These Days

Lovely Little Meetings

                  

Sherlock POV. Sherlock was miserable. Sherlock was lonely. And more than anything Sherlock was longing to be in John's presence once more. There was something about this man that he just couldn't place, and he was so upset about being so confused that he felt like his brain would collapse. He was sitting in his chair once again, too lazy to light a fire in the fire place and too lazy to even pour himself a drink. So he just sat on his chair, cuddling into a blanket and staring once more at the dark, empty chair. He really hoped he wasn't being too pushy with this whole John thing, he didn't want John to think that he was as desperate as he actually was to talk to him, but he would always let his mind wander to all of their meetings and hope that maybe someday he would be able to meet again. There was a strong feeling though, in his heart, which said he would never see John again, that the man would go to great lengths to avoid him and his gifted program. Heck, Sherlock was even sure that John would pack up his things and move his family as far away from this pathetic place as he could because there was a stalker on his trail. Sherlock was being stupid to think John would ever respond about the gifted program, he was being stupid to think that John would be sharing these thoughts. He was just being stupid over all.

                When class started the next day Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to see that the red van rolled up, second in the lineup. It didn't mean anything, of course it didn't, Mary was probably driving and wanted to look responsible in front of all the other parents. But when Sherlock looked through his window more he saw John in the driver's seat, craning his head everywhere as if looking for something, or someone, on the sidewalk. Suddenly Sherlock decided that he absolutely had to be down there this instant, it was very important even though he had nothing to do. Sherlock dropped his things onto the desk, steadying the now rocking globe and trying not to look too desperate to get out of the building. What should he do, how should he act? Should he pretend he didn't notice the car or should he walk right up and start conversation? He was behind both doors now, the tinted glass were enough to hide him from John's sight but he could see the man very clearly, he was watching the doors just as Sherlock was. But John looked disappointed, Sherlock looked into his eyes but John didn't look back, his stare was blank. Sherlock sighed, he didn't know what he was supposed to do, say that, by some miracle, he was able to walk up to the car, what would he say, what would he do? Oh hello Mr. Watson, glad to see you exist, let me awkwardly stalk you and your family. No, it was better back here, watching while others couldn't, seeing without being seen. He felt safe yet longing, like he was being pulled by some sort of magnetic force to that red van he wanted to sit in the passenger seat and stare at John's reflection in the dashboard mirror, he wanted to see his blonde hair fluttering in the wind of the open window, to hear him singing along to his favorite songs on the radio...
"Almost ready to open the doors?" asked one of the other teachers behind him, ripping Sherlock's thoughts apart.
"Oh, yes, of course." Sherlock agreed. He disappeared back into his classroom though, before John could catch any glimpse of him, for some reason he didn't think it would be right to be in the vision of John. no, it was best he stayed in the shadows, best he was unseen, because there was no possible way John shared the same desperate thoughts, no way that he was seen as anything more than Hamish's creepy teacher. The kids flooded in a while later, and Sherlock didn't bother saying hello, he didn't feel like even looking in their general direction. Something was eating him alive, he could feel it gnawing away at his very soul, but he couldn't figure out just what it was. Maybe he was depressed, maybe he was only hungry, maybe he simply hated his life and job so much that it was physically painful to live anymore.
"Good morning Mr. Holmes!" Hamish exclaimed as he walked through the door. Sherlock just looked at the boy, once more feeling a miserable cloud move over his happiness. It couldn't be Hamish, there was nothing wrong with the boy and there was nothing he had done, so why was the mere sight of him almost painful? Sherlock sighed, but started going over attendance even though his head was floating in a cloud. The day dragged by of course, yet another miserable day of living a miserable life. They went over the news and did the alphabet and Sherlock looked over the gifted program papers while the children drew pictures or whatever the heck they were doing with the crayons. Sherlock noticed some little boy drawing all over some girl's arms and he just cleared his throat and glared. The boy didn't really see him and Sherlock didn't give a crap, he had other matters on his hands so he simply ignored him. Sherlock was debating on confronting Mr. Watson (or, worst case scenario, Mrs. Watson) about the gifted program because he had definitely been noticed Hamish's disinterest in the subjects he was teaching. Obviously the boy was bored and needed more of a challenge, this wasn't even Sherlock being creepy and wanting to talk to the Watson family, he was doing it in Hamish's best interest. Hamish had all the normal qualifications to be able to enter, but all he had to do was take a test and it caught about twenty dollars to be entered just because the children would need to have extra teachers that didn't get paid as many taxes or what not. At least, that's what Sherlock guessed, it could very well be that the school wanted to roll in some extra money, as if they needed more. It wouldn't be hard to get in touch with the Watsons; Sherlock could always call him using the school's records or just track him down as he picked Hamish up. Yes, that sounded better, then they got to speak face to face, not like it mattered at all. There was no difference in sight versus sound, nothing at all, and there was nothing that Sherlock needed to see of John Watson, certainly not his beautiful golden hair, or his chocolate hazel eyes that seem like they are melting in the sunlight, or the little dimples in his cheeks when he let loose a hypnotizing laugh... Sherlock sighed, setting down the papers and staring once again at the globe sitting on the desktop. Anywhere at all, all of those continents, all of those countries, states, cities, and he just happened to meet the one man that might just destroy his mental sanity once and for all. Oh, luck was not on his side was it? When it was finally time for pick up Sherlock couldn't help but check his reflection in the shiny glass and make sure that his hair was proper looking and there were no rouge curls sticking up, and he certainly didn't want to have mustard on his face as the last remains of the lunch he had, that would be horribly embarrassing. Sherlock was trying to workup his nerve, it wasn't like this was some great feat, he was only talking to one man, but why did he feel the anticipation building in his chest, why did he have butterflies in his stomach by simply thinking of seeing that red van show up? Watch it be the wife, watch it be Mary who pulls up and not John, that might actually make things a whole lot easier but a whole lot more dissatisfying. The busses left and soon only the parent pick up kids were left on the stairs, talking to each other or sitting quietly and playing with dolls or blocks or action figures. Sherlock envied them, the carelessness of their little meaningless lives, thinking that someday they'll fulfill their dreams in life, become an astronaut, or a superhero, or a princess, they think that they'll be rich and find the love of their lives and live in a glorious manor and be happy. That was what Sherlock was trying to prevent, their stupid imaginations because it was all a lie. They would end up like him, sad, alone, doing what he could just to scrape by, being the lowest of the society and living without a reason. The sad truth had hit him like a rock, but he knew that if he died only one person will come to his funeral, Mrs. Hudson. That would be all, his family hated him, his coworkers couldn't stand the sight of him, but there was an odd hope in the back of his mind that maybe Mr. Watson would show up at his grave, place but a single flower without a word, but that would satisfy Sherlock in the afterlife even more than he could imagine. That would satisfy Sherlock in real life even more though. Finally the kids were being carted off, Sherlock sat on the railing again, the bottom of his dress shoes scraping against the stairs and watching as the children ran off with their stupid little plastic backpacks and their stupid hair bows to meet their loving, happy families. If only. Finally though his bad mood seemed to dissolve when the red van rolled up, and from the one way glass Sherlock saw that, with a moment of breathlessness, it was Mr. Watson at the wheel, craning his neck to look around as well. Sherlock stood up, straightening his jacket the best he could and brushing the dust off of his pants, walking a little ways behind Hamish, who didn't seem to notice he was being followed. The bright sunlight hit Sherlock like a brick, but he stayed cool, calm, collective, posture was everything and he walked stiff as a board in almost a supermodel pose down the sidewalk to the van. The window rolled down and John was at the wheel, Hamish straining to see what was going on from his car seat in the back. John smiled that beautiful, distracting smile that Sherlock pushed away to the back of his mind, trying to focus on his words, on the purpose he was coming for.
"Mr. Holmes, a pleasant surprise." John said, looking up at Sherlock with a look of polite confusion. Sherlock felt his throat tie up but he did his best to retain it, there was nothing he could do now except talk, there was no walking away.
"Yes, hello, I was wondering if you had discussed the gifted program with Mrs.Watson." Sherlock asked.
"Oh, yes actually I have." John agreed.
"Daddy what's that?" Hamish asked excitedly.
"Nothing dear, let the adults talk." John said quickly. "Mary is a bit apprehensive though, she doesn't know if Hamish is fully qualified or not."
"I'm sure he is, there is a test to prove it." Sherlock offered.
"Is there a fee?" John asked.
"I hate to say that there is, twenty dollars a school year I believe, but I could double check if you would like." Sherlock said, suddenly finding it veryhard to talk. He was trying to be as polite as he could, keep a charming face on and keep up his posture even while bent over trying to talk through an open car window. "If you would like some more information I invite you in, it won't take ten minutes, you can just look at the paper work." Sherlock offered.
"Well I should get home, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be a little bit late." John shrugged.
"Oh no, if it's any inconvenience we could reschedule, talk over the phone, maybe in a time that would fit both you and Mrs. Watson, it's no hurry I assure you." Sherlock said quickly.
"No, of course it's not an inconvenience, it would be great to find out more."John assured, his words almost as rushed as Sherlock's had been, as if worried Sherlock wouldn't let him in. "Let me just pull the car around, I'll be right out." John insisted. Sherlock stepped away and the window rolled closed, John pulled around into the parking lot and let the assembly line of cars move their way up the rows. Sherlock waited for them at the curb, trying to adjust his breathing and look as if he hadn't been freaking out and anticipating over his moment since the last time he had talked to John. All he had been planning on doing was slightly chatting about the whole thing, and now John was volunteering to come inside and talk, it was more than Sherlock could ever have hoped for. What if, stupid, he knew, but what if by any chance John wanted to talk to him as much as he wanted to talk to John? Of course not, he was only keeping Hamish's best interests in mind, not his own. There was no reason for him to want to talk to Sherlock anyway, the two had no friendship, no connection, they were nothing but people who happened to have a fragmented conversation once. That was all, and that was all there would ever be. John was now leading Hamish down the parking lot, holding his small hand in his own and waiting for a safe time to cross the busy road. Sherlock watching them approach, crossing the line of cars and reaching the sidewalk.