Like a Fairytale

Football has Some Advantages

    The rest of that week was like the next few days of the kiss for Sherlock, so awkward it made him physically sick. John hadn't moved seats and no one knew of the occurrences in the park, so the crowds didn't part or jeer, but Sherlock knew John was a little bit tense, as if still trying to figure out what he had done wrong. Math class was back to silence for the next few days, and every little glance or word John asked him made Sherlock's stomach twist and his heart almost fall out. But once again the school's spirits lifted for the upcoming football game, back to the drawings, back to the cheering and the clapping and the distractions. Of course this brought back memories for the worst of them, and Anderson, Greg, and Mike had been caught by Sherlock engraving his locker with a pencil tip. When Sherlock had chased the laughing bullies away he saw, to his disgust, a huge heart that said S.H. + ??. And then had an incomplete drawing of a stick figure Sherlock running, pucker lipped, at John. Sherlock groaned, this was the very last thing he needed on his locker, and he tried to rub it off with his sleeve, but it would take fresh paint to remove it. Then again, he could always consult the principal, get these footballers in trouble for once, but no. The principal would want to know the origins of these strange hieroglyphs, and he'd have to tell them, or Anderson would so kindly volunteer, but either way the school board will end up throwing him a silent, judgmental coming out party.
"Hey Sherlock." said a soft voice next to him, making Sherlock jump a couple of feet into the air.
"Come back to torment me more?" he growled, but when he looked around he saw it wasn't Anderson, it was John, who had stepped back a couple of paces and was looking semi worried for his life.
"John..." Sherlock muttered, just clarifying his miserable luck. "I didn't do this, by the way, I would never, it, Anderson." Sherlock assured, trying to cover up the picture carved into the paint, blushing a little bit.
"I assumed that much. I was just wondering if you were in fact going to the game."
"No, probably not. This is what happens. Now go away, you shouldn't be talking to me here." Sherlock decided, unlocking his locker in order to hide the graffiti.
"Well I want you to come, you don't even have to tell the others you're there, you can wear a mask for all I care, but it's senior year and I want you to have a little bit of fun." John pointed out, leaning on the lockers ever so slightly with one shoulder, making Sherlock gulp.
"I know, but social situations aren't really my cup of tea." He muttered.
"Is this about the park?" John asked, something Sherlock surely wished he hadn't brought up. His head came up from digging in his locker, but he was so tall that the back of it came cracking down on the metal, looking like a clumsy fool.
"No, of course not, that was just, sorry about that, I know it wasn't your fault, I freaked out, I don't know what I was thinking." Sherlock stammered.
"So, I've got to be there at five, but I can leave for a little while, the game starts at six, so I'll be around by six." John decided with a smile.
"Wait, John, I thought I said..." Sherlock started, trying to defend his case a little more.
"And I don't think either of us wants your parents finding me knocking on your door, so you better be out watching for me, I'll walk by twice, when I pass by first come out, and then follow me on the next one towards the stadium." John decided, cutting of the confused Sherlock.
"But I don't think..." Sherlock started again, but this time was cut off by John's cruel laughter.
"And if you try to come anywhere near me I'll have Anderson tie you to the subway tracks!" John warned, and Sherlock heard an array of laughter behind them. John was acting again, he needed a reason to be coming up here, so he had to pretend like that reason was torment. Then John broke off with one slap to Sherlock's arm, joining the large group of kids that was circulating and calling Sherlock very rude things. When they were finally gone Sherlock stared into the swirling abyss that was his locker, he didn't know what this meant. An invitation, getting picked up, involuntary, it was a date, it had to be a date. Sherlock caught his breath, failed of course, and was left there gaping like a fish out of water. A date, John Watson had kind of sort of asked him out on a date. This was more than he could've ever thought up himself, what was the purpose of such sorcery? What did one do on a date? And what would anyone say if they saw Sherlock sitting up in the rows once again, Anderson would probably throw a football to hit him over the head with. So Sherlock packed up his things, the day finally at an end, but for some reason it felt like it had just started. Six o'clock, he would look out his door, and John would be there, he would be there for him, picking him up. What was it, what could it mean, this was the biggest thing that has happened since the park, did John actually like him? They were all questions floating around in the ocean of his mind, flopping around with the waves and making it very hard to concentrate on anything really. He walked home in a daze, not bothering to look where he was going, his mind was in another place, it was with John, where ever he might be, where ever his thoughts were drifting. Was he thinking of Sherlock now? Was he imagining what would happen, was he nervous about the outcome? Sherlock wanted to know so badly what was coming it gave him a headache.
"I'm home!" he announced to the house, which was empty except for Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Holmes, and Redbeard, who was, for once not in Sherlock's room, but laying on the carpet in the sitting room.
"Hello sweetie." Mrs. Holmes said pleasantly, looking up from the house magazine she was reading. Redbeard grumbled from under her feet. "How was your day?"
"Fine." Sherlock muttered, looking longingly at the stairs, if only he could escape with Redbeard, tell him all that had happened.
"Redbeard's being a bit odd, have you noticed?" she asked, looking at the dog lying innocently on the carpet.
"No, he's fine." Sherlock shrugged, which was true. But then again Redbeard's change in mood wouldn't pass Sherlock's line of observation considering his mind was in a different universe entirely.
"Well I don't know, maybe it's just his age." Mrs. Holmes muttered, nudging the dog with her polished high heel, which probably cost more than Anderson's brain.
"Ya, probably." Sherlock sighed. "I'm going out tonight." He added, and with that he started up the steps before she could ask any questions. But of course he wasn't fast enough to avoid hearing Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes' excited squeals. His two fussy moms it would seem.
"Where are you going?" Mrs. Hudson demanded, looking up at him from the bottom of the staircase. Sherlock paused at the second last step, so close to freedom, yet so far. Mrs. Holmes poked her head out of the door frame as well, adding to Mrs. Hudson's excited smile.
"Football game, it's nothing important." Sherlock snapped.
"You went to the last one too." Mrs. Holmes pointed out.
"Yes, good job for noticing." Sherlock groaned.
"I'm saying that it's nice to see you finally socializing." Mrs. Holmes defended, crossing her arms but looking thrilled anyway.
"Oh shush, it's nothing important." Sherlock moaned.
"The last thing you were invited to was a birthday party in second grade, and everyone your class came." Mrs. Hudson pointed out, making Mrs. Holmes nod in agreement.
"Who said I was invited?"
"So you asked someone else to go?"
"No! God, I'm just going, it's not anything special." Sherlock moaned, lying of course, John had invited him, the John, the only person on this Earth he couldn't say no to. Their excited moods seemed to die off a bit, but before they could say anything more Sherlock jumped up the last steps and barricaded himself in his room, locking the door and hearing the shushed gossip of the two women downstairs. They probably thought he had been asked to go to the game by a girl, no doubt, in their mind, a nice A+ girl who donated to charity and helped at the pet shelters on weekends. Well soooory ladies, because he was asked to go by the football captain, and it was an opportunity he had been counting down to by the last second. Sherlock spend an extra hour in the bathroom mirror, changing his clothes three times, experimenting with leaving the top button on his shirt unbuttoned, which was horrific, he was a little bit embarrassed for thinking he could pull it off. He used his most expensive cologne, he used product in his hair to make it a little bit more shiny, made sure his face was clean and washed, and spent about a half hour of that time practicing facial expressions in the mirror. Not like this was an acting class or anything, he'd probably end up stuttering his greeting, but just in case he had surprised, in love, excited, anticipated, sad, and disappointed all down to a science. He especially worked on the 'he's about to kiss me' face, which looked quite stupid even in the mirror, because just thinking about John leaning in made his cheeks flush redder than a third degree burn. Sherlock tried his very best to look absolutely flawless, which was impossible of course, but when five thirty rolled around he was already sitting in the living room, pretending to read a book but keeping his eyes fixed on the sidewalk outside the window. Thankfully his mother was off doing something, because he feared if she were here she could hear his heart pounding a mile a minute. Redbeard was still on the carpet, fast asleep with his long nose snuggled in his red paws, breathing softly and whining. Sherlock smiled slightly, he looked like a puppy again for some reason, but then again the entire world was glowing with a newfound glory. John might be asking him out, they might be going on an actual date, what if John showed up with flowers? What would Sherlock do, probably faint, and that would be in public as well, how humiliating. The minutes moved by slower than Mycroft exercising, but finally, at 5:58.13 (his clock was extra accurate) he saw a little blonde head, decked in the green and black uniform of the vipers, bobbing through the crowd. Sherlock took a deep breath but jumped to his feet.
"I'm leaving!" he called to his parents, hearing the excited squeals and wishes of luck from the two Mrs.'s, and was out the door, shutting it anxiously behind him. Now John was on his second pace, right next to the door, and Sherlock held back a bit just to make sure no one was watching from the windows. He didn't look back at the house and definitely didn't show any signs of seeing anyone he knew in front of him until he was a block away, sure that even Mrs. Hudsons' owl ears couldn't overhear his conversation.
"John!" he called, pushing a bit through the crowd to see the smiling face of his friend, or more than friend hopefully, having stopped to wait.
"I'm feeling very secret ops right now." John decided, apparently that was his way of greeting someone.
"Well, uh, that's good." Sherlock decided, still very awkward. He hadn't forgotten about the park, even though that seemed to be behind them now, they hadn't been doing very much tutoring after. This was actually their first one on one time in a while now that he thought of it.
"So, excited?" John asked.
"I guess." Sherlock muttered. He was more than excited; this was the turning point of his dull, miserable life. This was the day he was able to call John Watson his very own, maybe. That was if John actually admitted his feelings and made the first move and assured Sherlock that he would be his own. Then maybe that would happen. The two of them had started making their way to the stadium, the lights visible now in the sinking sun from a considerable distance.
"It's not going to be all that good of a game, considering there team is rubbish and all, but it's still going to be worth watching." John shrugged.
"I hope you didn't drag me out with people for nothing." Sherlock warned.
"Of course I didn't do it for nothing, it's a game, it'll be fun no matter what!" John assured.
"And if you lose?" Sherlock asked with a small laugh.
"Then it wouldn't be so much fun, but I doubt that will happen, so don't get your hopes up." John warned. Sherlock just smiled innocently, one of the expressions he had gotten down to a science, but now that he couldn't see himself he was sure it would come off as more of a grimace.
"You have lost right?" Sherlock asked, just to make sure John knew something other than victory and a smooth sailing life.
"Course, loads of times actually." John shrugged. "But we're working harder; I want to go undefeated this year."
"Your last year to do it." Sherlock shrugged.
"Don't say that like it's a good thing." John grumbled, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk and accidently hitting an intimidating looking business man in the back of the polished shoe.
"I'm not." Sherlock defended. Now the chatter of the stadium could be heard from where they were, still a block away. There were hundreds of spectators, some without family or anything; they just had nothing to do on Friday nights. The crowd on the streets was getting thicker and thicker as everyone leaked in, but of course John would have to go ahead in case someone was watching, they couldn't be seen together by anyone who would start talking about it.
"So, I'll see you after the game, hopefully with a victory!" he called over his shoulder happily, making Sherlock give him an encouraging thumbs up and let him disappear into the mix of people.