't have to be all flustered for first period. First, second, and lunch came and went, and still no sign of John. Sherlock was starting to get a little bit worried, had Mary found out, was his body floating in the bottom of some river somewhere? When the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, Sherlock was already at his locker, closing it and leaning against the metal, waiting for the parade of people to come marching on. Of course he'd see John a couple of minutes later in math class, but a quick reassuring would be good. Finally he heard the sound of a large, gossiping pack of buffalo coming around the corner and the kids appeared, leading the pack was the pack, and Sherlock was so relieved to see John in the mix, laughing and talking with his friends. But he looked different, as if he knew there was a secret buried beneath him. Sherlock's stomach twisted, he knew John didn't see him, but he would, eventually, all he had to do was want to look. But Sherlock turned away, walking silently to the classroom and latching onto the crowd, riding the wave until he got to Mrs. Pines' classroom.
"Ah, Sherlock, just the man I wanted to see!" Mrs. Pines exclaimed. He had a newfound respect for the lady, now wearing a bright rainbow sweater, which kind of made him smile a little bit, since she was the one that had initially brought him and John together. She was like Cupid in a way. Sherlock dumped his bag on his desk and walked up to her desk, trying to at least look like he didn't want to kill her.
"Yes?" he asked, leaning on his hands on the desk behind him. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw people enter the room, but for some reason, even though he couldn't make out their faces or John's telltale hobbit size, he knew it wasn't him. The room was emptier than it would've been with John; there wasn't that air of amazingness he brought to play.
"I just wanted to ask how the tutoring was going, you and Mr. Watson I mean." Mrs. Pines said, pushing up her glasses that were slipping down her pointed nose. Dang, Sherlock had nearly forgotten about tutoring today, he had been so caught up in school. He and John, alone, that sounded brilliant but extremely, extremely awkward.
"Oh, ya its fine, he's getting better." Sherlock shrugged.
"Mr. Watson, perfect timing!" Mrs. Pines exclaimed, making Sherlock whip around automatically, his cheeks glowing as if on cue. John was indeed walking through the door, hand in hand with Mary, but Sherlock was happy to see he looked a little bit distant, and when he saw Sherlock he blushed from the neck up. He muttered something to Mary, who nodded and gave Sherlock a death stare before migrating back to her seat, her electric blue eyes, laced with poison, watching them from across the room. John walked up to Sherlock, who suddenly stood up very straight in an attempt to keep his jelly like legs from collapsing on him.
"How do you find Mr. Holmes tutoring, is it working for you?" Mrs. Pines asked.
"Well, um, ya, he's a good tutor, I'm actually learning a lot more." John assured, both of them avoiding eye contact with each other.
"That's good, I'm sure a hands on interaction helps a little bit." Mrs. Pines said with a smile. Talk about hands on. Sherlock shuffled a little bit, shifting his weight to his right foot and wishing he could sit down. John was looking just as awkward, they both very much were aware of how close they were standing.
"Yes, it helps." John agreed.
"Well, I printed out some more worksheets, Sherlock you can take these..." she reached into her desk and pulled out a folder, not as packed as the last one, but it still had papers hanging out of the sides. Sherlock took it carefully, the last thing he wanted to do was make a complete fool of himself trying to pick up papers.
"Is that all?" he asked, not able to look or even breathe in John's scent as it would slur his words with more affect than alcohol.
"Yes, that's all, thank you boys." Mrs. Pines said with a smile, looking back and forth between the two as if trying to decide what has gotten into them. John and Sherlock both scrambled away from the desk, Sherlock accidently bumping his foot on a lone chair, but ignoring it and sinking into his seat. Thankfully their awkward silence was cut off with the start of class, so neither had to exchange words. But even this math lesson, as 'exciting' as it was, couldn't keep Sherlock's thoughts from lingering to how soft John's lips were, and how the cool night air contrasted with the heat of his nervousness. Finally, when the worksheets were handed out, it gave something for his mind to focus on other than John's presence and his lingering smell of expensive cologne.
"Hey, Sherlock, how do I do this?" John hissed, but when Sherlock looked over both of them turned red once again. it was reassuring to see John just as embarrassed as he was, on the other side of the awkwardness.
"You um, add them together, distribute that, multiply those, add the..." his sentence was cut off when John started to work, his head bent low, so close to Sherlock's that he lost his train of thought. But John didn't ask, he wrote numbers, variables, and exponents down, and even though the work was a sloppy, incorrect mess, Sherlock didn't have the voice or courage to correct him.
"Like that?" John asked in almost a croak, once again green met hazel and they both looked away, seriously anyone with eyes that watched enough could tell there was something between them. Sherlock merely shook his head, but neither seemed to notice and neither seemed able to solve 2+2 anymore. So they both stared into space, sitting so annoyingly close, scratching their pencils unknowingly against the paper. When that period finally ended Sherlock and John were out of their seats by the first stroke of the bell, walking as quickly as possible to their next class, John not even bothering to stay behind with his gang and Sherlock tagging nervously behind, as if being too close to him would cause suspicion. So maybe, if it were awkward enough, John might actually like him. He really 'didn't have a reason to be awkward; anything he did, from a football game to tripping over a trash can was beautiful, Sherlock would watch a three hour movie of John reading a book on replay with no regrets. They were separated in History of course, and Anderson made up the wall of human shield between them, which didn't make matters any better of course.
"You look scared Freak, did mommy finally find out?" Anderson laughed, as if it were so hilarious to make fun of Sherlock and his choice of companions. Oh, how nice it would be to rub what happened last Friday in Anderson's face, to see his shocked expression, and how Sherlock would laugh at Mary's fiery rage. But he couldn't do that to John, he would lose everything, and that was the last thing Sherlock thought would be classified as a romantic gesture. So Sherlock just ignored him to the best of his abilities, keeping his head down and his paper in front of him. In the end though, Anderson was craning his neck, trying to see what Sherlock had written down. But Sherlock saw this as an opportunity to get back at him, if not verbally. He just shielded his work, pushing it to the other side of the desk, much to the fury of Anderson. But at the moment Sherlock didn't care if, for the millionth time, he was going get his brains 'bashed out'. Anderson's threats didn't bother him anymore, they never really did, but this was extra not caring. He knew that maybe, just maybe, if the situation was dire that John would step in and protect him.
"Freak I swear to God..." Anderson growled, but the teacher cast a look their way so he had to cut his sentence off short.
"Yes?" Sherlock asked tauntingly.
"Give me your paper." He said through his teeth, faking a smile to make it look like it was a nice, pleasant conversation. Of course it wasn't, and Sherlock could probably start screaming and waving his arms like mad, that might attract some of the attention he needed, but he just smiled back and kept his paper far away.
"You don't want to repeat the last time, do you?" Anderson asked.
"You've got practice; you can't be chasing me around. Oh, and by the way, you did terrible at the game; I'm surprised the team didn't lose." Sherlock taunted. But Anderson's face, instead of getting angrier and (if possible) uglier, a look of satisfaction came over him.
"Oh so you went to the game huh?" Anderson laughed. At first Sherlock was quite confused, what was so funny about that? "Who'd you kiss this time huh, Greg, Mike, maybe Mr. Jackson?" Anderson laughed. Mr. Jackson was the football coach, and no, he would definitely not be on Sherlock's kiss list since he had this huge, awful mustache, and that he was like, eighty. Well Anderson, ask John, he'll tell you.
"I didn't kiss anyone, to your shock, I'm sure, that's not what football games are for." Sherlock snapped. If he were in elementary school he was sure his pants would catch on fire.
"Well just stay away from me." Anderson snapped.
"Oh sure, I'm pretty sure it doesn't take much to get all of the girls, and me, away from you." Sherlock assured.
"If you must know, I've dated more girls than you have." Anderson pointed out.
"Oh, yes, congratulations Anderson, you've dated more girls than a gay guy, that's a very good accomplishment." Sherlock said, applauding sarcastically. Anderson just growled, going back to his paper, in which he wrote Lincoln for the hero of the Revolutionary War.

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