The Boy in the Ballet Slippers

A/N: Sooooo, hi. This is my first fanfiction on wattpad, but not my first fanfiction written. I have more on my ao3 by the same name, but eventually I'll get them up here. So, you can either wait patiently for some other stories or look me up on ao3. Doesn't matter. Hope you enjoy! :)

John walked out of the library with a just a few books in his hands. His rugby bag was slung over his shoulder, and his sneakers left scuff marks on the sidewalk. He turned left and started the short walk home. There was a shout somewhere before him, and he looked up just in time to see a blurry figure crash into him.

"Oh, shit," a deep voice swore. "Shit, I- crap."

John looked at the boy next to him and almost swore himself. The boy was around John's age, perhaps younger. His cheekbones were high and prominent, and his eyes were a sharp, clear blue. The boy's face was angular, but there was still the softness of youth in his features. Dark, curly hair contrasted with smooth white skin. Even scrambling around in the ground, John could still see that the other boy was tall and lean. His appearance should've been harsh, but the terrified look on his face dispelled that notion quite quickly.

"What the hell?" John grumbled, pushing himself to his feet.

He held his hand out to the shaking boy. John used the opportunity to take in the boy's clothing. He was wearing a baggy green jumper over black tights and ballet slippers. John tried not to ogle the boy's shapely calves and thighs.

"I'm- just... give me a second," the boy stammered. "Crap."

"Are you all-"

The boy's eyes landed on John's rugby bag, and his piercing eyes widened even more. He started scooting away. "Oh, bloody hell no."

"Come on, up you go," John said, grabbing the boy's hand and yanking him to his feet.

"I didn't mean to- I'm sorry, I..." The boy backed away, his hands up in surrender. "I'm- I didn't-"

"Hey, calm down," John said, reaching his hand out to steady the boy. "What's going on?"

"Hey, ballerina!"

John looked behind the boy and noticed three larger boys tearing up the street. The dark-haired boy turned and jumped.

"Shit, I- They're coming. I have to go."

"Who is?"

"Who do you think?" he spat. "I have to go." The boy turned back and tried to run again, but John grabbed his wrist.

"Hey," John snapped. "What's going on?"

The boys had caught up to them, and the dark-haired one swore under his breath.

"Hey, ballerina," the largest one said. He was blonde and muscular, and his hands were clenched tightly into fists.

The dark-haired boy swallowed.

"Moran. Nice to see you," he said, his voice far stronger than he looked. The boy nodded to the two flanking Moran. "Wilkes. Moriarty."

"Holmes," the shortest boy, Moriarty, greeted. Despite his stature, the boy caused an uneasy feeling in John's stomach. "How's your day going?"

"It was much nicer before you three showed up, honestly."

"Well, we don't appreciate you ogling us while we're at rugby practice," the blond boy replied, glaring.

"Moriarty's not even on the team," the curly-haired boy - Holmes - protested. "And I don't ogle you."

"Course you do," Moriarty drawled. "All the ballerinas do it."

"Hey," John growled. "Leave him alone."

"Holmes," the third boy, Wilkes, laughed, "this your girlfriend?"

The boy coughed. "He's not-"

"Cut it out. Leave him alone."

"Oh?" Moran taunted. "What are you going to do about it?"

The taller boy winced. "Nothing. Nothing. He won't be doing anything."

John glowered at the three boys and stepped in front of Holmes. "Try me," he challenged.

Moran glanced at Moriarty, as if for approval, and the shorter boy nodded. The blond boy lunged at John, who dodged him easily, sending Moran crashing to the ground. Wilkes guffawed before Moriarty punched him in the arm and pushed him forwards. Moran was dusting off his hands as John struck Wilkes on the chin. The wiry boy fell like a tree, and John let out a surprised laugh.

"Shit," he gasped, turning towards Holmes. The boy's eyes were wide, and his cupid's bow lips were dropped open in a wide 'O.' "We've got to run."

Moran was fuming where he stood, Wilkes was struggling to his feet, and Moriarty had a fiery hatred in his eyes that tripled that feeling in John's stomach.

He grabbed Holmes's sleeve, bent to get his rugby bag, and took off down the street. Holmes ran along beside him, his long legs helping him catch up easily.

"Take my hand," the curly-haired boy ordered, wrapping his fingers around John's. John nearly shivered at the contact, but kept pumping his arms.

"Now they'll talk," laughed John. "Turn on this corner."

"What? Why?"

John looked over his shoulder at the three boys charging after them.

"You don't think they'd try to break into my house, do you?"

"Your house?"

"Yep. Problem?"

"Not at all."

John grinned, and they turned right together, their footfalls matching in perfect unison. Their feet slapped against the pavement, John's back still ached from his tumble with Holmes, and the other boy's hand was wrapped tightly around his own. John had never been happier.

The two of them arrived at John's house only a few minutes later. They were both breathing heavily, their chests heaving. John fumbled with his keys, still clutching Holmes's hand.

John opened the door, and they fell inside, laughing until there were tears in their eyes.

"Are you- are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Holmes replied, leaning against the wall of John's hallway.

John laughed, staring openly at the grinning face of the boy next to him. The boy seemed to light up when he smiled, his lips stretching wide, his eyes crinkling with laughter. There was another feeling in John's stomach, this one much more pleasant, and John knew it had something to do with Holmes.

"What is it?" the boy asked, catching John's gaze. He swallowed, and all the joy in his face faded away.

"I don't- I don't even know your name," John stammered, sobering.

"Oh." The boy let out a breath. "It's Sherlock Holmes. But you already knew my last name."

"Sherlock," John repeated. "I'm John. John Watson" He held out his hand only to find it still entwined with the other boy's. He laughed again, and Sherlock joined in.

"Are you going to let go anytime soon?" Sherlock asked, his eyes crinkling again.

"Nope," John answered, grinning.

"Good," Sherlock replied.

John's heart stuttered when Sherlock grinned, and he realized that he had it bad for the boy in ballet slippers.

He was perfectly fine with that.