So smart, those boys, but so bloody oblivious

Sherlock Holmes. Weirdo of the college. Thin, pale, and queerer than hell. He wears skirts, is addicted to crime TV, and is the smartest person anyone knows. Only eighteen years old and in his third year of college classes.
Everyday he bounces around school in his beat to hell converse and button downs and flies through classes. He reads textbooks for fun and he’s rude. Sherlock Holmes does not have friends, he’s said so himself. He’s turned down every party offer and confessions of crushes he’s ever gotten. Sherlock Holmes is a fucking weirdo who doesn’t even fuck. A loser. A rich brilliant pompous loser.
Then there’s John. John Watson. Med student, Vice President of pep club, and the only person who’s ever caught Sherlock’s eye.
From the first day, Sherlock made it a mission to plant himself nicely on whatever is in John Watson's trousers.