Like Wire (A BBC Sherlock Fan Fiction)

[eight]

Sherlock tightened his grip on the bow, pressing the bow hair upon the E string of the violin with pressure, like he was taking all his anger out on it. Calmly, he inhaled deeply, then exhaled letting out an invisible, swirling plume of air. He moved his hand away before replacing it, the bow hair upon the E string, but only lightly touching it this time. 

Elegantly, he moved his arm, producing a soft and long note. After that it was almost automatic, Sherlocks hand twisted and turned, creating this beautiful melody. When he had finished one piece he flowed straight into the next - a faster more passionate one that included a lot of vicious movements which Sherlock enjoyed carrying out.

The sound of the door opening sliced through the music of Sherlocks violin, he paused for a minute so John knew Sherlock was aware of his presence; ultimately he continued, caring little for Johns possible desire for him to stop. 

"Sherlock," John called in a sincere voice, that was ignored by Sherlock who was determined to finish his piece. 

Sherlock casually swung the violin round, holding it by the neck when he was finally finished, though he did not look up and made no attempt to acknowledge John any further. 

"Sherlock,"

Light pelted the window heavily like rain, the warmth filtering through the glass and creating a window shaped square of sunlight on the carpeted floor. Sherlock stood there, absorbing the heat, his eyes glazed over, occasionally blinking. When he eventually moved it was only to collect his music sheets so he could impetuously screw them up and sling them into his drawer.

"Sherlock," John repeated, advancing into the room and closing the door behind him.

Sherlock dropped his body to his bed and took up his personal position - he didn't want to talk. Of coarse he didn't want to talk.

"I'm sorry," John sighed with regret, ignoring Sherlock's 'dont talk to me' signal.

"What for?"  Sherlock retaliated, jerking one eye open and securing it on the worried and apologetic looking John.

"For telling everyone what happened," John clarified sadly.

"What - the truth?"

"I knew people would - y'know take it further, make up stories and stuff... I heard Anderson and Sally were giving you a rough time in Chemistry," John admitted.

Sherlocks hand unconsciously traced the cut on his lip that Anderson had formed the other day at the park, "Giving me a rough time? Is that what's been said? I don't care what they think," Sherlock chortled bewilderedly. 

"Yes, right, but - y'know," he hesitated, "Sherlock, I'm sorry, it was a jerk thing to do -"

"Stop - okay? Stop. Stop apologizing, why are you apologizing?" 

"Because I need to Sherlock, what I did was - ugh, I hate myself for it," John confessed.

"Great," Sherlock grunted, busying himself with packing his violin away.

"Is there anything I can do?" 

"For what?" Sherlock groaned, impatiently looking up from his posh violin case.

"To stop them going on at you," John morally explained.

"No! You moron, I don't care what they say about me, I don't care whether they come up to me and tell me how horrible I am and I don't care if they whisper about how horrible I am because they're too damn scared to say it to my face!" Sherlock screamed, "John, I. DO. NOT. CARE."

John wasn't convinced but he stayed silent, watching the window of light slowly fade with the lack of sunlight, watching it being replaced with a square of milky moonlight.

                                                                                        * * *

Sherlock had easily ignored John, even when he fired random questions, especially when John would comment on the unusual warm weather or the homework they had both received. John was fed up with living in this constant state of awkwardness, however Sherlock didn't seem to even notice the unpleasant atmosphere sheathing the room.

"So..." John started, generating a disconnected and peevish grunt from Sherlock who prepared himself for yet another unnecessary comment on last weeks English lesson, "Any progress on Delilah White? Did you find out how she died?"

"Hmmm?" Sherlock delayed, "Oh, I figured it out straight away, I only asked you to allow you a chance..."

John let out a regretful whimper and buried his face in his hands shamefully, "So, how did she die?"

"Poison,"

"What? She was murdered?" John gasped.

"Yeah," Sherlock responded, turning the page of the book he was writing in before looking up, "Not by me - you spoon!"

"No, no no! I wasn't - I didn't" John spluttered.

A smirk danced across Sherlocks face, revealing his words before had only been a joke, leaving John at ease. The light that hung from the ceiling coruscated, not fully aglow leaving the two boys in a slightly uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before the faulty light fulgurated and lay to rest - dimmer than before.

"I'll complain to Mycroft tomorrow," Sherlock elucidated smugly, referring to their faulty light.

"Nice," John chuckled admiringly, playing with a strand of his slightly curled hair.

"It is," Sherlock agreed, "Very convenient,"

"Sherlock..." John said, pulling on the 'O' in his name.

Sherlock knew John wanted something from him - information probably - he scanned John, trying to deduce his next words, but all he could find was pen ink from History and John's anxiety, shown in the bitten nails. Possibly the stress John felt when he was thinking of his apology to Sherlock.

"Why are people... afraid of you?" John continued, evading eye contact.

"They think I'm psycho, surely you already know that?"

"Well, yeah, ok, why? Why do people think you are a, um, psychopath?" John persisted quizzically.

"Because I am!" Sherlock chortled, "Well, ok, not actually. High functioning sociopath," He then paused, biting his lip, "Well, ok, not actually. Undiagnosed High functioning sociopath 'cause you can't be diagnosed a sociopath until you're over a certain age - 21 or something. Not that I'm planning on getting a diagnosis,"

Sherlock gave no indication he was joking, yet, for some reason, John didn't feel scared, in fact it was almost like he felt safe - comfortable.

"What did you do? Walk into the school and announce yourself as an active sociopath?" John giggled at the idea.

"Yup, I walked in on my first day and claimed I was an emotionless sociopath and if anyone were to get on my nerves I would kill them, but it would be okay because I'd probably be caught due to the fact I'm a sociopath - not a psychopath - and I act off impulse," Sherlock joked, also grinning at the thought of it.

And John didn't pester Sherlock for the truth because he could tell Sherlock was stubborn about not telling the truth - he could read Sherlock, which was odd.