Freak (Sherlock x reader high school AU)

One: Night Light

"You're upset" a voice floats from down the hall. One that's easily recognizable. Confident with slight cockiness, yet at the same time it's low and quite reserved. Every word is stated as fact, but it's the response that confirms your thought.

"Don't. Don't do your stupid little freak thing" words spat angrily.

Freak thing. There's only one person in Northern Prep. Boarding School who has what people refer to as a "freak thing".

And that's Sherlock Holmes.

You peak around the corridor wall, careful as to not be spotted. It's late, 2:37 AM to be exact, and you can't sleep. Tomorrow is a parent visit day, and yours aren't coming. The thought of sitting alone at every meal and every assembly while everyone else shows their parents around and opens care packages and just...has someone. It's kept you up, that lonely feeling. And apparently you're not the only one who fancies late night strolls through the building.

"My freak thing?" Sherlock retorts, sarcasm lacing his words. He is pressed up against the rough concrete walls by a boy in your year you know to be Thomas Lehman, his mates Malcom and Liam behind him.

"That creepy fucking thing you do where you look at people and lie saying things you know about them" Thomas says, leaning in close.

"Oh that thing. Well, first of all, they're not lies-" before he can finish, he's struck with a blow to his jaw, head snapping to the side. You wince for him.

"They're lies. Because I don't sleep with a bloody nightlight" the boy hisses through gritted teeth. His two mates seem to stifle giggles.

Sherlock stretches his mouth painfully and brings up his hand to wipe a spot of blood from his lip. So that's what this is about. I mean that's what it's always about with Sherlock. Someone shoves him in the hallway or calls him freak and he says something about them he shouldn't have and gets beat for it.

"Yes you do Thomas. You're afraid of the dark, that's evident by your insistence on never traveling anywhere alone in the evening, including to the bathroom at three a'clock in the morning which you did last night with both Liam and Malcolm at your side. In February the electricity was out for two days and you didn't sleep for 48 hours straight, bags under your eyes, extreme irritability, you beat me up for none of your usual reasons so yeah, and you failed the maths test when maths is your best subject, solid C-. You've got a small burn on your left index finger that's the marking of low watt fluorescent bulb consistent in most main stream night lights, ones that I've seen you purchase on numerous occasions in my two years of knowing you, smuggled under your coat. So yes, Thomas. You sleep with a night light" Sherlock smirks as Thomas fumes, stumbling over his words trying to find something to say that will redeem him, or at least get his mates to stop howling with laughter. You cover your mouth to muffle your own chuckles.

Thomas can't seem to think of anything to say so he does what he does best, sends a hard blow to Sherlock's stomach and shoves him to the ground, leaving him gasping for air.

"Not so funny anymore are we?" Thomas sneers, kicking him once in the side for good measure before cursing at the others to shut up as they walk off.

Sherlock is left panting on the cold linoleum floors, clutching his stomach as he lies perfectly still.

"Are you going to just stand there all night?" he asks between sharp breaths.

Your eyes go wide. In your fuzzy socks, oversized t-shirt, and basketball shorts, you slide from around the corner.

"Do you want me to help you up...?" you ask, unsure of your purpose, standing over him as he tries to catch your darting gaze.

"No of course not"

"Of course not" you mutter under your breath.

With a groan he sits up and leans against the wall, closing his eyes for a second as his breathing slows to normal.

"I'm sorry" it seems like the right thing to say.

"For what?" he asks without opening his eyes.

"For...him"

"Did you tell him to kick me?"

"No"

"Then you've got nothing to be sorry for. Don't be sorry for things that are out of your control, it's a waste of time" his words come sharp and fast, barely able to catch.

You look down, the floor suddenly becoming very interesting.

"I just mean..." his voice softer now, "There's nothing you could've done"

"Still, maybe if I'd have said something earlier..." you sigh.

"Then Thomas would've made some joke about me being rescued by a girl and yes, perhaps that would have spared me the blows then, but he'd find me tomorrow and make endless jokes about how you must be my girlfriend or something and then you'd be known as the girl who's in love with the freak so I say it's a rather good thing you stayed hidden behind the corner, saved us both some future humiliation" he opens his eyes now and looks at you, they're sparkling. You find yourself not looking away. He smiles slightly. A smile looks nice on him.

"I'm (y/n)"

"Sherlock Holmes" he sticks out his hand with a groan, clutching his side, but he doesn't retract. You shake it gently.

"I know your name"

"That's a funny thing to say"

Your chest tightens. Was that the wrong thing to say? Is it weird that you know who he is? You've gone to school together for years now, since primary, so you should know his name, right? But I mean it's a big school and you're not exactly friends or even acquaintances really. Conversations are so hard. This is why you don't have them.

"Why's it funny?" you mutter, defensive without meaning to be.

"Oh, no, don't be upset. No one else would've said that is all. Most would find it weird that you know their name when they don't know yours" as if this makes it better.

"You didn't know my name?"

"No. But don't take offense. I know who you are, I know you. Names aren't important, they're just labels"

"What sense does that make?" you laugh, and for some reason he smiles at this. Your laugh is light and airy and he feels the warmth it holds.

"We have been attending the same institution since primary, of course I know you. For instance you-" he cuts himself off. His expression hardens and for the first time since you began talking, his gaze drops from yours. "It's getting late"

"What were you gonna-"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Goodnight (y/n)" he nods, rising to his feet, arm wrapped around his stomach, holding his torso up.

"Goodnight Sherlock"

You turn and begin walking back to your dorm, trying to imagine what he was going to say. He was going to do the thing he does no doubt, the deducing thing. What does he know about you? You almost turn back to look at him when his soft whisper of a voice echoes down the corridor.

"Don't be such a freak" he mutters to himself.

And you turn the corner.