Sherlock waited patiently until the final bell, for he had no classes last block and he was able to just sit at his desk and pour through his text book, using their questions for inspiration so as to create his own equally challenging equations. He wanted to be sure he used ones that John hadn't practiced beforehand, and he wanted to see if the boy could do them. If he could, without any notes or any papers or equations, then Sherlock would have to give him the one hundred percent. And yet if suddenly he struggled, if he was stumped and looking at the board helplessly, well then Sherlock would know that there was something else going on, something that he wasn't supposed to notice, and yet he was sure John would never expect him to be one step ahead. When finally the bell rang Sherlock was ready, he was longing back in his chair and watching the door, expecting his guest to saunter in any moment now. When John finally arrived the hallways were growing empty, and yet Sherlock knew to expect him and so he didn't let up his guard. He sat tall and proud, with an expression that assured the world that he knew he was beautiful. It was usually a look that drove people crazy, and of course if John really was in love with him then it would only serve as a better tool to distract him from the problems he was about to be given.
"I was almost worried you weren't coming." Sherlock started, setting down his paper and getting to his feet so as to great him, and yet John simply closed the door and lingered near the student's desks, as if he didn't want to get any closer than that.
"If you're wondering if I cheated, I didn't." John said finally.
"Ah, Mr. Watson you read my mind. And yet, excuse me if I don't exactly believe you. I don't know many who would admit to cheating, and so I prefer to do my own investigating." Sherlock admitted, stepping out from behind his desk and beckoning John with a mere flick of his long white fingers. John took a deep breath, and yet Sherlock really couldn't tell if he was infatuated or just plain annoyed, and so John's advancement wasn't nearly as exciting as it should have been.
"I didn't cheat. I got a perfect score, didn't I? That's why you're all up in arms." John guessed. Sherlock just glared at him, and yet he wasn't going to let this boy's sass throw him off his main goal.
"May I see your hands, please?" Sherlock asked in the politest way possible, holding out his own hands so as to receive John's.
"My hands? Why on earth do you..."
"For any formulas, of course." Sherlock said with a bit of a smile, to which John just looked at him nervously, holding out his hand and yet flinching when Sherlock reached out to grab it. He drew his hand away with a jolt, and of course Sherlock could now understand his concern.
"I don't want you touching me." John murmured, to which Sherlock went rather red and dropped his hands, too proud to apologize and yet only the slightest bit ashamed at having overstepped his boundaries.
"Yes of course, my apologies. And yet please, show them to me." Sherlock insisted. John sighed heavily, however he held up his hands for Sherlock's view, turning them and wagging his fingers and even letting Sherlock peek down his sleeves so as to check that his wrists were unblemished.
"There you go Mr. Holmes, are you quite satisfied?" John muttered, frowning and crossing his arms defensively, as if he had somewhere so important to be right now. Sherlock hummed, drawing back to his desk and collecting the paper he had created over his break, clearing his throat before sitting on the corner of his desk proudly.
"Would you mind doing a couple of these problems for me on the chalk board? Just so that I can be sure you understand the material." Sherlock muttered, to which John just gaped, shaking his head as if he couldn't understand this nonsense.
"Why can't you just take my word for it? I understand the stuff, it really isn't a crime!" John exclaimed, to which Sherlock just laughed proudly. If he wasn't so hateful of the kid he might have admired his daring, and yet while it was still John Watson standing before him he couldn't wear anything less than a scowl.
"You are the only one getting it, and I do assume that you're not the pinnacle of your class academically speaking. And so I would just like to test you, that is all. Now please, the faster this goes the sooner we can all go home." Sherlock insisted, waving John along impatiently. The boy just sighed, shaking his head as if he had so much better things he could be doing, before finally approaching the chalk board and taking up a piece in his hand. Sherlock smiled, reading him the question and watching as John scrawled the numbers on the board in a large, rather ugly looking handwriting. For a moment John looked at the equation, and yet it was only a moment for as soon as Sherlock began to wonder if he knew what he was doing he was off, scribbling on the chalk board at a very rapid pace. He looked as if this was all just common sense, which of course irritated Sherlock all the more, and in a flash the problem was completed and John had, of course, gotten the answer correct. Sherlock rose from his seat on the table carefully, walking towards the board and staring at John's work, hardly able to believe it. And so he wasn't cheating...he was just smart.
"How about that then, Mr. Holmes?" John challenged, putting the chalk moodily back where he had found it, his fingers now stained with blue dust.
"That, Mr. Watson, is enough to convince me." Sherlock admitted finally, taking a deep breath before dropping his head almost shamefully and starting back over to his desk. From there he grabbed John's test and the red pen, taking a deep sigh as he wrote a big one hundred at the top of the page, almost ashamed to hand it over. That smile, that winning smile, it had been the very thing he had been dreading. John looked as if he had somehow challenged him and succeeded, and more importantly he acted as if this was somehow the last time he would be put to the test. They still had a whole semester to go; surely Sherlock would be able to stump him at least once before they had to part ways? And yet today, today was his defeat, for he handed the paper over to John who accepted it with a smile.
"Congratulations then, Mr. Watson, on being the only one in the class who passed." Sherlock murmured, to which John only beamed even prouder, taking the test with careful fingers before nodding, turning and starting for the door as if he was happy with that being the last word. Sherlock knew that he couldn't do anything to call him back, for he knew then that he would just be stalling, and yet he didn't like those to be the last words uttered between them. He didn't want them to hang in the air while he sat and waited for Molly to bother him, he didn't want those to be the last words that rung in John's ears as he started down the hallway, holding onto that perfect test...
"Have a nice evening." Sherlock said finally, and that was actually enough to stop John at the door. It was enough to make him turn his head, and yet he didn't say anything in return. He wasn't nice enough to say something back, and so Sherlock could only assume that John intended on Sherlock spending a horrible evening. His silence was the equivalent of saying 'have a miserable evening' and yet Sherlock didn't really expect anything else from such a boy. And so he let him leave, he watched as he walked out and he sat alone in his silence, staring at the blackboard and wondering what he was going to do about having the reincarnate of Einstein sitting here among his class full of kids with a second grade math level. Oh this would be so much easier if John was a tolerable person! And yet Sherlock could only assume that John felt exactly the same, for they both doubted the other's humanity only the slightest bit.
Janine was conscious when Sherlock arrived home, which was the first time in a while. He was certainly going to complain of course, for he had enjoyed his existence much better when she was passed out somewhere in their small apartment, and yet as soon as he arrived he began to hear yelling. Before his key even hit the latch the door swung open, and there was his crazed wife, yelling about things he barely remembered and hitting him a couple of times with a pillow. Sherlock blinked, fending her off weakly before pushing his way inside, groaning as the screaming continued, groaning even more when a cup smashed against the wall to his right, and finally turning around when Janine's voice hit another octave. Surely she was just doing this for attention, right?
"...FOR TWO WHOLE DAYS AND YOU DIDN'T ONCE MAKE SURE I WAS OKAY AND I WAS DELERIOUS AND CLOSE TO DYING AND YOU JUST WENT AROUND LIKE THIS WAS NORMAL AND I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WOULD DO THIS! I EXPECTED MORE OF YOU, I WANTED YOU TO BE A GOOD HUSBAND AND YET YOU WERE..."
"Woman, what are you TALKING about?" Sherlock demanded, grabbing his own head so as to make sure it was still there, on his neck and functioning, for he really couldn't understand what she was going for here.
"I was passed out for two days!" she exclaimed, her face red and blotchy and her hair stringy and unwashed. She looked a mess, with the same clothes from who knows when now plastered to her body with old sweat and her fists waving around angrily. Sherlock really didn't have time for this right now, and yet he decided he ought to humor her in pretending to care about her issues.
"Yes, you were, and I really don't think that should be my fault. You were the one with the vodka, not me." Sherlock snapped, starting for the kitchen for his stomach was beginning to rumble. Janine followed, of course.
"You should've woken me up somehow! Splashed cold water on my face, at least took some interest? Taken me to the hospital maybe?" she suggested, her voice still raised and yet not as furious as she had been when he had first arrived.
"I checked your pulse, it was there, and so I decided not to wake you. If I took you to the hospital we would both be busted, they can detect marijuana from like months ago through a strand of hair. I'm sure your hair is now composed entirely of the stuff, and as your husband I'm sure they'll test me as well." Sherlock snapped.
"But this was life or death!" Janine insisted, slamming the fridge door shut as soon as Sherlock tried to open it, as if his hunger was really some sort of insult to her.
"You're alive, aren't you?" Sherlock murmured.
"Oh my God Sherlock! You act as if you don't even care!" Janine exclaimed, saying that as if it was supposed to come as some surprise. Sherlock sighed heavily, messaging his temples and moving onto the cabinet, for if Janine wouldn't let him open the fridge he might as well resort to the next best thing.
"You know full well I don't care." Sherlock snapped. Janine just groaned heavily, slapping at Sherlock's arm once more before deciding that she didn't have time for this, and so instead of accusing Sherlock of things he didn't do she resorted to just sitting moodily on the couch and hugging a pillow to her chest. Sherlock liked her better this way and yet he knew it wouldn't last long, and so he sat at the table and ate some left over Chinese food (still cold, for the microwave was just too far) and started grading some of the other tests from this afternoon. As he went through and marked most every question wrong Sherlock was beginning to realize just how difficult this test really was. He had of course designed it to stump Mr. John Genius and yet even though John surpassed this test it seemed to have taken down most all of the able minded students in the class. As the grades were dropping down to ten percent's Sherlock decided that he ought not to put it in the gradebook, that way not only were these pitiful scores void but John's one hundred percent also went unaccounted for, a win for the students and a win for him as well. Sherlock didn't know just why John's success in his class was bothering him, maybe it was because John seemed ever so eager not to score well for his own benefit but for Sherlock's misery, as if he knew there was more to his life than his education. It was infuriating, really, and yet for some reason Sherlock was strangely proud of him. He hated him, of course, and yet he couldn't help but admit that there was indeed a brain on that kid's head. For dinner the moody couple ordered a pizza, and Janine ate her portion on the couch while Sherlock sat in the kitchen once more, finished grading papers and yet much too proud to walk into the living room and apologize for something he shouldn't even be held responsible for. When someone was passed out you weren't really supposed to wake them, and so Sherlock had done just that. He had made sure she was still alive, like any good husband did, and yet that was about all he thought he could do. So maybe she got a little bit dehydrated, and yet it was liquid that got her in that state in the first place, wasn't it? He really didn't see what the big deal was. If he had been in her shoes he would've just been happy to have the opportunity to have a great two day long nap. It was around eight o'clock when Janine walked slowly into the kitchen, dressed in her pajamas with her long black hair still dripping from the shower. She seemed better now, at least more stable, and she silently took the chair opposite Sherlock as if it was somehow her right to be seated across from him.
"Feeling better?" Sherlock wondered, to which Janine just sighed heavily, nodding and staring at the papers that were still strewn in front of him.
"Fifteen percent? Even I didn't do that bad in high school!" she exclaimed with some sort of amusement, grabbing at the paper before Sherlock snatched it back right away.
"That's not really for anyone's eyes but mine." He snapped, for the student's name was at the top and it was sort of confidential.
"Why, got love notes written all over it?" Janine teased, however she didn't complain, she simply leaned forward on her elbows as Sherlock collected all the tests into one pile.
"No, not that one." he muttered, smirking sarcastically.
"Did anyone pass the test then?" Janine wondered.
"One boy got a one hundred, but he was the only one that surpassed an eighty five." Sherlock admitted with a shrug, to which Janine just whistled in an impressed way.
"Some sort of genius then?" she guessed.
"I suppose you can call him that, but I don't think he's all that extraordinary in any of his other classes. At least not from what I've heard." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"Oh then, an Einstein?" Janine wondered curiously, seeming impressed with herself for having come up with that name so quickly.
"Ya, maybe." Sherlock agreed in a mutter.
"Well then you must love him then, a boy genius in your class?" Janine teased, to which Sherlock just groaned, shaking his head for he couldn't believe Janine would dare come up with such an elaborate fallacy.
"No, actually, I do despise that kid. He's arrogant, and I suspect that the only reason he does well in my class is because he wants to somehow get one up on me. It's like he's holding some sort of grudge, and for the life of me I can't figure out what that is." Sherlock admitted with a sigh.
"Ah, poor Sherlock. Still getting bullied, even when he's the teacher." Janine teased in a whiny little voice, as if she thought Sherlock's concerns were simply childish.
"I'm not being bullied Janine, at least not in school. However it is rather insulting when I'm constantly made fun of at home. And attacked, violently." Sherlock snapped.
"I could've died Sherlock." Janine reminded him stubbornly, to which Sherlock just shrugged, for that really was the least of his concerns.
"You wouldn't have died, I would've noticed if you were like...on the brink." Sherlock defended.
"No you couldn't have! You might've noticed that my pulse had stopped, but I don't even think you'd consider that a bad thing these days." Janine snapped. Sherlock sighed heavily, shaking his head in defense and trying to think of a possibly nice way to phrase his obvious dislike.
"Janine you're special to me in a um...in a unique way. I mean you know we both married rather hastily, and you know that I'm gay and that I really shouldn't be in this sort of relationship...and yet I'll have to admit your loss would prove to be a lot of work, and so I would mourn you in that aspect." Sherlock admitted finally, deciding that if Janine was as hungover as he imagined she would be she'd take that as a compliment. And just as expected, in her state of delirium she smiled, and Sherlock could only try to smile back.
"I didn't get a word of that." she admitted finally, to which Sherlock could smile genuinely now.
"Then imagine good things, and go with that." Sherlock suggested, to which she nodded and begun to brainstorm. They spent their night watching some sort of late night TV show, some old reruns of a classical show that Janine seemed to like, curled up in separate blankets and yet sharing a joint and a container of ice cream. Now this was the only sort of genuine comfort Sherlock got from having a constant companion, at least one that knew of his bad habits and shared them as well. There was no other person he could do such a thing with, other than perhaps Victor, however he really wasn't the gentle snuggling type. It was rather sad, because Sherlock knew that Janine genuinely loved him for some strange reason. They never coexisted well, and yet in the moment she had fallen in love with him it never seemed to fade. Trip after trip, fight after fight, near death experiences after near death experiences, she still seemed to harbor some sort of feelings for him, and sometimes he pitied her for that. For Sherlock never loved her, not as a romantic partner, or as a life partner, or even as an acquaintance, the same deep seated hate was rooted into his heart, and yet tonight might be an expectation. She was soft tonight, quiet, and she lay with her head on his shoulder while the lights of the TV flickered through the darkness in a myriad of colors and sounds that didn't seem to match up. It was peaceful, and Sherlock liked peaceful.