A/N: Hello, author here. It has come to my attention that the last published part was completely the wrong part of the story, how that happened I have no idea, but do your best to forget it please. This tacks onto the last part (Tour De Losers) and is the next part of the story. So sorry and (River Song voice) Spoilers... They looked around the sidewalks before they walked out, just in case someone had been sitting on the curb or something. They walked along the road, avoiding people, trash cans, and advertisements yet still managing to walk side by side. They had retrieved their things from under the tree before they left; thankfully no one had been stupid enough to steal from them.
"That was actually a lot of fun." John decided as they approached his house.
"I suppose so, ya." Sherlock agreed. It was actually close to paradise for him, but he wasn't going to tell that to John.
"Alright, I'll see you at school tomorrow." John decided, turning off the sidewalk to his skyscraper home.
"See you." Sherlock agreed, smiling at the little wave John gave him and continued down the street, feeling almost like he were walking purely on clouds. John had fun with him, they spent time together, John was willing to hide Sherlock from bullies like a forbidden romance, what more could Sherlock ask for? When he walked up his sidewalk he couldn't be happier, well, he supposed he could be, but right now it felt like he had never been so carefree. He walked through his door, hearing Redbeard's weak barks from upstairs, and saw that his parents were sitting in the living room, which opened up right from the entrance way.
"Hello Sherlock." Mrs. Holmes said pleasantly.
"Hi." Sherlock muttered, anxious to get up the stairs.
"We've been worried, where have you been?" Mr. Holmes asked, less pleasant and more unnerving.
"At the park." Sherlock said quickly.
"With?" he asked. Mrs. Holmes took a quick sip of her tea, as if trying to avoid hearing the suspicious tone in her husband's voice.
"No one, just myself." Sherlock lied.
"Why don't I believe that?" Mr. Holmes asked. Sherlock put on a fake laugh, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"I'm sorry, are you saying I have friends, because I'd love to hear the list. I was reading under a tree, I got a hamburger from the stand, I can show you the receipt if you'd like, Mr. Detective." Sherlock snapped, digging out the thin sheet of paper and waving it around as proof.
"Don't use that tone on me young man, or I'll cut your allowance." Mr. Holmes warned. Sherlock shut his mouth, desperately wanting to run up the stairs but too afraid of getting in trouble.
"Mrs. Hudson said you've been making a friend." Mrs. Holmes pointed out, sounding much more excited than Mr. Holmes, who just scowled into his now cold tea.
"No, I'm tutoring, there's a difference, and it was a Sunday, he's home doing who knows what." Sherlock defended.
"This isn't an interrogation dear, it's perfectly normal to make a friend, you shouldn't be scared. And if you'd like to invite him over some time that would be fine with us." Mrs. Holmes assured with a pleasant smile.
"No, I do not have a friend, just leave me be okay?" Sherlock hissed, and with that he dashed up the steps before she could ask any more questions. He heard the muttering of his parents from the sitting room, obviously disapproving of his disrespect, but he just wasn't in the mood to be gossiping about all of his friends. He closed the door with a sigh, leaning up against the door frame and wanting so badly to see John again. It was like a flesh eating disease or whatever, it ate up at you, his smile, his laugh, the way his hair glittered in the sunlight, and the more you saw him the more this disease took hold until you were completely engulfed. Sherlock was so helplessly diseased he should be quarantined, but then again, no one in this house knew except him and Redbeard, who thankfully didn't know the word Freak or gay, so he wouldn't be judging would he? Redbeard was lying on the ground, and from where Sherlock stood he looked a little bit thin, maybe Mrs. Hudson had been putting him on a diet or something, she was always complaining about how fat he was for his age.
"Hello Redbeard." Sherlock muttered, throwing his bag in the corner and pacing around his room a little bit. His room was honestly a mess since he didn't let Mrs. Hudson into clean it. The bedspread and carpet was filled with dust and red dog hair, dirty laundry was spewed all over the floor, he was just all around a wreck. But this was neat and orderly compared to his racing, confused head. Half of it was whispering that John liked him, that he had a chance, but the other half was screaming that John was just playing him, he expected Sherlock to believe this and it was exactly what he wanted for a good laugh. Sherlock's head felt like it was splitting apart, he didn't know which side was right and he wasn't quite sure which one he wanted to be right. Of course he wanted John to love him, God knows he himself was far past letting him walk away, but then again their relationship would create even more problems. One day they'd have to tell their parents, one day Anderson would find out, and he'd have to dump Mary, which would pose its own threat to both of their lives. No one even knew they were acquaintances, how would boyfriends go over? Both families couldn't mention the other without stabbing a knife in the table, Thanksgiving would be an absolute nightmare. Sherlock sank into the pillows of his bed, lost in thought, lost in this intoxicating love, John, John, John. It was Romeo and Juliet, some impossible fairy tale, except all fairy tales ended badly. Well, not the Disney ones, where everyone lives happily ever after, they were twisted for children's eyes, but half the princesses either get killed or mutilated someway. Hopefully his life wouldn't be a fairy tale, but just a normal life, without money and family and bullies.
School dragged on of course, but when lunch time rolled around Sherlock was in his staircase, braving a light on his dusty phone to make sure his hair was acceptable for math class. These were the final turns of the race, every second counted and every lock of hair had to be perfect. If John saw one negative thing, who knows what would happen? Sherlock needed everything to be perfect, it would pay off in the long run hopefully. He didn't eat much, as usual, but he just stared at their text messages until he could memorize John's replies by every letter. Not creepy, just exceptionally observant. When the bell rang he was off to math class, shoving his half full lunch box into his locker and walking off to class, trying feverishly to look normal and attractive. When he got there John was sitting in his desk, for once not surrounded by his posy or even Mary. In fact the room was completely empty other than Mrs. Pines, who was noiselessly shuffling papers and watching Sherlock enter out of the corner of her eye. Sherlock took a deep breath, crossing the short length of room and dropping his bag onto the floor. He was unsure whether or not he should greet John in anyway, considering the room wasn't completely empty, so he decided not to take the risk. Instead he simply waited for John to make the first move of welcome, staying quiet and collective and not looking over at him.
"Hi Sherlock." John said kind of quietly, catching him off guard. He looked over and looked away quickly, as if checking if it had actually been John who had talked, and blushed a dark shade of magenta.
"Hello." He croaked. John chuckled next to him, leaning more on his chair and crossing his arms. The sound of shuffling papers had stopped, so Sherlock knew Mrs. Pines was listening and/or watching to see what they would do next. It's not every day the freak and the bully greet each other.
"Sherlock?" John asked, sounding kind of annoyed.
"Hello." Sherlock repeated, not knowing what he wanted. John just laughed though, as if he had done something funny.
"I asked how your lunch was." John pointed out, somehow Sherlock had completely missed that question.
"Oh, fine, good." Sherlock stuttered.
"That's good." John agreed. At that moment the door opened and a small troop of kids walked in, clapping John on the back in greeting and some even flicked Sherlock in the forehead. Their conversation was snuffed out by said people, so Sherlock slumped a little bit in his chair and frowned at the desk. Stupid humanity. The class started up not soon after, so at least he didn't have to sit there and listen to John talk to his real friends for long. The worksheets were passed out, so now it was time for Sherlock to shine.
"What do I even do?" John snapped, but his eyes didn't match his words. He sounded mean but his eyes were peaceful, almost apologetic. It was an act, this ferocity, he wasn't actually being mean. Sherlock quickly explained what to do with all the numbers letters and symbols, making sure to provide an example for every set of new problems so that John's tiny little brain could wrap around it. Once he set John to work he started on his own work, which took him a good five minutes to complete. He opened his book, a long overdue library book on atoms that he was just starting, and peeked over the top a couple of times to see how John was getting on. As he had sort of expected John was looking very annoyed, growling and flicking his pencil against the desk with confusion.
"I'm guessing you have a question." Sherlock said with a sarcastic smile, trying to play the part he was assigned, the bullied freak.
"Many yes, first off how do I do this?" John asked, gesturing to the paper with annoyance.
"Well, that's the only one that matters I suppose." Sherlock agreed. He went through his explanation again, going on about how to do the math problem before them. John did a couple of problems on his own, under close supervision from Sherlock of course, and seemed to pretty much get the hang of it. So he went off on his own again and Sherlock got happily back to his book. It felt so secretive for some reason, in public they were crashing heads and in private they were laughing about the stupidest things, like bee helmets and their parent's money.
"Get the hang of it?" Sherlock asked, seeing that John had now set down his pencil and was scowling at the paper as if it had done something to seriously offend him.
"What makes you think you can talk to me?" John snapped, not making eye contact but making it very obvious he wasn't in the mood to talk. Sherlock knew this was fake of course, but there was a part of his heart that felt the sting of his harsh words. But he shut his mouth, aware that Mary was giving him the death stare from across the room and Anderson was giggling a little bit. When the class let out it was to history and then freedom, but it didn't come cheap.They had partner work, so of course Sherlock was left on his own, doing his work twice as fast but with half the people. He watched enviously out of the corner of his eye as John and Anderson flipped through the pages in their text books, searching without luck for the commander of American forces on D-Day. Wouldn't it be great to be John's partner? In life and just in school, being able to show positive emotion towards each other in public, how miraculous would that be? When that class finally let out it was off to the Holmes family prison, sitting up in his room and throwing one of Redbeard's bouncy balls against the dresser numerous times to entertain himself. The seconds ticked by, each one almost laughing at Sherlock for how much he wanted to speed up time itself. Finally, when he thought all had been lost, the clock struck four thirty and he was out the door, beg on his shoulder and trench coat swishing behind him. When he got to the park he was surprised to see John already there, juggling the football in the grass while he waited.