This story is unfinished, and I apologize. I simply have no idea how to complete it, but people seem to like it so far. I'm taking it down and putting all three chapters here instead. Thanks.

Chapter One; Scarlet 

"Is this seat taken?"

John Watson looked up from his lunch. The boy gazing down upon him wasn't someone he'd spoken to before, but he definitely had heard of him. The new kid. The talk of the class, everyone was chattering about new kid this and new kid that.

John was sitting on the planter of the biggest tree on campus. It was planted twenty years ago by the original school founder, and every summer it would grow cherries that the students weren't allowed to touch. The blindingly bright light of noontime was thankfully shaded by the tree's gracious green leaves, but still managed to seep through like liquid sulfur and bathe the boys in a lovely golden bath of peace and serenity. John noticed every painfully sharp detail on his face, his icy eyes, his high-set cheekbones, the dark curls that framed his face, his angled nose, his defined Cupid's bow...

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if this seat was taken."

His voice was deep and gravely, yet welcoming and clever. He spoke with an air of finality and eloquence that exceeded his sixteen years. John shook his head to clear his thoughts, and then nodded at the other boy. "No, not at all, be my guest," he offered, patting the stone bench beside him.

The boy's eyes softened, and he looked a lot less menacing. He sat in one swift motion. "Thank you," he mumbled, and John just shrugged. "No big deal." After that, John continued eating his sandwich. The two boys were quiet for a long moment, after John realized the other wasn't eating. He wasn't doing anything.

"So what's your name? I hear you're the new kid." John took another bite of food, waiting patiently for a response. "My name's Sherlock Holmes," the boy finally answered, lowering his gaze to the ground to watch the ants scurry about.

"Alright, Sherlock, my name's John Watson. Where's your lunch?"

"Lunch?"

"Yes, your lunch."

"Oh. I never eat lunch at school."

"Would you like some chips? Crisps? I think I bought too much food to finish on my own."

Sherlock was quiet, thinking. He slowly took a chip from John's plate, chewing carefully, as if the thing would explode if he wasn't cautious. John could see all the muscles in his head and neck working mechanically, pumping and slaving like clockwork. Sherlock Holmes was a proper work of art, and that fact slightly intimidated John. Why didn't people like him? He seemed nice enough, and he certainly was attractive. And at their school, appearance got you a long way.

John was on the football team, and he was relatively popular in his own eyes, more so than he was ages and ages ago at different schools and in different lifetimes. People liked him enough, and John was happy with that fact. He thought himself to be cute, all the girls he'd dated have told him the same. He wasn't handsome, he didn't think, not next to Sherlock. John nudged Sherlock with his plate. "You can have more if you would like," he mumbled, "There's a lot more and lunch is almost over."

"I'm fine, thank you."

"You sure?"

"There's just one thing I would like to ask of you, John."

John sat his plate down beside him and gave Sherlock his full attention. Sherlock spoke.

"Can I draw you?"

John stiffened, then raised an eyebrow. "Draw me? What for?" The proposition was enough to make Sherlock seem just a little bit creepy. "I know it sounds weird, but I really like the shape of your legs...they curve really nicely and are powerful, and you have really nice ankles; plus your torso is superb and I really want to draw it --"

Sherlock's pale cheeks flushed scarlet, and he averted his light eyes from John's appalled face. "I'm sorry, you probably hate me now..."

"Oh no, no, not at all --"

But before John could stop him, Sherlock Holmes had flung his school bag over his shoulder and darted away.  

Chapter Two; Navy

After that day, the new kid's popularity had skyrocketed. Every girl on campus wanted to be with him, and every guy wanted to be him. He was quiet, yet confident, and he was extremely intelligent. He walked in humble silence, always alone when he could manage, and never spoke to anyone unless he was spoken to. And as evasive as he was, it only made people crave his attention more. Sherlock Holmes was the talk of the Academy, yet John could care less.

John Watson wasn't in the least bit fazed by the legendary new kid, and he continued his studies business as usual, maintaining that GPA to stay on the football team. 

"So, I was thinking we could invite that Sherlock Holmes to eat with us after practice sometime," Greg Lestrade, one of John's teammates, mused as they walked to the locker room to shower and change. John rolled his eyes, catching his breath. "He won't come even if we ask. I think he's a closet gay." John took a long drink of water before pulling his shirt over his head and grabbing a towel. Greg bit his lip. "We could still try. He's really cool," he turned his shower on.

John didn't answer due to the fact that his head was under running water. He scrubbed his head and body with the provided shampoo and got out as soon as he had rinsed. Greg came out as John was redressing, talking again about the new kid. "Really John, let's invite Holmes out. Maybe he'll become 'one of the guys' and make us look better," he chuckled, and John rolled his eyes yet again. "We're on the bloody football team, I think our social status will stay intact as long as we stay on it. It's not that big of a deal anyway --" Greg smacked John upside the head. 

"You can't take a fuckin' joke, can you, mate?" 

"You arse," John tossed his damp towel onto Greg's head. "Let's just go already, you're slow like a girl." John was ready to go, and he patiently swung his keys around on his finger as he waited for Greg to finish up. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock Holmes was still on campus. 

He really didn't mean to be, his brother, Mycroft, who had already graduated high school a long time ago, had used the family car and still wasn't there to pick him up. Sherlock would have to ask his parents to buy him his own car when he got home. He heaved a sigh and called his brother again, to no avail. "Damn it," he thought, "Why are people here so crazy about me?" He sat on the steps and wrapped his arms around himself. "I'm just regular old me, and they only like me because I've kept my mouth shut and refrained from humiliating everyone."

Sherlock reached into his bag and pulled out his sketchbook to pass the time. He flipped to the next blank page and started to spill a lazy sketch of the school onto the pristine white surface. It reminded him of the first person he spoke to at the Academy, John Watson, and how he'd completely embarrassed himself. He hadn't meant to sound so passionate about the boy's body shape, but he just couldn't help it. 

John walked with confidence like he had never seen, his head held high and a grin plastered on his face. His legs were powerful from kicking around that black and white ball, and everything about him was welcoming. His hair was blonde and messy, but always clean, his eyes were earthy brown and heavy and you always felt comforted whenever he gazed upon you. His head was round, his palms were round. His body shape was so unimaginably different than what Sherlock was used to, coming from a family of extremely angular people, and Sherlock admired John for looking so normal. Sherlock was almost envious.

His ears picked up the distant jingle and jangle of keys and the laughter of what sounded like more football players leaving from practice. A lot of them had already passed and offered him rides, all of which he declined. 

"Aye, new kid," a boy with a strange accent said somewhere behind Sherlock, "Speak of the devil and he shall appear, right John?" 

Sherlock closed his sketchbook and turned around to see John Watson walking next to a slightly taller boy with light brown hair. The sound of keys jangling was coming from John, who was swinging them on his index finger. Sherlock flushed, remembering again how he had completely creeped the poor guy out. "Hello..."

"Need a ride?"

"Don't offer rides for me, Greg, it's my bloody car."

"But the new kid's stranded here!" Greg laughed and directed his attention back to Sherlock. "We're going to go get a bite to eat, wanna join us?"

~

The way the poor kid was looking at John made John feel completely guilty for not continuing to talk to him after that one time. Apologizes dribbled from his pupils like holy water cleansing a sinner. He looked so desperate and lost, like a puppy or --

An otter?

John shook his head and chuckled at his own strange mind. 

"Sure sure, whatever, you can come along," John winked, and Sherlock visibly relaxed and smiled slightly for a split second, and he returned to his usual stoic expression. He scrambled up as Greg and John passed him. They didn't wait for him to get his stuff all organized, they just figured he'd catch up soon enough, and he did. He towered over both of them, and John noticed he was slightly slouching to make up for the height difference. 

Greg explained to Sherlock that their usual restaurant was called Speedy's Sandwich Shoppe, and it was owned by a lovely lady named Mrs. Hudson. John zoned out as they trekked through what little cars were left to get to his beaten down pickup. He unlocked his truck and Greg hopped in the front seat, while Sherlock slid into the back. He turned the radio up and sang like an idiot with Greg to all the dumb pop songs that played, and he could barely drive because he was laughing so hard. Sherlock, however, was silent, staring blankly out the window. 

John was almost concerned, but then again, he wasn't.   

Chapter Three; Brown

"I was thinking about asking that Molly chick to go on a date with me," Greg winked, taking a swig of coffee. John shrugged. "What sort of date? You going to ask her to watch you play football? Because let's face it, I'm constantly bailing you out," John joked. Greg gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

"What d'you think, Sherlock? Should I ask Molly Hooper to go to a movie with me?"

Sherlock looked up from his plate, not expecting to be spoken to. "Who's Molly Hooper again?"

John leaned back in his seat on the other side of the booth, and Greg grinned and made a noise that somewhat resembled a whistle and a howl. "Molly Hooper and Irene Adler are total babes," Greg winked again. John ate a crisp from the plate in the middle of the table, allowing Greg to elaborate. Sherlock leaned in to listen.

"Irene Adler is a total slut, but she owns it and is just totally amazing at everything she does. Molly Hooper is like an angel, quiet and beautiful and she's just so fucking perfect..."

Greg went into a daze, and John was forced to continue with an eye roll. "Molly's a chemistry whiz, and she's in the forensics club that meets after school on Wednesdays. Greg here thinks it's as hot as a girl beating you in a video game."

"It is," pointed Greg, his hand still clutching his coffee cup. Sherlock gazed out the window with a sigh. "I'm not interested in girls."

John nearly choked and elbowed Greg, shooting him a look that screamed, I told you he was gay. Sherlock knew, of course, what they were assuming about him, but it didn't really matter. He was doing so well making friends, however, so he added, "I'm interested in people."

"So you're pan?"

"I guess you can say that, yes," Sherlock nodded, taking a chip from the table for the first time since arriving. It seemed to make Greg a lot more comfortable with Sherlock. He checked his phone for any sign of a  message from his brother, but there wasn't one.

"Who knew the new kid was so open minded?" John teased, taking a sip of soda. Sherlock looked out the window again.

That's all, folks. Sorry sorry sorry *hides*