Chapter Text
Every school had that one hallway no one went down. Whether it was just out of the way or it was dirty or hidden, you could count on that fact. John Watson was lucky enough to have the hidden hallway that wasn't dirty or crawling with bugs. It was his own private escape.
Between 5th and 6th period John would slip down to his hallway. Sometimes it was to get a break from the massive amounts of work. Less often he snuck away for a cigarette. He didn't smoke much because he was studying to be a doctor and knew the dangers, but school can be a tad stressful.
Today he planned on grabbing a short puff. His rugby teammates have been a bit overwhelming, for lack of better words. With the new year they got a few new kids. They were all very good, but too rude and pompous for his liking. Rugby had always been the king of the sports in his school. All the kids looked up to them and John felt like the new kids were taking advantage of that. John was popular, but never bullied anyone like the other boys.
The loud metal clanging of the heavy door reverberates down the hall as John throws it open. He pulls his bag around to his front and takes out his lighter and cigarette. The serial flicks of the lighter sounds louder because of silence.
"Damn it" John whispers and fiddles with the contraption.
Finally, the spark catches and John smiles. With the first inhale of his cigarette he moans. Smoke seeps out his nose while he hums. The nicotine settling him. A few more whiffs and he goes to stub out the burning end, but as John goes to tap it off he hears something.
At first John isn't sure he actually heard something. His eyebrow pull in tightly and he tilts his head.
Oh god... He was right. That was definitely a small sniffle.
John flings his bag over his shoulder and trots down toward the sound. As he gets closer he can hear faint whimpering. He picks up his speed.
John almost passes him. In a crook between two file cabinets a lanky boy with riotous hair is curled up and crying. John throws down his bag and then drops to the floor. The boy's head snaps up. He quickly dries his eyes and puts on a steely face.
"Hey. Are you okay, mate?" John asks.
"Fine. I'm always fine."
"It didn't seem that way"
"Well, then you are dumber than you look."
"Oi! Where do you get off saying that. You don't know me."
"John Watson. Rugby captain. Leader of the boys who make my life a living hell."
Suddenly, John's heart plummets. He can't believe anyone could ever feel that way about him. He tried so hard to distance himself for the other rugby players, but he still feels guilty.
"Hey. Look, I know that my teammates are dicks, but don't listen to them. I promise what ever they said was untrue. I've tried to say something to them, but you know..."
"The problem is... The aren't lying." The boy finally looks up at John. The first thing John notices is his arresting eyes. Then he notices the cuts and bruise all over the boys face.
"Oh my god. You need to see the nurse."
"No, I'm quite all right." The boy tried to stand, but falls. John's arms shoot out to catch him. The boy stands there in John's arm for a moment before shaking him off.
"Well, then at least let me clean them off. I have alcohol wipes and plasters." John reaches to pull them from his bag. The boy just stares at him with curious eyes. He watches John's hands move fast and efficiently over the cuts. Most importantly, he feels John's thumb pass slowly over his lip as John swipes the blood off.
They both swallow before John speaks up.
"So, uh, what did they say?" A pause. "I mean, you don't have to answer."
"No, it's fine. Among other things they called me "the dancing poofter."
"I'm so sorry. That's awful." John gently places a plaster over a still bleeding wound and the boy hisses in pain. John whispers an apology again.
"It's not awful. Like I said earlier, it's true."
"That doesn't mean it not hurtful. It's about how they say it, you know? Being a dancer is an insult... At least, I don't think. Also, being a dancer doesn't mean you're a "poofter" or however they say it." John had out away his supplies now, but remained crouched next to the boy.
"That's true, too." The boy's voice barely registers.
"Well, liking men doesn't warrant this kind of bullying. You should tell the teachers or someone. This isn't something they should get away with."
The boy seemed to be a deer caught in headlights. As if he was completely side swept by John acceptance. John just giggles and stands up. He extends an arm out the boy.
After they are both standing, the boy nods in thanks. John smiles and shakes his hand. John reminds him to tell the teacher and the boy offers no promises. They head opposite ways down the hall, but before John gets to the end he stops. He grabs a pen and chases the boy down the hall.
"Wait!" John reaches out to grasp his shoulder. The boy spins around with a confused look on his face. "Um, I forgot to give you something."
"What could that possibly be?"
"My number." John gives him his cheesiest smile and the boy laughs. Joh quickly scribbles out the digit on the boy's forearm.
"I will consider texting you."
"You better. You owe me."
"How so?" The boy looks affronted.
"I cleaned you up. Plus, you know everything about me and I don't even know your name."
"Sherlock Holmes."