Hooked (teenlock)

Chapter Seven

As I left for school the following morning, I found my heart to be beating shockingly fast. For some reason, I was nervous about seeing John. With ridiculously limited knowledge of relationships and human emotions, I felt trapped in my own mind and confused in countless senses.

Nevertheless, I was able to power through my first three classes. With lunch came more stress than I'd like to admit I felt over my ‘friend,' but I was still able to purchase my food and enter the library's bathroom in record time.

Lunch was nearly halfway over when John finally slipped in to join me, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. He took a seat across from me on the cold (and most likely completely filthy) tile floor, setting his tray in his lap.

He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Hello, Sherlock."

"Hello, John."

I could almost feel the discomfort in the air around us. (Of course, I'm aware that emotions cannot be felt as a breeze can. I'm not an idiot. It's figurative language.)

Finally, he spoke again. "Have you found anything else out on the murder case?"

I shrugged. "Not really."

He cleared his throat again after a few moments. I hoped he wasn't sick. "I could help you some more on it. If you wanted me to, of course."

Even after the events of the previous afternoon, he wanted to be around me? I was entirely perplexed by John's emotions. I, a man of studies, thoughts, and predictions, seemed to have fallen for the most capricious boy in all of London.

He had caught me completely off guard with the unexpected question. "No, no, that would be... Yes, I mean, of course you can... Please do. Yes."

John laughed quietly, and I felt us shift back into ourselves, rediscovering our friendship. "Is that your final answer?"

I chuckled, more amused than embarrassed. "Yes, it is. Please help me with this case."

The blonde shook his head, still laughing quietly. "It's funny how someone as brilliant as you struggles to find your words around someone as simple as-"

He was interrupted by a loud clang, as the door to the bathroom was flung open. The loud clatter made my ears ring temporarily, and I was distracted enough by this that I hardly noticed who had entered until he had taken a seat with us on the tile.

I cleared my throat, recovering. "You don't seem to have ever heard of knocking."

Finally taking a look at the boy, I realized that I'd seen him around before. He was one of the many boys who took a borderline-obsessive interest in making my life a living hell (and you can bet that he succeeded in doing so). What would he want with us? This was my safe place.

John glared at the visitor. "I know who you are. You're in my math class."

When the boy spoke, his voice was smooth and almost seductive, as though he was perpetually flirting with someone. His eyes were the kind of brown you can only find within the wrapper of a dark chocolate bar, but they weren't warm, tasteful, as chocolate was. Despite their charming color, they were fixed everlastingly into a cold stare. Did he ever blink? I couldn't know. But I definitely didn't like him.

The bully ran a hand over his overly-gelled mass of dark brown hair. "The name's Jim. You can call me Moriarty. Or not. I can't say that I really care at all what either of you think of me."

I laughed coolly. "That's not the best attitude to have when attempting to make friends."

Moriarty giggled. ('Giggle' is not a term I like to use, as I find it to be ridiculous and hyperbolic. However, when this new boy laughed, I could find no other term to sum it up as completely as 'giggle' does. It was high pitched, outlandish, and completely, horrifically annoying.) "I'm not here to make friends with you boys."