Teenlock Chapter 1

"John? Who are you staring at?" Sophie asked. John blinked and looked to his friend. 

"What?" He said stupidly. 

"John," Sophie laughed, "you've been staring at someone for the last five minutes. Now who is it?" Sophie smiled and scooted closer to John. The two friends were out in the courtyard of their high school during lunch. Almost their entire class was milling around in the grass or around the school. John's eyes glided away from Sophie's and back to the person in question. 

"There are at least five people I think you're staring at, John. Help me narrow it down here!" Sophie poked John's shoulder lightly and took a bite of her sandwich. 

"He's in our grade."

"He? And an eleventh grader.. That leaves two. But, he?" Sophie bit her sandwich again and John bit the inside of his lip. 

"Yeah.." He sighed. Well, at least it was Sophie. 

"Remind me to talk to you about that later. And please tell me it isn't that boy with the black curls," Sophie practically begged and John turned to look at her.

"Why not?"

"He sits next to us in a few classes remember? You hear it when he talks, don't you?"

"I hear him."

"But do you listen? Like, to what he says. Not his voice," Sophie giggled and John glared at her. 

"I do... Sometimes," John blushed a little and kept watching the boy. The boy John was watching was sitting under a shaded tree with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his back was pressed against the trunk. He had his long, elegant fingers bridged under his chin in an almost of a prayer position and his eyes were closed. John knew he was thinking; it was usually the pose he took to when he was.

"Well, he's a little prick," Sophie broke John's thoughts with her nasty comment. 

"What?" 

"Listen next time, he corrects everyone and is very nasty about it," Sophie took a bite of her sandwich and glared at the boy. "What's his name?" Sophie asked when John didn't answer after a while. 

"You don't know?"

"Oh, I know. But do you?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I?" John took a gulp of his water and glared at Sophie. 

"I don't know. So, what is it?"

"Sherlock."

John sat in biology class and attempted to pay closer attention to Sherlock. Sherlock sat next to John in the class and because of the way the desks were set up, the two of them were partners. John didn't mind it but since they were doing a lab that day, he was wary. It was the first lab of the semester and John couldn't help but feel excited and nervous at the same time.

They were going to be dissecting but the teacher hadn't told them what exactly. Well, why not ask Sherlock what he thought?

"What do you think we'll be disect-"

"Pigs."

"What?" 

"You heard me," Sherlock didn't even look at John as be scribbled notes in his book. John felt wounded. So this is what Sophie meant when she said he was prick, he thought warily.

"And how do you know that? She hasn't even told us," John prodded. 

"Because, I mean look at her," Sherlock sighed as he kept writing.

"You're not even looking at her."

"So? Just watch. She has that smug little look on her face because she knows that half the class is vegan and will flip. Her eyes keep flicking to the closet over there were they are and under her nails are small parts of pink skin, too pink to be human. She absolutely reeks of formalin and alcohol rub so the animal must be big. She is wearing too much perfume for today and is trying to hide the smell and underlying odor of pig. Now, does that explain it?" Sherlock glanced at John from under his curls and John stuttered.

"And you got all of that from looking at her?"

"When I first walked in."

"Amazing," John breathed and Sherlock's head jerked up and he stared at John. 

"What?" There was clear shock in his eyes. 

"I- I said amazing," John bit his lip as a very small smile tugged up at the corners of Sherlock's lips. 

"No one has ever said that before."

"What do they usually say?"

"'Piss off'," Sherlock smiled a little more and it made John smile back and laugh. 

"You annoy people that much?" John couldn't help but laugh and he could feel the eyes of other students on them.

"Hm. No one has told you?"

"No, my friend has. Just didn't believe it," John tried to calm his laughter. 

"You've been siting next to me in three classes for almost an entire semester and you have never heard me say anything like that before?" Sherlock kept the little smile on his face. 

"Well, I guess it just didn't click in my head," John admitted and Sherlock suddenly jerked his head to watch the teacher. 

"Shh, she's going to tell us. Watch, I'm right," An excited gleam shone bright in Sherlock's eyes. His bright... Beautiful blue eyes... John shook his head. He had to stop thinking like that so he turned his attention to the teacher.

"As you know class," she began, "We will be dissecting today. Does anyone know what it will be?" She smirked and the class yelled out different answers and John kicked Sherlock as he began to speak. "Don't say anything," John whispered and Sherlock actually listened. The teacher continued to hear the students answers and John let himself look at Sophie who was a few rows across from him. Sophie was watching him with an amused smug look and John stuck his tongue out at her. She just laughed. 

"And..." Sherlock leaned forward in anticipation and John turned his attention back to him. This was probably the most they'd ever talked, John realized and he liked it. 

"All very good guesses but all wrong. Anyone want to take another guess?" John kicked Sherlock under the table again, "No? Ok! Today's dissection will be... A pig!" She clapped her hands together and Sherlock leaned back with a smirk. Some girls in the class screamed and some yelled that they were vegans and would refuse to dissect one of their pig friends. John stared at Sherlock again.

"You were right. But, how?" John shook his head. 

"I just looked at her. It seems as if you look, John, but don't see," Sherlock said and John realized that if he didn't think about too hard, it'd make sense. The teacher passed out the pigs strapped down to their own silver plates and a set of instruments to each pair of partners. Sherlock took the instruments before John could. "You could just write if you want," Sherlock suggested but John took the instruments from Sherlock. "No, you can write. I want to dissect, actually," John felt his cheeks slowly grow warm and turned to the pig. He slid on the latex gloves the teacher also gave them and, without listening to the teacher's instructions, cut a smooth and even line down the pig's stomach. He then cut the line up on its chest in two directions so the cut looked like a Y. Sherlock just stared.

"What?" John said as he put the knife down and looked at Sherlock. 

"That was perfect. And you didn't even listen to the teacher," Sherlock's brows furrowed. "What? Can't read me?" John smirked and Sherlock shook his head. 

"You read medical books and watch any show about it you can on the telly. But, no one in your family is a doctor," Sherlock watched John to see if he was right. 

"You're right. I want to be in the military."

"A military doctor? That'll put you in some danger," Sherlock mused as John opened the pig. Sherlock picked up his notebook and pen and began to scribble notes into it about the pig, the teacher completely forgotten.

"I'll be fine," John muttered as he began to poke around in the pig and told Sherlock what to write down. Within twenty minutes, they were done with their assignment. "Should we turn it in?" John asked and Sherlock shook his head. "Why don't I help you?" Sherlock leaned over the pig, very close to John and grabbed one of the pig's legs. 

"With wha-" John began but cut off at the sound of Sherlock breaking the pig's leg. A couple girls around them cried out at them but they paid no attention. 

"I made sure it wasn't a clean break. Set it," Sherlock leaned back and let John look at the break. He furrowed his brows and glared at Sherlock. It sure was a messy break, the bone even stuck out of the skin. John twitched his lips and went to the teacher to get some gauze and returned.

He then looked at the bone and set to work. But, much to his annoyance, felt Sherlock's eyes on him the entire time. When he finally finished, he turned to Sherlock.

"There," John said happily and wiped his arm across his forehead to get rid of the sweat. 

"Good job," Sherlock smiled and John smiled back. 

"So, we have at least thirty minutes left. What should we do?" John couldn't believe he and Sherlock were talking this much. They had sat next to each other in three classes for almost an entire semester and they had barely even said 'hello'. 

"Not sure. Do you have any thread? Or a needle?" 

"No, and I doubt the teacher does. I'm not going to sew the pig back up," John rolled his eyes and watched the clock. Only two more classes to go and they just so happened to be with Sherlock. "Oh come on. It'd be fun," Sherlock picked up the knife and poked the pig. John sighed and took the knife from him. He then opened his notebook and began writing his own version of the notes. He worked slow, now afraid of talking to Sherlock and worked out a plan in his mind to slip away the moment the bell rant and hurry to tell Sophie everything. It took John about ten minutes to decipher Sherlock's scribble and another five on top of that to realize he was still wearing the gloves. John felt his face get warm as he removed them and slapped them down on the table.

"I have some books," Sherlock finally said after a few more minutes if silence. 

"What?""I have some medical books if you want them," Sherlock began to pack up as the class was almost over. 

"Oh, really? You don't mind?" "No. Here. Come by today," Sherlock handed John a folded up piece of paper and pressed it into John's hand. 

"Oh, uhm-" John stuttered but before he could say anything else, the bell rang and Sherlock hurried away. John sat there in pure shock.

"What was that?" Sophie cried as she ran over to John's table. 

"I don't know..." "I told you he was a prick."

"He's not that bad," John gathered up all his books and walked side by side with Sophie. "Going to have fun in English?" Sophie nudged John playfully as they stood in the hallway, talking before they parted ways. 

"What's that in your hand?" Sophie finally noticed the small piece of folded up paper. 

"Oh, uhm," John unfolded the paper. It was Sherlock's obvious scribble that looked like a phone number and an address.

"No way," Sophie gasped as she took the paper from him.

"I guess so," John took the paper back and stuffed it into his jean pocket. 

"Well, to to class. I heard the teacher isn't here so it's a free period for me. You?"

"Same here, text ya later," Sophie hugged John and turned down the hall as John opened the door to his class and walked in. Low and behold , Sherlock was there in his seat. Right next to John's. Sherlock was doing something on his phone; one hand typing on his phone while the other drummed on the table. John sat next to him and watching Sherlock for a second. 

"What are you doing?" He finally asked and Sherlock sighed. 

"Just researching," he clicked his phone off and pocketed it. 

"For what class?"

"No class, just myself," Sherlock eyes the piece of paper John was still clutching in his hand. 

"Are you coming over?"

"What?"

"The paper."

"Oh," John realized he had been holding it. It was odd. He was finally able to talk to Sherlock and now he was going to his house. Or was he? John's eye brows furrowed as he began to think and Sherlock tapped his foot as he waited.

"John?" Sherlock tried to keep his voice from sounding too harsh but John could tell he was annoyed that he was taking a long time to answer. 

"Why not?"

A few hours later, John was trailing behind Sherlock and his brother, Mycroft, as they went home. Sherlock seems to have a very unique relationship with his brother, John thought as he watched Mycroft talk nonstop about school while Sherlock had his hands in his pant pockets and eyes turned up to watch the sky. His dark black curls fell into his eyes and showed the sharp contrast between them and his eye colour. John shook his head again. He had to stop himself before he thought about his cheekbones or his lips...

"John?" Mycroft's voice cut into John's thoughts. Mycroft was an odd character but John had only heard about him. Unlike Sherlock, John didn't have any classes with him but Sophie did. She said he was smart like Sherlock but didn't have the same sharp attitude and coldness to him. He did seem rather stiff but friendly, once he got taking. 

"What?"

"Your blushing. Are you getting too cold?" Mycroft watched John from next to Sherlock as they walked three across. Sherlock was in the middle. 

"What? Oh no, I'm fine," John shrugged and he could've sworn he saw Sherlock smirk. 

"What's with that look?" Mycroft glared at Sherlock. Apparently he hadn't been imagining it. 

"Hm? What look?" Sherlock's smirk grew a little and it seemed to infuriate Mycroft. But before Mycroft could say anything, Sherlock grabbed John's arm and started to run towards a house at the end of the street. It took John to realize two things. First, his feet were actually keeping up with Sherlock and second, he realized that the trio had been walking for almost an hour and he had just realized it. What had happened to me? John wondered as the answer hit him as quickly as he thought of the question. Sherlock. Sherlock had happened. 

"Sh- Sherlock?" John backed away, one hand reaching behind him to grab Sherlock. 

"Meet Skully. He won't bite," Sherlock replied from beside the bed. John didn't even know he moved but now he held an elegant violin in one hand and a bow in the other. 

"You play?" John asked and as a response, Sherlock rested the violin under his chin, closed his eyes and began to play. The song was sort of sad but mesmerizing. John wasn't sure what fascinates him more; Sherlock playing or how the music moved. It took John about a minute to be able to look away and check out the other wall. When he did, he froze. On the farthest wall was a map of London that took up it up entirely. On top of the map were newspaper clippings and pictures and sticky notes by the dozens.

"Sherlock? What is all this? Is, is that the swimming kid who died a few weeks ago?" John walked up to look at the picture of a healthy looking boy pinned up on the map. 

"Yes," Sherlock finished the song and whipped the now down. 

"Why is all this here?" John turned to look at Sherlock. He still had his eyes closed and violin resting on his chin.

"Something isn't right about it."

"Sherlock, the kid had an attack in the pool and he drowned," John sighed. 

"He was a healthy swimmer, John, doesn't that seem at least a little strange?" Sherlock glared. John looked away and watched the map again. 

"I guess," John mumbled under his breath. 

"Here are the books," Sherlock, once again, had moved silently to the bookshelf and was pulling three good sized books from the shelf. At first, John just stared at them with a little but of fear and then interest. He took the books from Sherlock and went to go sit on the edge of the bed. Sherlock let him sit and John could feel his eyes on him. 

"These are really good books, where did you get them?" John out two of the three books next to him on the bed and held the other in his lap.

"Bought them."

"They're college books."

"And?" Sherlock raised one eyebrow and John rolled his eyes. "Nevermind," John opened the book and began flipping through it. Sherlock raised his now again and began to play. The song was the same and John was growing very fond of it. Before John could finish the first two chapters of the book, the bell downstairs rolled five times. 

"What?" John jerked his head out of the book and stared at Sherlock's door, as if he could see the clock downstairs through it.

"It's five," Sherlock let his arm dangle down by his side with the bow in it.

"Yeah I know that but honestly, I've been here an hour?" 

"Yes," John turned to Sherlock and his breath caught in his throat.

A thin layer of sweat covered Sherlock's forehead and his chest rose and fell a little bit too fast. "Have you been playing this entire time?" John eyed the violin still perched under Sherlock's chin.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Sherlock sounded tired and John just looked down. He felt bad that Sherlock had been playing for so long but really couldn't do anything about it. Before he could at least try to say something, his phone buzzed. John jumped and reached into his back pocket. 

"Oh crap..." John sighed. It was his sister, Harry. 

'Where are you??' the message said and John bit his lip.

'At a friend's house.'

'Sophie??'

'Be home soon,' John clicked his phone closed and sighed. At least he wasn't lying to her but he was sure going to get it when he got home. 

"I should go, Harry's wondering where I am," John stood up and left the books on the bed.

"You can take one. Just promise to come back to get the others," Sherlock watched his violin on his shoulder. 

"When?"

"Just, come by tomorrow," Sherlock sighed and John stared. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes," Sherlock set his violin down. John was slightly confused but held the book tightly to his chest and followed Sherlock out the door. Even though they were going slow his time, John still didn't look around and watched Sherlock's heels. They didn't see anyone as they walked and when they got to the door, Sherlock turned to John. 

"Thanks for letting me stay," John said.

For almost the first time, John realized he was almost a head shorter than Sherlock.

"Of course," Sherlock's voice seemed tense. 

"Are you ok?" 

"Fine. Do you know how to get home?"

"The tube is only half a mile north of here, right?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll be fine. Thanks again," John said as he started for the door. He got one foot out before Sherlock leaned close and pecked him on the cheek.