As their bickering continued the crowd began to grow, about twenty five jocks all spilling out onto the pavement in total. Most of them were John's closer circle, filled with seniors who just wanted to see their friend make a fool of himself. Others were some underclassmen, perhaps joining in only for the promise of a large scale football party at the end of the night. Most of the cheerleaders attended also, as they were never one to miss a significant dramatic event. With the promise of watching John kiss Sherlock, a fantastic event in the eyes of those who took these stories to be fiction, it would seem as though all of the girls had to attend. Each person had a bright look in their faces, undoubtedly nervous for their debut in the theater, but excited for what came afterwards. In fact the only one who looked truly inconvenienced was Mary Morstan, with her pretty face turned downwards to the pavement and her frown only too obvious behind her locks of blonde hair. Perhaps she wasn't interested in watching her crush kiss anyone else, or maybe she finally realized they had never been dating at all. John wasn't entirely worried, considering her little brain probably couldn't comprehend each and every priority on his mind. There was no way she could figure out the true love story, considering her GPA was barely breaking the 1.0 mark. It would seem as though each jock had the same accusation for John, pestering him endlessly about how soft he had grown, though in the end they all followed him to the ticket booth and paid their dues. Eventually John found himself sitting next to Greg and Mary in the middle of a long row, the front most of the two that the football and cheerleading teams took up entirely by themselves. John was relieved to see that there was a good turnout overall, they had only barely found two rows which were open in the back. The stage had gone dark just as soon as the jocks had arranged themselves, though John could see that most of the front of the theater had been filled entirely, with heads of supportive parents, teachers, and classmates. Perhaps there was even one of those judges that Sherlock had mentioned, those who came to find prospective recipients of the state's theater awards.
"Now when he kisses Jeanette don't get all upset. We all know you're the true Juliet." Greg insisted, patting John's arm sarcastically.
"Oh lay off! Try to enjoy yourself without getting all defensive." John snarled.
"You're the only one being defensive here." Greg pointed out with a little frown.
"Shut up." was John's very defensive response. Greg just huffed, though before he could get a response in they were both interrupted by the beginning of an old soundtrack being played over the loudspeakers, the first warning before the curtains opened and presented them with the performance. John sat back in his seat, scanning the rows to make sure each of his friends was cooperating. To his amusement (and also relief) it seemed as though everyone was rather excited, for their eyes were focused intently on the closed curtains, their attention captured by the music. In fact, it would seem as though none of them were on their phones at all. There was a strange sense of pride associated with such a discovery, considering John's main worry was the complete disinterest of the under stimulated jocks. Well, hopefully this interest would continue as the play went on. Who knows, maybe they'd all walk out of here as lovers of Shakespeare after all? As the play began there was no question that their theater department went above and beyond in all that they did. Even with the limited budget they had been offered, somehow they had turned the stage into fair Verona, with large background set pieces and interactive extra characters. As the opening scene played out the original feud, John recognized many of the students who wandered about, wordlessly advertising to the other extras as they mulled about, picking up random objects and pretending to be interested. It was the background choreography that caught John's attention when the main actors weren't those that he recognized, though with Sherlock's first arrival on scene it felt as if John's eyes had been glued to a particular spot, unable to focus off of the boy until he had made his exit off stage. He was a commanding force upon the stage, standing tall and proud and demanding the attention of the audience even when it wasn't his line. He had absorbed the character of Romeo inside of himself, and instead of standing all nervous and bent (as was his normal stature) he had adopted an air of confidence, looking dashing and powerful even when wearing such a silly little medieval costume. This was the first time John had ever seen the boy preform on stage, safe for in middle school when they were forced to attend little snippets of the play to show their support for the drama department. It truly was a magical experience; each line delivered from his mouth filled the theater with the appropriate emotions, even those strange Shakespeare languages passing through with some form of nonverbal communication. Half of the time it didn't sound like English, though Sherlock spoke with such enthusiasm that John could follow along needlessly. He was, without a doubt, some sort of theatrical genius. It was a sort of pride that could never be understood, that is if you had never properly fallen in love. Even sitting motionless in the dark auditorium, John was glowing with a sense of accomplishment that wasn't even his to earn. Though being that they shared more than just a theater, now a heart and a soul, made such pride all the more potent. That wasn't just Sherlock standing and reciting a couple of lines, that was Sherlock Holmes, his boyfriend, displaying his most overwhelming talents to those who had always doubted him. That boy, that genius, was the same one who had picked John to be his other half. It was, in some way, a shared sense of accomplishment. John was the only one in this entire auditorium that could speak for such pride, the only one who could end the night with the brightest star in his arms. What a lovely, lovely feeling it was! To know that boy on stage, to love him, and know he loved you as well. He couldn't help smiling, shrinking down into his seat so as not to draw attention to himself. Though John's face glowed red, his heart swelled, and a smile broke upon his cheeks all that same. That was his, standing for everyone to see. His own. The play continued as any production of Romeo and Juliet could, with some of the most crowd pleasing scenes coming from the intimate moments between the two leads. The wild cheers coming from the jocks only proved that they had been paying attention, though John was sure he saw some prohibited flash photography on their cell phones when Sherlock had his first kiss with Jeanette on stage. Of course these were the only true debilitating scenes for John, considering he wanted more than anything to take that girl's place and demonstrate their mutual affection for all to see. It was sickening to see Sherlock kiss someone else, especially with such convincing passion! But of course just like the actors on the stage, John also had his part to play, and when the kiss had ended (and all his friends' eyes focused on him instead) John made a point to be laughing, shaking his head as if that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen. Thankfully his friends seemed to take that as a legitimate response, and quickly their attention faded back to what was happening under the lights. Second only to the kissing scenes were the death scenes, with Greg Lestrade jumping out of his seat in joy to see Victor Trevor slain with a very plastic looking sword. It was certainly a crowd favorite when Paris fell, and even John had to sneak a legitimate smile when Victor's hand dropped limply upon the hardwood. It wasn't the idea of the boy's death that made him grin, being as though they were now unofficial secret keepers; it was simply the strong positive reaction it spurred from the detesting jocks. It was no secret that Victor was the greatest nuisance of them all. The play ended in its usual format, with Sherlock dropping limp overtop of Jeanette's still body, both elevated upon a burial platform constructed from painted wood. The closing statements were made, the curtain fell, and finally the crowd burst into applause. John did his fair share of clapping, though he was once again scanning the crowd to make sure his friends looked just as enthusiastic. To his surprise they were all clapping along, looking legitimately entertained. Even Mary seemed enthusiastic, as her manicured hands were hitting against each other just as furiously as were John's.
"You've got to admit, even when he's dressed up in those silly little outfits, Sherlock really is beautiful." She whispered to John as the noise began to dwindle down.
"What is he, your next target?" John chuckled, trying to remain calm even when the hairs on the back of his neck were standing defensively.
"Certainly not. He's yours." Mary assured, patting John's shoulder and at last ending her share of clapping. It was a strange accusation, not even presented in a way that made it sound humorous. John wasn't sure how to respond, seeing as though Mary delivered her accusation as more of a hard truth rather than a teasing little dig. It was as if she had finally accepted the situation, focusing her powers now on making John come to the same truth that she had settled upon. Little did she know that John's next target had been hit long ago, though he was wordless in response. He instead sat back, wondering just how Mary Morstan of all people could have read into his very soul. Perhaps it was her womanly powers, understanding hearts better than did their owners. The final bows brought the crowds to their feet, and when Sherlock arrived that was when each one of the jocks jumped up and gave what was probably intended to be sarcastic enthusiasm. Mike Stamford even managed to stand on top of his chair's armrests, waving his hands around in excitement as the whole football team chanted in their deep voices, causing the entire theater to get very excited. Sherlock glowed red with the pride, taking all of his extra bows when the crowd would not stop clapping and shouting on his behalf. In the end John's hands became raw with clapping, for it was his only possible outward expression of his amazement. Once again he gushed with a mutual pride, having fallen so helplessly in love with that fool in Renascence clothes. With one final bow the actors were hidden behind the curtains once again, the theater lights brightening and the world returning to the unsuspecting audience. John was aware now of each one of his friends, all sitting down heavily in their seats to retrieve the objects they had lost on the floor during the production. Phones were recollected, fallen chips shoved under the seats in front, empty water bottles crinkled and fitted into their sweatshirt pockets for when they found the nearest garbage can. John took to stretching, finding that his muscles had tensed while he had been sitting down for so long. Slowly the jocks began to file out of their seats, mostly wordless as they tried to process their legitimate appreciation for what they had seen on stage. It was a battle that most stubborn athletes faced, trying to maintain their reputation as dumb jocks and disregard all forms of advanced art. Each one of them was having the same mental battle, trying to discredit the play against their own wishes!
"That was fantastic." John declared, the first and bravest to speak out about the unspoken opinion.
"I can't even remember what time school starts, much less an hour and a half worth of old English." Sarah offered from her usual spot at Mike's side, looking legitimately disturbed at the actor's talent for memorization.
"That skinny little twink looked so uncomfortable kissing Jeanette. I'm pretty sure I got it on camera if anyone's interested. Figured we can tape it up over the school, just to make sure he knows he's not perfect." Stanley offered, waving his phone around in the air with his trademark smile, that mean little smirk that John had come to despise.
"We're not here to humiliate anyone, Stanley." John pointed out defensively. "We're here to support."
"As if! I'm here to make fun of that nerd, and you're only here to watch him prance around in tights." Stanley laughed, to which John's teeth were barred. One more word out of that boy and he would find his neck in a rather awkward situation, squished against two of John's unforgiving hands! How could he respond without seeming to defensive, how could he take the natural road when Mike was pressing each and every one of his buttons! They couldn't go after Sherlock any longer, not while John was around, and perhaps this was his time to make that clear! It might've happened; truly John's fist was clenched and ready for action. Mike's smug smile was starting to look more and more like a target painted upon his face, though John's vengeful spirit was interrupted by a nearly unfamiliar voice, calling over the commotion in her eagerness.
"John Watson!" Molly Hooper called from the edge of the circle, bouncing up and down on her toes to try to get the attention shifted away from the feud. In her hand was that ever ready notebook, already scrawled with observations from the play and the crowd of strange audience members. Certainly she was well versed in the interactions between the jocks and the thespians, making this show of support all the more rare. But here she was, undoubtedly coming straight from backstage to interview the other side of the party. She acted just as fearlessly with the muscly, cruel jocks as she did with the skinny little theater kids, a confident yet respectful girl with pen in hand, ready to take the story and nothing but. She was, truly, a neutral party. Molly's eyes glittered with excitement as she approached, wandering through the tension with her unyielding urgency.
"John, I wanted to ask you a few questions about tonight's performance." Molly said at last. "Can you spare a moment?"
"What do you need to ask me about, I wasn't in the play." John pointed out, getting a little giggle from his posy. Molly's cheeks went a little red, though she shrugged her shoulders in defense.
"I figured your opinion would be most helpful, considering you're a first time theater goer." Molly said at last. With that the crowd of athletes went wild, each one hooting out their own version of appreciative laughter while John grew increasingly irritated. That sounded like an insult if he'd ever heard one, though his friends were already starting to rush away, as if trying to get John his private interview even without his consent. Perhaps Molly's quick words had earned her their appreciation, and before long John found that he was alone with the reporter and her notebook, evidently at the mercy of her questions without his direct consent.
"How'd you like the performance?" Molly asked quickly, posing her pen upon the paper in an effort to scribble his response as fast as she could manage.
"I thought it was fine." John muttered, figuring he should leave his language as bland as possible to make sure he wasn't directly quoted in the newspaper.
"I was surprised to see you and your team in attendance, tell me, is there a new cooperation between your two parties that I hadn't been aware of?" Molly wondered, looking up behind her loose brown bangs with that expectant gaze. She was reading the contents of his soul even before he got the chance to speak, in fact John felt as though she had the full story already!
"I'm just trying it out, seeing if we could heal this school one step at a time. Showing our support for our peers is just step one." John muttered at last.
"Tell me, is this cooperation at all spurred by your sudden popularity? That is, your speculated relationship with Sherlock Holmes?" Molly asked quickly, this time nearly bouncing up and down in her enthusiasm. John studied her face a little bit more, as he had never seen her break her professional stance before. For a moment she seemed to be writhing in the excitement of the question, her pen wagging in the air instead of on the paper. Perhaps she was a supporter of the idea after all? Perhaps John's answer to this question would make it upon the first page...
"Has anyone asked you a question during these interviews, Molly?" John wondered at last, feeling the rusted cogs of his brain beginning to move very slowly. Something felt a little skewed with this meeting, something that began the long line of thoughts that began to proceed within his head. She was enthusiastic, was she not? Enthusiastic, neutral, and good with words...
"Not usually." She admitted a bit nervously, tapping her pen against the paper and growing visibly uncomfortable.
"Well, let me be the first. As the school's mouth, as our eyes and ears...what do you think about attending a gathering tonight? The first mixer between the football team and the thespians, complete with a little charity work of my own." John offered at last.
"Charity work? Is it a fundraiser?" Molly asked nervously. John chuckled, wondering if he could get money out of all of his friends yet. After a moment he shook his head, making sure to study Molly's reaction very closely as he proceeded on.
"No, actually, it's more of an awareness campaign. I'm on a mission to heal our school, you see. In order to do that I offered my team a deal, they had to attend this play and its after party if they wanted a special surprise at the end." John admitted with a grin.
"Is this on the record?" Molly asked excitedly.
"No." John sighed. The girl's shoulders dropped, though her interest was still peaked.
"Well then, that sounds like a reasonable cause." She decided at last.
"Their special surprise, can you guess what it might be?" John wondered, watching her very carefully to see if there was any flash of knowledge. There was a chance, just a chance, that she knew more than she was admitting to.
"I am sure I don't know." She admitted at last.
"Well, why don't you find out then? Come to my new place around nine tonight, we'll be expecting you." John offered, seeing his final trap and hoping that Molly Hooper would take the bait.
"Will this party be on the record?" she wondered quickly.
"You can report everything that's legal." John promised.
"I'll be there!" the girl exclaimed excitedly, nodding her head and giving a little hop of eagerness.
"Excellent, Molly. I'll see you then." John grinned, and with that he turned away, pulling out his phone from his pocket just as soon as he was able to duck around the nearest corner. It was flawless, the master plan that could not be mistaken! Everything was falling into place, one after another, and finally John had a lead as to what sort of prey they were hunting. After making sure he was unobserved, John dialed Sherlock's phone number hastily. The number had never been saved in his phone, for fear of anyone finding out about their digital communications, though it was a number he had long since remembered. Holding the phone up to his ear, John listened for a while to the monotonous beeping of the waiting line. At long last Sherlock's voice answered quietly.
"Hello, John?" Sherlock whispered, as if he too was hiding a safe, private spot.
"Sherlock, get over to my house as soon as possible. I know who we're looking for." John announced at last.
"You've figured it out?" Sherlock clarified excitedly.
"Molly Hooper." John whispered. There was some silence on the other end of the line, Sherlock's brain processing the bold statement and his common sense kicking in to prove its authenticity. For a moment John waited, listening to nothing but breath on the other end of the line. And then, at last...
"I'm on my way." And with that, the call was dropped.