Chapter Text
'Antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium and hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium,' Sherlock thought as he briskly walked down the hall of the school holding his books tight to his chest, not sparing any attention to the other students around him, why would he anyway? It's not like they ever looked in his direction unless it was to call him names or push him out of their way. Honestly though, he almost preferred it this way, at least he knew what to expect, he'd attended Forest Green High School for almost four years now and he still didn't understand his parents' constant litany that these were the best years of his life, but at least the school had a decent chemistry lab and people for the most part left him alone, well ignored him would be more accurate, but it really didn't bother him that much, honestly.
'Late, late, late, late, gonna have to run laps for this,' John Watson's feet pounded a rhythm that matched the speed of his frantic thoughts and his duffle bag hit an offbeat pattern into his stomach and back. Being the captain of the school's rugby team was a big deal, he'd been working toward since he moved here his Sophomore year, being a Senior now, this was his last year to attract the attentions of the scouts so that he could get the scholarship he needed to go to medical school, and here he was, late. He tore around the corner, two more halls and he'd be there, 'faster Watson, you've got about thirty seconds before Coach Stevens stands up from his desk in his dimly lit office in the locker room and calls the team out to the pitch, you can do thi-' his face made painful contact with a hard shoulder, the collision catching him completely off guard, knocking him and his unidentified victim to the ground, papers flying everywhere. When the spots began to clear from his eyes he heard a murmured curse and saw a blurry figure standing up dusting off his uniform, not even looking up to see who sent him crashing to the ground, instead he began to collect the scattered papers and books, John scrambled to his feet to help,
“I’m so sorry,” he began smiling apologetically, “I was on my way to rugby, I was in such a hurry, guess I didn’t see you” he explains quickly while he continues to gather the strewn about results of their crash and passes them into the other boy’s hands.
“I-it’s quite alright,” the tall stranger stammers quietly in response, “you wouldn’t be the first to disregard my existence here” John’s smile fell,
“That’s not what I meant at all,” he looked up and was shocked to see what he thought completely conflicted with the boy’s statement. How could anyone miss him? His inky dark curls fell in swirls from the top of his head almost reaching his almost quicksilver eyes, the striking color and intensity throwing him off as he tried to pin down the exact color, not blue, not green, but a color he’d never seen before, the perfect combination of the two with a stormy haze floating in the iris.
Taking entirely too long to finish his sentence, John closed his gaping mouth and cleared his throat, I just mean that I wasn’t paying attention.” the guilt clear in his voice and not just from knocking him down, then he couldn’t help adding, “How could anyone miss you anyway? I’d say you were positively unique.” feeling the heat coming to his cheeks, his question giving him the opportunity to look up and down the tall, lean figure with his almost porcelain skin towered over him, but in a way that was striking rather than intimidating. His standard issue school uniform definitely fit him better than John’s own, almost as if it had been tailored to follow the sharp curve of his hips up his straight, flat torso, to his broad shoulders which held his obscenely long expanse of milky skinned neck; his sharp cheekbones pulled up high on his face, giving him a dignified, but almost faye-like appearance.
Once again, John Watson was staring. He realized then through this lovely stranger’s confused expression that they had finished picking up all of the things that had fallen long ago and now they stood awkwardly in the hall, John staring at him unabashedly and the other boy clearly getting uncomfortable. John’s blush deepened clearing his throat again and pulling his posture to his full height, just barely reaching that shoulder that he had run into what seemed like hours ago. The awkward moment carried on between the two for a few more silent seconds.
Sherlock’s heart was racing, a rugby player, not just any rugby player, but the newly appointed captain himself had run him over in the hallway, normally people of his crowd wouldn’t have given him even a passing glance as they continued on their way and he was left to pick up the mess and taper his frustration alone. The captain though, it seemed, was different. Not only did he apologize, he had gotten down on his hands and knees to help Sherlock gather the things that had fallen. Then he had said that thing, not that he was a freak, like a lot of his friends seemed to think, but that he was unique. Sherlock’s brain didn’t give him the chance to analyze the comment, the jolt of realization that struck him at that moment went right to his frontal lobe and completely short circuited his primary functions, he was reduced to a gawking mess while it almost seemed like the impossible was happening. ...was this boy checking him out? Impossible. He is just being nice or something, courteous, that’s it. The only reason it seemed odd to Sherlock is because people aren't generally nice to him at all.
The captain may not have been like the other horrible people that peppered the rugby team, but there was no way he could be interested in the school freak. The heat pooling in his cheeks and almost immediately after the moment started, it ended with the short boy clearing his throat. It took him a minute, but Sherlock finally put him out of his misery,
“Well, umm, I mean, thank you for helping me pick up my things,” he stammered ridiculously and pulled his papers and books to his chest, a pink tint coloring his sharp cheekbones, “that was, ummm, that was, good.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” the captain remarked, “I knocked them out of your hands,” that bright smile that Sherlock liked entirely too much to be healthy was back again and he almost lost himself in it, “tell you what,” he added, “how about," he paused for some reason and licked his lips, which threw Sherlock further as he attempted to commit the image to memory "how about, I walk you to your next class? That is, if that’s alright?”
“W-what?” Sherlock looked at the boy with what he knew must have been a ridiculous look of incredulousness,
“Cute and hard of hearing, eh?” Sherlock’s brain vibrated when he noticed the way the boy’s eyes sparkled as he smirked at Sherlock, “I said,” he spoke clearly, “maybe to make up for knocking you down, I’d like to walk you to the class I’m making you late for,”
"What about your rugby practice?" Sherlock asked, still finding it hard to believe that this very friendly and attractive boy just called him cute.
"Oh, the boys can wait," the shorter boy replied with a laugh, "I'll just tell them I met a handsome stranger,” At that Sherlock felt heat rush from his toes to the tips of his ears, he should say something, anything, this boy was so smooth it seemed to come completely natural to him and Sherlock couldn’t believe he was even talking to him in the first place,
"Al-alright then,” he stuttered out, “it's this way," Sherlock noted in a slight haze, this boy was having an effect on him, and he kind of liked it.