Happy Little Pill

1.

John Watson hadn't always been in love with Sherlock Holmes. When his tall form graced the school's doors for the first time a year ago, all dark and punk and completely high, John had scoffed at the utter ridiculousness of it all. He had looked at the black tattoos inked on the boy's pale skin, the carefully applied eyeliner, the shining piercings, and thought, God, this kid is an insane wreck.

But soon John stopped scoffing and started noticing. He saw the delicate way Sherlock penned his letters, the curves of the S in his name arching across the paper and the H made up of spiking strokes. He saw the way Sherlock's eyes lit up when he even passed by the doors of the library, or when he picked up his violin. But he also saw the punctures in Sherlock's arms, saw him emerging from a bathroom stall after lunch slipping a needle deep in his bag, saw the way his long fingers, so steady when he played the violin, would shake and tremor at the end of the day.

John looked at all of these things and thought, God, this kid is a beautiful mess. John longed to kiss those pink lips, to run his fingers through those curls, to pull at those goddamn piercings, to trace those spiraling tattoos down Sherlock's neck and feel the creamy skin beneath his calloused fingertips.

John wanted Sherlock so fucking badly it hurt.

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At first, Sherlock wasn't sure what to think of the boy with the golden hair and sky blue eyes, his small frame swimming in a ratty creme coloured jumper.

Sherlock would sit in the very back of the class, right behind John, and just watch. Sometimes, John was writing, and it delighted Sherlock to watch as John bit his bottom lip, brow furrowed in thought.

He often wondered what John wrote about. It might be sappy poetry or the meager beginnings of an poorly crafted fantasy. But the more Sherlock observed about John, the less he really knew. Looking at John was similar to falling in quicksand - you're on stable ground and suddenly, whoosh, you've been sucked in to a whirlpool of confusion. In the midst of this chaos, Sherlock became aware that he was only sure of three things about John Watson:

1. John was beautiful, a warm spot of sunlight in Sherlock's world.

2. John was infatuated with someone. He showed all the symptoms - dilated pupils, heated face, short breaths. Sherlock was absolutely sure John loved someone, but the question of who? was constantly nagging at the back of his mind. Who? Who? Who?

3. Sherlock was infatuated with John. John and his jumpers, his eyes like the never-ending sky, his quiet soul. John the writer, always clutching that tattered journal, his fingers stained with pen and his brain a million light years away. The look in John's eyes when his mind escaped him and his imagination took hold made Sherlock giddy with happiness. John was a beautiful enigma just asking to be broken.

And Sherlock was determined to try.

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so that's it. chapter one of my first teen!lock full length fanfic. comments, fangirling, and feedback is greatly appreciated *bows*

<3 pond