Like a Fairytale

Thank God He's Pretty...

"So you showed up then?" he asked in a huff.
"Are you disappointed?" Sherlock asked.
"Of course. It's not like I look forward to spending my only free time with the freak." John grumbled, repositioning his bag and frowning at Sherlock.
"Nice to see you too." Sherlock sighed.
"What's Freak doing here?" asked another player, Sherlock didn't know his name, but obviously he was out of the loop.
"Didn't you hear, John's getting tutored." Greg pointed out, walking up beside the new boy, who was laughing.
"By him?"
"If you must know, I could probably beat your highest test grade half asleep." Sherlock snapped, straightening up and giving the boy a fierce glance.
"This isn't the time to fight, come on, let's just get this over with." John decided, glaring at Greg as if for help, but turning down the street and walking down the short driveway to the road. Sherlock flashed one more antagonizing smile at the two, who looked both annoyed and confused, and ran off to catch John, who, not surprisingly, had a good lead on him. When he caught up they were walking side by side, Sherlock still trying to catch his breath and nervously searching for something to say. John was right there, he could ask him how his day was, would that be a crime? Or his family, no, that would sound hostile considering the competition, oh what to say, what to say?
"You did good in practice." He blurted out, immediately regretting it. Now he sounded like he was watching John from the stands, as if he were the only one he had been watching, if John pieced this together he might find out...
"Thanks." John mumbled, the comment obviously going completely over his head. He kicked at a stone on the sidewalk, making it skid off the curb and almost get hit by a cab. The streets were filled with people of all types, but they were slowly emptying, people going in for the day or dining at restaurants. Sherlock was very hungry, but he knew it wasn't long until they'd settle down somewhere.
"We're going to the park right?" John asked gloomily.
"Yes." Sherlock agreed, noticing just how sad John looked. "Are you okay?"
"Why should you care?" John snapped, shutting Sherlock up at once. Of course he shouldn't care, they were ach enemies, Sherlock was really slipping up on his cover here. There was silence as they crossed a couple of streets, finally making it to the stone walled park, walking in through the iron gate. It was almost like another world in the park, switching pavement and cement for grass and trees, car horns for chirping birds, and smog filled air for the scent of flowers. Of course you could still hear and smell the hustle and bustle of city life, but more faintly. There were mostly families here, and a couple of high school kids hanging out in packs, and an older couple, maybe in their seventies, strolling hand in hand down the lane at one mile per hour. Sherlock was strangely jealous, imagining himself and John at their age, walking carelessly through the park together with matching gold bands on their fingers. How delightful would that be? Then again, he still needed to pass the barrier which was John hating him for everything that he was and will be.
"Is this good?" John asked, gesturing to a wooden picnic table isolated beneath some pine trees.
"I guess so." Sherlock shrugged, looking in the distance and seeing the pond. He sort of wanted to suggest sitting on the docks, just to see the possible outcome, but he decided that might still be another time. He sat at one end of the table and John sat across from him, unpacking his dinner from ordinary tin foil, just another proof about how modest he was about his fortune. Sherlock put the folder on the table, flipping through the papers and getting out a topic John had not yet completed, setting it in front of him with shy smile.
"Here we are then." He said, sliding the paper towards John, who was still more focused on popping the top off of a soda can.
"What is this?"
"Linear equations."
"Come again?"
"Lines." Sherlock corrected. John groaned, setting his sandwich back down and picking up his pencil, clicking the led in and out while he examined the problems.
"And what do I do with them exactly?" he asked. Sherlock didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but explained the directions as basically as possible while getting out his own dinner. It was a turkey and avocado sandwich, grilled, with some sun dried tomatoes and olive oil on it, one of his favorites, Mrs. Hudson must have been in a good mood this morning.
"So, I have to wright out how steep the line is?" John asked. Sherlock nodded, his mouth still full of sandwich. John groaned, but starting counting off the squares.
"It's not all that difficult once you get the hang of it." Sherlock assured.
"Well obviously I haven't gotten the hang of it."
"Do you even remember this unit?" Sherlock asked with exasperation.
"Of course I do... maybe." John muttered, his confidence fading as he actually tried to remember.
"That's what I thought."
"Okay, maybe not all of us have you creepy memory power, you probably remember being born, but that's..."
"No I don't." Sherlock pointed out, taking a sip of his freshly brewed iced tea.
"You don't what?" John asked, setting his pencil down rather forcefully and trading it for a bite of his own sandwich.
"Remember being born, I don't remember that, how could I?" Sherlock assured. John looked torn between being angry and being humored, so he just stared at Sherlock with a very odd expression.
"That's not the point." He muttered.
"Of course, no, carry on." Sherlock stammered, stupid once again. John nodded, picking the pencil up once again and trying to figure out how to write a linear equation. After a little while of annoyed grunts and eraser shavings, all of which Sherlock found quite adorable, John turned the paper around so that he could check it. It only took a glance for Sherlock to realize it was totally wrong.
"No." he muttered, sliding it back.
"No, of course not, how could I get anything right?!" John demanded, smashing his fist into the table and scaring a little kid, who had been watching the squirrels in the tree scamper around.
"It's fine, calm down, I can be difficult." Sherlock assured. John took a deep, calming breath, trying to get himself back together.
"Why don't you do less eating and more teaching, because any creature around can hand me a paper." John snapped.
"Well..." he started.
"It was exaggeration." John pointed out, obviously seeing where Sherlock was going with that.
"Of course. Well, first..." Sherlock launched into a large explanation about how to write the equation, using terms he didn't realize John wouldn't understand and not providing any visual aid. In the end John's beautiful eyes had glossed over and he was staring blankly at the trees behind Sherlock.
"Did you even get any of that?" Sherlock asked, waving his hand in front of John's face to make sure he was still alive.
"What, ya, lines, numbers, counting, all very fun." John said quickly, an obvious sign that he hadn't translated any of it.
"That's a no?"
"No, I didn't hear you, you're a rubbish teacher." John decided.
"I'm all you got." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well do better!" John snapped.
"What do you want me to do?" Sherlock defended. Please say kiss me...
"Show me how to do the problem, come over here and walk me through it, step by step!" John decided, scooting over on the bench to make room for Sherlock to sit. Sherlock stared at him, a little bit taken aback by the request. Come over here, as in sit down, use the same pencil, breathe the same air? Oh my god...
"Um, ya, sure." Sherlock decided, getting to his feet so quickly that he slammed his knees into the top, making the wooden beams shake and his iced tea shake dangerously. John watched him with an annoyed expression, as if he were more of a burden than anything. Sherlock sank into the seat beside him, leaving about a foot of space between them, and realizing just how far away the paper was from where he was sitting.
"Okay, so what do I do first?" John asked, scooting towards Sherlock and dragging the paper along. Now he was close enough that Sherlock could smell the strange mix of sweat, mud, and stale cologne on him. It made the poor boy's heart lurch so much he almost thought he was worried about John hearing it.
"Uh, you, um..." Sherlock muttered, looking at John, a very dangerous choice of action because he had lost his train of thought. "Pencil." He said quickly. John handed him the led pencil, looking very annoyed, maybe even angry, but Sherlock studied the problem. It took another ten minutes to go over the problem in full detail, and even longer because he could hear the fabric of John's clothes move when John shifted, he could hear his faint breaths, smell his scent, it was driving Sherlock strangely insane, he so desperately wanted to either move closer or move as far away, terrified of what he was and just what his heart was doing right now. Why did he have to be so, so John? Why couldn't the absolutely perfect person be made into a nice nerdy girl that doesn't have any rivals with his family, why must it be the most perfect boy in all of creation who hated Sherlock's family and constantly bullied the rubbish out of him? And why does he have to be sitting so close...
"Are you even listening to me?" John asked, jolting Sherlock out of his thoughts and back into this now very embarrassing reality.
"What, no, sorry." Sherlock muttered.
"I asked you if this was right." John pointed out. Sherlock quickly examined it and a smile spread across his face.
"Yes, it's right!" he said happily, but his smile was not returned.
"So that's great, now I can do the absolute basics." John grumbled.
"It's still better than nothing." Sherlock pointed out.
"And a lot worse than passing grade." John agreed.
"Don't look at it like that." Sherlock defended.
"Too late." John pointed out. They spent the rest of the evening doing equations, and slowly but surely John started to understand, his negative attitude fading away a little bit as he got question after question right. Sherlock had surprised himself at how good of a teacher he actually was, he had taught someone who he had previously believed to have a brain of lint to complete some actually semi difficult question.
"Right again, you're really getting the hang of this." Sherlock decided as he checked one of the last papers. The sun was starting to fade beneath the clouds and the only proof they ever had dinner was the wrappings and cans sitting in a heap on the picnic table. The park was starting to empty out, the kids going back home for bed time and the teenagers dispersing back home.
"About time." John muttered, but he had a small smile on his face as Sherlock wrote a big 98% on the top (he had gotten one particularly tricky question wrong).
"Hey, you've really improved." Sherlock assured, stuffing the remainder of the papers back in the folder and stuffing them into his bag once again. John smiled, jamming the paper into his own bag and collecting all of the trash, even Sherlock's, and went to throw it out in the nearest trash can.
"Alright then, time to go." He decided, remaining standing as if waiting for Sherlock. He didn't know if this was because he was waiting to push him into the nearest oncoming bus or because he actually wanted to walk home together, but Sherlock picked up his pace, shouldering his bag and standing up quickly again, this time catching his foot on the bench.
"You're a mess today, no more than usual of course." John decided.
"I'm a bit tired I suppose." Sherlock lied, forcing a yawn to prove his point. John didn't pay him any attention though, he just continued walking down the path, forcing Sherlock to widen his stride to catch up.
"Well um, you did well today." Sherlock decided, forcing out a conversation starter.
"Thanks." John shrugged. Sherlock saw an end to that conversation.
"Is there a game coming up soon?" he asked after a little while, as they were walking back onto the sidewalks.
"Next Friday, against the leopards." John nodded. Sherlock didn't have a clue who the leopards were, a mascot no doubt, they wouldn't play against real animals, although that would be much more interesting. But that gave him something to do next Friday evidently. To his disappointment John's house wasn't far from the park, (more like skyscraper mansion home), so they were at his doorstep before he knew it.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." John shrugged, no thank you or anything, but Sherlock hadn't been expecting one.
"Same time, same place?" Sherlock asked.
"I guess so." John agreed. Sherlock nodded, avoiding eye contact like the awkward person he was.
"Alright then, bye." Sherlock decided, and with a nervous glance at John he walked on, almost running into a parking meter but swerving to avoid it, walking all the way to his front door afraid he'd look too happy. There were simply no words to describe how much he adored John, not even love covered it, every aspect of that boy was perfect, and now these little meetings were proving something, that John was able to be a normal civilized human being and not be slamming Sherlock's head into lockers every time they looked at each other. When he got home his mother didn't ask any questions, she had known he would be out, so he ran up to his room in a happy bubble and closed the door forcefully. Redbeard, who was asleep on his bed already, jumped up in shock.
"Redbeard I am officially in love!" Sherlock announced quietly, spinning in his room with a smile wider than any on his face. In a hushed whisper he explained to the dog what had happened, adding all of the details about just how John looked, smelled, and sounded, all of which classified under angelic. Redbeard was a good listener, he didn't disrupt and he didn't leave, which was a lot better than any human could do. But Sherlock's only human acquaintance was Mrs. Hudson, the only person he could actually tell about everything, and he knew for certain he would never approach her with the topic of crushes, especially if it happened to be John Watson. Sherlock could only imagine anyone's reaction really, his mom would try her best to be supportive but so worried and upset that she'd probably just encourage him to find someone else. Mr. Watson would go completely berserk, start screaming no doubt about how much scum the Watson family was and how he wouldn't stand for having a gay son. Mrs. Hudson would probably be the best option, but she too wouldn't agree with it, she'd probably tell Mrs. Holmes in the end. And Mycroft, telling him would be like signing your own execution papers. So Redbeard was the only one Sherlock would go to, ever, about anything. He knew everything and he's told no one so far. When Sherlock got changed and tucked into bed he lay in his pillows, staring dreamily up at his ceiling.
"Redbeard do you think he's the one?" he asked once the light was off. The dog only answered with long snores, which made Sherlock smile. Maybe John was the one, maybe there was a reason they live in the same town and are the same age, because they were meant to be together. The thought made Sherlock's stomach twist, but with excitement, he could only imagine a life with John, but it definitely outmatched his life now.