Freak - Teenlock/Johnlock AU

Part 1

Here's hoping you enjoy this fanfic! I never realised how difficult it was to write a murder plot - Conan Doyle and the makers of BBC's Sherlock are very clever people. P.S. tell me in the comments if you like this, or shout at me if you don't!

- CM

"Got your lunch, John?"

"Yep."

Of course I had my lunch. Nothing would make me eat whatever they served in the canteen; I'd rather go hungry.

"Coat?"

"Well, not yet, Mum, seeing as I'm not wearing it."

My jacket hung on the banister, sleeves neatly untucked. Mum's doing, seeing as I was pretty sure I'd left it in a heap in the porch yesterday. She had a habit of rearranging and organizing my stuff - one time I'd come home to find my paperclips colour-coordinated.

"Phone too John," she continued. I rolled my eyes. I didn't know where the heck my stupid phone was, and I didn't give a flying fuck. I never used it anyway.

"Got it," I patted my pocket.

Mum seemed satisfied that I was adequately prepared to leave for the dangerous journey to school.

"Dad'll pick you up then," she said, smiling and nodding encouragement. "Don't be late, will you?"

Late? I wouldn't dare.

The walk to the bus stop was dreary. The sky drizzled miserably and fat raindrops on me, and passers-by crashed their umbrellas into my head as they walked past. I was just short enough to fit right under the spikes at the end.

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

When I did get to the bus stop, it was full. Full of people I knew and would rather avoid. Sure, there were a couple of seats, but there was no way I'd dare invade the personal space of any of the fuckwits inside. Not without receiving every detail about me in the form of an insult. Thankfully the bus arrived before too long, so the rain had only reached my jumper and not my shirt by the time I got on. I selected an unobtrusive, inconspicuous chair and turned my face against the window.

"Well hey, John."

I turned my head to face whoever it was, feeling the cool of the window against my back as I hunched against it.

"Think I could borrow your phone?" James said in his sleety, jumpy voice. If that voice was a piece of music, it would be Humoresque. Only much more hateful.

"No."

"But why, John? I think I left my sandwiches at home. Won't you help me out? That's what friends do, isn't it?"

"I'm not your friend, James. And I don't have it."

"Well!" James straightened up. "I'd have thought you'd have better manners. But I like you John, why don't you like me? Oh, it hurts. My poor heart. Give me the phone, John Hamish Watson."

"I told you, James Moriaty, I don't have my bloody phone."

"Swearing now?! John, your manners insult me."

He whistled a jolly tune and rocked on his heels. "Oh well, maybe you'll let me use your phone tomorrow."

He hummed, and waltzed away. I huddled into my seat and wished I'd done something awful in a past life so I could come back as a blue patterned chair cover.

"Remember John, men don't cry."

Don't be late, don't be late, don't be late...