I Know Your Face

A Waste of Precious Oxygen

John's eyes snapped open and he shook his head, folding up the paper rather harshly and shoving it back into his pocket. No, he wasn't going to think like that. This Victor stuff, it was leaking into John's head, he was letting it get the best of him, he was not going to stand here and lust for Sherlock in a bathroom stall. It was pathetic, it was downright shameful, John had a girlfriend, a beautiful girl all to himself, he was straight, and he most certainly did not have any interest in Sherlock Holmes. This whole plan, this entire scheme had been to bring Sherlock to his knees, to destroy him from the inside using secrets he wouldn't dare admit to anyone else. The point of this wasn't to make John second guess his sexuality. So John grabbed his bag and walked out of the bathroom, down to the cafeteria where Greg and Mary were waiting.
"What took you so long?" Greg asked, and John just gave him a look of annoyance, sinking into his seat and staring down at the table in a mild state of paranoia. He was starting to worry that this whole thing really was getting to him, what if he woke up tomorrow and suddenly couldn't live without Sherlock Holmes, what if he had fallen in love without even knowing it? He had to make sure to talk to Sherlock in math today; he had to make sure Sherlock put him right by snapping sarcastic comments at him and being an overall jerk.
"I'm so happy detention is over for you, you can finally be at soccer practice on time." Greg said happily, munching on his sandwich with an obnoxious smile. John nodded, not seeming too enthusiastic and probably making Greg a bit worried.
"Are you alright?" Greg wondered.
"Ya I'm just tired." John admitted, which was close to the truth I suppose. His soul was feeling very tired, not so much his body.
"Are you sick? Do you need to go to the nurse?" Greg wondered, looking over at Mary for assistance.
"No, I'm not sick." John muttered. He sighed heavily, looking up at Mary, who wasn't looking very worried. In fact she seemed very preoccupied with her carrots and ranch to notice that her boyfriend was being a bit moody.
"Mary do you want to go out tonight?" John wondered. That got her attention.
"Sorry?" she wondered, blinking as if she hadn't properly heard him.
"We should go out tonight, go to dinner." John decided. Greg looked at the two of them in confusion, but obviously once more he couldn't put two and two together.
"Ya, alright, I've got nothing else to do." Mary decided, as if going out with her boyfriend was so much unnecessary effort. John nodded, happy that he had that to look forward to. Hopefully it would snap him back into reality, what he needed was some nice quality time with Mary, a girl who he loved, and that would remind him once more that he was straight. There was a line between Victor Trevor and John Watson, but right now John felt as if he were standing on both sides at the same time, desperately trying to pull himself together as he slowly got torn down the middle.
"You're acting really weird." Greg decided as the two of them walked up to math class together. John wasn't really looking forward to math class at all; in fact he was really nervous about what might become of his next encounter with Sherlock. Obviously Sherlock had no idea what had happened, he had no idea that John had read his beautiful letter instead of Victor himself, but it was eating John up inside, and he hoped that Sherlock wouldn't notice. When they arrived the door was open, so thankfully John wouldn't be tempted to strangle Sherlock once more. Last time that had ended with more violence than necessary, and certainly more house calls than John had been prepared for. The whole purpose of this math class was going to be to get his mind back on track, to remind him how much of a jerk Sherlock really was. Surely that wasn't going to be difficult. John sat in his seat and looked over at his neighbor. Sherlock was sitting in his desk, hunching over a very thick book with a very concentrated look on his beautiful sculpted face.
"What are you reading?" John wondered, and Sherlock paused, glancing over at John very quickly with those startlingly green eyes.
"Nothing." He muttered, which obviously wasn't the truth.
"Nothing huh? Then what's that book you've got there?" John wondered.
"The how to guide for killing annoying little pests." Sherlock muttered. John smiled; this was going exactly the way he wanted it to. Sherlock wasn't charming; he was cruel, mean, insulting. Victor may find a way to be attracted to this jerk but obviously John couldn't.
"I don't think that book is thick enough, people may get the false impression that you're illiterate." John warned. Sherlock sighed heavily, looking away from his book and sitting up very tall, towering over John with a very supreme look to him.
"John, I ask you very politely to please leave me alone. I don't know why you find it so necessary to talk to me while I obviously don't want to communicate, but I don't want to cause any trouble." Sherlock muttered, going back to his book without another word. John glanced at his neck, not noticing any sort of distinguishing bruises that Mycroft claimed to have seen.
"How's your neck doing?" John wondered. Sherlock shoved a bookmark into his book and snapped it shut, turning in his chair so that he could face John once more, a fire in his eyes that John just loved to see.
"John, just please, for once, shut your incompetent little mouth and rid this world of your horrible screeching voice. Your opinions don't matter to me, your questions are nothing but a burden and your presence is simply a waste of precious oxygen! So do the entire world a favor and just shut up!" Sherlock exclaimed. John just smiled at him, feeling once more that familiar feeling of hatred aimed at this boy. There we go, right back to normal.
"As you wish." John muttered, smiling to himself as he sat back in his seat and waited for the lesson to begin. Meanwhile Sherlock went back to his book, one of his toes tapping in irritation underneath the desk. That was the Sherlock that John wanted to see, the jerk, the absolute human disaster. It was the Sherlock he knew and hated, the one who was surely going to knock him back into reality.