After School

The boy was around sixteen, with dark curls that went off in all directions and eyes that did the same in the light. One minute they were grey, the next, cold blue. His skin was pale and smooth, and his cheekbones were sharp and high. The boy was tall and slim, with long legs and narrow shoulders. His default expression was 'indifference,' but he had a smirk that made John's knees wobble.

The boy knew how he looked, and he knew how to use it to his advantage. Most of the girls and even some of the boys walked after him with hearts in their eyes, not bothering to hide their feelings. What was the use when he could see them whether you wanted him to or not? He never had an ounce interest in any of them, and he waved them off with a flick of his hand.
Usually, they gave up as soon as he opened his mouth. John wondered if that was because the boy dismissed them or if he was just that much of a tosser.

The boy's uniform was always impeccable, except for a missing purple and black tie he never seemed to get in trouble for. He was the smartest kid in their school - probably in London. He wasn't in any of John's classes, but John knew the boy was taking courses twice as difficult as most kids his age would. He could tell your whole life story just by looking at you, and he was never wrong. He saw the importance in things other people didn't.

~*~

The boy was always outside the gym, a cigarette dangling from his lips and smoke floating around his head like a twisted halo. As much as John despised smoking, he had to admit it painted a pretty picture. 

Well, John thought, he could do anything and the same would still be true.

One day, there was no smoke. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his fingers twitched, probably used to having a cigarette to hold.

He must be quitting. I wonder if someone made him. Good on him, either way.

Every morning, John spent ten minutes convincing himself to just go up to the boy and say, "Hello, I'm John Watson. Care to go out sometime?"

Every morning, John walked right by.

Some days, the boy would have someone with him. They would say something to him, and the boy would roll his eyes and wave them off with a lazy flick of his hand, no more than three words out his mouth.

John never heard the dark-haired boy's voice. He was too far away for that.

Today, a girl with dark hair and silvery eyes was leaning against him, her lips brushing his ear. Her hand rested on his shoulder to steady herself. The boy grasped her hip and whispered something to her. She jerked away, her high cheekbones tinged pink. The girl walked away, pushing past John to get to the school.

John paused as he recognized her. It was Irene Adler. He looked at the boy, who winked at him and disappeared around the corner.

The next day, the boy was sporting a deep purple bruise under his left eye. John later learned that Irene had a girlfriend, a ginger girl in John's year named Kate, who could throw a punch as well as she could walk in heels.

~*~

"What the hell is your problem, Holmes?"

John froze. He glanced over to the boy's usual spot. There were three boys surrounding the one with dark hair, two holding his arms as one pulled his hair and snarled in his face. John spent a moment trying to place that voice and those faces, and swore to himself when he recognized them. Anderson and Sebastian Wilkes were holding the boy back, and the one talking was Sebastian Moran, the biggest, most aggressive kid in school.