Sherlock sits beside him in the bleachers, unmoving, not even a fidget of his fingers, nothing as he watches the football game with John Watson: Starring Center Forward. Greg would have been on that field if he hadn’t torn his ACL last year during a tournament. Not being on the team anymore had made the game unbearable to watch.
“You’re staring.” Greg mutters privately, not wanting the crowd near them to hear.
Sherlock certainly doesn’t hear him, or if he does he’s ignoring him because he continues to track John Watson down to the goal.
He knows Sherlock doesn’t know a single thing about the game. It’s the person who’s playing that he’s watching.
“Sherlock” Greg bumps into Sherlock’s side to catch his attention. Sherlock glances over at him quickly, a look of irritation taking over the nearly blank look he had sported while watching John. “Stop staring.”
His face glowers before he’s pulling out his mobile and checking the time. “I have to go anyway, fencing.” Sherlock stands and leaves without another word, like usual.
Greg is left to watch the game by himself. He could have been on the field at this moment if he hadn’t screwed up a year ago.
He’s in the parking lot waiting with John, who surprisingly came up to him after the game and started a conversation. Greg knows if he waits long enough, Sherlock will come out of fencing practice to meet Mycroft who picks him up after school.
It would be the first time Greg and Mycroft would be together with Sherlock and John as well. A thrill travels through his body at the thought; it could be almost like a double date if they could manage it.
Surely enough Sherlock is walking out of the Gym and heading towards the queue of cars, Mycroft isn’t here yet. Greg knows the sleek charcoal grey jaguar the man drives; he knows the distinct sound it makes as well.
So Greg lifts his hand and shouts for Sherlock when he sees him. John turns to look at Sherlock as well and Greg can see John smile at the boy in question. Sherlock, who had frozen to his spot before finally moving towards him, this was good; it would be the first time Sherlock and John were to talk outside of Chemistry.
“Hey Sherlock” Greg greets, having the urge to cut all awkwardness that could possibly happen. This was Sherlock’s chance.
Sherlock grunts and nods at him as greeting without saying anything else.
“Good practice?” John grins at Sherlock, not bothered at being ignored.
He can see the confusion in Sherlock’s expression and finds himself feeling gleeful, that expression hardly made an appearance as far as he knows. And suddenly the look was gone.
“You know about fencing?” Sherlock asks.
John’s grin falters a bit as he raises both hands palms flat up and shrugs. “Well, you look like you just came out of a practice that involves not standing still and staring at music. Kind of hard to miss when you win all those tournaments, mate.”
Greg is grinning widely. The widening of Sherlock’s eyes interesting to watch.
“And about the Violin?” Sherlock asks, clearly something is misfiring in his brain as he talks to John Watson.
John lets out a startled laugh, pushing Sherlock lightly on the shoulder before leaning back. “We did start out playing in the same orchestra. We even had that duet a few years ago.” John grinned fondly. “You called me a talentless nester on mockingbird hill.”
His face hurts. So many different expressions want to cross his face at this exchange and all he can manage is an open mouthed grin that hurts his cheeks.
“I – remember.” Sherlock halts as he visibly berates himself silently for thinking so slowly.
“Yeah. I cost us the competition and you told me to just give up. So I quit the next day.” John shrugs.
A horrified expression crosses Sherlock’s face.
Greg snorts back his laughter as John begins giggling as well. “I’m only joking.” John presses on. “I really was bad and playing sports was cheaper. My parents hated renting the thing and buying reeds constantly.” John rolled his eyes. “I still go to the concerts when I have the chance though.” John admits.
And Greg is surprised. John is far more involved with the school than he would have suspected. He frowns as he realizes he’s let his jealousy tarnish what he remembers of John and how he really was, even after all those years playing on the same football team.
Someone calls John’s name back from the football field, more like shouts, and John turns to look, a resigned look on his face making a sudden appearance.
“I’ve got to go. But hey, it was nice catching up.” John turns fully back to them. Greg smiles an awkward goodbye before John is stalking towards him and flinging an arm around him in a quick hug. “Just so you know what it feels like after a disgusting game.” John cackles as Greg pushes him away in disgust.
He takes a good look and notices the mud splashed across his whole body. Some of it even matting his hair – he briefly wonders if dirt still got in your mouth while one played football.
Suddenly John is lunging at Sherlock who is quickly sidestepping to avoid the filthy football player. “Suit yourself.” John shrugs as he grins up at Sherlock. “You can tell who doesn’t like getting dirty by what they do.” He watches as Sherlock and John assess each other.
It’s at that moment that John reaches out and smears mud on the back of Sherlock’s hand. A wicked glint and grin on his face as he turns and jogs back to the field house to shower and change.
“How’d you like that, Sherlock?” Greg grins across at his friend who has a bewildered look on his face.
“Oh, I’m not sure even he knows.” A smooth and familiar voice speaks up behind him. Greg turns to find himself face to face with Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother, twenty-four years of tall and completely unattainable. He stops himself from sighing as Sherlock barrels past him and into the car as he demands to leave.
“Probably” Greg manages to choke out.
Mycroft gives him a swift smile, more a quirk of his lips before he’s turning to look back at his car. “Would you like a ride?”
“Yea-yes. I mean, no. You don’t have to… offer.” Greg frowns as he rambles. He’s not normally like this. “I’m fine.” He finishes.
“Are you sure? Sherlock might want your company for most of the ride, and I remember where you live.”
He feels giddiness and apprehension rise in him again before he’s nodding. “Sure. Alright.” And he’s following Mycroft to his car.