Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Thirteen - Superman

Sherlock

"Mate," Lestrade said, "Mate, lemme help you out."

Sherlock had all his books knocked out of his hands by Sebastian, who had a giant grin on his face. Sadist.

The bell was ringing, and he'd be late for lunch and have his seat taken, and then he'd have to eat in the guidance counselor's room, and then Moriarty and Sebastian and Anderson and Donovan and Molly and Mycroft and John would know.

John sat with Molly and her boyfriend, Tom, and his friend, Graham Lestrade, and he sat with Sarah and Sarah sat with John and John sat with Graham who sat with the Stamford guy. It was great. They all had their little clique without Sherlock. He had a feeling that if he tried to integrate, he'd ruin everyone's mood.

"Oh, um. Graham," Sherlock said, as he watched Lestrade bend to pick up his stuff. "You don't need to-"

"What? The name's Greg."

"Oh. Whoops. Greg."

Greg gave Sherlock the remainder of his stuff, arms rippling with muscle. The senior, the cool kid. He was the captain of the rugby team, thus, and was a jock. But not really; he sat with his friends, not the boys he played with. Sherlock had a nagging feeling Greg pitied him, but when he looked up, his eyes were empathetic. 

"Come on over to our table. We play cards."

"Cards."

"Cards. Unless you don't wanna."

"I..." Sherlock smiled. "Really?"

Greg smiled back. "Yeah, really, mate, I'm not bluffin'."

"Oh. Okay. I guess... I'll walk with you then."

"Sure, Sherlock. And-" his finger jabbed towards Sherlock's locker "-I'll clean that off with you later, if ya'd like."

"Thank you," Sherlock said. Greg grinned.

"No problem. I hate the pompous arses in the goddamn locker rooms. Us jocks aren't as fuckin' cockheaded as those ones."

"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose."

"What classes d'we have?" Greg asked, not willing to let the conversation fall flat.

"Only gym. What's your average?" Sherlock asked. It was the only thing Graham would recognize as noteworthy in Sherlock's sad life.

"Oh, yeah. I'm getting A's in every class except Social Studies. Fucking Mr. Selgim has the teaching skills of a mime."

Sherlock smiled, and said, "You're a jock; never thought you'd be one to get good grades. As if."

"I'm..." Graham looked momentarily taken aback, as if no one had ever dared to imply that he, the captain of the rugby team, possibly had bad grades like every other fucktard on the team. "Sherlock. Let's keep this between you and me-"

"You're gay."

"Um."

"You have an enormous crush on my brother. It's obvious."

"M-Myc?"

"No, my other brother."

Graham frowned, and looked up to see his jock buddies calling his name. He gave Sherlock a quick, meaningless smile, and said, "Mate, I gotta run. Um. Sherlock."

And Sherlock watched as another person left his life as quickly as he'd come. At least English was next.

John