Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Ten - Wonderwall

Sherlock

When John got on the bus, he handed Sherlock five comics, as usual, then sat back in his seat, smelling faintly of sweat and body odor. Sherlock wrinkled his nose and looked away, taking the books.

Clothes are ruffled in the front, and folded in the back, as if he'd been laying on a hard surface all night. I can see a knot in his neck, as if he'd been twisted into an uncomfortable position, and what looks like mascara on his chest. He smells faintly of... of lavender, opposed to his usually vanilla-y scent. Sister wears makeup, and lavender perfume. He's sitting on the floor, curled into her arms. She's crying. Why is she crying?

"Why was your sister crying last night?" Sherlock asked gingerly, finding the words to be slightly harder to say than usual. "And why were you sleeping on the floor?"

John looked over, slowly, and blinked for a few seconds, angry awe painted on his face. "What?" he asked, in shock.

"I said," Sherlock reiterated, "Why were you and your sister crying last night?"

"What - how would you know that?" John said, adjusting his body so that he was facing Sherlock and Sherlock alone. He didn't look too good either, circles prominent under his eyes.

"I don't know," Sherlock scoffed. "I deduce."

"What?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, and began.

"Your clothes are ruffled in the front, and flattened in the back, as if you've been laying on a hard surface all night. I can see a knot in your neck, right below your ear. It hurts, doesn't it? It's as if you've been twisted into an uncomfortable position, and there is what looks like a fair amount of mascara on your chest. Your mother doesn't wear makeup, she's too homely. I can tell that she is because you're your mother's boy, indicated by the bracelet around your wrist that smells like..." Sherlock sniffed John. "Like vanilla. Your mother made that, as your sister is into more exotic scents, and plus, why would she make something if she could just purchase it? Selfish, she is, as is every teenager on this god forsaken planet. You smell strongly of... of lavender, opposed to your usually vanilla-y scent, so it's likely your sister had been hugging you all night. Maybe you slept with her on the floor. No, don't look at me like that. Though, I suppose it is possible..."

John blinked, not even attempting to get a word in edgewise.

"Your sister wears makeup, and it's soaked into your sweater, which smells as if you've worn it thrice this week. To recap, you've been sitting on the floor, curled into her arms, as she cries. Now, the question remains, why is she crying?"

John smiled slightly, still shocked, almost absent from himself. "Damn," he said once, ignoring Sherlock's question.

"Don't feel obligated to tell me how fantastic that was."

"Oh, believe me, I won't."

"But tell me."

"What?"

"Why she's crying."

John scratched his head, and then his scruffy chin, which was beginning to grow in a five o'clock shadow. "Um. Because she... she sprained her knee."

"Oh, don't lie to me. We both know that's not quite-"

"Don't ask, Sherlock," John huffed as he reached inside his backpack, ruffling papers and searching intensely. "Oh," he said happily. "Here." He took out a CD titled, "British Pop and Oasis."

Sherlock took it from him, not daring to look up. He didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes when he had to hand it back. "Thank you..." Sherlock said quietly (that was a first), "but I can't."