Secretly I Think You Knew

Good First Impressions?

    As the day went on however, John was starting to have his doubts as well. They didn't have another class together for the rest of the day, which John supposed was a good thing, but it gave him more time to ponder what exactly a study date with Sherlock Holmes would be like. He had only met the kid yesterday, and now he was coming over to his house and they would have to talk and interact and work on a paper together. A shudder went down John's spine just thinking about it. So when the final bell rang John packed up his things, stuffing his binder into his backpack when he saw Greg's Nike sneakers approaching.
"How about this, John Watson was my best friend, a loyal, caring, and all together amazing human being." Greg decided. John straightened up, shutting his locker and giving Greg a very confused look.
"What are you going on about?" he asked, zipping up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Let me finish. But John had a tragic flaw, he trusted people too much. So when he was brutally murdered by Sherlock Holmes with a screwdriver, well, you could say he was asking for it." Greg finished.
"A screwdriver? I'd think more a led pencil, or possibly an English book." John laughed.
"That's your eulogy, I'm always open for suggestions, you could add a footnote or something, it would be cool to say in the funeral that this entire thing was approved by the recently deceased himself." Greg shrugged.
"I'm not going to die, he's weird, but he's no murderer." John decided. "Either way I'm going to be late, so you."
"You were a great person John, I'll miss you. I'll tell the children you had no choice." Greg muttered, wiping a fake tear from his eye.
"What are you even talking about?" John muttered mostly to himself, before marching off down the hall to where Sherlock's locker should be. As promised, Sherlock was leaning up against his locker, scowling at a couple kissing each other a couple of lockers down. He looked very violated but kept his distance, glaring at he walked down the hall.
"You look pretty uncomfortable." John decided.
"I wonder why." Sherlock growled, straightening up just in time for the two love birds to crash into the lockers, making all of the doors shake. John scowled at them, hoping they knew how disruptive they were being, but started off down the hallway anyway.
"So, English, yay..." John muttered. Sherlock was silent, walking a good foot away from John. It was almost like he was walking with a very socially awkward shadow, who didn't really participate in any conversations.
"My mom is going to pick us up since my car's still getting repaired, I texted her and told her to expect us. By the way, she had wanted to thank you for driving me home in my time of need, so I suppose you should mentally prepare yourself." John decided.
"As long as there's no hugging or hand shaking or shoulder patting I'll be alright." Sherlock decided.
"Why don't you like physical contact?" John asked. Sherlock glared at him out of the corer of his eye, but when he saw John looking back his eyes quickly flicked away, staring determinedly in front of him as if hoping John hadn't noticed.
"I just don't." he decided.
"Fair enough." John shrugged, continuing on. They got to the doors, which John held open for Sherlock like the gentleman he was. Sherlock didn't thank him or say anything really, as if he had expected this to happen and was too good to appreciate it. Alright then, be that way. The sun was beating down on them through a cloudless sky, reflecting off of the cement sidewalks and temporarily blinding John with the harsh light.
"Oh god..." he muttered, shielding his eyes and trying to find his mother's car throughout the mess of students and busses. Sherlock seemed a bit more affected, as if he didn't go in the sunlight at all, and was having a hard time avoiding people as they walked down the sidewalk.
"There she is, white car, two o'clock." John decided. Sherlock started to drift to the left. "Other two o'clock." John laughed. Sherlock corrected himself, looking rather embarrassed.
"Sorry." Sherlock muttered, following John to where his mother was parked.
"Hey mom." John said with a smile, pulling open the door and clambering inside.
"Hello John, and you must be Sherlock." Mrs. Watson said with a smile, twisting very uncomfortably to see the two boys get into the car. John threw his bags over top of the backseat, hearing them thunk rather noisily into the trunk. Sherlock sat with his backpack on his lap, as if it were too precious to throw around.
"Yes, hello Mrs. Watson." He muttered awkwardly, pulling the door shut and buckling his seatbelt.
"We're working on an English paper; I think I said that in my text." John pointed out as his mom started to drive out of the parking lot.
"You two better actually work, if I come in there and you're playing video games I'm going to upset." She pointed out.
"Don't worry, I find video games highly illogical and frankly a massive waste of time and energy." Sherlock assured with what he must've thought to be a kind smile. In reality it was one of those evil smiles that you only make when antagonizing another person. John got a massive wave of second hand embarrassment, but considering Sherlock didn't seem to notice the glare John's mother gave him in the rear view mirror, he obviously didn't seem to mind.
"Well, thank you, someone who finally shares my views." She muttered. The rest of the car ride was silent, Sherlock looked out the window and John simply plucked the exposed strings on the seat, trying to think of a normal conversation starter but not being able to. There didn't seem to be any normal topic to talk with Sherlock Holmes about, especially in front of his own mother, who was obviously making very harsh first impressions about Sherlock. When finally they pulled into the driveway Sherlock jumped out before the engine had stopped, grabbing his backpack and waiting rather awkwardly at the door for John to lead him inside. John however took his time grabbing his bags from the trunk, so Mrs. Watson led Sherlock insisted. John scrambled to catch up, shutting the trunk door just in time to catch Sherlock's back retreating around the corner of the mud room.
"Sorry I didn't have time to straighten things up, I didn't have a lot of notice." She muttered, throwing a pair of John's sneakers under the couch instead of in the middle of the floor.
"It doesn't bother me, although if my brother was here, he'd throw a fit." Sherlock admitted.
"You have a brother?" she asked, pushing aside Sherlock's rather rude comment.
"Yes, Mycroft, he's seven years older than I am." Sherlock admitted.
"That's nice, I like that name. You both have very nice names; I bet you're the only one in the grade with a name like Sherlock." She laughed.
"Yes well, they reflect our peculiar personalities I suppose." Sherlock decided. Mrs. Watson gave John a rather peculiar look from in the kitchen, and he just shrugged.
"Well, do you want some snacks or something? I think we're just going to go in my room." John shrugged.
"Snacks? No thank you." Sherlock muttered.
"Suit yourself; I'm going to get some Doritos though, if we have any left." John decided.
"I bought a new bag yesterday, I hope there's more." Mrs. Watson insisted. "And Harry's in her room, so try not to disturb her." John just nodded, grabbing an unopened bag of chips and starting to walk upstairs.
"I didn't know you had a sister." Sherlock muttered as they passed Harry's closed door.
"That's because you don't talk. Anyway, don't get your hopes up, she's horrible." John insisted.
"If you think I have any...romantic intentions, you're wrong. I was just making polite conversation." Sherlock assured.
"Trust me, I know." John laughed. "Even though polite conversation doesn't seem to be your strong point, in here." John muttered, leading Sherlock into his room. It was kind of simple, tucked away in the back of the house. The best thing about John's room, in his opinion, was his display case, in which he put all of his soccer trophies and his medals and what not. John loved soccer, it was what you might call his passion, and all of his hard work paid off. Every workout, every Saturday practice, it all put more awards in his display case.
"Are these all yours?" Sherlock asked, looking at the trophies in wonder. John shut the door, throwing the bag of chips onto his bed and nodding.
"Yep, just because I'm not a genius doesn't mean I'm not good at anything." John agreed.
"I never said you were bad at anything." Sherlock assured, turning around as if making sure John wasn't mad at him.
"I know, I was kidding." John assured.
"Oh, good." Sherlock muttered.
"Were you worried you offended me?" John asked with a sort of smile, as if daring to believe it were true.
"No, of course not, I'm a sociopath, remember?" Sherlock pointed out.
"So, did you like diagnose yourself to be a sociopath, or did you have a doctor check you out?" John wondered.
"My brother raised me from a young age to be practical, to push away all feelings such as guilt and fear and love, it's the simplest way to live." Sherlock assured.
"And your parents were alright with this?" John asked doubtfully.
"If they weren't' I'd have no way of knowing. They're both dead." Sherlock muttered. John covered his mouth immediately, his eyes wide in apology.
"I'm so sorry, I had no idea!" he exclaimed.
"No, it's fine, I never really knew them." Sherlock assured.
"Still, that's really sad I'm sorry." John muttered.
"Don't apologize!" Sherlock said firmly, and John jumped back a little bit, fearing Sherlock would pull a screwdriver from his backpack and prove Greg to be right all along.
"I hate it when people apologize for something they didn't do, it's not your fault they're dead, so don't say you're sorry. Now this paper, let's get started." Sherlock insisted. John stared at him for a moment, blinking rapidly and getting his laptop from the desk, going over and sitting cross legged on his bed, powering the laptop on while Sherlock pulled over the desk chair.
"You can sit up here with me." John offered, starting to scoot over. Sherlock just shook his head, sitting down in the chair a good five feet away.
"I prefer personal space." He decided.
"Alright." John muttered, tearing open the bag of Doritos and starting on the fake cheesy goodness. Sherlock got his book out, having sticky noted key parts on what looked like every single chapter.

"So, symbolism and themes, that should be...horrible." He muttered. 

"I actually liked the book, although I didn't see many symbols." John admitted.
"Thankfully I did." Sherlock said with a smile. "Give me the computer."
"Give me a moment; I'm still pulling up a document." John insisted. The moment he had opened the page, Sherlock took the computer out of his hands, typing furiously on the keyboard for a moment.
"What are you typing?" John asked.
"The paper." Sherlock pointed out, looking up with an innocent smile.
"Well, I thought I was going to help? It's a group project, we're a group." John insisted.
"Oh, yes, well, what do you think I should add?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, I don't know." John admitted.
"There, see, you did your part." Sherlock decided, going back to typing. John ate a couple of Doritos to the sound of Sherlock's fingers clicking away, feeling very uncomfortable.
"What are you writing then?" John asked. Sherlock sighed deeply, as if this were some terrible inconvenience.
"A paper." He insisted.
"About what?" John growled. Sherlock scrolled up for a little bit.
"About the coming of age of a young girl in the midst of a racist, prejudiced, and otherwise male dominated community." He said.
"Well that's good, we can work with that." John agreed.
"Yes we can." Sherlock agreed.
"So, how about the trial, with um...Robinson, the slave guy?" John muttered.
"Yes, Tom Robinson, precisely what I was thinking. Very scholarly." Sherlock murmured as he continued typing.
"Ya, you can say about how he was wrongly accused because they needed someone to blame, someone who was less powerful than them and would worm them out of a particularly awkward situation." John agreed.
"Yes..." Sherlock muttered, obviously not listening to a word John was saying. John sighed, leaning back on his bed and watching as Sherlock typed, his brows knitting together, his eyes squinted in concentration, his brain obviously working on overtime to produce a quality paper. As much as John loved to watch him work, which he really didn't, he wished he could be somehow part of the brainstorming. It seems like Sherlock was doing exactly what he had promised to do, that is, everything. John had long since given up on trying to poke his nose in, Sherlock obviously didn't want the help, so he just got out his phone, scrolling though Instagram until Sherlock finally closed the lid of the laptop.
"Done?" John guessed.
"With the first couple of pages, yes. There will be more of course, this is a long book and we need to get our point across. Mycroft is expecting me home in time for dinner, and that should be any moment now, would you mind if I used your phone?" he asked.
"Oh, ya, sure." John agreed, throwing Sherlock his phone. Thankfully Sherlock caught it, because John would be very angry if Sherlock had dropped it and cracked the screen. So after listening in on a brief conversation between Sherlock and Mycroft, John got to his feet, brushed off the cheese crumbs from his shirt, and made his way back over to the door. Sherlock was pushing the desk chair back, closing the laptop and setting it on the desk.
"I emailed myself a copy; I can work on it during classes tomorrow." Sherlock decided.
"Don't you have to, I don't know, actually pay attention to the classes?" John asked. Sherlock just laughed, as if that were the funniest thing John had ever proposed.
"Classes are simple John, elementary even. I'll have time to do this silly little research paper." He assured.
"I can help as well, maybe make some revisions, add some of my own things." John suggested. Sherlock obviously didn't like the idea of that, but he nodded.
"Just make sure to sound intelligent." He decided.
"You're saying I'm not intelligent?" John asked, kind of offended.
"Well, yes." Sherlock agreed, pulling the door open and walking back down the hall.
"That's insulting." John decided.
"I'm sorry." Sherlock said flatly, obviously not sorry at all.
"It's fine, I guess." John sighed. It was probably the truth anyway.
"Done so soon?" Mrs. Watson asked. She was cooking something on the stove, making what looked like meat cooking on the stove, possibly tacos? Those would definitely improve John's day.
"Yes, my brother expects me home for dinner." Sherlock shrugged.
"Oh, alright then, I can drive you over if you want." Mrs. Watson suggested.
"He's on his way already; he was probably in town so it won't be long." Sherlock assured.
"Oh, alright then, thanks for coming over Sherlock, I'm sure the paper you two are working on will get a good grade." Mrs. Watson said with a smile. Sherlock shrugged, obviously quite hopeful.
"Yes, I hope so." he agreed.
"I'll walk you out I guess." John shrugged, walking over to the front door and pulling it open. Just as he was about to walk outside, the familiar black car pulled up in front of the house and John saw Mycroft's scowling face behind the wheel.
"Mycroft's here." he decided.
"Ah, okay, well, thanks for having me, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." Sherlock decided.
"Yep, see you." John agreed, holding the door open and watching Sherlock scramble through the yard towards the car. Once the door was shut and the car driven away, Mrs. Watson sighed, leaning on the kitchen counter with a small frown.
"How'd you manage to find such a...unique boy?" she asked.
"Don't even ask, it's been a long day." John groaned.