Like a Fairytale

Brains and Pains

Of course he had to forge through the mobs of populars and unpopulars, all of which he was below. Even the deadbeat kids, most likely hoboes, were able to spit in his face without getting yelled at. He did his combination in a flash, stuffing stuff into his locker before slipping into first period miraculously unchallenged. It was the same drill really, first and second periods were always quiet, no major football players were present, which meant Sherlock could sit happily in his chair and read. Then when lunch finally came he camped in his staircase, happily eating his cream cheese and olive sandwich peacefully and undisturbed. When the bell rang though, his battle was just starting, making him collect his things and race to math class, sinking into his chair and frowning as he heard the gang come in loudly. John sat proudly in his seat, talking across the room once more to a gang of girls Sherlock couldn't name, but he couldn't help feeling the urge to punch them. But soon John turned in his seat, sneering evilly at Sherlock.
"Hello freak. Have fun with the trash yesterday?" he asked.
"I don't recall being around you all that much." Sherlock pointed out. John just rolled his eyes.
"Well you deserved every ounce of pain you got, if we want your papers you give them to us." John warned.
"Oh yes, letting Anderson copy off of my paper, that is if he can even read." Sherlock muttered.
"Well he may not be smart but he can definitely make you pay for your massive IQ."
"160, which is 4 times yours I imagine." Sherlock decided. John didn't seem to be able to do that mental math, only proving Sherlock's point. The class started before he could shoot back an insult, much to Sherlock's relief but also sadness. He very much enjoyed talking to John, even if it wasn't talking as much as fighting with words. When it came to the actual worksheets John seemed to stare at the paper for a while before turning back to Sherlock, whose paper was mostly completed. He was on the last question before he noticed the hazel eyes glaring at him, making his smile slightly to himself before setting his pencil down and looking up.
"How will your family survive when you take over the company?" Sherlock asked with a laugh as John snatched his paper, unseen by the teacher of course.
"Oh I don't know, maybe I should keep you in my basement." John shrugged, copying down the numbers in an illegible scribble. Living in John's basement actually seemed like quite a luxury, it was one step closer to being friends, but he knew it was simply a joke.
"Mr. Watson and Mr. Holmes, could you please come here." called the teacher, an older women named Mrs. Pines, who was never seen without an ugly sweater on. But Sherlock knew what this was about the moment she called them up, they were busted for cheating, and of course the whole of the blame would be planted on Sherlock somehow. He noticed it was two minutes to the bell, so obviously something she didn't want overheard. John gave Sherlock a death glare as they both got out of their seats, as if this were somehow his entire fault. One minute to the bell. Surely John couldn't hurt him in front of the teacher, and surely she couldn't do more than give them a detention right?
"Yes?" Sherlock asked, trying to take on the role of the responsible adult even though he noticed John was standing very close to him, a couple of steps to the right and they would be touching shoulders...
"Mr. Watson, I have just checked your grade and I'm sorry to say it is extremely poor, a 33%. I know that you are capable of much more, but you are unwilling to show it." Mrs. Pines started, making Sherlock chuckle softly.
"Why does he need to know this?" John grumbled, crossing her arms and frowning.
"Because Mr. Holmes has the highest grade in the class, well, highest since his brother in fact, with 103%." Mrs. Pines stated. Sherlock smiled to himself happily, looking down to see John's disgusted face.
"I am capable of bragging for myself, but thank you." Sherlock pointed out.
"So I was thinking, since you two seem to have the same answers on the worksheets, that Sherlock would be kind enough to tutor you every day after school, starting tomorrow." She decided. She might as well dropped a nuclear bomb in the class with the expressions they had. At that moment the bell rang, staring up a stampede of students, but Sherlock hardly paid attention. There were two sides of this, the good and the bad. The good news is that he would get quality one on one time with John, and maybe just survive the experience, but then again he would tormented constantly.
"No, absolutely not, I have practice and a job, I don't have time to be aided by this nerd!" John defended.
"Ma'am we can't be around each other for more than five minutes without trying to kill one another." Sherlock insisted.
"I'm very sorry, but until your grade improves I'm sorry to say that you'll be working with Sherlock at least an hour a day, maybe more, and if I don't see results I will have to take you off of the football team." Mrs. Pines decided, her answer firm. The color drained from John's face, it was plain as day that he loved the sport more than he probably loved himself, and the very thought of having to get kicked off was like a cruel nightmare. Sherlock just stared at her, trying to except his fate. An hour alone with John every day, he just hopes the police will find his body in under a week; he didn't want to start rotting.
"That would be all, here are your papers, and I hope you have a nice time together." Mrs. Pines decided as the next class started filing in. John and Sherlock grabbed the papers rather angrily, walking out of the class and pushing through some sophomores with huge scowls on their face.
"Oh my god, this is a joke, it has to be a joke." John decided, flipping through the papers with a terrified, blank look.
"Obviously not, unless you want to be kicked off of your beloved football team." Sherlock pointed out.
"I can't be seen with you, I don't even want to see myself with you!" John decided, pushing Sherlock roughly into a locker to prove his point. But Sherlock was used to it by now, and it didn't affect him all that much.
"Well so sorry, but I'm all you've got if you want to figure out these elementary problems." Sherlock pointed out.
"These are not elementary, stop trying to show off!" John growled.
"It's the only thing I've got to be proud of."
"You don't have anything to be proud of, have you even looked in the mirror?" John hissed, turning down the hallway to the history class.
"Yes, and unlike yours it doesn't shatter." (Because you are just so beautiful it can't handle it). Of course Sherlock left that bit of information out.
"I hate her, I hate you, I hate math, and I hate everything that doesn't have to do with football!" John decided.
"Well I'll break the news to Mary then." Sherlock shrugged.
"I don't hate Mary." John corrected, pulling the door to the classroom open and letting it swing back and hit Sherlock in the foot, but once again he didn't care. Maybe this whole tutoring thing was enough to save his life after all. Anderson wouldn't dare touch Sherlock if he thought John would be kicked off the team. Sherlock sat in his seat with a small smile on his face, which made Anderson, sitting right next to him, puzzled. The teacher was rambling about WWII, very unaware that WWIII might just have been solved. So once Sherlock finished his worksheet he tucked it inside his desk, not afraid enough to give it up.
"Give me your paper." Anderson growled.
"Of course I won't." Sherlock laughed.
"You saw what happened last time, I'll break your pathetic nose this time."
"Why don't you ask John just why you can't do that." Sherlock said, smiling into his pig like face. Anderson looked confused, as if unable to tell why the three stupidest kids would need the genius.
"John, what is Freak talking about?" he asked. John, two seats away from Anderson, let his head fall onto the desk with a smack. Anderson looked semi-worried now, as if he thought it were serious.
"I'm failing math." John muttered.
"Well duh, aren't we all?"
"So Mrs. Pines decided that I need a tutor, of course the stupidest bloody tutor she could ever give me."
"Oh my god..."
"I know, it's awful." John agreed.
"They're making Henry tutor you!" Anderson exclaimed.
"What, no, Sherlock!" John grumbled. Anderson seemed even more astonished with that answer, but Sherlock just smiled smugly at him.
"And if she doesn't see improvements she's going to kick him off the team, so the next time you feel like hitting someone, it can't be me for everyone's sake."
"That's not fair! You're our captain!"
"I'm surprised you figured that out for yourself." Sherlock laughed.
"One more word out of you and I swear I'll..."
"You'll what, bash my brains in? Sorry to tell you, but my brains are the only thing you actually really need." Sherlock shrugged, leaning back comfortably in his chair. Anderson looked completely furious, as if wondering where Sherlock had gotten all the spunk to stand up to the entire football team. But he just slumped over in his chair, pushing his pencil around on his desk but giving up on his work. When the final bell finally rung Sherlock packed his things, stuffing everything in his bag and setting off for the doors. When he got out though, he found that it was raining quite hard, so he would have to skip out on sitting in the bleachers, which was usually the highlight of his day. But whatever, it seemed that he would be having many more nice days, or terrible days. Sherlock made sure his bag was properly zipped, not bothering with an umbrella; he was more worried about his books than himself. So he trooped out into the rain, hitting him like a solid sheet, almost to the point where he couldn't see properly. There were all the other kids exiting the school, making mad dashes to the nearest canopy or three or four girls huddled under one polka dot umbrella. Sherlock and the other boys were tough enough to get a little bit wet, but Sherlock picked up his pace, planning on actually spending his time in the café, even though John wouldn't be there. The sidewalks were, as he predicted, empty of all tourists and pedestrians, and there were barely any cars on the road. Sherlock finally made it unharmed to the café, opening the door and being blasted with a strong scent of bagels and coffee. It was more of a coffee shop than anything, but for some reason it was known simply as the Café. There were a couple of people mingling around and a group of giggly girls in the corner, obviously just getting out of the massive downpour. Sherlock sighed, ordering a coffee and a croissant, sitting down at a lone corner booth and pulling out one of his books. It was quite relaxing, hearing the rain beat against the window behind him and the soft violin music playing in the café itself. When he was just about to get packing the door opened once again, and the muddy, water lodged John Watson came scowling in, obviously not in the mood to be working.