Time ticked by and soon John could hear knocking, so faint that it was merely in the vibrations of the old wooden walls, but it meant she was getting closer. They had to hurry, please God let them hurry! John began thinking of cover stories in his head, they went to the bathroom, they went to get their books that they had left in the classroom, they had forgotten their shampoo in the showers...oh that was all pathetic, surely she'd heard all of those before. But why should she be suspicious, she wouldn't suspect anyone to go looking in her office, why should they? She probably assumed they were simply running around like hooligans, and she'd only give them a warning. The worst case scenario is that she found them in the office, or deduced that they had been on the phone. Then they would get in a lot more trouble, at least more than simply wandering the halls would get them. John started to hear the knocking with his own ears, sharp knocks upon the wooden doors and her cawing voice echoing across the halls. She was a nice lady, really she was, but she had a job to do and she always hated the upperclassmen for some reason. Maybe it was because they never followed the rules and always thought themselves better than anyone else. Yes, that was probably it. Nevertheless she was coming, and they still weren't back, John was starting to get nervous now.
"Lights out boys, come on!" Mrs. Hudson's voice got closer, and suddenly John was fixing his hair, trying to make himself look like a respectable Wisteria boy. A good cover story, a good cover story... He looked down the hall fearfully, where there was no sign of either Greg or Mike, whatever they were talking about better be important, if they were just moseying around and small talking John was going to throttle them!
"You there, Watson, what on earth are you doing in the hallway? Get to bed, go on!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, coming around the corner in her flower printed night dress. She looked very tired, which of course never helps an old lady's mood, and a feeling of utter terror flushed into John's heart.
"Sorry ma'am." John muttered nervously, fumbling with the door and slipping inside. Mrs. Hudson peeked into the room, however, and saw that it was unoccupied except for John. Her face hardened in suspicion, and she looked at him with a look of utmost disappointment.
"Where has your roommate gone off to?" she wondered with a very challenging look, looking positively terrifying for a woman of her age.
"Greg...Greg went off to get his book from the um...from the bathroom." John muttered, feeling the need to slap himself in the face for such a ridiculous answer.
"Why on earth would his book be in the bathroom?" Mrs. Hudson wondered suspiciously, looking about the room to make sure there was no one hiding under the bed or something preposterous like that.
"Because I left my bag in there, stupidly." Greg announced radiantly, stepping into the room and holding up his backpack proudly. John heaved a sigh of relief, feeling as though Greg's arrival was something of a miracle. Mrs. Hudson swirled around, clutching her chest in surprise as if she hadn't expected such an entrance.
"Lestrade, it's past curfew, you know that by now!" she exclaimed, moving out of the way so that Greg could pass through and toss his backpack onto the bed. John never remembered him bringing it to their phone call festival, but then again, Greg moved in mysterious ways.
"Terribly sorry Mrs. H, but you know how it is here. If I didn't do my homework I'll be strung up by my ankles!" Greg exclaimed.
"And why didn't you do it before?" Mrs. Hudson wondered, crossing her arms in a motherly sort of way. Greg just shrugged, sitting down on his bed and smiling at her as if this was their own little joke.
"Oh you know me." he said with a shrug.
"Yes, unfortunately I do. Now get to bed, both of you!" she exclaimed, waving her arms as if trying to get them to move faster. John dove under his blankets obediently, while Greg just sighed, setting his backpack down and making an effort of getting his pillow positioned just right.
"Yes ma'am." he agreed almost sarcastically, and Mrs. Hudson just sneered at him before making her exit, slamming the door behind her as if in an effort to shut them up. John sighed so heavily he thought he might cry, rolling over so that he could see Greg through the semidarkness their lamps had created.
"Where on earth were you?" John growled. "We almost got caught!"
"Sorry John, I was getting my books from the bathroom." Greg said with a little snicker, rolling into his own bed and pulling the blankets up to his chin.
"Oh shut up Greg, this is serious!" John defended in a harsh whisper.
"Well my apologies, it was an extensive plan, it had to be!" Greg insisted.
"It's only showing up here at eight o'clock, what on earth is extensive about that?" John defended in exasperation.
"Well they're coming, if you want to know the good news. All three of them." Greg added, as if he thought that simple information would ease John's mood a little bit. He was right, of course, John sank down into his pillow with a little smile, the promise of meeting Sherlock in a couple of days making his heart flutter in excitement.
"Wonderful." John muttered with a smile.
"That's what I thought too. It was so nice to hear Molly's voice again; it's been ages since I last saw her." Greg agreed in a grumpy little tone.
"It's only been a week or two." John defended with a laugh.
"Ya, ages. One week is one age." Greg agreed with a shrug, rolling around in his bed in an attempt to get comfortable. John just smiled, rolling so that he could stare at the ceiling and see Sherlock staring back.
"We better beat Musgrave into the ground." he decided finally.
"That's the spirit." Greg agreed in a sleepy voice. John just sighed, getting the message that their conversation was over and smiling softly to himself. The countdown was on, only two more days until he could finally see Sherlock again, until he could finally see that smile! It couldn't come fast enough, it seemed as though time was already slowing down as his heart began to beat faster. Only two more days... 

 Sherlock POV: Molly brought the good news yesterday at lunch, practically bursting with excitement as she dragged Sarah to Sherlock's table. So they were going to the rugby game, yes that was absolutely amazing...fantastic... Okay, so yes, Sherlock had his doubts. Fears, maybe, would be a better word but how could you blame him? He was basically being asked to walk back to the school that had ruined his entire existence, his life, his future, his reputation, who knows what else? If anyone saw him it would surely be the end of his life as a freeman, and he simply couldn't have that. Rugby, for all it was worth, was certainly tolerable, but he didn't think a simple game was worth sneaking back into the Wisteria grounds and risking his neck once more. But John was worth it, that was certain, John was probably the only thing that made this entire night bearable. He wanted Sherlock to come, he asked specially he wanted Sherlock to be there and so how could Sherlock refuse? What could he say, what only could he say, except yes? He had never been to a rugby game before, he had seen a couple minutes of a game on TV when his father was feeling a bit like watching violence but other than that he had completely avoided them in his years at Wisteria. It wasn't worth it, really. As much as he loved to see his miserable classmates getting thrown around by boys double their size Sherlock much preferred sitting alone in his room with a book on his lap, pouring over his books and making sure he knew all his material for whatever tests he had coming up. That was another thing that Sherlock despised about Lauriston, tests weren't difficult, homework was scarce, and the rewards of being top in the class were basically pointless. So what if he was the smartest of around two hundred brainless monkeys? In Wisteria, valedictorian was an honor that would only bestow itself on the hardest working and most dedicated student. To graduate top of the class in Wisteria would assure you any position in the business world you would like, and Sherlock would've had that, he would've had a future. Oh but it seemed a future was too much to hope for, wasn't it, how dare he imagine something so preposterous! A homosexual in the business world, a homosexual having a decent job with income and a house of their own, how scandalous! No, it would seem that would never work, Victor made sure of that. Ah, that brings me to another point of disinterest, Victor Trevor, the rat the worm the legend. If Victor spotted him in the bleachers then it was game over, if he knew that Sherlock and John were together then there would be nowhere to go but prison from that moment on. Victor was not a force to be reckoned with, he would not hesitate to send Sherlock away in chains should it somehow positively affect his reputation. It seemed as though he had some sort of grudge against Sherlock, possibly because Sherlock had been daring enough to let him cradle his heart for a single night. They hadn't seen each other since then, the last time Sherlock saw Victor's face was when he was being pulled to the ground by the nurse and the math teacher, Victor screaming on the bed, pulling his blankets over his bare chest and screeching that horrible word, the word that ended not only Sherlock's future but his life as well. He wasn't sure what he might do if he saw that face again. He didn't know what he could do except slink back into the shadows, and yet there was a new force stirring inside of him, a sort of opportunistic hate that bubbled in his very soul. If he saw Victor then he certainly would seek revenge of the worst sort. He wouldn't just want to damage Victor's body but his soul as well; he wanted to destroy Victor, even worse than Victor had destroyed him. Was that violent? Ya, probably, but who could blame him? Revenge was always sweet, and for Sherlock it may just be sweeter yet. It wasn't difficult to sneak out of the house the night of the game, it seemed as though the mere mention of Molly Hooper would send Mrs. Holmes pushing Sherlock out the door and trying to fix his hair, and so that's what Sherlock did. A date with Molly Hooper, the perfect cover story really, even if his mother knew that he had no earthly interest in that girl whatsoever. 

"Now you're going to try to be nice?" Mrs. Holmes begged, trapping Sherlock near the door while she tried to push down his stray curls with a pat of her hand. Sherlock growled, pushing his mother away and nodding profusely.
"Yes mother, yes I'll try." Sherlock lied, saying anything to get out of the house.
"Where is it you're taking her?" Mrs. Holmes asked, and Sherlock stuttered for a moment, realizing that he didn't have a cover story. Surely she'll be worried if he told her the truth, so that wasn't an option.
"Cinema." Sherlock lied quickly.
"Oh that's adorable, you know how to make a move on a girl at the cinema right, you got taught that somewhere along the way? The whole yawn and put your arm around her shoulders thing?" Mrs. Holmes wondered with a smile. Sherlock groaned, nodding and ignoring her all together.
"Bye mom, I'll be out late I'm sure." He grumbled, grabbing the keys to his mother's car and donning his trench coat. He pulled open the door and dashed out into the sidewalk, however his mother's voice followed him all the way to the car.
"Be out late, don't worry about it Sherlock!" Mrs. Holmes called to him, and Sherlock just ignored her, hopping into the car and turning up the music so that he couldn't hear his mother's tips and advice. She was still yelling, he could see her mouth moving even though the sound of the Beatles drowned out anything she had to say. He waved as a final farewell before heading out the very familiar road to Wisteria. They were going to meet in the parking lot next to the gates, and Molly had promised to bring something to make Sherlock basically unrecognizable. He didn't own a hat, and he knew that if he asked anyone in his family to lend him one they were going to ask too many questions. He only hoped that whatever Molly brought was going to be semi sort of fashionable, or at least tolerable. Knowing her, however, it would be nothing of the sort. It didn't take long for him to pull the junky old car up to the Wisteria athletic parking lot, and yet he didn't see Molly's miserably painted car anywhere, so he simply sat in the driver's seat and watched as all sorts of parents and fans meandered around through the asphalt. They were playing some sort of team today, at least he imagined they were going to, and so that would explain the weird sort of colors going by. Wisteria was always proud of their red and silver color combination, while he was seeing some sort of disgusting yellow color being worn by a lot of the parents as they walked through to the ticket booth. Sherlock made a point to keep his head down whenever he saw bands of boys walking through, all wearing their telltale Wisteria uniforms. He knew that most would recognize him if they saw him, and he certainly didn't want to have to explain why he was sitting in a car, watching people. The building itself was nestled atop a hill right above them, its massive walls casting a shadow across the parking lot, blocking out the last of the dying sunlight as the powerful stadium lights started to take over. All the memories of that place, that monastery, that Sherlock had once considered his home. All the tragedies...  There was a loud knocking on his window, and Sherlock's first instinct was to scream and try to hide himself in the folds of his trench coat. However he thankfully caught a glimpse of his attacker before he tried to pull his coat over his face, and to his relief he saw that it was only Molly Hooper, wearing some sort of disgusting straw hat that was pulled low over her eyes. Sherlock had a very bad feeling indeed. He unlocked the doors, however, and Molly let herself in, sitting in the passenger seat while she pried that disgusting headpiece off. 

"Did you recognize me?" Molly wondered with a laugh, pushing the straw hat in Sherlock's direction, to which he only flattened himself to the door in disgust.
"You don't actually expect me to wear that, do you?" Sherlock wondered in disgust.
"Oh don't worry, I've got glasses too. That way no one will recognize you." Molly assured. Sherlock took the horrible hat in his nervous hands, looking it over and already feeling the impending doom that was creeping towards them. Surely this hat could only draw attention, not divert it? Oh this was never going to work.
"This may just be the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen." Sherlock decided flatly.
"Have you ever looked in the mirror?" Molly asked with a laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. You're beautiful, you know that." Molly added upon seeing Sherlock's look of momentary shock.
"Ya, I do know that." Sherlock agreed after a moment, and he heard Molly laugh beside him.
"Did you have any trouble getting out?" Molly wondered, changing the topic as fast as humanly possible to avoid hurting Sherlock's feelings once more.
"Oh of course not, you've met my mother, you've seen her...enthusiasm." Sherlock assured with a shrug.
"I'm sure she was thrilled that I would actually go out with you again." Molly agreed with a smile.
"Well I'm thrilled John will actually go out with me again, I was sure that after that kiss he would leave me forever." Sherlock admitted with a little smile, dropping his gaze to the steering wheel as he remembered that kiss, that beautiful kiss...
"Oh really? I thought that was a deal sealer I mean, Sherlock, that was amazingly romantic, if you didn't know that already. Now I don't know how guy's minds work so much, but I know that if I were him, and you kissed me like that, without any hesitation, so publicly, well I'd give you my heart gift wrapped." Molly assured enthusiastically.
"Are you serious? You mean he might've liked it?" Sherlock wondered hopefully. Molly just laughed, shaking her head as though she thought this would be obvious.
"He loved it of course! You know for a genius you're surprisingly idiotic." Molly observed finally.
"I suppose I'm not as experienced with boys as I am with education." Sherlock defended in a small voice.
"Well it doesn't show, I'll tell you that much you Casanova you." Molly said with a little laugh, punching Sherlock minutely in the shoulder, to which he winced and complained. Let's play a game called guess his sexuality.