Secretly I Think You Knew

Platonic Project Pals

"Hey Sherlock." said a familiar voice next to him. Sherlock turned, expecting to see the teacher finally back from wherever she had been, ready to unlock the door and let her suffering students in. But instead it was John Watson, the boy he had driven last night. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't want to say anything, so he just nodded.
"I didn't know you were in this class." John admitted.
"Yes, I told you, no one notices me." Sherlock insisted.
"Well that's alright, now I do. And I don't have many friends in this class either." John admitted.
"Don't be thinking I need a friend. Don't pity me Mr. Watson; I have no friends because I choose not to." Sherlock pointed out.
"Are you sure that's why?" John teased. Sherlock just narrowed his eyes; this was exactly the type of emotional abuse he would expect from a teenaged boy. Sherlock didn't say anything more, leaning against the wall and watching as the freshman started to separate, scurrying to their classes.
"So I got my engine fixed, thankfully. The tow truck went to get the car last night, they fixed it up and they're still doing some repairs today. I guess it was in worse condition than I had thought." John admitted.
"That's good." Sherlock muttered, even though he could care less.
"So I won't have to come knocking on your door again." John pointed out.
"That's better." Sherlock agreed with a slight smile.
"I hope I wasn't inconveniencing you guys yesterday, and I'm really thankful for all your help. If I had to walk home I'm sure I'd still be on the road, dying of dehydration." John guessed.
"One could only hope." Sherlock muttered.
"You're certainly a cheery fellow, aren't you?" John pointed out. Sherlock sighed heavily, shuffling farther into his little corner and avoiding eye contact.
"Sociopath." He corrected.
"So? They can still have fun, I think." John muttered.
"You know nothing Mr. Watson, about sociopaths and I assume about everything else." Sherlock decided. John frowned; looking slightly offended at Sherlock's jumping to conclusions.
"Well, I know some stuff. I know just about all the soccer teams and football teams and basketball teams, a good number of baseball teams too." John insisted.
"Ah, sports teams, good, that'll get you real far in life." Sherlock muttered sarcastically.
"Alright, I can see when I'm not wanted." John decided.
"Obviously not." Sherlock muttered. John sighed, waiting near the door as well. A lot of the classmates had joined them, huddling together on the other side of the hallway, taking selfies, frantically doing their homework or gossiping about the weekend.
"Where is our teacher, she should've been here ten minutes ago?" John muttered, looking down the hallway in annoyance. Sherlock was wondering that as well, it seemed the longer the teacher stalled, the more he had to talk with John, and that really wasn't on his to do list right now. Finally the sound of high heels clicking down the hall announced the teacher's arrival, unlocking the door and letting the students funnel into the classroom. Sherlock immediately scrambled to his seat, happy he was on the other side of the room from John. The rest of the class walked in as well, sitting down and getting organized. They were currently talking about a book they had been forced to read, To Kill a Mockingbird, a book that Sherlock had actually enjoyed. That was something rare; most of the school assigned books were horrid. The teacher started rambling on about who even cares, theories and conspiracies that have absolutely no meaning whatsoever. Like what author writes a book and makes all of these symbols? In an English teacher's eyes, every single object the characters come in contact with is influential, it has a bigger meaning. The dress means she's growing up, that box means he has deep secrets, those curtains means that everyone is secretly depressed, like it doesn't mean anything. Sherlock was flipping through his book and making that cool sound when the pages all flop together; it was very satisfying, when the teacher announced some sort of project. Of course, in the presence of an assignment, Sherlock's ears perked up, he may hate the class, but his grade still mattered.
"For this essay you're going to have to find a partner to work with in the class, it's a group assignment. I would assign you partners, but since you all seem to understand the book and seem to take your education seriously, I'm letting you pick. Don't make me regret that." she insisted. Sherlock groaned, setting his book down on the desk and raising his hand in annoyance.
"Yes Sherlock?" she asked.
"Can I work alone?" he pleaded.
"Why would you want to do that? I'm sure someone here would like to be your partner." She insisted.
"I doubt it, and I don't want to be their partner either. So can I work alone?" he asked.
"If there was an odd number in the class then I'd be tempted, but since we have twenty two, I'm going to have to say no. I'm sure you'll find someone." She insisted. Sherlock groaned, lowering his hand and scowling, making sure she knew he hated her right now. Something hit him in the head, and Sherlock looked around in fury, the teacher still gabbing away about the project, to see that he had been hit with a little ball of paper. He looked around, wondering who would dare throw anything at him, when he saw John waving madly to get his attention.
"Oh no, absolutely not." Sherlock insisted.
"Sherlock, do you have a comment?" she asked.
"Yes, can I be excused for the rest of my life?" he asked.
"Sherlock, please listen." The teacher sighed, not even answering his question. Sherlock looked back at John, who was smiling innocently, and shook his head madly. There was no way he was going to work with anyone, especially John. That kid was so annoying, all he did was talk, and Sherlock hated when people talked. And breathed. And John seemed to do a lot of breathing too. So he kept his head down for the rest of the class, and finally when the bell rang, he made a mad dash for the door, nearly hitting a kid with his backpack as he swung it over his shoulder. Then again, whoever the kid was, he probably deserved it.