Holmes was one of those kids that John wasn’t sure if he wanted to teach or kick out, praise or shut up. He leaned against his desk as the room emptied, waiting until the last person had gone and they were only ones left.
"I’m getting tired of your continual disturbances, Mr. Holmes," John said, pulling his glasses off and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “You’re being incredibly disrespectful, not just to me but also towards your fellow students who are here to learn."
"If you can call this learning," Holmes said, lip curling.
"If you don’t want to be here -"
John sighed and squinted at him. Holmes was still slumped in his chair, arms folded, petulant rebellion written plainly on his face. It was equal parts endearing and exasperating. “Well then, if you think you have such a grasp on the material maybe you could start helping me plan lectures."
Holmes frowned. “You want me. To help you."
"That’s right. At the very least, having some of your ideas up here might help you pay attention and keep some of your comments to yourself."
Slowly, Holmes stood up. He was taller than John, though the way he stood, shoulders still slumped, made it seem as though he wasn’t. He raised his eyebrows. “And what do you get out of that?"
John looked him up and down, lingering on the thin strip of skin visible between jeans and shirt. “Peace of mind," he said with a smirk.
"That’s up to you," John said, and tossed the kid back his phone. He’d confiscated it at the beginning of class. Holmes caught it neatly. “I put my number in there."
Holmes cradled the phone like it was something precious. His fingers long and slender, trailing up and down the length of the screen, just barely grazing the glass. John forced his gaze up and caught the beginning of a smirk. “Understood. Sir."
"Good," John said, and escaped with what remained of his dignity.
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