These Days

Coffee Shop Flirting

Sherlock POV. Sherlock wasn't taking this sudden burst of realization very well. He had thought that maybe admitting his own feelings to himself might have made the pain subside, maybe help him ease into these newfound emotions a bit better. Never could he have been so wrong. When he wasn't teaching he was sitting in his chair, drowning himself with alcohol of any type and staring into space, daydreaming about what could possibly happen if John was his. But it could never be, it would never be, John wore that ring around his finger and it made a barrier around him, so no matter how much Sherlock is in love with him it would make no difference. Sherlock had never talked to him since the test, he had only watched the car when he thought John wasn't looking, and once in a while they made eye contact. Sherlock wanted to wave, of course he did, smile, come over and talk, but his limbs were made of steel, he couldn't move them and his throat closed up, so he simply ducked into the safety of the school and pretended like nothing had happened, and so far it was working enough for him to remain himself, to say a few words to Mrs. Hudson and maybe keep the lid on this temporary insanity that was flowing through him. He had thought it would've faded but of course it didn't. It grew like an infection, and the longer he tried to fight it the worse it got. Why, was did it have to be John, why couldn't it have been someone more accessible? Someone who wasn't married, someone who wasn't so obviously straight, someone that might have fit Sherlock better still. But at the moment Sherlock thought he could never find someone who was better for him than John, it seemed like in all of these years he's been on the Earth he might have found at least one person, even the wrong person, to love, but now these new feelings were crashing in on him like bricks. Finally the weekend was upon them and unfortunately Sherlock had stacks and stacks of papers to grade. He was a bit of a procrastinator; the only test he had made sure to get back in at least a week was Hamish's gifted test. Well, he didn't actually grade it but he had pestered the school staff until they finally just skimmed it over. He needed to make a good impression on John; it was the only thing he really cared about at the moment because if he couldn't have him as a boyfriend then he should at least have him as a friend. So Sherlock pulled on his long black trench coat and tied his blue scarf in a loop around his neck to fight off the cold air that was blowing through the streets. The fall was here but the winter air was faster, and everyone was now huddling around heaters and wearing three coats like it was some ice age or something. Sherlock hated people, but by now anyone with eyes could pick that up. He grabbed his laptop and the folder of ungraded tests, not in the mood for sulking around in his house for any longer. And besides, the more he's out the more likely he might bump into a certain attractive blonde. He decided that it was a cold enough day to enjoy a nice cup of coffee, and the shop on the corner, as John had called it, had gotten good recommendations, so he headed there. It wasn't hard to find, it was on the corner and there were people mingling around in the large windows, drinking coffee and eating little biscuits, talking and writing and typing away on their stupid little laptops. Of all the places Sherlock went, coffee shops weren't his least favorite. They smelled nice and for the most part the people there were nice. It was a peaceful place to do work and it was also a nice option for food and hot drinks on cold winter days like these. Sherlock walked inside, the smell of fresh coffee beans engulfing him. There was soft music playing over the speakers and it was dimly lit, like every coffee shop ever. There were people everywhere, but it wasn't hard to push through and find an empty booth to spread his papers around. When he had his coffee Sherlock set to work, opening the laptop to put the grades in this online grading system for the rich parents. Sherlock hated it, it was terribly inconvenient for the teachers, but the school and parents seemed to like and that meant that the teachers were burdened with even more work. Sherlock went right to the math tests, which was simple addition, like one plus one and what not, just so the kids grasped the ideas of the numbers and what it meant to add and stuff. A couple of times he had to smash his head on the table and pray for society because more than once he got one that said four plus one equaled S. Sure it was supposed to be a five, but there were also ones that said four plus one is two, which got a big X over it. Sherlock's personal favorite was two plus two, and they drew a picture of a cat. It wasn't even a good picture, more of a circle with triangles, but Sherlock wasn't going to give artistic extra credit points anyway. About three cups of coffee in and Sherlock might have been half way through his papers, groaning about how much work this stupid job left him.
"Hey stranger." said a horribly familiar voice above him. Sherlock looked up and, with a jump of his heart, saw Mr. Watson standing above him, a cup of coffee in his hands. He was wearing a tight black jacket, probably for the wind, but it was definitely a bit distracting. Immediately Sherlock went bright red, opening his mouth but failing to form a proper word.
"Mr. Watson, hi." He muttered, looking down at his papers to make sure they were straightened out and stuff, he didn't want to look like too much of a slob.
"I see you took my advice then." John commented, sinking into the seat across from Sherlock and studying the papers in piles on the table.
"Advice, what advice?" Sherlock asked, sounding like a weak little mouse.
"For coffee." John said, as if that should've been obvious.
"Oh, yes, it's very good, uh, coffee." Sherlock agreed, pointing at the cup with his finger and going back to awkwardly shuffling the papers.
"So, what are you doing exactly?" John asked.
"Thought that might be fairly obvious." Sherlock muttered. God, why did John have to be so beautiful, why did his cheeks have to be all flushed from the cold air, why did there have to be a little bit of coffee clinging to his upper lip, why was his hair all messed up from the wind?
"Grading papers." John guessed.
"Bingo." Sherlock agreed with a small, nervous smile.
"Speaking of grades, Hamish is thrilled about the whole gifted program." John pointed out. Sherlock didn't really know what to say, so he only smiled and nodded, looking down at the papers to make sure John didn't see him blushing.
"He deserved it." Sherlock muttered, which sounded like a good reply.
"Well he's definitely being challenged more, I like to see that, and now he likes school." John added.
"So he didn't like it when I taught him?" Sherlock asked with a half a laugh, as if not quite sure how to react to that.
"No, no from what he says you're his favorite teacher yet." John pointed out. Sherlock looked up in disbelief.
"Seriously?" he asked, wanting clarification to make sure he wasn't hearing what he thought he heard.
"Ya, ask him yourself. He likes the news and stuff, and also likes that we're actually friends." John shrugged.
"Friends." Sherlock muttered under his breath, writing a big 87% on some kid's math test. "I've never been included in a term like that."
"Well then that's rubbish." John decided, opening the lid of his coffee and blowing softly to make steam rise out of the black liquid. "You're the most interesting person I know."
"Is interesting good or bad?" Sherlock asked.
"It's very good." John assured. Sherlock noticed he was twirling his wedding ring around his finger. He didn't know what that meant, probably just a nervous habit, but then again it could be a sign for Sherlock to not get hopeful at all. The universe was telling Sherlock that no matter what he said he could not go anywhere with this hopeless crush. Sherlock felt like he was a secret agent, a completely creepy secret agent. John thought he was just chatting with a friend, an interesting person as he called it, but no, he may think they were only friends, but Sherlock spent his nights wishing he could kiss those beautiful lips, dreaming of finally wearing a matching wedding ring of his own. When he thought of it that way he felt like an extreme stalker.
"Could I help in anyway?" John asked, sliding a paper over to his side of the table and examining it.
"I don't see why you want to; this is one of the most tedious things I've ever had to do." Sherlock sighed. "The kids are morons." He added. John laughed a little bit, taking an orange highlighter and crossing off one of Maddison N's wrong answers.
"Well they are in second grade." John pointed out.
"And the information is completely fit for their number of brain cells; they should be getting 100%." Sherlock sighed.
"I think you're just too particular with your intellect." John decided.
"You don't know half of it." Sherlock muttered.
"What, are you some Einstein?" John laughed.
"I like to think that I could broaden my horizons a little bit, job wise. I'm definitely educated enough to do much more than teach second graders." Sherlock sighed.
"Then why do you? Why not be some mathematician?" John asked.
"I thought we already discussed this." Sherlock pointed out, sipping his coffee and typing a few numbers into the computer.
"I don't memorize all of our conversations." John shrugged.
"Well, I look at the world as full of horrible people and horrible places and horrible things." Sherlock started.
"At least you're an optimist." John muttered.
"A realist. Anyway, if I teach the next generation to be more tolerable, then hopefully, by the time I die, I'll be able to be aided by doctors whose heads I don't want to chop off with their own bloody scalpel." Sherlock decided.
"I guess that's a take on things then. Why not an older grade?" John asked.
"The sooner the better, but I can't take kindergarteners and their crying and there were no first grade positions available." Sherlock said simply.
"I work for money." John decided.
"Construction manager right?" Sherlock asked. He knew he was right though, he remembered every word John has ever said to him because he ran their conversations through his head over and over again.
"Yep. I hate it as well, but I don't think I could ever do anything else. I've got a family to raise and all." John pointed out.
"What does Mary do?" Sherlock asked.
"She's a stay at home mom, for now. She's job hunting of course, but I bring enough money so that we're comfortable." John shrugged.
"More than comfortable if you're at Rose Grove." Sherlock decided.
"Yes well, we'll skip meals sometimes, Mary's gone a week without showering and we left the heat off all winter." John joked, laughing a little bit.
"Wait, really?" Sherlock asked.
"No, god no." John insisted, sipping his coffee and raising his eyebrows at Sherlock overtop of the cup. Sherlock didn't know what that meant, but it made him feel special so he just smiled shyly and went back to grading.
"If you ever get married would you want a kid?" John asked, sliding over another paper to grade.
"I won't get married." Sherlock said simply.
"Why not?" John asked.
"Because it's a burden and a weakness." Sherlock shrugged.
"Oh come on, you have to admit, when you've found the one you'll want to spend the rest of your life with them." John insisted.
"I won't find the one because I don't want to find them. And with my luck the one will be dead or married or just really dumb." Sherlock decided.
"I don't think you quite understand the term. It's someone that's alive, unmarried, and perfect for you." John pointed out.
"Not possible." Sherlock decided. John may be trying to convince him, but little did he know Sherlock had already found his other half, and they were married, they were sitting right across from him twirling a wedding ring on their finger.
"You'll see, when you find her you'll come crawling back to me for relationship advice." John decided.
"I bet, if I ever do find him, tha..." Sherlock stopped mid-sentence, realizing what he just said. "Her, I meant her, slip of the tongue." He corrected.
"No, it's fine; I don't have anything wrong with..." John started.
"Neither do I but it's not what I meant." Sherlock snapped, typing a bit aggressively into the computer.
"Okay, fair enough." John assured. "It's all good." Their conversation was squashed like a bug so they went back to silently grading papers. John was actually very helpful; he'd grade and then pass the papers to Sherlock, who put them in the grade book. Finally they were out of the math papers and onto spelling, which was always an adventure. The silence was broken by a snort of laughter from John, who started furiously crossing something out.
"What happened?" Sherlock asked, trying to peer over at the paper.
"Someone added an extra H to sit." John laughed.
"Oh, yes, cross that out. Whose is it?" Sherlock asked.
"Um, Charlie." John said. Sherlock just laughed.
"Figures."
"Is Charlie a bit of an airhead?" John asked.
"He's definitely not someone who'll win child of the year award. He draws devil horns on his parents and refuses to do math and I've sent him to the principal's office so often they think I'm just biased." Sherlock sighed.
"They don't let you send him?" John asked with a laugh.
"No, not anymore." Sherlock sighed.
"So what do you do when he's bad?" John asked.
"I lock him in the closet." Sherlock said simply. John choked on his coffee with laughter.
"You're kidding?" he asked.
"What was I supposed to do? And it worked to, he's afraid of the dark so he always behaves now." Sherlock shrugged.
"That's completely illegal." John decided.
"I always knew the law was rubbish anyway." Sherlock shrugged. John laughed once more, correcting more papers. Every now and then there would be terrible mistakes, like cat spelled with K or ball spelled with a D. Occasionally they'd show one another, but it was relatively quiet. Finally, without realizing it, lunch was approaching, and Sherlock was starting to get a bit hungry. The coffee shop made sandwiches and stuff, and more and more people were passing with really good looking sandwiches. More than once Sherlock found his eyes wandering over to the counter, but he didn't want to be rude and leave the table. Besides, spending time with John was much more important than food.