Eu Não Quero Voltar Sozinho, John: A Sherlock/Johnlock/Teenlock AU

Chapter 1

Hellooo guys, so if you're reading this then you're probably aware of why I've started writing this.

If not, then basically there's a short film called Eu Não Quero Voltar Sozinho, and I fell in love with it so much I thought "hey, let's make this a Sherlock Au!"

And so yeah, this is the outcome. I haven't had time to fully proof read it, so if you notice any mistakes I'll be grateful!

Also: FEEDBACK

I love to hear your thoughts on this particular AU fic!

Thank youuuu! <3

(I'll also edit it a load tomorrow morning I just kinda wanted to put it out there c:)

Tap.

Tap.

Tap tap.

Tap.

Ta-ching!

Sherlock waited for the inevitable.

Tap.

Tap tap tap.

Tap.

Tap tap.

Ta-ching!

A faint and hastily smuggled cough betrayed the upcoming joke.

As one, the majority of the class yelled, "Cashier number four, please!", garnering giggles from the corners, and an inevitable glare from Molly that Sherlock could never see.

Sherlock heard a distinct rustle, as Molly's school tie moved against her shirt gave away to Sherlock her turning around to glare at the guys. "You should really stop now. It's getting old."

Sherlock smirked. His fingers continued to fly across the Braille typewriter with practised ease.

"Guys, settle down." That familiar obvious squeak of the teacher's office spinny chair being gently pushed to the side. "Now that it's near 3:30, before everyone leaves I think we should allow our new student to introduce himself. John?"

Sherlock heard the gentle tapping of a pencil that had run throughout the entire lesson behind him halt. John was sat directly behind Sherlock, just close enough so that Sherlock could just smell his deodorant. "I don't think it's necessary."

Sherlock noted that John had a soft voice, but soft in the sense that it could turn hard at any given moment.

"Nonsense. Stand up John, and tell us a bit about yourself!"

Sherlock heard a scraping of chair being pushed back, and turned his head slightly.

"Uh..." A clearing of his throat. "My name's John Watson. I come from Kent. I--"

He stopped, confusing Sherlock for a second. At precisely the same moment, a paper rustling sounded near, and there was an eruption of class laughter.

Sherlock leant sideways, reaching out his hand and gently touched Molly's sleeve, which he knew was always precisely 6 inches to his right. "What happened?"

He felt her lean closer, and felt the faint heat and texture of her lips just about touch his ear as she whispered, "one of the boys threw a paper ball at John."

"Oh. Okay."

The bell rang sharp and clear, and the sounds of bags being hastily thrown onto backs and chairs hurriedly being scraped under the tables filled Sherlock's ears. Sherlock knew that Molly helped pack away the typewriter into his bag, like always, and simply let her get on with it as she let him grip her arm as he stood up. He reached out and felt for the coarse plastic of the chair.