Sigma Eta

The Miracle Aligner

A flier for a football game, sitting atop the stack that waited for Victor's consideration. It was a strange thing, printed in bulk without color. Printed in bold it advertised the rivalry of the Stoke Moran Serpents against the Chestertown Tigers, encouraging everyone come to support the team on Friday night. The year was not listed. John had not gotten a word in from Greg since the night in question, for every time he had the opportunity to begin a proper interrogation he got much too uncomfortable. It had been a long while since he was able to speak to Greg personally, and each time they found themselves alone together was sometime in the night, when Greg was lying atop the same bed that he had once shared. It took too much effort, John's cheeks burned red just thinking about how he would even begin to admit to witnessing such an embarrassing string of events. As far as John knew, Greg thought the whole thing had remained an absolute secret. Certainly he wasn't aware that John had observed him; if he was there might have been much worse tension between them in these previous few hours of alone time. And how was John supposed to break that silence, how was he supposed to destroy Greg's trust in him once and for all? Oh but what did it matter? According to Sherlock it would never happen again, though John could not be so sure. Greg was disappearing these days, gone for long stretches of time in the afternoon and returning back exhausted. What he was doing in those hours John wasn't sure, but there was a funny business at hand. Something was missing from this story, something that John was going to have to find out about one way or another. It took until Thursday night, at least a week after Sherlock had first walked out of Greg's room with that smug look upon his face. Thursday night was when it all came together, when Greg interrupted their evening study sessions by getting up onto a chair, waving his hands around, and calling the due attention to himself.
"Attention everyone!" he called. John sighed heavily, looking up from his math notes (which were being blocked by Sebastian's rather large hand as he tried to explain the logic behind a particular question) and focusing now on the curious happenings of his roommate. In his hands was a flier, folded up within his fist as he waved it around for all to see.
"Tomorrow night the football team will be playing against Chestertown, the biggest rivalry in the books! Please come out and support the team!" Greg called out. With that he decided his announcement was over, and he hoped down off of the chair with a satisfied look upon his face. However his return to normal height did not cease John's interest, and before Sebastian could protest he took to his feet, marching over to where Greg was at last settling himself down into an armchair to begin on his homework.
"What do you care about the football team?" John asked at last, finding it strange that Greg should get all excited over a team he had quit two years prior.
"Well, I happen to be on the football team." Greg admitted, looking up to john with something of a smug smile. John blinked, trying to piece together how on earth that could make sense.
"You're back on the team?" he mumbled. "But I thought they said once we quit we couldn't..."
"They made a special exception. In fact, I'm one of the starting linebackers." Greg admitted with a proud smile. For a moment it seemed as though he had forgotten the grudge between them, as if he was talking to John like it was old times.
"You're not big enough to be a starter." John debated, remembering the boys who used to play for the team when he was still on it. They were the size of tables, not some broad shouldered skinny kids like Greg Lestrade. He'd get obliterated on that field if he were to try to play defense!
"The coach thought I was. I'm going to be starting against Chestertown tomorrow night." Greg said with a great smile.
"I'm very...very surprised." John admitted. "I didn't know you wanted to be on the team."
"I had second thoughts, you know? I figured I was missing something out of the college experience." Greg admitted with a sigh. "I didn't think it was even possible until now."
"What changed? How'd you get such special circumstances?" John wondered. Greg sighed, tapping his finger against his cheek and staring off along the mess of boys, seeming to catch one with his glance before looking away just as quickly.
"I had help." he mumbled, as if that was all he was going to be saying on that subject. John nodded, following Greg's line of vision over to where his supposed helper was sitting. Well it didn't take him long; in fact he almost expected to see Sherlock where he was leaning up against the wall. It made sense, though for a moment John couldn't realize how. But there was a correlation, a connection that wasn't entirely clear but was being made all the same. A gap had been bridged; a favor had been met with a favor...a night spent once, and never again.
"Sherlock?" John clarified quietly, muttering the words on his lips more as a reminder to himself rather than a question for Greg.
"Sebastian is calling for you." Greg interrupted, beckoning rather thankfully to where Sebastian was waving his hands through the air.
"Ya, he's tutoring me." John growled. "He's a real pain."
"I can imagine." Greg chuckled, though that seemed like a good way to end the conversation. John meandered his way back over to where he was sitting, thankful that his first conversation with Greg did not end as hostilely as it might have. Though the rest of the night his brain was lost, tangled up in the complex web that was being weaved around his very head. For some reason Sherlock had helped Greg with a seemingly impossible goal, though how exactly he did it remained a mystery. And that was his payment, perhaps? A night spent together, or rather a few hours alone in the afternoon? Was there a barter system taking place, a twisted and perverted method of trade? No matter how hard Sebastian tried he could not get John to focus any longer, and before long they had given up the battle against linear equations. John retired early that night, creeping up towards his bedroom and lying on his back towards the ceiling, staring into the darkness and thinking. Before long the footsteps started, as if a group of children were running light footed down the carpeted hallway back and forth, back and forth. Greg returned, wordlessly. And then John fell to sleep, his dreams troubled with the face he had begun to memorize, the soft face of Sherlock Holmes. Smiling.