Johnlock One Shots

Im actually writing wow

I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while! Please forgive me.

John

The entire classroom seemed dreary and dull. The walls seemed to radiate gray, and made it seem like a cloudy day. John's eyes were dragged down as though weights had been tied to the eyelids, and he sat slumped in his chair. His face was squished into a rather unattractive shape by his hand propping him up. He doodled lazily in the margins of the textbook by way of keeping himself a wake, not really paying attention.

He got to such a point, at one particularly boring point in class where the teacher was discussing some boring government official, that he could think of nothing better to do than write a note to Sherlock at the beginning of the book.

Hey genius. Do you find this class at all interesting? I suppose a nerd like you might actually enjoy it.

PS I suppose this vandalizing annoys you

PPS that will only make me do it more.

Sherlock

This teacher was an idiot. Of course, that was nothing new, but surely they couldn't actually expect him to pay attention. Sighing, he opened the book that lay beneath his desk.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in the well practiced manner that he usually reserved for Mycroft, his parents, or the general idiot adult. Now he used it on the written words scrawled in John's untidy handwriting. He read it quickly and reread it, taking in every component.

The teasing didn't seem ill-natured, although that may just be because Sherlock was well accustomed to insults of a much harsher degree.

Secondly, the vandalism did not annoy him to any degree. Despite what many people seemed to assume, Sherlock wasn't really a stickler for the rules. Of course, if that meant that John would write him more notes...

And finally, Sherlock wasn't strictly speaking a nerd. He was well trained in the science of deduction, but that didn't mean he had good grades. He was absolute rubbish in certain aspects of science, (he was terrible at astronomy, while he did possess a certain prowess at chemistry,) and he was frankly horrifying when it came to writing, failing to create engaging stories but instead making incredibly dull articles about incredibly dull subjects.

Over the following weeks Sherlock and John communicated through notes in the textbook. Eventually, they exchanged insults for kind words, and became a kind of begrudging friend to one another. While they rarely saw one another in person, when they bumped into each other in the hallways, they grinned at each other and nodded as they passed.

They had a strange relationship, but soon John became the best friend of Sherlock, (although that wasn't saying much.) After his dog died, Sherlock didn't really get close to others. He had built a wall up, to protect himself. To protect his heart.

But John Watson had brought a pick ax, and with each note, he chipped away a little more of the wall.

The wall was close to falling, but it finally crumbled one day on the edge of summer vacation, when the escape from school loomed nearer with each passing day. Written beside Sherlock's own handwriting, lay the words, or rather a variation of them, that Sherlock had tried (and failed) not to long to hear.

Would you like to get some coffee one day? Maybe go out for dinner and a movie?

Sherlock tried not to grin too broadly as he write his reply.

Yes, of course.