Chapter Text
The second the school bell rang to signal lunch time, John was out of his seat and across the classroom before the rest of the class had even moved. It had been the most mindnumbing lesson he had ever had to sit through, and he was pretty sure that he had fallen into a deep doze halfway through.
The sun was shining and the temperature was mild enough, so he made the decision to sit outside again for lunch. John's school was a big one with over nine hundred students, so it often felt stiflingly crowded, especially during lunch time. Despite being in his final year, he still doubted that he'd be able to name half the students in his classes.
Sighing softly to himself, John settled at his usual spot under a tree on the lawn at the side of the school building. He ate alone most days, and hardly anyone ever bothered him. Taking his lunch out of his bag, John glanced around disinterestedly as he began eating. There were a good few people lounging around in the sun as well, laughing and chatting loudly.
His eyes strayed again as he finished his lunch, coming to rest on a small alley by the side of the school building. It was notorious for being the place where the stoner students went to get high, smoke or drink.
And right at that moment, a tall, thin figure was stumbling out of it.
It didn't take a genius to realise that the boy was probably as high as a fucking kite, judging by the way he halted in his tracks and peered bemusedly at the sun. But that wasn't why John was staring at him.
The boy looked horribly familiar, but John just couldn't place him. Black curls fell over the boy's face, obscuring John's view, but even so he had a feeling he knew him.
He was still staring at the boy in intense concentration, struggling to figure out where he knew him from, when suddenly the boy straightened and looked right at him. John froze like a deer caught in headlights, eyes widening comically, before he frantically dropped his gaze. A light blush crept up his neck, and he quickly ripped a book out of his bag and buried his face in it in a weak attempt to look nonchalant.
It was mortifying enough having been caught staring, but John was fairly certain that he had been pulling one of his bizarre "concentration" faces; with his nose crinkled up and his eyes squinted and his tongue poking out. Barely containing a groan, John just took a calming breath and forced himself to focus on the book in his hands, but he was so flustered that none of the words seemed to make sense to him. He was staring at the page in front of him for several moments, without really absorbing anything he was seeing.
"Your book is upside down."
John jumped so violently that the book went flying, and he made an odd squeaking sound when he saw that the stoner kid was now standing over him and squinting down. "Oh. Yeah, it is." He said weakly, mentally beating himself with a stick.
"Is that how you usually read?"
"Uh, no." A nervous laugh burst out of him, startling him slightly. He risked a glance up at the other boy; in addition to the messy curls, he had sharp cheekbones, an eyebrow piercing, and blue eyes that were currently redrimmed and watery. And suddenly, John knew exactly where he knew him from.
His mouth fell open, but he couldn't think of anything to say. This was most certainly not the way he had imagined meeting his internet friend for the first time. Nothing about the boy was what John had expected.
Apparently unaware of John's confusion, Sherlock sat down heavily next to him and stretched out lazily. "You were staring at me. You still are, actually."
"Oh, um... sorry." He cursed himself as he flushed red again.
"Quite alright." The taller teenager grinned at the sky. "It's a pretty day, isn't it? Look at all the bees..."
"Are you... stoned?" John asked cautiously, his eyes wide.
"Yes. Completely plastered." Came the easy answer. Sherlock was still grinning at the sky. "But I think it's rude to ask that."
"Well, I think it's rude to get stoned and then come over to bother people." The smaller boy muttered irritably, picking up his book again. This was definitely not the Sherlock he had expected. Where was the quick wit, the dry humour, the sharp tongue? Granted, it was probably buried under whatever he had smoked, but John was extremely disappointed. And then for the first time, he wondered what Sherlock was doing at his school.
It was entirely possible that he was a student and John had never noticed him around the school before (he wasn't known for being the most observant person in the world), although it was unlikely that he had completely missed the person whose selfies he had been gazing at for the past several weeks. He even had some saved on his phone (not that he was going to admit that though, because that was probably considered creepy). "What are you doing here?"
"Define here." Sherlock mumbled, squinting around at John. "Do you mean "here", as in this exact moment in time and space? Because that's a very deep-"
"I mean here, as in this school."
"Oh. Getting an education, I suppose." The way he said the word was tinged with disgust and derision. "You never told me your name, by the way."
Oh, John realised abruptly, he has no idea who I am. He realised that he was disappointed with that revelation, although he still felt a tiny bit of relief. "John."
"John." The name was said slowly and curiously. "Hm. I'm Sherlock."
It took a surprised amount of effort not to reply with I know. "Well. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but I'm not too sure if it has been."
A loud laugh burst from Sherlock's lips, one that lasted far longer than it should have. "I like you." He decided, stretching out his long legs over John's shorter ones and ignoring the sharp glare he was receiving as he effectively prevented the other boy from moving.
"What the hell were you smoking?"
The dark haired boy shrugged.
"You don't know?" John sounded absolutely outraged, and for some reason that set Sherlock off into a fit of giggles. When it began to appear that the giggles weren't about to stop anytime soon, John groaned and thumped his head back again the tree he was leaning on. "Great. I'm stuck with a big, giggling, stoner baby."
The giggles stopped abruptly. "I'm not a stoner baby."
"'Course you're not. Because getting high off of something you don't even know is such a mature thing to do."
And then Sherlock tilted his head, looking bewildered. "Are you mad at me?"
"Yes!"
"You don't even know me."
"Let me up." John demanded. When Sherlock didn't move, he angrily shoved the legs off his and stood up, grabbing his bag and his book as he went. He turned to say something, only to be met with the wide, confused blue eyes. He decided to say nothing at all, and simply stormed off.
...
It was 2 days before John saw Sherlock again.
It was before History class, when John sat in his usual seat by the window and absently opened his book and began to read. He became so immersed in the story that he barely noticed someone take the seat next to his, and didn't even glance up until they cleared their throat.
John raised his head, then froze when he saw who had sat beside him.
"Hello." Sherlock said cheerfully, wiggling his fingers in a wave. Gritting his teeth, John looked back to his book and didn't reply. A pout puckered Sherlock's lips. "Are you ignoring me?"
No answer.
"You're still angry with me." He sounded bemused. "Why?"
"You're the smart one, why don't you figure it out?" John hissed at him, slamming his book closed and shoving it in his bag before focusing his attention out the window.
"Is this because I didn't know what I was smoking?"
"Partly."
"Partly." Sherlock repeated dryly, glancing away for a moment. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the desk, and adjusted his dark blue uniform tie. "I have come up with several possibilities as to why you could be angry with me, but I didn't do anything wrong, so-"
"You didn't do anything wrong?!"
"I just said that."
"Do you always do that? Smoke unknown substances, I mean."
"Sometimes."
"Why?"
"I don't think this is about my substance abuse." Sherlock announced abruptly, swinging his chair back on two legs. "I think you're annoyed because you think that I don't know who you are."
John spluttered. "What? I don't care if you think you know me or not, I-"
"John Watson." The other boy interrupted in a slow, lazy drawl as he read the name printed on the cover of John's history book. "Hmm. You look different than what I imagined, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. And I know plenty about you, because you told me."
Oh. He did know who he was. Feeling his jaw clench, John looked pointedly out of the window.
"Your favourite colour is green, you have a younger sister called Harry, your favourite Batman movie is The Dark Knight, and you have had a ridiculous crush on Captain Kirk from Star Trek since you were eleven."
John choked. "I have not-" he sputtered, flushing brightly.
"Yes, you have." Sherlock rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "It's painfully obvious. Although I, for one, think Mr Spock is infinitely more dashing."
A surprised laugh escaped John's chest, and he looked startled himself upon hearing it. He cleared his throat and glanced at Sherlock quickly. He looked away immediately when he saw that the taller boy's gaze was already fixed on him. "Um.. Ok, yeah. So you do know who I am. I thought you didn't."
"You're the only friend I have. It would be disappointing if I couldn't recognise you in real life."
Well. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? Clearing his throat again, John decided to ignore it. "When did you start at this school?"
"September."
"What?" It was May now. A frown puckered at John's forehead. "I've never seen you around."
"I rarely come in." Sherlock shrugged carelessly, still rocking his chair back and forth on two legs. "I don't need to."
"Right..." said John, sounding doubtful. "How come you're in today?"
"I was bored at home. Didn't want to get high. Decided to try and find you."
The teacher arrived in at that moment, saving John from the awkwardness of having to reply. During the rolecall, the teacher called Sherlock's name with an air of bored procedure, but when he was answered with a 'yes', he looked up in sharp surprise. "Nice of you to finally join us, Mr Holmes."
The teenager just gave him a lazy grin.
Once the rolecall had been completed, the teacher stood up straight. "I hope you're all ready for your tests."
"Shit." whispered John, horrorstruck. "I forgot."
As the teacher handed out the tests, John took out his pen and began fiddling with it nervously. He barely noticed Sherlock leaning over to him until he whispered "Can I borrow a pen?" in his ear.
"Why didn't you bring your own?" Despite his eyeroll, he was already handing over the pen.
Forty minutes later, John was dragging himself out of his seat and groaning loudly. "That was awful."
"It was fairly standard, actually."
Choosing to ignore the taller boy, John kept complaining. "Seriously, that was so crap. I never want to hear about King George the Second again."
"The test didn't mention King George the Second, it asked about King George the Third."
"Shit!" John hit himself on the forehead. "I hate everything. Thank god it's lunchtime." He muttered, slinging bag over his shoulder and trailing after the rest of the class as they filtered out the door. Sherlock followed him, although he seemed uncertain as to whether he had permission to follow John or not.
John led the way outside, to his usual spot under the tall oak tree, and settled down under it. He watched as Sherlock followed suit, tucking his gangly legs under himself. They both fell silent as they began picking at their lunches.
"Did you mean it when you said I was your only friend?" The question seemed absurdly loud in the silence that had settled over them.
"Yes." said Sherlock, with zero hesitation in his voice.
That was kind of sad. Even though John was in much the same position. "Well, then... Um.. Can you promise me something?"
Blue eyes narrowed slightly, and Sherlock lowered his sandwich as he inspected his newly proclaimed friend closely. "What?"
"Don't smoke any unknown 'substances'. Or snort any, or whatever it is you do." Watching closely for a reaction, John nervously ran a hand through his brown hair.
"Fine."
"Really?"
"Yes." Sherlock shrugged lazily, leaning back against the tree. "I won't smoke anything I don't know. But you can't stop me from smoking what I do know."
Sighing through his nose, John looked out over the green at the other students lying on the grass. "I suppose I can't." He mused, frowning slightly. Not that he couldn't try, of course.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" Startled, John found himself wondering if Sherlock had just read his mind.
"Don't frown like that." Reaching out a slender hand, he poked at the creases in the shorter boy's forehead.
"Oh." John quickly rolled his eyes. "You're allowed to do drugs, but I'm not allowed to frown. That seems fair."
"I never said it was fair."
"Well then, I'll frown if I want to."
It was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes. "Fine, suit yourself."
"I should go." said John, rolling to his feet and swinging his schoolbag over one shoulder.
"There's still ten minutes left of break."
"I like to be early." John murmured, watching as Sherlock rose to his feet too. "You don't have to come. You can stay here if you want to."
Sherlock didn't answer. He just followed John to class. And they probably wouldn't ever admit it, but they were both a little glad for the company.