Dorm 221B: Teenlock Fanfiction

Part Two: Chapter Two

It's been a hot minute, how are we? So firstly, true to my word, 50 votes on the last chapter so here we are again, back at it with another chapter. Thanks for sticking with Dorm 221B even if I am the worlds laziest author.

A cool and important update! Red and I both have YouTube channels now and we'd love it if you could check them out and subscribe if it takes your fancy.
My channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZtkEA6YZWfg0x1C4T_1YAQ

Red's channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UConuxYnvoJZuREJjZbTTxDQ

Thank you! And without further ado let's get into it!

Trigger warning: slut-shaming, blackmail
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Light rain drizzled on the players backs as they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the goals.
"Alright lads, we've got three spots on this team, and a lot more of you, so you're going to have to bring your best if you want to make it!" called Greg, one foot resting atop a football.
The boys roared back at him and John tried his best to sound as intimidating as possible. Needless to say, it wasn't very effective. He twisted his boots into the sodden earth nervously. He looked over to the stands to try and spot the familiar face he wanted oh so badly to see. Much to his disappointment, then guilt, the only friendly face to greet him was that of Molly Hooper. She gave him an encouraging wave and bright smile, that he returned with significantly less enthusiasm. Of course Sherlock wouldn't come. He'd made it perfectly clear he despised football and those who played it.
"He could've studied in the stands or something," grumbled John to himself, though he didn't have much time to moan; Greg soon had them all out on the field and hard at it.

It started with stretching, then came speed drills, zigzagging through bright cones, sit-ups, push ups, timed laps around the field, passing, shooting, defending - everything moved so fast John felt he barely had time to breathe. No, he was exhausted and out of breath. Greg would shout his directions and corrections at them, meticulously noting every movement, every misstep down on the clipboard. Every so often John would check the stands. Every so often he'd be disappointed once again. Molly cheered loudly for him, which was a least a little encouraging. Meanwhile, Sally, who as it so happens was Captain of the cheerleading squad, sat as far from Molly as possible; poms poms drooping as she constantly checked the time on her phone. Apparently the team had been expected to help out at the tryouts but cancelled due to the wet weather, leaving Sally to bring the cheer on her own (a worrying notion indeed).

After what felt like an eternity, Greg finally blew his whistle, calling them all in. "Alright," he started, "I've pretty much made my decision. Johnson, Davis, McGuire and Watson stick around. The rest of you, good job, you all played hard and I'll see you again next year!"
The discarded players trudged off amidst a clamour of disappointed moans and aching limbs.
John stared at Lestrade with a frown. "But Greg, you said there were only three spots on the team?" He wasn't that bad at math, he could put two and two together and realise that didn't make three.
"No," sighed Greg, his mouth held in a terse line. "Watson and McGuire, you're both excellent players. In order to decide which one of you is on the team, we're going to have a penalty shootout. Sudden death elimination."
John let those words sink in. He was so close, so close to achieving his dream! But sudden death meant that if either of them scored the point or failed to block, it was all over. He sized up McGuire. He was from the Hound house, about six foot with shoulders almost as broad as he was tall. Blocking would come naturally, but he didn't have the speed that John did.
"Watson, to goals. McGuire, you're shouting first," instructed Greg.

John stood in front of the goals. It was raining harder now and the thick droplets were pouring from his hair and into his eyes, making it hard to see.
"Let me block it, please God, let me block it," he whispered to himself. McGuire gave him a nod and started to run towards the ball at full pelt. His boot connected with the ball and it soared towards the goal. With all his might, John dove to the side, pushing the ball as hard as he could. It rolled away, safely out of the goal space. Despite the stinging in his hands, he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd made it through round one. Now he just had to score. As McGuire swapped places, he realised that wouldn't be so easy. The guy was practically taller than the goal! John took a deep breath and focused. If he could curve the ball beyond the giant's reach, he might have a chance. He ran forward, lungs straining after all the training they'd just been through. His boot struck the ball and it soared through the air - straight into McGuire's hands. Now they started all over again.

John blocked his goal a second time but he wasn't sure he could do it again. He was exhausted and he could barely lift his arms to block. It was now or never, he had to score now! He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, listening to the rain as it battered his shoulders and the muddy earth.

"John!"

He looked up in confusion. That wasn't Greg's voice, and it certainly wasn't Molly. He turned towards the stands. There he was, his best friend. Standing it the pouring rain without so much as an umbrella to protect him. His chest heaved as though he'd sprinted a marathon to get here. Perhaps he had. Their eyes met across the field. John felt a surge of energy that started somewhere in his chest and extended to the very tips of his toes. A wide grin stretched across his face. He came.

He faced back towards McGuire. He'd caught the previous catch with ease, but if he could fake him out and shoot it towards his weaker side, the goal would be his. He gave it everything he had and then some, he made like he'd kick towards the right and curved the ball to the left at a speed that McGuire could never block. The ball sailed into the net and ended to shootout. From the sides Molly let out a huge cheer that managed to cut through the pounding rain. John pumped his fist high in the air, letting out a whoop for joy. McGuire approached him, extended a hand. "Well played," he said with a nod, before trudging off the field.
John headed to the cover of the stands where Greg was waiting with Johnson and Davis. "I knew you had it in you!" he exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "Training starts next Monday, don't be late," he told them sternly. Then he relaxed, "Now get yourselves cleaned up and go celebrate, you made the team!"
John beamed, he never knew such four simple words could mean so much. As the others started to move away, Sherlock quietly approached him. "That was an excellent goal," he remarked.
"Thanks," smiled John, a warm feeling filling him as he looked at his friend.
"Though your ankle rolled a fraction too much, which meant you lost a substantial amount of control."
John stared at him blankly for a moment before bursting out laughing. "I thought you said you didn't know anything about football."
"I said I didn't like football! I happen to know a great deal about a great many things!"
"I think you're talking crap and you know it," laughed John, giving him a playful shove and covering his already rain soaked blazer in mud.
Sherlock couldn't hide the slight smile that turned up the corners of his mouth. "Maybe on this one occasion."

A shout rang out from the far end of the stands.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
All heads turned towards Sally. She was now standing, pom poms dropped to the ground as she stared at her phone. "Who the hell did this?!"
Greg ran over to her and took the phone from her to see. "Oh my god-" he gasped, turning away with colour rising to his cheeks.
John and Sherlock hurried to join them, to see for themselves.
It was a photo, posted anonymously to the school's online notice board. It's original purpose had been to provide students with an easy place to ask and answer questions. This was not that. It was a photo of a girl in a cheerleading uniform. Her face had been cropped but her breasts were plainly exposed. The caption read, Don't tell daddy I'm a slut. John turned away, trying not to look at the offending image.

Sally's hands were balled into fists. "Some scumbag thinks they can do that to one of my girls and get away with it?" she hissed through clenched teeth. "You," she pointed at Sherlock and John. "Shaggy and Scooby Doo, you solve crimes now right?" She slowly stepped towards them. "Find the miserable, disgusting lowlife that did this." She looked John directly in the eye, her fierceness making him gulp. "And I will rain a never ending parade of suffering on the bastard. Deal?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks again for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Spot my favourite innuendo it's a doozy. Did you enjoy the new season of Sherlock? Comment, let me know!

Same deal again, if this chapter gets 50 votes I'll update again. Happy reading!

Follow me!
Insta: courtney.rhea
Tumblr: courtneyrhea
Twitter: courtney_rheaa
YouTube: Courtney Rhea
New wattpad: courtneyrhea
xx