Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Twenty Two - Fights and Freaks

When Sherlock saw John get on the bus next morning, he didn't stand to let John in. He just scooted. Maybe five inches, and John sat down, handing him five comics. "New editions," John said, and turned away. Like he didn't want to talk.

Sally and Anderson were being loud. Super fucking loud. Sherlock wished he had the effect he had in the beginning of the year, where he could quiet them all with a stare, but now he felt a bit broken and he didn't want to move. Plus, he wasn't holding John's hand. And that made them louder.

They were singing the Baskerville High anthem, which, since they had a facility that bred "monsters," they chanted, "Freak it!" to rile up the competition.

They were all wearing yellow; Sherlock would have thought most of them would've evaded the threat of school spirit - apparently not. Except for John. He was wearing a tee that read, "Radiohead: The Best Of."

"I wish I was special..." John sang, "so fucking special..."

Sherlock had spent all night (when he wasn't staring up at dancing, spastic unicorns floating inside his rainbow walls) thinking about how fed up John must have been. Now he just wanted to confirm his suspicions.

He tugged on John's jacket.

"Yeah?" John asked.

"Are you over me?" His tone was dull; expectant of the worst. John just turned and looked over in a strange kind of disbelief.

"What?"

"I realize that I probably pushed you away last night. And I also realize that must people would wash their hands of me after witnessing such a display, so... John... Watson, are you over me?"

He shook his head, and looked back out the window. His brows were twisted into a question.

"Are you angry?"

"Maybe," John murmured, wrapping his hands around his cheeks.

"I apologize."

"You don't know why I'm mad," John said with a crooked smile as his eyes finally broke away from the landscape outside.

"Still."

"Do you want to know?"

"I can guess."

"Why."

"Because I acted like an arse."

"No, Sherlock..."

"Yes. Obviously."

"Sherlock, you aren't an arse. Listen to me. I... I'm mad because you said I could come, and then changed your mind before I walked through the door. Just because I wanted to see your smile."

"It felt as if you didn't want to be there," Sherlock whispered. He said it low, so Anderson couldn't hear. God knows they were still yelling about "freaking" and whatnot.

The way John looked at Sherlock then proved Sherlock right. He didn't want to be there, but then, it seemed like he didn't want to be anywhere. And Sherlock wanted to be all wrong. He wanted John to say that he could come back and try again. He wanted it to work.

And it was one of those days, too - close to the solstice, where you woke up at five and it was pitch black, and then by the time you reached the bus stop it was the same exact shade as it was an hour earlier... except it seemed even colder, like the Earth had a delayed reaction to light. It was of those days where it was too dark to see the steam coming out of your mouth. It was one of those days where it was supposed to be silent, but it wasn't. Like the universe had planned the imperfection out to the most intimate detail, just to piss off the ones surrounding.