I Know Your Face

The Most Beautiful Smile Returns

    When their wax paper wrappers were all balled up in front of them and their coffees drained, crumbs spilled across the table and satisfied smiles on their faces, they finally got to their feet to leave. Greg cleaned up a little bit, throwing out their trash and wiping down the table with a napkin while John stretched out his legs a little bit on the edge of the booth. His calves were feeling rather tight for some reason, probably the recent soccer drills.
"Ready to go then?" Greg wondered. John nodded, following him out of the restaurant and back into he chilly, desolate morning. The town was starting to look more alive, some more windows were bright, some more cars passed, and the sun was starting to poke its way out of the dreary clouds hanging over the sky. The town was very odd in the morning, because dispute the perceived solitude you know that it will be swamped in a couple of hours, filled with shoppers and walkers and people mingling on the street corners. But for now, all was still.
"So I guess I'll see you around then?" Greg wondered, looking rather disappointed to leave.
"Ya, I guess so. Probably not until Monday though." John admitted with a regretful shrug. Greg nodded, glancing down the street and sighing heavily.
"Do you want a ride home?" John wondered, remembering that Greg still didn't have his license for some reason.
"Nah, I'm good, it's not too far, and it's peaceful." Greg said with a shrug.
"Alrighty then, bye." John decided, giving Greg one last smile before getting into the driver seat of his horrible, beat up car. It was probably one of the things he loved most, however, right up there with soccer and Sherlock Holmes. He loved his car and the freedom it gave him. So he drove off, leaving Greg to walk back to his house quietly, and sped down the road. He was almost tempted to drive around to see Sherlock, but then again he had no idea where he lived and no idea what he was going to do once he found out, so instead he headed home, certain that he had a very boring, Sherlockless weekend ahead. 

    John had been correct in his assumptions about his terrible weekend; he hadn't seen a trace of Sherlock Holmes since they had parted ways Friday night. In fact, Sherlock's name didn't even come up once after his conversation with Greg, and so by the time Monday morning came John was only too anxious to get to school. John had many notes accumulating in his notebook, some he was going to give to Mary to deliver and some that he would deliver himself. He decided that it was worth the risk now, knowing that Mary surely read the notes before she delivered them. Some of the letters he wanted to keep secret, not because they were explicit or anything, just because he wasn't so sure he wanted Mary to know just how deep his emotions went. These letters were supposed to be loving, he knew that, but these feelings that he poured down onto this paper, well, they were real. And even though that may not be completely evident when you read them, John knew the truth, and he didn't necessarily want Mary to suspect. He was most looking forward to history and math, the two classes he had the pleasure of sharing with Sherlock. English, of course, was miserable. Mary read John's letters and laughed at them, talking about how happy Sherlock was most certainly going to be and how they were going to break his heart into smithereens. John just nodded, ignoring most of what she was saying and wondering if this was the reason his heart had wandered off to someone so soft and so pure. Mary was evil, he saw that now, she was cruel and ruthless and in the end she only cared about herself. And John had been forcing himself to love this abomination purely for her looks, for around two years now John pretended to love her as a person but now that he had exposed to what true beauty was, paired with the most peaceful and loving of personalities, well, it really was no contest. His heart was aching so badly for a good person to love, someone deserving of his love, that the moment he was finally able to write to Sherlock Holmes the world had been tipped in front of him, and suddenly he saw things so much clearer. And to think that a year ago John had considered marrying Mary when he got older! It was disgusting, really, to think about a life spent with this witch. Laughing at another boy's pain, a beautiful boy, what was so amusing about that? And yet, John had shared the same mindset what felt like so long ago. He had once laughed at the idea of Sherlock's tears.
"So, this is it then? Drop it off?" Mary wondered, looking up from just one of the numerous letters doubtfully. John looked at her with a frown, wondering why she seemed so dissatisfied. That had been the first he wrote, the one he wrote as soon as he returned, shouldn't that be enough to convince her that it was alone?
"Well, ya, that's all. What more do you expect, a picture?" John wondered with a sort of guilty laugh.
"I thought it would be a lot sappier, that's all. More 'I love you so much it makes me feel like I'm a cloud dancing with rainbows and unicorns doing the Macarena' or something like that." Mary said with a shrug.
"I've never written to him like that." John snapped, and Mary just laughed knowingly.
"Oh John, poor, ignorant John. You might as well be carving your heart out and sending it to him in a box, those past letters were so much better than this." Mary insisted.
"Well, sorry, that was a follow up, I was still kind of in the mood of real life talking. The next one will be better, I promise." John insisted. Mary sighed, but nodded, pocketing the letter and shrugging.
"Alright then, well, I hope he's satisfied." She decided.
"What's wrong with it?" John asked defensively. Mary just laughed, shaking her head reassuringly.
"It's fine John, whatever, just go back to your seat Romeo." She insisted, shooing him off as their lesson was about to begin. John just sighed, but slouched back to his seat, wondering what on earth could be wrong with his letter. Hopefully Sherlock didn't see it as disappointing as Mary did, what if he took that as a sign that John was no longer interested? Or Victor, sorry, Victor was no longer interested. But no, he knew what he wrote; he knew that it was adequate. Mary was just being jealous, or something, she was just being difficult. As the clock started to count down the last couple of minutes until the bell rang John was practically shaking with excitement, eh was going to see Sherlock in seven minutes. Six. He listened to the teacher talk about a little bit, idly listening to pass the time. Four minutes. John was on the edge of the seat, the homework was being passed out, he stuffed it into his folder. Two minutes. He got to his feet, Mary meeting him by the door. One more minutes until he could see Sherlock. John smiled at Mary but didn't say anything, and when the bell finally rang he was the first out the door, pushing it open with all of his weight and exploding down the hallway to his locker. Mary couldn't even catch up, she just stayed behind like the annoyed girlfriend she was and watched as he took off, but he couldn't be bothered with what she thought. Maybe he'd get off easy and she'd decide that this was an inexcusable action and she would be the one to break up with him. It would be lovely if she could save him the trouble, but honestly there was nothing John can do about his relationship status. If he broke up with her now it would be ever so obvious why he was doing it, she'd know that he was in love with Sherlock and ruin his life in the process. No, he had to just keep going with both of his relationships, his real and his fake one (and those labels now applied to both), and wait until drastic times arrive. Then he can take the appropriate drastic measures. John was in history before most of the other kids, his toes tapping anxiously as he watched the door. He tried to make it look as if he weren't waiting for someone, he tried to busy himself on his laptop or something, but every time the door opened he had to look up in hopeful anticipation, bursting with excitement to see Sherlock again. He knew that when the boy did arrive he shouldn't say anything; Sherlock had no idea that he had actually spent a romantic night in the park with John rather than Victor, and he definitely wouldn't be as keen to see John as John was to see him. It was actually rather depressing to know that Sherlock saw John as his bully and not as his friend, and now John wanted to change that. Maybe a simple smile will do. When the door finally opened to let that beautiful boy through John lost all sense in his body, he could only stare in awe. Sherlock was looking as beautiful as ever, with a white shirt poking out from underneath his black jacket, he looked wonderful. The thing was, however, that there was something obviously different. Yes he was wearing the same basic outfit he did every day, his hair was the same, his face, aura, and glow were all perfectly intact. But he looked happy, and that alone made Sherlock Holmes look even more beautiful. There was a small smile on his face, a small skip in his step, and a piece of notebook paper clenched lovingly in his gentle fingers. When he passed John forced a smile, but Sherlock was so excited to get to his own seat that he didn't notice. Maybe that was for the best, maybe John shouldn't make it so terribly obvious that he was trying to be friendly only two days after Sherlock had mentioned it to Victor. He would get suspicious, obviously. But John just couldn't sit back and watch as Sherlock loathed him, he had to do something. Thankfully once the class started up the teacher said that they could work on their slides, something about talking about ancient civilizations, John really wasn't listening. He was just excited to get over to Sherlock's seat, and when he finally sat down he saw that Sherlock was bending over a letter, reading it under the security of his desk with an intoxicating smile on his face.
"Hey Sherlock, what are you reading?" John wondered nonchalantly, hoping he could get another look at the letter he had written only three nights previous. Sherlock straightened up in horror, tucking the paper desperately into his pocket and looking at John with a growl, the smile disappearing right off of his face into a scowl.
"None of your business." He snapped. John just rolled his eyes, opening up his laptop and waiting for the teacher to begin.
"Math notes or love notes? Or, in your eyes, both." John teased, knowing exactly what Sherlock was reading but just playing it off as if he didn't.
"None of your business." Sherlock repeated, glowing a little bit red.
"If you don't want to tell me that's fine." John assured, looking away and feeling like that was a rather friendly approach. He wasn't being too pushy, that was what friends did, right? Respected each other's privacy? Then again, he was always going through Greg's bags and phone and trying to press him to tell him everything about his life, but then again Greg and John shouldn't count as a normal friendship. They were honestly more like brothers. Sherlock and John, well, they weren't even friends. In Sherlock's eyes they were enemies, in John's eyes they were in a relationship, but neither was supposed to know the other's opinion. It was very complicated, but John just played it by year, trying to at least rise in Sherlock's social ranks to casual acquaintance. That would be rewarding on its own. Sherlock was silent the rest of the class period, uncharacteristically silent actually. He just kept staring blankly at his laptop screen; sometimes he wouldn't even take notes. But there was a small smile on his face, paired with that glassy look in his eyes, and John knew exactly what, or more accurately who, was on his mind.
"What's got you so happy?" John wondered as they were packing up their things, treasuring the last good look he'd have of Sherlock before they went their separate ways. Sherlock looked a bit scandalized, as if John were literally asking him every detail of his private life. He just frowned, stuffing his laptop into his bag and not answering for amusement.
"I'm not happy, why would you say that?" he wondered, just as John was about to turn away.
"You just seem it. I've never seen you smile properly before." John decided.
"I'm not smiling at you." Sherlock snapped, looking confused as to why John was bothering to talk to him.
"Well, no, but it's still rather flattering. You've never smiled at me before." John pointed out. Maybe this was getting too obvious, retreat, retreat! John turned on his heel, deciding that he was ending this conversation whether Sherlock liked it or not.
"That's because you never give me a reason to." Sherlock called back at him as John walked nervously away, his cheeks blushing madly. He most certainly had a reason, Sherlock had smiled at him, laughed with him, he even kissed him on the forehead! How didn't Sherlock recognize the forehead he had kissed just three nights before?  The bell finally rang, and John was rather hesitant to leave, even though he would be seeing Sherlock very soon. When he returned to his locker he saw Mary, Greg, and a new face, Molly Hooper, sitting there waiting for him. Molly and Greg were chatting away with large smiles on their faces, their hands interlocked with love in their eyes. Mary was simply leaning against John's locker and casting the new couple rather nasty looks, as if she were either jealous of their new attraction or disgusted by their PDA.