I Know Your Face

The Flaw In the Master Plan

It took another ten minutes for his mother to arrive, looking very annoyed as she sauntered into the nurse's office in a pants suit. She lacked the energy that Mrs. Holmes had, or the class that Mycroft took with him anywhere he went, but still she wore a relieved smile when she saw her son alive and well in the bed.
"Fight club in the school hallways I see?" she wondered with a laugh, walking over and ruffling John's hair a little bit.
"Nah, I'm fine. Just had to interfere." John admitted, not wanting to go into a lot of detail. It was annoying when she thought he was noble, and he was ever called mommy's little hero he might just beat himself up.
"You saved someone?" she wondered, looking astonished. John groaned, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes painfully. He would much rather have Sherlock's parents in here, where Sherlock was the one humiliated instead of him.
"Well, ya, I mean, saved is sort of a strong word." John muttered humbly, repositioning himself once more with that horrible noise. Mrs. Watson just looked at him proudly, as if knowing he was hiding some certain details.
"Come on, who was it? Someone special I imagine, you took quite a hit." She observed, touching the bruise on his face and making John wince. Obviously that was to prove a point, but John wasn't sure what the point was.
"It was only Sherlock." John muttered, and Mrs. Watson couldn't help but let out a little laugh of surprise.
"Sherlock?The kid that ratted you out in math class? You saved him?" she asked, looking completely perplexed. John blushed a little bit, knowing that this whole thing was going to get out and he'd sound like a crazy person. Why would John Watson ever help Sherlock Holmes? They were nemesis, enemies; the difference in social status was outrageous. Why would he even care? Obviously John was going to have to create some sort of cover story, something to make sure no one got to the truth.
"I mean, he was getting beat up, what was I supposed to do?" John muttered.
"Help them." Mrs. Watson suggested, snorting with immature laughter. John couldn't help but laugh along with her, shaking his head doubtfully.
"No I don't think that would go over well." John decided with a smile.
"Oh well, we can argue our moral values later, let's get you home so you can sleep in a proper bed." she decided, looking for the nurse so that she could check him out properly.
"Ya, this wax paper is just annoying." John agreed, crawling to his feet and steadying himself on the chair as the world spun in a spiral of obnoxious white. 

  It wasn't hard avoiding Sherlock the next couple of days, at least, as Victor. Of course they still wrote letters back and forth, but they both agreed that they should keep their distance for a little while, at least in public. John had no idea what Sherlock's motivation could be, obviously he wasn't embarrassed of their relationship, he wouldn't bother to keep it private. John suspected that he was secretly ashamed of the large cut he had above his eyebrow, it was large and red and nasty looking. He kept a bandage over top of it during school hours, but John had the misfortune of seeing the thing first hand while Sherlock changed his bandage during math class. Moran and Moriarty had really left their mark on the two of them, and it wasn't long before the story leaked out. It was highly exaggerated, of course. John heard versions where he had knocked Moran out before taking a blow to the face, he heard versions where Sherlock was on the brink of death and the ambulance had come. The most ridiculous version, however, was where he supposedly defeated Moran and scooped up his tears in a large mug and drank them with a straw. But he didn't watch his straw as he started to drink, poked himself in the eye, and got a horrible black eye. Something told John that these high schoolers were watching a little bit too many cartoons. Nevertheless these stories were enough to make the two of them famous, everyone was asking for a first hand version, they were congratulating him and all of that, and this black eye became that of legend. Moran and Moriarty had both been suspended with weeks' worth's of detention, and John was quite sure they wouldn't be bothering anyone again. No one really knew why they did it, and John suspected they had other motives besides just finding out Victor's name. Maybe they were just jealous of Sherlock's love, or his pride. Maybe they were jealous because they would never be brave enough to come out like that. Nevertheless it was worth it, and all in all John and Sherlock became closer. It seemed that John's sacrifice was worth it when Sherlock first smiled at him in the hallways, a small little grin that produced a lot of blushing from both parties, but still it left John glowing for the rest of the day. It seemed that Sherlock not only trusted him but liked him as well. John could go over to his desk in history and they would have a semi awkward conversation about whatever they wanted, mostly small talk, John would ask how Victor was doing and Sherlock would ask how soccer was going, and they would chat until the teacher called for silence. It was a very awkward, very uncomfortable friendship, given that it was born on tragedy, but it was worth it. Sherlock seemed to appreciate him in a way John could never have imagined, one punch was all it took to create a lasting friendship. And God, it was so worth it. Not only was John's terrible unreturned love life going places, but his soccer team was as well. They had won all of their preliminary games, made it through the semifinals, and finally the day of the finals was upon them. If they won this game they won the whole tournament, they won the league. They got a trophy and a great big honor for being the best soccer team in their area. This had been John's dream since he started playing, going through all of his years in high school. But this was his last year; this was the year that made all of the difference because he could never try again. It was now or never, and as the game approached rapidly he started to get more and more nervous. What if he messed it up? What if, somehow, their loss was on him, and he had to live forever knowing that he had let everyone down? As the day got closer the hype got bigger, and soon it was all anyone could ever talk about, the big game they called it, and he was questioned nearly every class period about how he thought it was going to go. It was terrifying, really, and the day before the match everyone was already making plans to go out and support the team, wearing their colors and all of that. It was before history class, the teacher was still wrestling with the projector and the class was having a very loud conversation about who would be driving who. John was sitting in his seat, trying to ignore the butterflies making a large tornado in his stomach, and decided that he might as well distract himself with more beautiful things worthy of his time. Even though staring at his desk was a lot of fun, it would be a lot better if he were staring at Sherlock. He walked to the back of the classroom nervously, wondering if today was going to be the day when Sherlock ignored him or cast him away. But as soon as Sherlock saw him approaching he smiled rather timidly, tucking a piece of notebook paper out of sight.