Like a Fairytale

A Punching Bag Named Freak

Sherlock walked to school alone once again, buying coffee from the vendor and walking in through the glass doors. No one met him with jeers or comments, it really was a nice change really, but they only glared, which made him a lot more uncomfortable. Once again he had dressed to what he classified as perfection, so he hoped by now John would notice. They were to meet at the stadium again after practice, then head down to the park once more. This time it seemed like the minutes and hours leading up to third period were creeping along, slower than even Sherlock trying to run the mile. So finally, when the lunch bell rang again, freeing him from his private little corner under the stairs, he went up to Mrs. Pines' class. When he got there he was shocked to find John standing at the teacher's desk, talking with her about the extra work probably. The rest of the room was empty, which Sherlock found a little bit suspicious because the legendary John Watson doesn't walk around without at last one of his posy members.
"Ah, there he is." Mrs. Pines said with a smile. Now her sweater had multiple beady eyed kittens on it, which made Sherlock kind of uncomfortable.
"Here I am." Sherlock agreed, setting his stuff down in his seat and joining John at the desk.
"I was just asking John here how you two are making out." she decided. I only we were...
"Fine, John's learned what, simple equations and linear, we're going one lesson at a time." Sherlock agreed.
"That's very nice to hear, maybe I should start a whole tutoring program, you seem very good at it." she decided.
"It may surprise you but I have a life outside of math class." Sherlock pointed out, maybe a little bit sassily but he wasn't going to sit around tutoring the entire football team.
"I didn't mean you'd have to teach everyone." She defended, although she looked the slightest bit disappointed. Some of the other kids came in, including a very confused looking Mary. When she saw John she waved, and he waved and mouthed words Sherlock couldn't understand.
"Well that's all for now, I assume you'll be studying again tonight?" she asked.
"Are you asking for an invitation?" John asked a bit suspiciously.
"No of course not, you two run along." She said with a little laugh, waving them away. The two of them sat in their chairs, Sherlock leaning on one of his elbows and glaring at the front board in a daze.
"Same place same time?" John asked, snapping Sherlock out of his thoughts.
"What?" he asked, suddenly aware that John was actually talking to him.
"For studying?" John corrected.
"Yes, if that works for you." Sherlock agreed.
"I suppose it does." John agreed.
"Oh don't look like that, it's only an hour." Sherlock pointed out.
"Of which I could be doing much better things." John agreed.
"Like what?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh I don't know, maybe spending time with my family, playing more football, doing other homework, playing video games, the list goes on." John pointed out.
"Well those all sound like great things but I don't think spending time with your family has to be a requirement." Sherlock defended.
"You don't spend time with yours?" John asked, as if that amazed him.
"I avoid them if at all possible, we don't get along much."
"So every human you meet hates you?" John clarified.
"Apparently so."
"Wonder why...." John pointed out. Just as Sherlock opened his mouth to give John a huge speech involving some choice words the class started, which was probably good for him considering he didn't want to be on such a bad note with his only crush. The entire lesson was boring until half way through, when his foot was bumped by John's under the desks, obviously on accident, they were both leaning down far in the chairs and far past bored, but Sherlock straightened up immediately. He knew it was only the two shoes, a sneaker and leather dance shoe, but it was the first actual contact they've ever had, so in Sherlock's mind it marked a huge hurtle now passed. When the papers were passed out Sherlock was done in under five minutes, and to his amazement and accomplishment he saw that John was actually working at his own problems, looking completely lost, but it made Sherlock's heart warm when he saw John making an effort.
"Should I check it?" Sherlock asked, mostly as a joke, but John slid the paper over after he was finished with a sort of annoyed sigh. Sherlock looked over the paper, not wanting to insult him too badly just because he had actually tried, but the problems were so horrific it was like all he was doing was writing down random numbers.
"Apparently you live in a world where twenty minus eleven is twelve." Sherlock pointed out, circling where John had gone wrong in every problem. Usually he just circled the whole problems, at least for the ones that were complete abominations, but as he handed it back he gave John a small smile, encouraging him to put effort in every time.
"Bad?" John asked, looking at the circles.
"A bit." Sherlock agreed.
"Figures." John mumbled, sighing and looking over his work gloomily.
"Everyone finished?" Mrs. Pines asked pleasantly, and there was a murmur of approval from the kids. John groaned even louder, but obviously he didn't want to protest, so he only copied down the answers and called it quits.
"We'll work on it tonight." Sherlock suggested.
"Ya alright." John muttered, but he didn't look happy about it. When the bell rang they were off to history, and just like that John disappeared to his friends and Sherlock was left once again alone. He didn't mind being alone, but ever since he actually had someone to talk to it felt a lot more sad, which was pathetic because he was born alone; there was loner in his blood. But it's not like people expected him to be with anyone, so he just walked to the class room, knowing full well that John and his gang weren't far behind. History class dragged on because Anderson smelled particularly awful that day, obviously gym was mixed in his schedule because it smelled like someone had stuffed a dead raccoon down his shirt and let it sit there for three days. In the end Sherlock almost fell off of his chair trying to avoid the smell, leaning all the way to the other desk, but he saw that even the teacher, who was sitting in his desk at the other end of the room, waving his hand indiscreetly in front of his face.
"Anderson guess what?" Sherlock asked, finally unable to avoid an excuse to pick on the football player, now without too severe of consequences. Anderson looked down on him with an evil glare, as if anything he says can and will be held against him in a court of law.
"What." He snapped.
"There's this wild and crazy new invention, it's called deodorant." Sherlock pointed out, and the whole class got silent, he even heard a daring chuckle. Anderson's breathing increased and an odd vein in his forehead twitched. Obviously he was unable to think of a comeback, so he looked at John desperately for help.
"Oh just shut up freak." John muttered, waving his glare away and getting back to his worksheet. There were two things that were odd about this situation; one that John wasn't entering a fight, and two that he was actually doing his work.
"You'll pay for that." Anderson promised.
"Oh I bet, once again my brains will spill over the cement, except you need me remember?" Sherlock pointed out.
"We don't your legs though; we could very much break those."
"Then I would refuse to help."
"Then you'd get in trouble with the teacher."
"As if I'm scared of little Mrs. Pines. I don't need these teachers, I don't care if they're mad at me or not." Sherlock pointed out, which made Anderson's scowl widen, but he looked away once more, not sure what to say, this was all too much for his pathetic little brain. So he stayed silent, bend over his blank worksheet and his stench didn't change at all. When the bell finally rung and Sherlock got to the hallway it was like a breath of fresh air, he went to his locker, enjoying the fact that it didn't smell like dead fish, and packed his bag, prepared and excited for another day of studying. Sherlock was getting more and more convinced that John didn't hate him to the fullest extend anymore, in fact he didn't seem to pick on him nearly as much. It may not be love, but it was better than hate.
"Hey, freak!" he turned to see Mary running up to him, which was odd, but he slowed down to let her catch up.
"What do you want?" he said a little bit harshly.
"Tell John after your done with your studying to meet me at my place, it's our seven month anniversary." Mary said, blushing under all of her foundation.
"Wow, it's like it's fate." Sherlock muttered.
"Oh don't be like that, someday you'll find someone you click with." She assured. Oh I already have, unfortunately you're celebrating your anniversary with him.
"I didn't ask for a conversation, I'll tell him." Sherlock decided, and, in an effort to get away from her, slipped into the boys bathroom to check his reflection. Once again he patted down his curls, cursing himself for not having a hairbrush on hand, but he decided it wasn't all that bad. When he got out the doors the sidewalks were swarming with kids, thankfully he only had to walk a short distance to the stadium, where the boys were just coming out of the locker room from getting dressed. He spotted John at once, and obviously the team was picking on Anderson, probably because of the deodorant thing, and he was swatting them with his giant hands. It was windy yet sunny, but Sherlock could tell it was getting chillier, fall was setting in. Soon he'd get to wear his coat again, which always made him look very mysterious. He hiked up the bleachers to the top corner once again, burying his nose in a book and curling into a small ball to defend against the crisp air. The whistle blew a couple of times and he heard the footballs getting kicked around. By the end of practice they started to scrimmage, and to his slight embarrassment he noticed that they had two teams, shirts and skins, and you'd never guess which team John was leading. Sherlock was happy he was so far up on the bleachers because he felt his face glow bright red as the whistle blew, staring the match. By the end of the match John had scored four goals against a very annoyed Anderson, who was trying to defend the goal, thankfully on the shirts side. The other team only managed to get one goal in by the final whistle, and the skins team did a particularly annoying victory lap, some of them adding in very unnecessary flips and whoops as the other team sauntered moodily off of the pitch. Sherlock took this as his cue to get a move on, stuffing his book back in his bag and trying to get his heart rate back to a normal level before walking down the metal stairs loudly. He waited once again by the pillar leading out to the small driveway back to the city streets, hearing approaching cleats and knowing they were on their way. John was leading the pack this time; thankfully his shirt was back on, protecting Sherlock from any more embarrassing blushing, but he was also flanked by Anderson, Greg, and Mike. The bully squad was at it again.
"I owe you a beating freak." Anderson announced, getting some snickers out of the crowd. The rest of the football team was straggling behind, muttering and laughing as they saw a nice fight about to go down.
"And you always keep your promises. I'd be surprised if you'd be able to hit me though, considering you can't hit a ball out of the net." Sherlock pointed out, standing up and walking a little bit towards the pack to show that he wasn't scared. He heard some oh's from the crowd, and John cracked a knowing smile at Anderson, who only looked madder.
"Maybe we should kick you around next practice, see how much you like it." Greg called out; Anderson obviously didn't want to say anything now.
"Don't you already?" Sherlock shrugged, trying not to look fazed as the small pack got closer and closer. Anderson came up first, swinging a strong punch towards Sherlock's stomach, but he just stepped quickly to the size, throwing the boy off balance and pushing him into the concrete, obviously getting in way too deep as Anderson sprawled out with a startled yell. Now even the pack looked surprised, if not angrier than ever.
"Come on then, is that the best you've got?" Sherlock taunted, throwing his bag to the stone wall and pretending to get in a fighting stance. Anderson scrambled to his feet, wiping the stones from his hands and looking like an angry bull, ready to charge. Now Sherlock was seeing the consequences of his actions. Anderson ran at him, and the bravery slipped out of Sherlock as he came closer and closer. He tried to step aside but he knew it was too late, so Sherlock turned and ran. This only caused excitement for the crowd this meant one thing, a hunt. Sherlock sprinted as fast as he could, even though he couldn't run a mile very well he was able to sprint just fine, or at least well enough to keep Anderson at bay. Mike, Greg, and, to his disappointment, John joined the chase, running a little bit behind Anderson and leading on the rest of the team. Sherlock ran through the fence and into the pitch, his breath leaving him quickly and his legs burning, but he had to keep going or more than his legs would hurt. He felt himself slowing down; Anderson was at his heels... With a giant, cat like leap, Anderson flung himself at Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his ankles and taking him down in an instant. Sherlock fell with a yell, smacking face first into the half line, getting a nice mouthful of dirt and grass. When he got up, groaning and spitting out the dirt he saw there was a circle formed around them now, the football players all looking very enthusiastic about the fight, even John was clapping and hooting excitedly. Sherlock scrambled to his feet, but too late, Anderson threw a powerful punch into his stomach, making him double over and cough, the wind knocked right out of him.
"Oh come on freak, where's you sass now?" Anderson pointed out, pushing him with a giant shove into the ring of people, but he was only pushed right back to his feet forcefully.
"I need to go tutor one of your deadbeats, so I'd suggest you," his sentence was cut off with a cough, "let me do that."
"Five more minutes!" John called out with a laugh. Anderson smiled wickedly, sweeping Sherlock's feet out from under him and falling once again into the grass, coughing and spluttering but getting right back to his feet. Somehow it didn't hurt all that much, it was like he was immune to torture of this kind. Now Sherlock plain gave up, trying to walk out of the circle and sighing with annoyance when they wouldn't let him pass. He knew the entertainment disappeared once the prey stopped fighting; it wasn't too much fun to watch a guy beat someone up who wasn't even screaming. The circle of team members lost interest now, the clapping and calling fading away as Anderson himself got bored as well.
"Can I go now?" Sherlock asked in a tired voice. The crowd dispersed as Anderson growled, not really giving an answer, but the boys made a space for Sherlock to walk through, sort of like an automatic door. "Come on Watson, don't want to be late." He called, waving his hand and trying to pretend like it didn't hurt to move his core, right were Anderson had punched him. He heard some muttering and goodbyes, and soon John was back at his side, a wide smile on his face.