Like a Fairytale

The Truth and the Dare

That week went by extremely quickly, following the same schedule as usual. First period, second period, lunch under the stairs, third period next to John, which was always Sherlock's favorite, and then history next to Anderson, which was like one of the tortures in Hell. The tutoring was the same as ever, except now John insisted on throwing football into the mix. He seemed to think Sherlock might be able to play, but in the end he was always chasing the ball to make sure it didn't roll out into the road. Sherlock might just be worse at football than John was at math, which was actually saying something. John was getting steadily better but his test grades weren't going up that much since it was mostly reviewing for everything they needed to learn a couple of months ago. Finally Friday came rolling around once more, the week had been almost a blink to Sherlock, and now he was very aware of the football match that was coming up after school.
"It's going to be epic." John told him for the thirtieth time in math as they were done with their worksheets early.
"I bet." Sherlock muttered.
"The Leopards are actually good at football, but this year our team is strong, and I can't wait to send the ball through the back of the net." John decided.
"I'm sure you will." Sherlock agreed, leaning lazily on his arm.
"You're coming right? It's a home game." John pointed out. This struck a nerve in Sherlock, making him sit upright to make sure he had heard John correctly.
"I'm sorry?" he asked.
"Are you coming to watch?" John asked.
"Well, I wasn't planning on it, far too many people..." Sherlock pointed out, his brain was still trying to accept the fact that John was semi sort of asking him to come.
"Oh come on Sherlock, maybe you'll pick up a few pointers, you've got to come!" John insisted, his hazel eyes alight with excitement.
"I suppose I don't have anything going on, I'm not going to tutor you tonight right?" Sherlock asked.
"No, it's going to a busy day, I can't wait! And there will be cheerleaders." He added in a sort of quiet voice, as if Sherlock would really be interested in watching the stuck up loser girls dancing around. He would only be there to watch John.
"I guess I'll be there." Sherlock muttered.
"I'll be listening for you cheering." John decided with a small laugh. As if Sherlock would cheer, make himself noticed. The entire school would be there, he's sure he'll be pushed under the bleachers and kicked. Fourth period, if possible, was worse. Pretty much all of the most spirited people were in that class, the teacher could barely keep their attention and someone drew a decapitated leopard's head on the back board, much to Sherlock's annoyance. Why don't people get this excited about real things, like book releases and John's beautiful hair? But then again, if someone caught him drawing John's hair on the back board they might be able to put two and two together... maybe it's best no one obsessed about that in public. For the first time in a week Sherlock walked home after school, now very much looking forward to the match. The thing about John was he was now convinced they might have a chance. He looked up how to tell if someone was flirting with you, and John fit many of the descriptions. He talked a lot, invited Sherlock to things, looked at him sometimes, bought him ice cream that one time, and every time they played football together there was always a permanent smile plastered on his face. Was there a chance that maybe, just maybe, John had some interest in him as well? Sherlock had hoped all week that there might be, and that was the fuel to his happiness that made the world seem just a little bit brighter. When he got home Redbeard was very excited to see him so early, jumping up on him and getting red dog hair all over his slacks.
"I'm home!" he called.
"So soon, what about that football player?" Mrs. Hudson asked, poking her head around the corner with confusion.
"There's a game today, he's too busy." Sherlock muttered.
"Well that's good I suppose." She muttered, going back to whatever she was doing in there. Sherlock let Redbeard out, threw him a ball a couple of times but he wasn't very interested in that anymore. Redbeard was old and he'd rather lay on the porch than actually walk around. So Sherlock took him back up to the room and they both lay in the bed, Redbeard drooling slightly on the blanket and Sherlock almost shaking with anticipation.
"Do you think it would be classified as a date?" he asked Redbeard excitedly after whispering the entire story to him. No, not a date, unless John approached him one on one afterwards, which would never happen of course. If they won John would be flocked by his fans and team, and if they lost he'd be too ashamed to show his face. Not a date so to say, maybe just a formal invitation, maybe John would smile up at him from the field... the thought made Sherlock's heart seem to die a little bit. Dinner was rushed; Sherlock kept looking at the clock, trying to eat as quickly as he could. It was five thirty, the game started at six thirty, and he wanted to be early enough to get a good seat in the back corner.
"You seem rushed brother dear." Mycroft decided with a smug smile on his face.
"I'm going out tonight." Sherlock muttered. If they had expected something it certainly wasn't that. Mrs. Holmes almost dropped her fork in surprise.
"You're what?" she asked with a wide smile. Sherlock blushed immediately.
"There's a football game." He muttered.
"This isn't about that brainless tutored kid is it?" MR. Holmes asked.
"He wanted me to come, I suppose it's just because he wanted to prove he could actually do something." Sherlock shrugged.
"And you're actually going?" Mycroft asked.
"It may shock you, but it's not a crime to be around people once in a while." Sherlock snapped.
"I think it's revolting." Mycroft decided.
"And yet you can bear looking in the mirror." Sherlock muttered.
"That's enough. It's great that you're getting out dear, we're very proud." Mrs. Holmes assured. Sherlock just rolled his eyes, definitely not in the mood to be both laughed at and babied by his family. He didn't say anything, embarrassed that he ever told them. When six o'clock came rolling around he pulled on his coat and said goodbye, walking out the front door and giving a cheery little wave to Mycroft, who was scowling at him from the kitchen. Since he was actually going out they gave him a get out of jail free pass, so he didn't have to wash the dishes with the family. It was very much worth all the people, he should do this more often. The streets were strangely quiet, the sun was going down already but he could make out the harsh lights from the stadium and hear the already pooling crowd. This was quite an event after all. Sherlock walked down the streets, his hands in his pockets and a small frown on his anxious face. This might be it, maybe John would approach him, maybe he's be so excited about winning he would almost forget their rivalry. Maybe he would even kiss him. Wouldn't that be the greatest thing in the world, getting kissed by John, obviously both muddy and sweaty, still in his football uniform? It gave Sherlock chills just to think about it. He walked quickly but as he got closer he could tell he wasn't going to have first dibs on the seating arrangements. As he walked into the stadium he found it packed with people, the field empty but the stands looking as if the entire city had shown up to support their favorite teams. Sherlock picked the side that was obviously their schools, the Vipers, alive with banners of snakes and fans in green and red screaming their lungs out. He tried to find a nice little secluded spot, but it was very hard. In the end he sat on the very edge of the bleachers, near the top of course, surrounded by older people who were probably the grandparents of the players. But even they were loud, making up for their small voices with cow bells and horns, all looking just as excited as the kids were. At least no one from school would bother him up here. Finally six thirty came around and the announcer started to call for everyone to get seated. They called out the Leopards first; their captain was a mean looking boy who was extremely large, backed by a team of obviously athletic kids. And then smoke m achiness went off and loud rock music started playing as their team came running out through hand painted banners. The announcer said John's name and Sherlock couldn't help but smile as he saw John's golden head in the lead. The sun had officially sank, the lights in the stadium contrasting a lot from the darkness around them, but Sherlock found nothing wrong with that. There was enough noise and light to make it seem like it was the middle of the day. The game kicked off, making all the old people ring the bells and boast about which one they were related to. Sherlock watched silently, not caring so much about the game but John. Even when he didn't have possession of the ball Sherlock was watching him, as he ran around to try to get open and even when he walked around when a penalty was called, flicking the sweat from his brow and saying unheard things to his teammates. John scored three times with extremely nimble moves, weaving in and out through the defenders as if the ball were an odd shoe he was wearing, it went with him and was shot so quickly into the net that Sherlock was unable to follow it with his eyes. He cheered once for him, accidently actually, letting out a whoop that he didn't want anyone else to hear. But no one paid him any attention, he was just one of the excited kids cheering as the game was won. The final score was four to one, and when the final bell rang the crowd was frenzy. Most of the high school kids flooded onto the field, the team screaming and running with excitement. John, he saw, was now accompanied by Mary, and to Sherlock's disgust he kissed her right on the field. That made Sherlock want to leave immediately, as if it was an official dream crusher. He got up; the once celebratory smile on his face vanished for good, and started walking silently down the stairs. No one paid him any attention; they were more focused on the heroes of the game, so he slipped through the gap in the fence and onto the dark grass around the stadium. The shadows seemed to swallow him, and he started to walk slowly away.

"Hey, freak!" Anderson's voice obviously called out for him from inside the stadium, making Sherlock sigh, turning around to see what he wanted. It was Anderson, unfortunately, but to Sherlock's relief and amazement he was flanked by John, Mary, Greg, Mike, and bunch of other popular kids in school. He was very aware that John, looking extremely excited and sweaty, was holding hands with Mary, smiling proudly at Sherlock, as if he were happy he came.
"What do you want?" Sherlock muttered with annoyance, frowning slightly at the hoard of bullies.
"Oh nothing, I just wanted to see what you were doing around here, I didn't think vampires liked the light." Anderson frowned.
"Oh open your eyes, it's dark out." Sherlock grumbled, trying to turn away. But the pack moved outside the fence, following him and making Sherlock feel very uncomfortable. John was there, but was he going to let Sherlock get beaten or would he stand up for him? After these weeks Sherlock had the spark of hope that maybe he would stand up, be the hero Sherlock so desperately needed right now.
"You didn't answer my questions, why are you here?" Anderson demanded.
"Do I need a reason?" Sherlock muttered, crossing his arms in front of his coat. To his horror John stepped up, letting go of Mary's hand and walking up to Anderson's side. He didn't look like the John that was studying, he looked meaner, more confident, as if he was just aching to punch someone and make people mad. It must be all the adrenaline from the game, making these idiots act even more stupid. But the worst part was that he wasn't sticking up for Sherlock, not saying that he had invited him, so of course Sherlock didn't say that either.
"Well from all of the excitement in school I thought it would be nice to come and watch you guys lose." Sherlock snapped.
"What did you just say?" John growled, making Sherlock's blood run cold. Obviously making fun of football wasn't the best option. Too late now.
"Well I'm leaving now; I don't think you want me tainting your party." Sherlock sighed.
"Now it's my turn to tell you to answer my question. You thought we were going to lose, after you stalked all of our practices?" John demanded, stepping closer to Sherlock so that there was at most a foot between them. This made Sherlock's heart rate increase, for both the facts that he was so close but also because he looked so mad.
"I thought you'd win, but with big oafs like Anderson in goal I had my doubts." Sherlock admitted. A low growl was admitted from the back of Anderson's throat, he was like a big mean wolf, but he was letting John do the attacking. John stepped even closer, his fists balled, Sherlock was fighting the impulse to look at his lips, so close, it was almost too much to bear. He wanted to turn and run right there.
"We are the best team in the state, you'll see, we'll win, and it's because we have big oafs that we win, got that Freak?" John snapped, a cruel smile on his face, his beautiful hazel eyes glittering in the lights. He pushed Sherlock slightly on the shoulder, a sign that he wanted a fight, but there was something about it that made Sherlock snap. A wave of anger flew through him and he did something he never ever should've done, never in his wildest dreams. He grabbed John by both sides of the head, and, with rage and fear on his side...kissed him right on the lips. It was a feeling like no other, like the galaxies coming together, his body was filled with such love and such happiness that he almost forgot of the crowd around him. So this was what Heaven felt like. Or not. John reacted slowly, obviously completely shocked, but after a moment he pushed the slightly dazed Sherlock off of him. Sherlock gazed at him for a moment, his heart swollen and beating almost out of his chest but John didn't share the emotion. With a strong, fierce punch right in the face he sent Sherlock falling backwards into the grass, making blood come rushing from his nose once again. The pain was like no other for the poor boy, not only physical but mental; it hurt his heart in a way that was undefinable. The people were silent, he lay in the cold grass and shut his eyes, praying for the end. Sherlock heard John's quick breathing above him, obviously disgusted and shocked beyond measure. And then Anderson walked over, slowly, as if trying to realize this wasn't some crazy hallucination, and started breaking the shocked silence.
"How dare you rub your filthy gay lips all over John!" he yelled, loud enough for the people in the stadium to hear if they were listening. With every word he kicked Sherlock. He didn't hold back any strength, every kick to the stomach, chest, or even head, was like he was trying to kick a football the length of the field. It hurt, it hurt a lot, but Sherlock felt numb already. He had failed, messed up what could've been magic because he could hold himself back, he was a fool. And for the first time in the bully's presence, in all twelve years, he started to cry. He clutched to the cold grass, burying his face in it and taking his punishment for being such a screw up of a human. With every kick he knew he deserved it, with every ounce of pain he knew that this was the only thing he got for opening his heart, for daring to believe that maybe, just maybe, someone on the Earth saw him as more than a freak. He was wrong, because that was what he was, eh was a freak, unable to love, unable to be loved, and above all unable to hope or dream.