Like Wire (A BBC Sherlock Fan Fiction)

[twenty øne]

The two of them (Sherlock and John) were on the balcony, it seemed dangerous but neither of them particularly cared as it was sort of peaceful.

"I suppose we got a lot of information from Willow, actually," Sherlock murmured, more to himself.

"I guess after all that time you'd be desperate to tell someone," John replied, his voice deep and gruff but also soft and fragile - a mixture creating perfection for Sherlocks ears.

"So, What are you going to do?"

"Find out who 'them' is and then watch them. Observe," Sherlock lied, giving a despairing shrug.

"So you think it is them?" John asked

"Yeah,"

Second period ticked on minute by minute, John and Sherlock sat, encased in a thin layer of silence. 

John uncoiled himself from his sitting position,  intertwining his fingers with his hair, untamed locks writhing under the weight of his hand.

"Period two is nearly over, I'm going to go to period three if that is okay, I enjoy English," John informed Sherlock.

"Okay," Sherlock smiled.

John snaked lazily out of the room, glancing back at Sherlock in a slightly worried manner.

Sherlock leapt up, pounding his feet against the floor as he scrambled for his own laptop, his fingers wrapping around the edge of it, pulling it out from the hoarding heap of blankets, gathering upon his bed.

He flipped open the screen and began rapidly drumming his fingers upon the keys - typing out a note which he proceeded to print off.

Sports hall, 1 am tonight. Lets call it a date.

S x

* * *

Students spilled out from the classrooms, cluttering up the hallways like litter. Sherlock had to barge past some of them, but most people departed at his presence - expecting Sherlock to just pull out a knife and go on a mass school stabbing.

It might happen if people continued to be that idiotic.

There was no sign of John in the corridors, Sherlock knew he would have returned to their room, probably surprised and a bit annoyed at Sherlock for not being there. But he was busy. Very busy. He wouldn't get John involved in this, he couldn't. Especially not after the threat the police had shown him the other night.

Smoothing out the crumpled note, he slipped surreptitiously into the empty Geography classroom, abandoned by both the teacher and the students; it was lunch. There had to be a seating plan somewhere, Sherlock cautiously approached the teachers desk and began rummaging through files to search for a sign at where the possible-murderer sat. He waded through oceans of paper work, listening out - alert - for any sign of approaching footsteps from outside the door.

There was someone else in the room. They seemed far away but Sherlock could feel the unpleasant warmth of their breath crawling upon his skin like an insect. He was surprised when he turned around to face the stranger, even Sherlock Holmes' outlook could be corrupted by stereotypes.

"Looking for where I sit?" She asked, repeatedly fluttering her heavily painted eyelashes in a flirting manner, "Oh? Is this for me? A note - how cute!" She extended her spidery fingers and snatched the paper from Sherlock, reading the printed ink. "A date? Well, I am flattered; wouldn't John be a bit... jealous, Sherlock?" She giggled, folding up the paper and forcing it into her pocket. "Aw, is the date off because you've realised I'm a girl?"

She slunk forward, a slow yet rapid storm of movement, her presence trailing all over the deserted classroom. Though she looked weak, as if she could be crushed by a mere shoe, there was something conniving in the way she walked, something manipulative in her ordinary, boring face.

"High?" She asked.

"Hello?" Sherlock hadn't grasped the question.

"No," she chuckled, "Are you high? Have you been?"

"What?"

Sherlocks vision blurred, colours of his surroundings begin to merge, forming a mess of a paint pallet - a concoction of shaped and textures dancing before Sherlock's suddenly overwhelmingly heavy eyes.

"What have you done?" He croaked, staggering back and trying to desperately peel his eyes back open.

The girl sniggered, observing the helpless Sherlock as he toppled clumsily over into a pile of limbs on the floor.

"What have you -"