His Majesty, The Queen

Just One Of The Girls

"Sherlock, you listening?" John's voice came after a while, and the boy trotted up to Sherlock's bedside in an attempt to pry his attention away from his essay. Thankfully he had become rather engrossed, so much so that he hadn't noticed the boys as they were packing up their bags. Sherlock looked towards the clock to see that it was nearly four thirty, about time for the boys to get a quick dinner before they had to head down to the fields.
"Ya, I'm listening." Sherlock agreed quietly, putting down his pen and trying not to stare John directly into the eyes. It was difficult to hide secrets when someone was reading the contents of your souls through your pupils. John looked very nice from up close; in fact the last time he had ranged less than a foot away was when he had leaned in for a kiss on that fateful night.
"So the game starts at six, and we've got to head down now. The girls are going to be at the game at five forty five, I want you to be there to receive them." John insisted.
"Alright, five forty five." Sherlock agreed, though without the enthusiasm John must have been expecting. The boy's face fell into something of a pitiful sigh, as if he didn't want to make Sherlock put himself into an uncomfortable position.
"It's just going to be the three of them, Mary, Molly, and Sarah. We've already told them to expect you, alright? They'll be fine, they'll be pleasant." John assured.
"I'm not worried about them; worst case scenario is I just leave." Sherlock insisted with something of a scoff, though deep down he did have some apprehensions about sitting so close to the girl who watched him make out with her boyfriend. Certainly she wouldn't be his biggest fan by now?
"Oh don't leave, I want you to see us crush these guys. It'll be the best game of the year." John insisted.
"So good that you could tell me about it afterwards." Sherlock agreed.
"You got to see it live. The tension is going to be high, and if I score...well if I score I'll be a hero." John said passionately, his eyes alight with dedication as if he could already see himself sailing into the end zone with that stupid pointy ball in his arm.
"I'm sure it'll all work out. You'll score, you'll win...and I'll make some new friends." Sherlock decided at last. John smiled, grabbing Sherlock's hand and squeezing it very tightly, as if he had been going to shake his hand but decided just to get some excess excitement out by force. Sherlock really didn't know how to handle this, as John's sweaty palm inside of his own was both disgusting and incredibly flattering. The fact that he might trust his skin onto Sherlock's once more was a sign that they were slowly but surely putting that night behind them, that they were moving on. Oh if only John knew how much Sherlock wanted to backtrack, if only he understood how incredibly tempting those lips were right now...
"I'll be listening for you, Sherlock. You better hit a high note on those stands, better break some glass." John insisted with a stupid little grin.
"I can't sing opera." Sherlock protested with a frown, though John shook his head in amusement, as if he wondered just how Sherlock was so smart yet so stupid all at the same time.
"Well tonight maybe you'll learn." John decided, at last falling away from Sherlock and letting his hand sit cold and alone where he had found it. Sherlock managed a little nod, not entirely sure how to respond to that and so keeping his mouth shut. The boys all huddled at the door, with their football bags slung across their shoulders, looking as though they were going to meet death on the other side of that door. Sherlock didn't understand the nerves that went into playing an important game, though he could only imagine it was like a big test. Then again, only two people ever know your test score in the end, you and the professor. If they lose the game tonight the whole school was going to know, and it would certainly be catastrophic to their reputations.
"Good luck." Sherlock managed before they started at the door, and all three mumbled their thanks in small voices before at last starting their way out of the door and leaving Sherlock alone. 

 It was five thirty when Sherlock arranged himself at the open gate, where there was a little booth set up for people to buy their tickets. He hoped that the girls were going to pay their way inside, as he hadn't been given any money to cover them. It was rather rude of the boys to request their presence and then not offer them any money to compensate, though surely the girls will have reward enough tonight. There wasn't a formal party happening, though there was a little bit of a plan to get the girls inside the school once the game had concluded. Sherlock had even noticed a bottle of whiskey poorly hidden behind Greg's trunk under the bed. That was the part he was dreading the most, as he knew that nothing good could come from a collection of pretty girls, athletic guys, and a whole bottle of alcohol. Surely they would all match up and leave him alone to fend for himself, that or he would just have to do them all the liberty of leaving the room. Perhaps after the last time they had found he wasn't very good company for a party setting, and in turn would not want him around. Nevertheless, Sherlock had to focus on his evening tasks one at a time, and the first was of course to make sure the girls got into the stadium alright. They would surely stand out of the crowd, for most of those pouring into the stadium were either school boys or overweight old men, all of which must be either the fathers of the players or just local men who were drawn to the promise of a good game of football. Sherlock stuck out rather awkwardly as well, as he was looking quite radiant tonight. It was the first time he had allowed himself into a very public eye in a long time, and he decided that it was best to do it with as much confidence as he could muster. And so he had preened himself rather much, making sure his curls were done right and his face was shining, he even donned an outfit other than his uniform, just to have a change in fabric for once in his life. Yes, he was trying to revive himself from the walloping he had received from Professor Trevor, and still it was proving to be a difficult task. It was a confidence crusher when someone you had been depending on decided to turn their back on you, though Sherlock just needed to move on. He needed to recover, to hold his head high, and figure out how to achieve his goals without the help of a knowledgeable man-if he even was one at all! Perhaps Sherlock had been hoping on something that never could be, simply because he and his brother had both incorrectly guessed at Professor Trevor's sexuality. Perhaps Sherlock really was alone on this side of the world. At last he spotted the three girls making their way through the line at the ticket booth, and he gave quite the cheerful wave to summon them over to where he was standing. Although they seemed receptive enough he was still becoming doubtful, seeing as though they were also looking their absolute best. Mary was looking the most beautiful of all, in a blue dress with a matching coat, her blonde hair tied up in a beautiful knot with a hat pinned to it. It was a look that might even threaten Sherlock's control of the room, enough to keep John's attention on her long enough for their lips to meet for the rest of the night. Sherlock couldn't help but feel disappointed, as he felt that they were enemies whether she knew it yet or not. They were poised against each other, fighting for the same prize although one had already claimed it rightfully so. Tonight was the first night they would be face to face, and what became of that really was yet to be seen. Each of the girls was sporting a red pompom, in an attempt to coordinate with the school colors. Sherlock hadn't thought of such a thing, though now that he looked around the majority of the crowd had some sort of red thing to wave. Some had towels, others had ridiculous looking bells, and a lot had the same pompoms which the girls totted around in their handbags. He might've brought his tie, if he had known, and waved it around like a little flag.