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Honestly, he just sat here because he had to. Since he already knew the last bit of his study book, there really was no reason for him to sit here and suffer under the boring voice of Professor – what was her name again? Well, it didn’t matter anyway.
Okay, to be honest, there was one reason he was willing to suffer this torture voluntary.
His gaze shifted through the slowly filling room, not yet spotting his reason. Most of the people weren’t worth his attention, sipping their Starbucks coffee and scrolling through their phone, waiting for the lecture to start.
Without much else to do, Sherlock put his head in his hand and started thinking, trying to distract himself from this boredom.
It was almost the end of his first semester, exams approaching rapidly. Of course, he wouldn’t have to worry about that kind of stuff, not like others would. He already knew everything of this topic, being the undisputed best of his class. There was one person as close as it can get behind him. Would John have to worry about learning? He seems like the person who studies much, trying to be one of the top three. Sherlock would be more than willing to help him remaining his second place.
They would have to sit close besides each other, bend over one book, because Sherlock “forgot” his at his dorm. Here and there accidentally touching because John writes with his left hand, unlike Sherlock. The closeness and touches would get distracting after some time and instead of learning they would-
A soft blush spread across his face. He really shouldn’t think about something like that in a place like this. A little annoyed because of it he closed his eyes for a moment to recollect himself.
No, John surely wouldn’t need help, and even if he did, he would not ask Sherlock. Why should he? They haven’t even talked to each other. John probably didn’t even know his name.
A clearing of a throat beside him let him snap his eyes open to see who wanted his attention, only to have them widen just a fraction in surprise.
Before him stood John. John Watson, with damp hair and a flush on his face, wearing one of his probably favourite jumpers – Sherlock liked it too, if he had to admit. He still wore his soaked coat. If Sherlock listened closely, he could hear the other one breathing slightly heavier than normally.
Odd, John never arrived this late. He’s always one of the first to sit, always choosing a seat in one of the first three rows. Sherlock would never admit that John was the reason why he also would be this early in here.
Focusing on John’s face again, his gaze met him. Dear God, John got such warm and beautiful eyes. In a questioning gesture he pulled an eyebrow up. He didn’t trust his voice to actually function as it should right now, still a little shocked that his – no, John stood before him, wanting his attention.
“Is this seat free? There are no others available anymore.”
Letting his eyes scan the room again Sherlock saw that the first front rows were all full, while the back was only half filled. So there was plenty of seats left, but since he knew where John always sat, he got why the man said that there were no seats free anymore. The one besides Sherlock was the closest to the front as he could get.
Sherlock tad taken a breath before he answered: “It is, please, take a seat.”
“Thanks, mate.” Relieved the other sat down, pulling his book and notebook out.
They didn’t talk after this little conversation and just a minute later the lecture started. Which was actually good, because Sherlock – who always knew what to do – didn’t know what he should have said, if the other wanted to keep conversing with him.
As expected, Sherlock didn’t really pay any attention. At least not towards the professor.
Normally he’d just learn there on his own, using the class as an excuse to sometimes steal a look of John.
But instead of his normal routine, he paid very much attention to the professor, hyper aware of the man besides him and not wanting to admit he’s nervous, trying to distract himself.
At a certain point the professor wanted them to write something important down, so everyone – including himself, which was a premiere - started taking notes. Everyone but John, who now leaned over his desk and towards him, leaving little space between them.
“Sorry to bother you again,” he whispered, catching Sherlocks eyes with his. “But do you have a pen to spare?” A slight smile followed his request, probably wanting to cause sympathy and had Sherlock give him what he wanted.
He held the gaze for a second, then scanned the others desk, which had a book, a notebook and two pens on it. “You seem to have one?”
Why would he ask for one, if he already got two?
“Yeah, but they’re both empty.” The other fidgeted with the end of his sleeve.
Odd, Sherlock hadn’t thought that the other one would be a nervous person when asking for something this simple.
Several stares were on both of them, some irritated, some just looking why people were talking. One girl who sat in front of John started roaming in her pink pencil case, searching for the needed pen to lend it to John.
“Oh, well, sure,” he quickly answered, not wanting the girl to give her pen to John, so holding his own one out to him.
That staggering smile hit him again and made him speechless. “Thank you.”
A small blush crept towards his cheeks, so he turned his face back to the front as soon as John had received the pen, not wanting to make it even more obvious by turning too quickly.
To be honest, Sherlock was almost disappointed when their hands didn’t brush like in the cliché romantic movies he was forced to watch with Molly from time to time. Unconsciously he brushed over his hand which gave John the pen, tracing his own fingertips.
He wondered what the others hands would feel like.
Stealing a glimpse of those he concluded that they must feel.. good. John didn’t have such big hands or slender fingers as himself, but they looked rather strong. Just like the rest of him. And neat, which Sherlock could appreciate. A man that didn’t groom himself was just half a man in his opinion. Nobody wanted to shake a hand as dry as the Sahara and with bitten, brittle fingernails.
Focus, Sherlock scolded himself.
A deep breath later he was paying attention to the professor again. This time not letting himself get distracted. John didn’t need to see more than he already had.
~
When the lecture ended everyone was quick to their feet, wanting to leave the room as soon as possible, probably to get to the next class or to their dorm. It was still storming outside.
Having neither of these two reasons himself he let the professor talk to him, even let her praise him for finally paying attention. It seemed in the way she talked about and looked at him that he was one of her favourites, getting the average of the class higher as other classes.
Sherlock let himself be amused by her, he never disliked a little praise from time to time, since almost nobody ever did.
By the time she finished, he thought that John had already left.
But there he was, standing outside of the classroom, waiting for someone. It couldn’t be him. Or could it?
As soon as John had spotted him, he turned towards him, like a puppy wagging its tail. “Here, this is yours, thanks again.”
This time, their hands did touch.
And Sherlock was right, they did feel good. Warm, now that John didn’t just get from the cold autumn storm inside the building.
“No problem.” He really didn’t know what he should say. This came out of nowhere and he wasn’t used to talking to – God, he sounded like a hormone controlled teenager – his crush. At least he wasn’t blushing again.
“Your name is Sherlock, right? I’m John.” A small smile and kind blue eyes hit him hard when he met John’s look.
Opening and closing his mouth, not knowing what to say, Sherlock was sure he looked like a fish on land. What should he do?
Probably say something back, he advised himself. He didn’t want to look weird. Or more weird than he already did.
“Yeah, I’m Sherlock Holmes. Nice to meet you, John.”
John looked outside one of the big windows on the corridor side without classrooms. “Geez, it’s still pouring. We can’t go outside like this.”
We?
After years of watching cliché romantic movies with Molly, Sherlock recognized the situation. John was waiting for him to make a move. What should he do?
The other one didn’t seem like a person who would go straight to the library after class, plus saying that they can’t leave like this indicates that he wanted to go outside.
A little bit nervous he cleared his throat to catch John’s attention. This was his chance. He wasn’t prepared for anything like this but he also didn’t know when and if he would ever get a chance like this again.
Just play it cool, let him see that you’re interested.
His heart had skipped a beat before it went on at almost double the pace. “I have an umbrella with me. So we could go outside. Dinner?”
“Starving.” John’s smile seemed to be contagious.