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They don’t attend the same classes.
John is a couple of years older, he’s in his last year, so he hasn’t many opportunities to see the other boy.
But even if they were peers, things probably wouldn't be very different, and not just because John is very busy with rugby training and the lessons.
The other boy is called Sherlock Holmes and many rumors go around at school about him, not at all flattering: Sherlock Holmes is asocial, unpleasant, arrogant with the professors and cruel to the students, of whom he doesn’t hesitate to expose secrets and misdeeds. Because of this, Sherlock Holmes has no friends, spends always the lunch break alone, sometimes skips lessons, having quarreled with the teachers because they are boring, and can be seen on the service stairs that lead to the roof, in the library (to a table just for him), or in a corner of the garden during the fair season.
At least, this is what is said at school.
John, however, has a different narrative. He doesn’t know why, but he is very fascinated by Sherlock (or maybe he knows why) and spends a lot of time observing him secretly: it’s true, Sherlock is unfriendly and rude, but other students provoke him and attack him first, and the secrets he exposes, well, they are always true. Many of them are simply envious, because Sherlock is the best student in the whole school, he knows more than the older students and even than some professors.
Then, they talk shit behind his back, call him names, pull obnoxious pranks on him, call him ugly.
This, John doesn’t understand.
In his eyes, Sherlock is the most beautiful student in the school, he has no rivals among boys or girls (John is aware that he’s bisexual and he’s perfectly fine with it, thank you very much): black curls, shining verdigris eyes, plump lips, a graceful body.
To John, Sherlock is so beautiful that he start sketching him everywhere.
It starts during a lunch break.
John is annoyed and bored: he just broke with his girlfriend, Jeanette, and she has convinced many mutual friends to be on her side, so John is sitting at a table alone, with no one to talk to.
Also Sherlock sits alone, as usual, at a table on the opposite side of the canteen.
John has a notebook on hand and starts drawing him. He is pretty good, thanks to his mother who is a seamstress and designs sketches for her customers, and who taught John the rudiments of the human figure.
Sherlock isn’t eating (he never eats much, which John finds really worrying) and the older boy draws him in profile, while he is intent on looking out the window.
From that moment, sketching Sherlock becomes a habit. His face is John's favorite subject, but he also his hands, or the whole figure.
The first times, John does it only when he can see him, so, unconsciously, he finds himself following him (he hopes it's not too creepy or weird), but later, he just has to close his eyes to see him, and he draws even during the lessons or while he’s on the train.
Sometimes his imagination runs free, and in his drawings, Sherlock becomes a comic book superhero, a sorcerer, a Victorian gentleman, a merman. He also sketched him as an otter, god knows why.
And the more he draws him, the more he is fascinated by him: he wonders what Sherlock thinks, behind his perfect composure and his harsh words, what are his dreams, what he want to do after school, if he ever wants to have a friend to talk to.
If he's ever been in love.
He would very much like to talk to Sherlock, to be able to touch him in the same way that he touches his drawings with the tip of his fingers.
Okay, this is weird.
Lovesick weird, probably.
It's pathetic, being secretly in love with a boy he never talked to, and who probably doesn't even know John exists.
But, as his lesbian sister always says, "You don't choose who to fall in love with, John. You simply can't."
However, these are all fantasies of his mind: Sherlock isn’t an easily approachable person and he doesn’t like the company of other people, so John won’t ever talk to him, let alone touch or kiss him. At the end of the year he will join the army and will not see Sherlock again.
The thought is so depressing that John tries to erase it from his mind.
It’s April Fools’.
John is not particularly fond of pranks, but he know he has nothing to worry about: he is the captain of the rugby team, the most robust and muscular boy in school, and no one would dare to pull a nasty prank on him: the consequences wouldn’t be pleasant.
He is about to reach the lockers, when he hears a small group of boys whispering and stops around the corner, peering cautiously.
They are Wilkes, Musgrave and Gregson, a fine trio of arseholes, who haven’t been kicked out of school just for their parents' donations.
It’s clear that they are planning a prank on someone, since they are talking about the broom closet, a camera, and a bucket of manure that Musgrave brought to school from his family's stables (c’mon, seriously? Are they in high school or kindergarten?)
"The main problem is convincing Holmes to follow us: that shit somehow always understands what you think."
It’s Gregson talking, and John unconsciously clenches his fists.
"We can drag him by force, he's so skinny that it's not a problem."
"Or you could go to your classroom, before I smash that bucket of manure on your heads!" John bellows, coming out from around the corner.
“Fuck you Watson, mind your business!” Wilkes spats.
“Well, this is my business.”
John walks to them, blocking the exit of the corridor: he will not move from there until the three change their mind about the prank.
"What do you have to do with that freaky faggot of Holmes?” Musgrave ask, his lips bent in a cruel smile, “don’t tell me that you… ARGH!”
He can’t complete the sentence, because John's fist hits him in the face, making him stagger backwards.
"What's wrong with you?" Wilkes screams. Gregson helps Musgrave get up; the boy dries the blood with the back of the hand and glare at John.
"I will make you pay for this, Watson."
"I'd like to see you try."
They are three and John is alone, but he doesn't care: he won't let those arseholes to touch Sherlock.
Musgrave pushes Wilkes towards Watson, but John knows what kind of coward he is: it’s enough for him to twist his arm to make him run away; at the same time he kicks Gregson in the groin, making him double in pain.
Musgrave jumps on John and the two roll on the floor, but John soon gets the better of him and blocks him on the ground with a knee on his back.
"If you only THINK about pulling a prank on Sherlock, I'll make you eat that manure. Have I been clear?"
"Yes, yes. Let me go, please!" Musgrave whines.
John gets up and the two run away.
"Dickheads," John grumbles, picking up the schoolbag that has slipped away, and running to his first class.
Only when he sits down, he realizes that the zip of the schoolbag is open and his precious notebook with the sketches is gone, and he panics: he probably lost it during the fight with Musgrave, and he must have it back.
He doesn't care what people think of him, seeing that he draws a boy, but Sherlock is already the victim of many people's hatred: if someone knew, things would get worse for him, and it would be John’s fault.
He can't allow it.
He gets up and asks the professor the permission to leave the classroom, saying that he doesn't feel well.
Seeing how pale he is, the professor lets him go out, and John runs to the lockers, praying that no one has found the notebook. He bends down and looks under the lockers, but there is nothing.
"Oh no, what am I going to do now?"
"Are you looking for this?" a surprisingly deep voice asks, and John jerks his head up.
Sherlock is sitting on the service stairs, intently leafing through his notebook.
"I... I..."
He really doesn't know what to say: Sherlock wasn't supposed to know his secret. John just wish to sink into hell and never re-emerge again, and he wonders if it’s possible for a human being to die of embarrassment.
"Sorry," he murmurs with a barely audible voice.
"Why do you apologize?" Sherlock frowns and tilts his head, as if he doesn't understand.
"Well, because it’s weird and a little stalkerish, to observe a person like this."
Sherlock shrugs: "I observe people all the time."
"Really?"
"Of course, that's how I deduce their secrets. Although, I admit, the purpose of this escapes me," he says, waving the notebook.
John sits cross-legged on the floor and sighs.
"It doesn't have a purpose exactly, I do it because..."
"Why?" Sherlock asks: he doesn't seem angry, just very, very intrigued.
"You are a very interesting subject to draw. Everything about you is particular, I have never meet someone like you."
"Then should you try to adhere more to reality."
Now it's John's turn to tilt his head: "What do you mean?"
Sherlock shows him a page where his face is drawn.
"You have drawn me much more beautiful than I am in your sketches. They are not likely."
"You're joking, right?"
"No. Why?"
John throws his arms in the air.
"Sherlock, I draw you like this because that’s what you are, you are beautiful!"
A new wave of embarrassment washes over him and John snaps his mouth shut.
Sherlock looks at him for a long time, blinking quickly, until John starts worrying about having "broken" him somehow.
"Do you think I am I beautiful?" Sherlock asks incredulously.
John gets up and raises his chin, assertive: well, if Sherlock wants the truth, he will have the truth.
Moreover it saddens him to think that Sherlock, due to the cruel words of the other students, doesn’t see himself beautiful.
"Yes, that's how I see you."
"Oh..." Sherlock blushes and bows his head.
"Sorry, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. If you want, I'll stop drawing you."
Sherlock rummages in his schoolbag, writes something on a notebook, then suddenly jumps up, and approaches John, entering directly into his personal space.
"As I told you, I observe everyone, but I don’t talk with drawings" Sherlock mumbles, pressing the notebook on John's chest, then he runs off.
“W-what?”
John should be back in the classroom, instead he sits where Sherlock was sitting a little while ago, he recovers his sketchbook and opens what Sherlock gave to him.
His mouth opens in a perfect "O" of surprise.
The notebook is full of notes, written in Sherlock's sharp and nervous handwriting, and are mostly about him, and the persons correlated to him.
The words "He is watching me" , open the notebook and they’re circled with a red pen; from there the deductions begin.
It's only right, John thinks, after all he has been watching Sherlock for months. He is surprised, though, because he didn't think he had caught the attention of such a peculiar boy.
At the beginning there are generic and objective observations, as if John were the subject of a study: height, weight, eye and hair color, muscle mass, academic performance, notes on his role in the rugby team, and deductions about his family (Sherlock guessed what his parents do for a live, but he thinks he has a brother instead of a sister).
The word "notebook" is repeated several times, surrounded by question marks: Sherlock soon realized that John was using it, but he couldn’t deduce why.
But, with the passage of time, the observations give way to something different, and it’s as if that notebook became a secret diary of Sherlock's thoughts on John:
"Monday, January 29th
Jeanette tried to get closer to him, proposing to go to a Halloween party together, but John refused. Right move, she betrayed him and wanted to be his girlfriend only because he is the captain of the rugby team."
John's lips twisted into a bitter smile: yes, he had understood that too in the end.
"Wednesday, February 7th
John is worried because Bill Murray (rugby team - left wing - see the notes on him) injured his ankle and he must replace him with someone else. He is pondering between two alternatives and has intensified the training of the team."
"Saturday, February 10th
John's team won. John gave all he had in him, and covered the flaws of the reserve he put in Murray's place. It’s the third win in a row, and the team is at top of the league. John seems very proud of it."
John smiles: he never noticed that Sherlock went to see the matches.
"Tuesday, March 5th
New haircut. It suits him, makes him seem more mature. Probably he must have grown one centimeter since the beginning of the school year, because his trousers give a glimpse of his socks now (the combination of colors is awful - note to self: find a way to burn all John’s socks and replace them with some decent ones)."
John bursts out laughing: in fact his mother always complains that he has little taste in clothing.
However he is more and more amazed that Sherlock has noticed so many small details of him: he hadn’t even realized he had grown up!
"Thursday, March 24th
In the afternoon the rain stopped and in the evening the sky is bright and clear again. Its blue reminds me of John's eyes."
"Oh wow..." John whispers, his heart suddenly beating harder.
He quickly arrives at the last page, the one where Sherlock wrote something before running away, and the message he finds makes him scream with joy, before remembering that he should be in class and that some professor might hear him.
"I think you’re beautiful, too. Lunch together today?"
During the lunch break, John immediately goes to the table where Sherlock sits alone, and hands him his notebook. He doesn't have to say anything, because Sherlock understands: he opens it and goes to the last page, where John added something under his question.
“Starving.”
Then, Sherlock does something that John has never seen him do in almost a year of school: his face lights up, his eyes become even brighter, and he smiles.
A wide and sincere smile, that is only for John and he thinks he wants to keep drawing that smile forever, as everything around them disappears: the gossiping students, the curious glances they throw at them, the canteen itself.
There are only John and Sherlock, and it’s the most precious moment of their lives.
John is aware that's he’s grinning like a fool, but he can’t help it. He sit down in front of Sherlock, who is still caressing John's “starving” on his notebook.
“Musgrave and his friends…” Sherlock mumbles.
So he deduced what happened. John is not surprised.
“You don’t have to worry about those tossers anymore.”
“What you… uhm… what you did… it was good,” Sherlock babbles; he’s blushing up to his ears, and John thinks he’s so beautiful right now, he could jump the table and kiss him.
Maybe later, he hopes.
“Can I ask you something, Sherlock?”
“Yes, sure.”
“How do you deduce people?”
Sherlock blinks slowly, like he can’t believe his ears.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.” John don’t understand why he’s shocked. “I bet people ask you all the time: what you do is amazing.”
“That's not what most people say, and they don’t ask me anything, because my ability scares them.”
“I’m not most people,” John says fiery, extending his arm across the table.
“No, you aren’t,” Sherlock whispers with a little smile, grazing John's hand with the tip of his fingers.
John smiles in return: they’re so gonna kiss, later.
Once again, Sherlock blushes and lowers his eyes, having deduced John's thoughts, and nods slightly.