Freak - Teenlock/Johnlock AU

Part 2

The bus drew up to school and I got off, heading to the form room where James wouldn't come and torment me about sandwiches. My form tutor was in there, and he regarded me with worry. I didn't blame him. I was probably emanating anger and upset up to a 5 mile radius away.

"Alright, John? You're early today. Keep me company while I mark these stupid papers," Mr Rogers said, glaring intently at a marking scheme and looking as if he'd rather currently be the mark scheme.

I sat on the windowsill and said nothing, replaying my conversation with James. I hated him like I'd never hated another human being, hated him like I hated my mother's stupid paper clip rearrangement.

"Sure you're OK?" Mr Rogers asked. "You're looking rather perturbed."

"So are you."

He smiled wanly and made a strange grunting chuckle.

"3 hours this has taken me! 3 hours for 20 papers. Oh, I don't know."

I couldn't bring myself to have a conversation. Right then, talking to people didn't appeal. I wondered if anyone would notice if I just went off for a while. I could go for a walk, and be alone where people expect you to be alone. Maybe the woods.

"Oh John!" Mr Rogers suddenly brightened. "Sherlock's coming today."

I looked blankly at him, not sharing in his brightening.

"Sherlock? No? Not heard?"

I kept staring. Was I supposed to know? Although it wasn't as if I listened. Or that anyone told me. Who was this Sherlock? Who was called Sherlock anyway? Eugene-Augustus Ponsonby-Smythe wouldn't have sounded any wierder.

"Oh well, you'll see in a minute."

"OK."

Mr Rogers smiled and nodded, and grumbled at one of the answers on the papers, clenching his fist, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. I wondered if his telling me about Sherlock was just a lame attempt to find me a friend. I wished people wouldn't feel sorry for me, I was fine. In a couple of years I could leave anyway. No more James or anyone else. Maybe I could go and live with my father? At least he wouldn't worry constantly.

And then someone barged into the room in a flurry of long black wool.

"Right room? Of course it's the right room, it's what it said on the paper. Anybody want this paper? I don't need it."

Without waiting for anything more than taken-aback expressions as replies he crumpled up some details and chucked them in the recycling bin. I stared.

"Not got many friends then," he said, striding past me.

"I-"

He didn't pay any attention to the noise that caught in my throat. He just marched on up to the frog tank.

"Oh, frogs! Great, these are great. Permeable skins make them excellent test subjects. Mind if I borrow one or two?"

Mr Rogers was staring at him with a look of equal parts bewilderment and amusement. He didn't seem to think the boy was serious. I was pretty sure by the way he was closely inspecting each oblivious amphibian like a potential new carpet that he was.

"Uh, no, Sherlock, I quite like my frogs actually," Mr Rogers said quickly when Sherlock decided on his new test subject and tried and tuck it into his coat.

"Funny how anyone can be attached to such unresponsive creatures," he muttered, reluctantly replacing the frog and standing up straight.

He scanned the room again, and then plopped down on a chair.

"Sherlock, this is John."

I nodded at Sherlock and shot a don't-try-and-force-people-to-be-friends-with-me glare at my form tutor.

"Hello John," Sherlock muttered from where he was slumped like a potato sack in his chair.

I gave Mr Rogers an "I told you so" look and he sighed and went back to his papers.

As long as Sherlock wasn't another James Moriaty, I decided I wouldn't need to give any more of my attention to him. Unless maybe to rescue another unsuspecting frog from abduction.