These Days

Friend-making Master

That lunch period he had to go down to the cafeteria to eat. He had missed breakfast and his stomach was starting to digest itself, so he sat at the very end of the staff table and ate the tiniest of portions provided by the school cafeteria. Sherlock hated school lunches, they were terrible, they were half frozen and so salty that they could dehydrate a slab of beef. But he sat there and forced himself to eat, even though there was no good reason for him not to just starve himself and die. Sometimes he wondered that if he got hit by a car or shot by a mugger who would come to his funeral. Now he accepted that it would only be Mrs. Hudson, that all others would stay away, even John would stay away with his big happy family, because who needed Sherlock? He was probably hoping he did get hit by a bus; he might even be the man behind the trigger.
"Mr. Holmes is it?" asked a voice above him. Sherlock looked up and saw a pleasant looking brunette smiling down at him. He frowned, but nodded.
"I'm assuming this seat is unoccupied?" she asked, gesturing to the seat across from him.
"How'd you guess?" he grumbled. She sat down, unpacking a polka dot lunch box.
"I'm Molly Hooper, I teach kindergarten." She said.
"Sherlock Holmes, second grade." He sighed.
"We've never properly met." She pointed out.
"No, we haven't. I haven't met anyone around here." he agreed.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because I don't care for people." he said simply.
"Oh. Well you don't seem that bad." She decided. Sherlock just smiled humorously, she had no idea. He just poked at the small, pathetic mashed potatoes on his plate. He was small and pathetic as well.
"So what brought you into teaching?" she asked.
"I thought I might be able to help out with making the next generation a bit more bearable." He pointed out.
"Oh?" she muttered, obviously not thinking he was serious about this. But Sherlock was quiet once more.
"I got in because I love children, aren't they just the sweetest things?" she asked.
"They're maggots." Sherlock muttered, casting a hateful glare at the swarms of children sitting at the tables.
"Certainly not a description I'd expect from a teacher." She decided.
"Well I'm not the average teacher am I?" he pointed out.
"Apparently not." She sighed.
"This food is horrible." He decided, pushing away his half full tray in disgust.
"You're welcome to have half of my sandwich, it's honey ham." She offered.
"No, I'm not hungry anyway." He decided, crossing his arms over the table and scowling at the ground.
"You look a bit grumpy, is anything wrong?" Molly asked.
"If it was, I wouldn't tell you." Sherlock pointed out.
"True. But if you need anyone I'm here." she offered.
"Everyone asks me if I need help, everyone asks to talk, it's just annoying now." Sherlock groaned.
"Okay, I'm sorry." Molly sighed, looking back at the group of chatting teachers as if rethinking her seating arrangements. "It's none of my business." She decided.
"Yes, you're right, it's not." Sherlock grumbled. All women were the same, all so oblivious, all too happy to get on your last nerve and kill you slowly from inside. The rest of lunch was an awkward silence in which Sherlock starved to death, but Molly was happily munching on her pretzels and telling him every little detail of her life, if physically pained him. So when finally the time came for the bell to ring Sherlock practically ran out of there, leaving his half eaten tray of food behind for someone else to clean up. He kept his promise, the one he made to himself, and when the parents started to roll in Sherlock didn't look out the window. Instead he sat in his room, sure his children will be well supervised, holding his chin in his fists and staring at the empty classroom. So many empty chairs. He was so alone.

John POV. John picked up Hamish and, as usual, looked around for Sherlock. A guilty habit of course, but he knew that maybe today was the day where finally Sherlock waved back. But of course, the sidewalk was empty of any moody teachers, instead there were just kids swarming out to their parents, Hamish among them. John opened the door in anticipation, smiling gently as Hamish jumped into the car.
"Hey buddy, how was school?" he asked.
"It was fun." Hamish shrugged. John felt the urge to ask about Sherlock, how he was and what he was doing, but he was sure Hamish didn't know or care. That would also be a little bit stalker like. John drove home, turning on Hamish's favorite station on the radio (stupid pop of course) and pulled into the driveway just as Hamish was done singing along to some dumb Taylor Swift song. Mary was sitting out on the porch when they got back, sipping some iced tea and reading a gossip magazine.
"Hello dear." She said happily, smiling at John as they entered.
"Hi." John muttered. Hamish went into the yard to their little soccer net thing, kicking the ball around. John and Mary sat together on the bench, John leaning heavily on his fist and watching Hamish play.
"How was work?" Mary asked, not really caring but just wanting conversation.
"IT was good, we should have the house done by next week. The electrician is giving us problems though." John sighed.
"What's he doing?" Mary asked.
"He claims that we paid him to wire the house and not the generator, and he wants more money even though we very specifically added that into his contract." John sighed.
"So what are you going to do?" Mary asked.
"Complain, or hire a new guy." John shrugged.
"You'll figure it out." Mary assured.
"How was your meeting with Mr. Holmes last night? I never got to ask." John asked.
"Oh, it was fine. Obviously he wasn't expecting me to show up though." Mary shrugged.
"What do you mean?"
"Well when I walked in the door he looked like someone had just killed a puppy." Mary laughed.
"So he wanted me to be there?" John asked, trying not to let his voice sound too hopeful.
"I suppose he did, yes. And it was quite obvious that he was making the questions up as he went." Mary sighed.
"Well what was he expecting to talk about if it had been me who showed up?" John asked.
"I could only guess." Mary sighed.
"Still think he's creepy?" John asked.
"More so than ever." Mary decided with a small laugh, going back to her magazine. Hamish was cheering to an invisible crowd as the ball soared into the net once more. John got up from the chair and went to play goalie, of course letting the balls get past him, but Hamish was thrilled to be scoring on his father like that. After a while of playing Mary announced that they should go in and eat dinner, which was just a pork roast she had made in the oven. Never the less it was a good meal, as always with her. It wasn't like she had anything else to do. But what she had said was still playing on John's mind, if Sherlock had been expecting him what would they have talked about? Did he just want to hang out a bit or was there actually things he had to discuss with John other than Hamish? Surely anything that would be a problem with the boy he would've discussed with Mary. Could it possibly be that he was having the same mental battle as John was fighting right now? No, of course not. Sherlock had made it very clear that he wasn't one to fall for something as cheesy as love; he was above it in his mind. Probably something stupid, wanted to set up a football party or something.
"You're awfully quiet." Mary decided.
"Thinking." John muttered.
"I meant both of you." Mary pointed out.
"I'm hungry." Hamish shrugged, taking another clumsy bite of pork.
"I'm going to the store tomorrow, is there anything anyone needs?" Mary asked. After a long meaningless argument about whether or not Mary should buy Hamish microwavable chicken nuggets (the oven made ones are healthier) John went back up to his room, shutting the door and sighing. He really didn't know why he was up here, but he wanted a little bit of privacy. This whole Sherlock thing was driving him completely mad, he didn't like him, of course not, so why was the very thought of that man enough to make John's heart beat out of control? And surely, even if these ridiculous speculations were true, Sherlock didn't share the same feelings. John was married and Sherlock knew that, so he'd stay away even if John had been the one to make a move. Pathetic though, he'd never do that, he'd never cheat on Mary, his guilt would eat him up. But wasn't it already eating him up? The dreams, the wild thoughts that came when he was lost in his mind, the hope he felt every time he drove up the parking lot. It was nothing, they were just friends, and judging by what John was feeling they had the potential to be best friends. It still didn't sound right in his mind, Sherlock was more than a friend and something inside of John knew that all too well. He sat in the bed and read a book, just some book that was collecting dust under the bed. He couldn't concentrate anyway, the words blurred and the pages never turned, his mind kept producing thoughts other than what was happening in his novel. Even if something did happen, which it wouldn't, what would he do? Would he have to divorce Mary, where would Hamish go, what would happen to the house? Nonsense, he shouldn't be thinking like that, Mary may not be the greatest person on this Earth, but she was an overall good woman and she didn't deserve to be hurt like that. And nothing would ever happen with Sherlock anyway, first off John was pretty darn sure he was straight, and Sherlock was as well, Sherlock didn't like anyone, John was married, and they were still just getting to know each other. All in all even if John didn't like him (which he didn't) nothing could happen anyway.
"John honey, you're in bed early." Mary pointed out, coming in the bedroom looking semi concerned.
"Just needed some me time." John shrugged.
"That's understandable." Mary agreed, getting under the blankets as well. "Sleep well."
"Good night." John agreed. Mary hit the light and the room was dark once more.  

       John had another dream that night, it wasn't vivid and he couldn't make out much, but when he woke up with a beating heart he knew that it must have been about Sherlock. Why was this man poisoning his mind so much? John stared at the ceiling, willing himself to go back to sleep but knew in his mind that was impossible, he was getting too worked up over something that wasn't even there. He could've been dreaming of his job, or of a vacation he wanted to take, or something of that nature, and yet he also knew that it was about Sherlock. It had to have been about Sherlock. John carefully crawled out of bed, wrapping his robe around him and slipping quietly out of the bedroom as to not wake Mary. He didn't know where he was going or what he was doing, but he went outside on the porch without turning on the outside light. He sat in the chair on the porch, drawing the thin robe around himself and shivering slightly as he stared at the darkness bathed in stars. The world almost seemed bearable from where he sat, the silence, the crickets chirping ever so slightly, the world asleep. Alone he felt like there was nothing bothering him, sitting here made him almost think he actually was alone. And right now that would be brilliant, no Sherlock to stress about, no family to worry about, no job to cringe about, no life to care about. He wondered if Sherlock was in the same dilemma as he was, sitting up at night and wondering what the other was doing. No, of course he wasn't up. There was nothing on Sherlock's mind except his lesson plan for the next day, of course he wasn't thinking about John. It was like a complicated tangled spider's web of a life. You had to dance through the spaces or else you'll get caught, trapped in the mess of a life you created until the giant spider came and ate your head off. But at the moment John couldn't figure out if the giant spider of his life was Sherlock or Mary. John sighed, breathing in the fresh night air and looking around through the darkness. What was going on with him and how could he fix it? He never felt this way, not even with Mary, but then again he knew from the start that Mary wasn't the one. She was just one, one that could be substantial because John didn't think there were such things as soul mates. In his mind love was a pathetic way to say that you want to live with someone and share their money. Be that as it may, John was the one that was making the money; Mary was just the head of the family really. What would Sherlock be able to do if he were part of the family? No, John couldn't think like that because Sherlock would never be part of his family. He made his family already, and no matter how much he may regret it his future was cut out for him in stone, there was no going back and there was no making new trails. This was his life and he better like it, because there was no tearing down what he had already built.