Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/377160.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson, Greg_Lestrade, Anderson, Mycroft_Holmes,
      Mike_Stamford, Molly_Hooper, Jim_Moriarty
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Boarding_School, Teenagers, Friendship/Love, First
      Kiss, First_Time
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-04-06 Updated: 2012-08-03 Chapters: 17/? Words: 36838
****** Swimming Pools and Rugby Balls ******
by Buttsuoka_Rin
Summary
     Yes, he'd lusted after his best friend. Yes, it had been going on for
     quite a few weeks now, ever since they'd fallen asleep in the dorm
     lounge and woken up in a tangle of limbs, and John's heart and
     stomach had done funny little flips. It was mildly frightening,
     because to his mother, his father, and everybody that knew him, John
     was straight.
Notes
     Alternate title: Edge of Seventeen
     I deleted my other school AU fic, mainly because it was crap. This is
     mostly based upon a roleplay. Sherlock is 16 and John is just turned
     17.
     Feedback is welcome.
***** Chapter 1 *****
John had precious time off from his Rugby training. It was probably the first
Friday in a long line of weeks that he wouldn't be going back to the dorms at
half nine in the evening, covered in muck from head to toe. Instead, John was
going to spend his Friday evening watching his best friend practice for his
swim finals.
The swimmers were already in the water when he arrived. He wasn't sure which
one was Sherlock, and it wasn't until he'd found a good seat with a proper view
of the pool that John noticed his best friend's head bob out of the water. It
wasn't hard to spot him seeing as he was the palest swimmer there. With a
little smile he waved.
Sherlock didn't wave back; his back was to John, toes braced against the little
recesses in the wall that formed the ladder to get out of the water. He hauled
himself up and forward, out of the water and onto the side of the pool. It
wasn't until he'd shaken some of the water off his long limbs and accepted a
towel from a teammate that he noticed John waving. With a small half-smile for
his friend, he draped the white towel around his shoulders and padded over on
bare feet to talk to the coach. Despite the swim cap holding his tousled curls
in place, a few had escaped at the nape of his neck and clung to the pale skin
there in wet little tendrils. And, despite the towel and having shaken off most
of the water, there were still little drops making their way down the backs of
his legs.
It wasn't often John actually got to watch his friend swimming and it was even
rarer that he got to see him in his swimming togs. Every time he saw just how
the speedos clung to Sherlock's hips, water trickling down his body, John's
mind started to wander. Every. Time. Yes, he'd lusted after his best friend.
Yes, it had been going on for quite a few weeks now, ever since they'd fallen
asleep in the dorm lounge and woken up in a tangle of limbs, and John's heart
and stomach did funny little flips. It was mildly frightening, because to his
mother, his father, and everybody that knew him, John was straight.
And until recently, he believed he was too.
Shaking away the thought, John stood up and hauled his backpack over his
shoulder to make his way down to the lobby to wait. As usual, he had a hot tea
in one hand for Sherlock, and a bounty bar in the other for himself for the
walk back.
It was a good twenty minutes before Sherlock came back down, lean, silken limbs
once again hidden under his modest uniform; pale green shirt with the school's
oak-leaf crest on his cufflinks, soft wool vest in a deep gold, and black
trousers. The only bit of Sherlock's clothes that weren't standard issue were
the shoes, an old pair of ratty canvas trainers that no one had been able to
make him give up for love or money. It had ended up being easier to let him
keep them than trying to make him get rid of them.
Sherlock's hair was still wet from the shower, and he wiped a drop of water off
his forehead as he padded up to John. "You showed up at practice late today,
did your last class run long again?" His voice was pitched softly, so the low
baritone wouldn't carry across the lobby. He was a bit self-conscious of his
voice; it tended to have some... Unwanted effects on certain people.
"Biology with Mr. Langdon. He kept me back to discuss grades and extra
lessons." John gave a little shrug and passed the tea into Sherlock's lean
hands. He had dressed down since school ended, opting for leaving his green
shirt mostly undone to show off the white t-shirt underneath, with the sleeves
rolled up to his elbows. John hated the uniform more than anything, despite the
clean cut state he wore it in during his classes. "How was your practice
anyway? Are you definitely doing finals next month?" he held the door open and
waited for Sherlock to leave first. It was a warm evening for February and the
nights were growing shorter. John loved the transition from Winter to Spring,
and showed his appreciation by inhaling the smell of fresh cut grass.
"I'd say there's a ninety-five percent chance that I will be, unless Douglas'
performance increases exponentially in the next two weeks." He seemed grateful
for the tea, even if he didn't say anything about it, and curled his long
fingers around the paper cup to wark them. Warm night for February or no, it
was still a bit chill outside and Sherlock noticed the cold more than most.
"However, I don't see that happening. He has been getting marginally worse over
the last few weeks, and I don't think it will be long before he's cut from the
team. He's a liability more than an asset at this point." He slowed for a
second to take a sip of tea without slopping it down the front of his shirt.
Apart from a soft, content hum for John having finally gotten how he took his
tea right, he said nothing else.
John smiled and half turned to catch Sherlock's eye. "Well you know I'll be
there to cheer you on all the way." He stopped to wait for his friend to catch
up. When he finally did, he unwrapped his Bounty bar and handed one of the two
chocolate ovals to Sherlock. "It's still a bit early. Do you want to stay
around town before we go back? Or are you tired?" John paused to push the
button at the lights.
"I have some physics papers that I have to work on and email in before the
night is out, but you're welcome to spend the evening with me in any case. Lab
reports are terribly boring work, after all." Bounty bars weren't his
favourite, but he felt it would be rude to refuse the offer of the sweet. So,
he took it and ate it with a bit of a fixed smile, ignoring how the sickly-
sweet coconut inside made his teeth ache.
"Of course." The green man flashed ornage, warning the pedastrians to move
fast. More out of reflex than anything, he took Sherlock's wrist and made a
speedy dash across the road. They made it just in time for the man to turn red
and the cars to start moving again. He didn't realise at first that his hand
was still connected to Sherlock's wrist (maybe a little closer to his hand
actually), and when he caught his friend's eye again, he let go with a soft
apology. Clearing his throat, he led the way down the riverside with the dorms
in sight.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed just a fraction when John pulled away so quickly. He'd
had his suspicions for a while, at least that John had some sort of juvenile
infatuation with him, but he'd had no concrete proof. This was hardly enough to
be drawing on, but it was at least the beginning of what Sherlock needed to
prove his suspicions. As they walked, Sherlock tossed his by-now empty teacup
into one of the conventiently placed trashcans along the footpath. "I was
planning to go into one of the dorm's lounges to work, but I think they'll be
to noisy. Would you be opposed to going back to my room? I have my laptop
there."
"Not at all. I suppose I can finally catch up on some biology study before the
night is out." John had been in Sherlock's room many times before, and vice
versa, but he rarely stayed there past midnight at the weekends. It wasn't that
he couldn't, seeing as the school didn't set curfews for the weekends, but
there were just some things that you couldn't do when staying the night with
your best friend. Sherlock had an advantage for sleepovers though; his room had
two beds even though it was just him in it. John did have a room-mate, however,
and David was a nice enough bloke.
"Oh, good." Sherlock managed a smile, not his usual little half-smile either,
and turned up the path toward his building. John was in a different building,
but he wasn't far enough to prevent him walking home should he choose to.
Tossing his swim bag back over his shoulder, Sherlock dug in his pocket for his
keycard and swiped it into the little unit beside the door. If nothing else,
their school was well-versed in their security; you couldn't get into the dorm
buildings without a keycard or a punch code, and only faculty got the codes.
Sherlock's room was always incredibly neat compared to John's, with books
stored away neatly by size and subject on little shelves around the wall. The
room istelf was quite big, with a bed on either side, with a desk area beside a
large wardrobe and some floor space. John dropped his bag onto the spare bed
and sank down onto the end of it. He'd been sure to take off his shoes too,
storing them away under the bed so he could fold his legs up under him. Opening
his bag, he let his books drop onto the bed. He didn't intend to actually stay
the night, but that could easily change. All he'd have to do was slip out of
his shirt and trousers anyway.
"I might have to borrow your laptop quickly when you're done. Mr. Langdon
emailed our final grades."
"You can do that now, I have to find my notes." He opened the cubby above the
laptop shelf on the desk, digging around in it until he found a binder packed
with neatly filed looseleaf. Moving away so John could get at the desk, he
kicked his shoes off and laid back on the bed so he could go through them for
the lab notes he needed. "If you need the password for that let me know, I'll
type it in for you. I don't think you'll have too much luck figuring it out on
your own. No offense."
"It hasn't changed from 'nynaeve al'meara' has it?" John rolled his eyes at his
own attempt at pronouncing the character's name. Trust Sherlock to name it
after one of his favourite characters from The Wheel of Time, or some sort of
computer keycode. After trying the former with no avail, he spun around on the
swivel chair. Sherlock looked very relaxed leaning back on his bed; a different
sight than the usually sharp student sitting in class. It was a sight that
people rarely got to see... Actually, John wasn't sure anyone else but him got
to see Sherlock like this more than once in a blue moon. "Actually you know
what, just tell me what it is and I'll type it in."
Sherlock gave a little snort and put his folder down, crossing the room to lean
over John's shoulder and click the password into the computer. His hands moved
almost too fast to follow, certainly fast enough that John wouldn't be able to
figure out what his password was, then he sat back. It dawned on him, then,
that he hadn't simply leaned in from the side to type it in, but he had leaned
over John's back, one arm on either shoulder with his chest pressed into the
back of John's shoulders and his cheek against the shorter boy's ear. How
strange. Pulling his vest straight, he returned to his bed and stretched out on
his stomach this time.
John had remained stock still at the movement. It felt... Nice, actually.
Comfortable. Sort of like Sherlock fit there in a weird way.
"Thanks." He muttered, finally sitting forward when Sherlock had removed his
(soft) face from his ear. He wet his lips and opened up his own email account.
"Hm." He looked at the average grade that popped up on the screen. Not his best
by a long shot, actually. "No woinder Mr. Langdon wanted to discuss extra
lesso-" As he turned around mid sentence, John's eyes travelled straight to
Sherlock's arse.
Jesus, what was wrong with him tonight! First he ogled his friend in naught but
his swimming gear, then he nearly grabbed his hand in the street, then there
was the fuzzy feeling of Sherlock wrapped around his back. And now this. "Um.
Sorry, what was I saying?"
"You were talking about needing extra lessons before you almost swallowed your
tongue. There's soda in the fridge if you feel you need a drink. Let me know
when you're done with that, I've found my notes." Sherlock set aside a neatly
clipped sheaf of papers, snapped the folder shut, and slid it under the foot of
his bed to retrieve it later. Rolling over, he let his head hang off the end of
the bed so he could watch John upside down. "Are you staying in tonight? I know
some of the rugby team is supposed to be having a little party in your dorm,
though I don't think that's quite your scene."
"Ugh no. The last thing I need is Greg sneaking in alcohol and getting us all
in trouble." John stood and pushed a hand through his hair. He padded over to
the mini fridge and retrieved a 7Up. "You don't mind if I crash here until
they've at least been escorted back to their rooms?" He gestured to the laptop
to signal he was finished, and sat cross legged at the end of the spare bed
instead. He gathered up his biology books and marked his latest grade, a C,
down on his notes copy; down from a low A grade the previous month.
"Not at all." Sherlock slid off the bed with all his usual grace, winding up on
the floor in his usual sprawl of limbs. Padding over to his computer, he folded
himself into the swivel chair and pulled his notes toward him. In short oder he
had tuned John and the rest of the room out the only sound he was creating
being the click of his fingers on the laptop keys. The one-page lab report
turned into two, and into three, and by the time Sherlock sat back from the
laptop a little less than an hour later he'd managed to churn out five pages,
neatly formatted and crammed with text.
John had settled himself into his own routine; notes to his right, the biology
book open in front of his folded knees, and his notes copy balanced on his
knee. After a while of studying, John turned over onto his side, one hand
tucked under his head and the other flipping through his notes. The sudden
shift in Sherlock's movement made him glance over the sheaf of pages. "All
finished, then?" It was already starting to darken out, and John reached up to
flick on the bedside lamp.
"I should hope so... This turned out to be five pages. Much more than I was
expecting to have..." Leaning forward again, he sent the email with the
attached lab report to his teacher before swivelling his chair around to face
John. Steepling his fingers in front of his mouth, he took a moment, just a
moment, to study the boy he called his best friend. Then, with a low chuckle in
the back of his throat, he padded over to the minifridge to fetch himself a can
of apple juice from the shelf in the door.
Letting his notes fall away from his hand not to be seen for the rest of the
night, John turned onto his back. "What?" He frowned at Sherlock and watched
him go fetch a drink. He sat up and leaned back against the pillows, taking a
moment to roll out his neck before taking off his shirt altogether. He tossed
it into his schoolbag.
"Nothing, John. Don't worry about it. It was nothing more than an idle thought
that I found rather funny." He chuckled again, sitting down on the end of his
bed with the can of juice dangling loosely from the tips of his long fingers.
The thought that had occured to him was that John's attraction was not one-
sided, though it had taken him this long to realize it. He was not well-versed
in physical attraction, and certainly not to someone that he had long
considered only his friend. While he wasn't quite as infatuated as he thought
John might be, he could see the reasons behind his attraction to John, and the
reasoning behind why it simply didn't bother him.
"Oh. Okay." John shrugged, nudging the corner of his biology book with his toe.
He had long since finished his own drink, and he tossed the can skillfully into
the little bin next to the desk. Finally putting all his books away, John stood
up to nose around Sherlock's room; it was something he did often when he was up
here. "Do you still have that copy of Aesop's fables? The pocket-sized leather
one?" He stood up on tip-toe and caught sight of the familiar little book. "Oh
there it is. I can't reach it."
"Hold on, I'll get it for you." Sherlock set his drink down on the corner of
his desk and snagged the little book down, handing it to John before retaking
his seat on the end of his bed. Normally, he would have needed something to
keep his restless hands busy, but at the moment his mind was occupied with the
issue of John's attraction to him. Obviously they couldn't act on it, not here
where the dorm room doors had no locks and the walls were paper-thin, but he
couldn't just ignore the mutual respect and attraction between them. He finally
sighed and flopped backward onto the bed, his hands behind his head and his
legs dangling off the edge.
Returning to his own bed - or rather, Sherlock's spare bed - John settled back
against the pillows again, this time with one knee bent and the other stretched
out in front of him. When he was sure Sherlock wasn't looking, he let his eyes
slide over to watch his graceful form. The curls splayed around his head framed
his face beautifully.
Clearing his throat, he set the book aside and lay on his side again. What the
hell was he to do about this? Sherlock didn't do... Well, he didn't do
relationships. And john wasn't sure what his sexual preferences were. He didn't
want to scare his only best friend away. Somewhere in his thoughts, a little
frown creased between his eyes.
"You're staring again, John." Sherlock stared up at the ceiling, not even
looking over at John to speak. Though, after a moment, he let his head loll to
one side so he could look at the other boy. "In fact, you've been staring a lot
lately, and spending more and more time coming to my swim practices... Is there
something you'd like to tell me to just get it over with?" His hands were still
behind his head, so he had to peer over his own elbow to see more than a sliver
of John laying on the other bed.
The shorter boy swallowed thickly and turned head away as he felt his cheeks
burn up.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Small chapter, just to get things rolling.
With a groan, John rubbed at his forehead. "Am I that obvious?" Sitting up, he
pulled his knees up to his chin and tilted his head. "...Does it bother you?"
"It wouldn't be obvious to most people, but I am your best friend, John, and
more observant than the average person." His gaze returned to the ceiling,
since he knew if he laid there and stared at John he was bound to make him
uncomfortable very quickly. "I will say, though, that it does not bother me. I
am... Inexperienced in relationships, but I'm not unaware of my own
preferences."
"Ah..." His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he nodded. John wasn't very
inexperienced. He knew he preferred boys, but even still he'd dated about three
girls since joining the school, and one boy named Victor about a year ago. Each
of the relationships had ended badly. It left John with very little faith in
his ability to sustain a relationship with anyone.
Not to mention there was his father, who was constantly reminding him that he's
such a strong young lad and girls must be pining over him. His father, who was
so proud of his 'straight', rugby-playing son, would disown him if he knew the
truth.
For some reason, and despite everything else, had a feeling that if he pursued
a relationship with Sherlock - his best friend - he'd make sure not to screw it
up. "Well... If I were to ask you out, what would you say? Hypothetically, of
course." He unfolded his legs so he was sitting on the edge of the bed now, his
t-shirt pulled tight across his boad shoulders and chest.
"Hypothetically, I would have to say no due to current circumstances. Under my
course load and the stress of your budding rugby career, it would be nigh on
impossible to maintain any semblance of a proper relationship." Scooting up on
the bed, Sherlock rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow; his
uniform hung a little loose on his swimmer's frame, but was too short for his
torso and left a tiny gap of white skin between his trousers and the hem of his
shirt. "Besides, the beds here are notoriously creaky and the walls are paper
thin. In fact, I'm almost certain that if my neighbours are home they can hear
us talking."
Why did that make John's stomach knot up so much? Oh who was he kidding: of
course it wouldn't work.
"I suppose you're also out my league... Heh." He glanced down at his hands,
which he'd been twisting in his lap. "So, hypothetically no. But what if the
circumstances were different? Would you even consider it then?" He was treading
around the edges now. And that sliver of exposed skin... If he could just
muster up the courage to go over there and kiss him, it would be a first. Weeks
of fantasizing about it was starting to push him over that edge.
Before either of them could speak out again, Sherlock's phone began to ring.
"...Mycroft. I'm going to step out to take this, John." Swinging his legs off
the side of the bed, Sherlock flipped up his phone and strode out into the
hallway with a, "Brother. What do you want?"
John was alone and he was sweating. Jesus, why did he have to ask that? Things
were perfectly fine the way they were between them. He was sure they'd turn
awkward now. With a sigh and a glance in the direction of the door, John
crawled under his covers and lay down. There was a small television on top of
the dresser across from the beds, so he turned it on and settled on some
Australian soap opera; there wasn't anything else worth watching. Reaching down
into his bag, John pulled out his glasses (for watching TV) and slipped them
on, bunching up the duvet around him and getting comfortable.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep for, or what time at night it was, but
when John woke up he was no longer wearing his glasses. They sat in his case on
the locker next to him, and the duvet had been pulled down and tucked in around
him properly. The television was switched off but the lamp next to it was still
on. Blinking the sleep-induced blur out of his eyes, John pushed himself onto
his elbows and looked around. The other boy's bed was empty and unslept in.
"Sherlock?" He called out. A few seconds later and the door to the adjoining
bathroom opened. Sherlock stepped into the bedroom wiping his mouth from the
minty toothpaste foam.
"Oh, you're awake." Throwing the towel into a dirty clothes hamper on the other
side of the room, Sherlock nudged the bathroom door shut with his foot and
flicked off the light. "You fell asleep so I just..." he gestured to the
glasses and the TV.
"Thanks." John rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. So what now? Were they
just going to let the subject from earlier drop? John didn't like this, the
awkward wavelength that was brewing. "Look-"
"John." Sherlock raised a hand to silence him, and approached John's bed. He
perched himself on the side of it and picked at the duvet absent-mindedly. "I
never got to answer your question earlier."
"Which- Oh. Right." John could feel the blush creeping into his cheeks. "You
don't have to."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Let me finish." His index fingers tapped out an
absent rhythm on the striped pattern of the duvet. His gaze flicked to John
again, then back to his fingers. "I am not opposed to the idea of a
relationship with you, John. In fact, I suspect I would rather enjoy it."
John couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face then. "Then... I want
to try something." Sherlock probably could have guessed what he was talking
about, but it didn't matter. He sat up straighter and fidgeted with his t-
shirt, pulling it down at the hem.
Sherlock wasn't quite so dense as to be unaware of what was going on; given
their current conversation, the next logical step was... Well.
Rather than letting John make the first move, Sherlock turned and slid both
lean hands into John's hair. Then, with a little smile, he leaned forward to
kiss him soundly on the mouth.
John's eyes widened briefly before closing, and he melted into the kiss. His
hands found their way to his friend's waist and he slid his lips along with
ease. It was nice; very nice actually, and John pulled back reluctantly a
moment later. His cheeks were pink and he looked up at Sherlock through long
lashes. "...Can we do that again?" he didn't want to move too fast, not unless
Sherlock wanted to. John's hands stayed where they were on his waist.
While the kiss was... Enthusiastic, there had been no real heat behind it.
Sherlock shifted himself further onto John's bed, no color in his cheeks and an
almost puzzled expression on his face. Yes, he had enjoyed the kiss, but there
had been something... Not entirely there. "Yes, I imagine we could do this
again. So long as you kiss me this time."
John's mouth curled into a little smile as he pulled Sherlock closer. He
pressed their mouths together again. His hands slid up along his neck and into
his hair, playing with the silky curls there. He applied more pressure to the
kiss, even daring to swipe his tongue along his friend's lower lip.
Now this... This had heat, this had what the other kiss was missing. Sherlock
inched closer until he was sitting right by John's side, laying his hands
loosely on John's hips. He understood wanting John to take the lead; though
only a year older he had worlds of experience over Sherlock and actually knew
what he was doing. When his lungs began to cry for air, Sherlock sat back just
enough to draw in a breath, colour rising in his cheeks.
John found that it all felt a bit surreal. His lips were just a shade redder
than usual and his hands were still in Sherlock's hair. He stroked the curls
back from his eyes and smiled.
"So... Do you want to continue? Kissing, I mean. It's nice." He let his hands
fall to Sherlock's shoulders again, fighting the urge to just pull his friend
on top of him and kiss him silly, though that's something he'd often fantasized
about.
"Perhaps we shouldn't. We both know that teenage boys cannot be trusted to stop
at just kissing." Gently, Sherlock removed John's hands from his shoulders,
kissing each of his fingers before letting go entirely. "I think it best that
we stop for now. And it's... Just past two in the morning. We'd better go to
sleep." He smiled slowly and wet his lips, doing a very good job of ignoring
the unfamiliar heat pooled low in his stomach and tingling through his
extremeties.
"Perhaps you're right." John leaned forward to steal one more cheeky peck.
Maybe Sherlock would even permit sharing a bed some time. It wouldn't have been
a first; there'd been the school trip to Germany last year where they shared a
double room.
He watched as Sherlock slid off the bed and over to his own. He undressed
quickly and slipped under his own duvet, looking over at John before flicking
off the bedside lamp.
"Goodnight John." There was real warmth in that and John couldn't help smile in
the darkness.
"Night Sherlock." Still smiling stupidly to himself, John turned over onto his
side and closed his eyes. Before he nodded off, he found himself touching his
thumb to his lips.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     Timeskip of two weeks after the first bit of this chapter.
John woke up late the next morning, judging by how bright it was despite the
curtains being still drawn closed. He sat up, pushing the heels of his palms
into his eyes and rubbing the sleep from them. It was then that he realised he
was alone in the room, with Sherlock's bed already made and his phone gone from
the bedisde locker. He must have been called to swimming practice or gone for
breakfast.
John sat up further and swung his legs out of bed. He found himself smiling to
himself as memories of the kiss last night came flooding back to him, and he
began to laugh to himself. To think it actually happened! In fact, John didn't
stop laughing until he pulled out his mobile phone, and then the laugh and all
traces of a smile were wiped from his face.
Missed Call: Dad - 09:49 am
Missed Call: Dad - 10:00 am
He stared at his mobile for a moment, then decided that whatever it was his
father had to say to him could wait until he'd had some breakfast at least. He
got dressed quickly and headed down to the breakfast hall. It was mostly empty
save for about fifteen students, a few of them studying in one corner and the
rest having breakfast. Sherlock was one of them (but breakfast for him was a
cup of tea), and gave John a sheepish little smile when spotted. Motioning for
Sherlock to wait for a moment, John prepared a breakfast tray of cereal with
extra toast, and a cup of orange juice.
"Here, eat." John set down the plate of toast in front of Sherlock and sat in
beside him.
"But I have practice." Sherlock picked up a slice of toast and frowned at it.
"Can't eat before swimming, John."
Rolling his eyes, John just pushed a plate of butter in the younger boy's
direction. "Yeah, practice at half five this evening. I'm not kidding,
Sherlock, eat something."
He couldn't help but smile at John then. The boy was so protective and good to
him that it was a wonder Sherlock hadn't acted upon his desires earlier.
Deciding to do what he was told for once, Sherlock tore off the corner of one
slice and chewed on it slowly.
"Good boy." John jibed, recieving a dig in the ribs from Sherlock. He chuckled.
"I missed a phonecall from dad thismorning. Two, actually."
"Oh? What about?" John just shrugged and sipped at his orange juice.
"I'll find out when I ring him back." He shrugged. "Probably wondering if I'm
on the bloody National rugby team yet." He rolled his eyes and finished off his
breakfast. That was the annoying thing about his father - it was all about
rugby for him. Rugby and John's education. "Anyway, I'd better get going. I
promised Greg I'd meet up with him for a run this afternoon. I'll uh... Catch
you later, yeah?"
There was so much behind that sentence that was so new to the two of them.
Under the table - and out of the sight of other people - Sherlock grabbed
John's hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "Yeah. Now go, don't want to keep Greg
waiting. And yes, before you ask, I'll eat it all."
John simply grinned.
 
***
John felt relef wash over him when his coach blew the whistle. It was always a
thrilling feeling after practice, with the adrenaline still running through his
system and the tight pull of the muscles in his thighs. "Good game, lads!" The
coach slapped John on the back as he made his way to the bench. "Great
improvement, Watson. Keep it up and you could find yourself captain." The coach
dropped him a little wink before sauntering off.
They had a five minute cool down session before they hit the showers, and John
took advantage of that time to stretch and drink as much water as physically
possible in one go. Nobody knew of his relationship with Sherlock yet. It had
only been about two weeks since they'd began dating, so coming out to people
was still on their to-do list. John was also very protective of Sherlock, which
was a good thing when it came to the snarky comments sometimes thrown around
about him.
Like right then, for exampe. Anderson's nasal voice was unmistakable across the
way.
"... and he got right up, in front of the whole bloody class, the little prat,
and basically told me everything I had said was wrong! It's like he thinks he
knows everything!" Anderson laughed, his little group of cronies laughing along
with him, and propped a hand on the wall next to him. "He must think the world
revolves around him! Or the solar system, anyway!" Another set of raucous
laughter, then Anderson's eyes caught John, and he turned. "Oi, Watson! You're
one of the freak's maates, aren't you? Is he always that messed up? Talking
about how he can figure everything out just by looking at you."
John tried to push down the anger that was crawling under his skin. It wasn't
the first time this week that this had happened, and John was growing
increasingly annoyed with the little rat-faced git. Standing up from his
stretches, he caught Lestrade's eye. He was probably the only other person on
the team who didn't badmouth Sherlock around John. Throwing his water bottle
into his gear bag, John strode towards Anderson. "Call my best friend a freak
one more time, Anderson, and I swear you'll regret it." His hands curled into
fists by his sides. "Personally, I don't think it's any of your fucking
business what he's like. Oh, and he told me all about your little hook up with
Sally behind the gym."
"I don't care if people hear about that, Watson. Donovan was gasping for it,
y'know. I bet she'd even have slept with Holmes, given half the chance!"
Anderson's little cronies started laughing again, nudging each other and
giggling, and Anderson himself looked quiet smug about the whole affair. "You
know I hear he's still a virgin? Sixteen and a virgin. In England! Must be
somethin' really wrong with him if he hasn't gotten himself laid yet!" The
laughter, which up to this point had been merely mildly irritating turned into
full-blown obnoxious, complete with the boys slapping their thighs and crowing
with laughter. Some of them were nearly doubled over.
John could feel his fist curl into an even tighter ball and anger coil around
his stomach. Hearing the little weedling talk about his boyfriend like he was
simply a piece of dirt was infuriating. It wouldn't be long before... Whack!
John punched that smug little smile off his fucking face. "You little shit!" At
least half of the rubgy team backed off at that point, some going silent, a few
laughng even harder, and others shouting a chorus of 'ooh, Watson's getting
defensive!' When he pulled back his bloodied fist, John could feel his face
grow red hot.
One of Anderson's mates caught him as he fell back, clapping a hand to his
bleeding nose and mouth. John's punch had been just at the perfect angle not to
break his nose; he had managed to split Anderson's lip quite nicely and
potentially knocked a tooth loose. He spat out a mouthful of blood onto the
grass and brushed his cronies off. For a moment, it looked like was going to
punch John back, then he seemed to think better of it.
"You're lucky, Watson." He spat again, more spit than blood this time. "I don't
think I deserved that, but you did always have a hot temper."
"That's nothing. Insult Sherlock again, and you'll have a lovely black eye to
match that split lip of yours." He snarled, spat onto the ground next to
Anderson, and left without showering or changing. He was fuming and didn't
particularly want to see Anderson's face again. "Fucking dipshit." He grumbled,
taking out his ipod and heading for the school's own changing rooms. Surely
nobody would be in there this late after classes. He took out his phone and
sent a text off to Sherlock: Just finished practice, want me to meet you
anywhere? JW
Do you want me to come down? I'm not far. SH Sherlock had been close by,
actually; he'd been on the roof of the sports' building having a cigarette,
watching everything that happened. Moments after the first text, Sherlock fired
off another one. I saw what happened. I was on the roof at the time. Is
Anderson badly hurt? I wouldn't want you to get written up because of this. SH
I think he'll live. For now. Actually yeah, meet me in the courtyard? JW John
couldn't help but smile at that. Of course Sherlock had been watching. He
himself was in quite a state of muck and sweat and would need a shower in case
he got Sherlock dirty, but it'd been a whole day since they last talked and he
wanted to see his boyfriend before curfew.
I can meet you in the locker room if you'd rather. It's not long until curfew,
and I don't think I could negotiate a reason for you staying in my room
tonight. SH Sherlock darted down the stairs two at a time, tucking his phone
into the cuff of his sleeve long enough to push open the main doors and run out
onto the courtyard's grass.
Please do. See you in five, then. JW Hitching his bag higher over his shoulder,
John headed straight towards the locker room. As he predicted, nobody was there
at this hour. Good, it would give them some privacy for an hour or so. Plonking
his bag down onto one of the wooden benches, John began to peel off his mucky
gear as he waited for his boyfriend to arrive.
Sherlock trotted across the grass, ignoring the little bubble of warmth welling
in his stomach at the idea of seeing John again after all day without him.
Chuckling at his own faint sentimentality, he ducked into the locker room and
let the door thump shut behind him. He crossed the tile floor, canvas shoes
scuffing a bit, and sat down next to John on the bench. "Let me see your hand."
"Hello to you too." John grinned at the sight of Sherlock, but did as he was
told anyway, holding his hand out. The splatter of blood on his knuckles had
dried, and John was fairly sure it was bruised. "I suppose you heard it all
too, yeah?"
"I didn't hear anything, actually. The acoustics were not ideal and I was too
far away. I did gather enough to safely say that you were defending my honor,
though." Licking the pad of his thumb, he rubbed some of the dried blood off
John's knuckles. "Well, you haven't injured yourself too badly, thankfully. No
more than a bruise." Setting John's hand down again, he crossed one leg over
the other.
"He's just such a fucking prat, y'know? I couldn't sit back and let him
badmouth you like that." John removed his jersey and stuffed it into his
gearbag. "He'd think twice if he knew the almost-captain was actually the
boyfriend of Sherlock Holmes." John walked over to switch on the water. He
stood back and let it run warm.
Sherlock raised a finger, as though to voice an opinion on what John had just
rattled off, then went quite silent in favour of ogling his almost-naked
boyfriend. His hand dropped, and he leaned back on the bench to put his back
against the wall. "I don't think you should use our relationship purely as an
excuse to fend off petty bullies, John. Certainly not Anderson. He has the IQ
of a turnip and all the personality of a rabid badger."
"It's still not right, though. Boyfriend or not, you were my best friend first,
and nobody talks shit about you." John stepped under the spray of the water,
letting it soak into his sore and tense muscles. Looking back out to Sherlock,
he smiled lightly. He had half a mind to invite him in with him, seeing as they
had the place to themselves. "Did you shower already today?"
"Yes, first thing this morning. And again at noon, after swim practice." He
crossed his legs, resting one pale hand on his knee, fingers curled lightly
against his trouser leg. "I don't think I need a third shower, John... And I
certainly don't think I would get any cleaner, not with you in there." A dirty
little smirk curled the corner of his mouth, and he uncrossed his legs. "I hope
you don't mind if I watch, though. I could get used to this..."
"I have no obligations." John flashed him a grin and reached down for the
little bottle of shampoo. He knew how Sherlock liked the muscles in his back,
so he made a show of half turning in the shower so his back was to him. Next on
the agenda was the shower gel. "You know, it's been two weeks now... I think
Greg is starting to suspect something."
In the two weeks that they'd established themselves as a couple, the pair had
managed to keep themselves low-key. It was hard to resist the urge to reach out
and hold the other's hand in public, and even harder to stop the looks shared
between them in class when one of the girls tried to flirt with John. So far it
was only Greg who was suspicious. Next to Sherlock, Greg was a close friend of
John's and they had a mutual respect for one another, both on and off the
pitch.
"Well, Gregory is marginally smarter than the average rugby player, yourself
not included." Sherlock shifted again, resting one hand on each leg and tapping
his left foot against the tile floor. "Will you be much longer, John? You know
how they are about curfew around here. I wouldn't want you to get caught out of
your building..."
"Not too much longer, no. Though I'm not exactly going to get into trouble if I
don't get caught." John dropped a wink in Sherlock's direction and let the soap
and shampoo run off his body. They hadn't seen each other fully naked yet,
seeing as they both agreed to take things slow, but the way John's wet
underwear clung to his skin, well, it was quite distracting. He released a deep
sigh as the water relaxed him further and it wasn't long before he was ready to
get out. He grabbed his own towel and switched off the water, stepping out and
letting the water run off his legs and into the little drains below his feet.
"I have something to tell you by the way."
"Oh? What is it?" Sherlock's tongue darted out to moisten his upper lip, and he
almost unconsciously brought a hand to his mouth and swiped his thumb over his
lower lip. Even if he was talking to John, most of his attention was on the
lines of muscle that were a little too clear-cut for someone of John's age and
stature. He finally tore his eyes away from John's abs, locking eyes with him.
John smirked and stalked over to his bag (which was conveniently beside
Sherlock.) Most of the water had run off him at this stage, and he was left
with little just droplets on his shoulder and neck. "Well, remember when dad
called a couple of weeks ago to see how I was getting on? Well he called again
last night. He's coming up for Saturday's match." He rummaged through his bag
and pulled on some fresh underwear - which Sherlock turned away for- along with
a pair of grey track pants and a white t-shirt. "He wants to see how well I'm
doing and, I quote, 'meet the wonderful girlfriend I've been hiding.'" He
frowned and shuffled closer to his boyfriend, settling his arms around the
taller male's shoulders.
Hooking his fingers into the waist of John's track pants, Sherlock pulled him
close enough to run the tip of his nose up the faint line of John's abs under
his shirt. "So... Either you find a girl and pretend you're with her for
Saturday or you come out to your father."
John sighed. "The latter is out of the question."
Sherlock tipped his head back to look at John, eyes narrowed in contemplation.
"I know it'd be hard John, but-"
"No. No, Sherlock, you've met dad." John sounded weary. "Remember when he
talked about Harry?"
That conversation had been awkward. Not only was Harry a lesbian, thus breaking
their mother's poor heart, but she was a alcoholic. The way his dad spoke of
her, telling John how she was a shame to the Watson name and family, had been
enough to put the fear of god into him. To his dad, John was the son who would
make the English rubgy team, who'd find a nice girl, get married, and give his
parents some grandchildren. John, who attended the Monday evening chapel with
the rest of his schoolmates, was a straight and god-fearing young man.
And what a load of lies that was.
For Mr. Watson to find out his son 'took it up the arse' would be enough for
him to disown John. And John knew that all too well.
"...Why does he think you have a girlfriend?"
At that, John groaned, letting his head slump down so his forehead was pressed
against Sherlock's. "God... I sent him a text I meant to send to you."
"Which one, John?" Pulling back, John flopped down into the seat next to his
boyfriend and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He scrolled through his
messages until he found the one, and held his phone out to Sherlock:
I'm coming up to yours now. Put the door on the latch for me. And don't worry,
I'm bringing you chap stick tonight! JW x
Sherlock couldn't help the small giggle that slipped out of his mouth, which he
quickly bit down on his tongue to stop. Oh god, that was last week, when
Sherlock's lips had become raw from the force of their kisses.
"Sorry. But you sent that to your father?"
"Yes." John whined and took the phone back. "I sent back 'wrong number' but dad
thinks I'm hiding a secret girlfriend from him. He's insisting on meeting her!"
Standing up, Sherlock pulled John to his feet. He caught John's face between
his hands and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. "Relax, John. I'll walk you
back to your dorm."
"What about dad?"
"...Leave it for now. Today's only Wednesday and the match isn't until
Saturday. We'll work something out by then." Instead of arguing, John just
nodded. He was far too tired to deal with his father at the minute. "Come on,
it's almost prep and you have a paper to finish for tomorrow."
John wasn't going to question how Sherlock knew that. He'd become accustomed a
good while back to Sherlock's uncanny knowledge about his life and found it
fascinating. Grabbing his gearbag from the bench, he slipped his hand into
Sherlock's and allowed the taller boy to lead him out.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Another short chapter. We'll have a couple of extra twists in the
     next one.
Saturday came around way too quickly for John. The week itself had been
stressful, what with the extra evening practices for their first match of the
season, and trying to cram in all the homework and study before bedtime. He
only got the chance to see Sherlock in school at lunch time and, from what he'd
been told, the boy had a plan. Not being able to see each other for more than
60 minutes a day meant sneaky snogging sessions behind the dumpsters or in the
empty terrace of the school's football pitch, which often left them breathless
and needing more.
"Win this game tomorrow, Watson, and you'll find yourself the team Captain."
Their coach was sure of it after their Friday night session, and had sent the
team off with orders for an early bedtime and a fresh start in the morning.
Not wanting to be a physical distraction to John on the night before the first
match, Sherlock invited him to a webcam chat:
(20:21) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk: Webcam. I have a plan for tomorrow to help
the situation with your father.
(20:21) Watson06@live.co.uk: Good! Okay, just give me a moment to change out of
this gear.
(20:22) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk: Are you going to strip for me on camera,
John?
(20:24) Watson06@live.co.uk: K ready.
(20:24) Watson06@live.co.uk: Wait what?! No you wanker.
(20:25) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk: Joke, John.
(20:25) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk is inviting Watson06@live.co.uk to a video
conference. Accept?
(20:26) Watson06@live.co.uk has accepted. Now connecting...
"Hey." John adjusted his webcam so he could lean back in his chair. "So what's
this big plan you've got for me?"
"Evening." Sherlock smiled lightly at his boyfriend. "It's Molly Hooper."
"What? Molly as in Biology class Molly?"
"Yes."
"...How is she your plan, exactly?" John adjusted the hem of his t-shirt and
tilted his head. Sherlock just rolled his eyes.
"Come on, John, surely you're not that dense? Your father wants to meet your
'girlfriend'. Molly will pose as your girlfriend." John groaned and rubbed his
forehead. Molly Hooper?
"Oh god. How much did you pay her?"
"Enough to make her agree. Which wasn't a lot, actually, I think she rather
fancies you Mister Watson."
"Shutup! She does not!"
"I don't blame her, with your muscles and your big strong-"
"Shut up or I will murder you in your sleep."
"Tremendously ambitious of you, John."
"Piss off." But there was no venom behind John's words. He could see the
mischievous glint in Sherlock's eye and John began to laugh. "Right, so Molly
will pretend to be my girlfriend."
"Exactly. And your father will get to meet her and he'll congratulate you on
your spectacular rugby playing. Everybody wins." Sherlock shifted his position
on his bed then, lying on his side and propping his head up on his hand. He was
still in his uniform and his hair was a tousle of unwashed curls.
"Right. I just hope you're okay with it." John sounded unsure.
"I'm fine with it. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have done this for you. Anyway, it's
after half past, John. You need your rest."
"Yeah. Yeah I suppose I should go to bed. See you tomorrow?"
"Meet us down in the courtyard at ten. Your match doesn't start until noon so
that gives us plenty of time to run things over. Now go on, off with you."
John chuckled and stretched out his arms. "Right. I'll give you a text in the
morning. Night."
"Goodnight John."
(20:34) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk has ended the video conference.
(20:34) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk: Oh, and good luck.
(20:35) Watson06@live.co.uk: Thanks. Bye.
(20:35) Watson06@live.co.uk has signed out.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     I wanted Molly to share a room with Sally and Irene.
     Oh look, it's Jim Moriarty *hiii*
     Just for reference, Molly knows about their relationship.
Sherlock had spent the night finishing off homework and study. When that was
out of the way, instead of getting out of his uniform and into bed, he had
rooted through his wardrobe for some dark clothes. Not only was Sherlock a
swimmer, he'd also had years of tae kwon do and judo classes behind him. So
despite his thin frame, Sherlock was strong, flexible and agile.
That, it seemed, came in handy for sneaking out of his room. It wasn't that he
wasn't allowed to be out on a Friday night, seeing as there was no curfew, but
if he was caught sneaking over to the girls' dorms then he could well be caught
and suspended. That was one of the main rules at Briarwood's to be followed at
all times. Despite him being a top student - who managed to charm his way
around the teachers' little fingers - there were just some things that even he
wasn't going to risk talking his way out of.
Setting his clothes aside for now, Sherlock set his alarm for five in the
morning. That gave him a chance to at least catch up some sleep, because John
would no doubt chide him about his sleeping habits if he appeared tomorrow with
dark bags under his eyes.
*
Molly wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her slight frame, pulling the
ties into a loose bow around her middle. She was waiting exactly where Sherlock
told her to, shivering in her nightclothes under the porch of the girls' dorm
entrance. The only light source was coming from the school's courtyard, and
Molly could swear she saw something moving in the bushes… No, it was only her
imagination. Sherlock would appear in a moment and everything would be fine.
She turned her head to the right towards the boys' dorms, looking for any sign
of Sherlock's willowy figure approaching.
None yet.
It was ten minutes past five, and in the dark near-winter morning the sky was
still pitch black. She was going to just give up, go back inside and wait for
Sherlock to call her when he got here, when the bush started to move once more.
Maybe it was a cat? It wasn't Sherlock; if he was sneaking around to get to her
he wouldn't do so in the bushes. Was it… Was it Jim Moriarty? It wouldn't be
the first time. Molly had often looked out her bedroom window in the wee hours
of the morning to see the boy, a year younger than her but in the same classes,
skulking around the courtyard as if waiting for somebody. The last time he'd
done so he'd caught her watching, witnessed her whipping her head away from the
window, and smirked at her the following week in French class.
Before Molly could decide whether she was going to turn back or not, she felt a
hand touch her shoulder and spin her around. A hand was clamped over mouth to
stop her from shrieking and Molly looked up at the person with her big brown
eyes, only to relax instantly.
"Mmf- Sherlock." She removed his hand from her mouth and scowled. "You
frightened me!"
"Quiet, Molly! Come on, bring me to your room." If Sherlock had said that to
her last year, Molly would have blushed seven shades of red, but not now: she
was over her little crush on Sherlock Holmes. Besides, he was John's now.
Nodding, she glanced back once more to check out the bush which had stopped
moving entirely. With a frown, Molly shook her head and muttered to herself.
"Right… It's just down the hall here. Your lucky Mrs. Turner isn't on duty
tonight."
"Oh please. Both she and Mrs. Hudson are the easiest people to slip by."
"Yeah," Molly snorted. "And if you get caught you might as well expect the
wrath of hell."
"Or a pair of little old ladies." Sherlock smiled and shook his head, trailing
behind Molly until they reached her room. She wiped her keycard in the slot and
unlocked her door, ushering Sherlock inside.
"Sally and Irene are gone home for the weekend, luckily enough." Molly gestured
to the left hand side of the room, where there were two made-up beds separated
by a bedside locker. Molly's lilac coloured bed was on its own on the left hand
side, pushed up against the wall and lined with soft toys; care bears, a
stuffed cat called Toby, a doll with a raggedy dress and red hair, and several
mini cushions.
It was very girly, just like Molly, and a far cry from the two other beds.
Sally's was blue and stripey, with her sports' bag peeking out from under it.
Irene's bed was black and grey brocade patterned, and had two white silk
cushions and a white silk throw at the foot of it.
Wrinkling his nose at the cascade of fabric and colour around the room,
Sherlock strode straight over to the wardrobe, yanked it open, and peered at
its contents.
"Oh, mine's-"
"Yes, Molly, the three shelves on the left."
"How did you know?"
Sherlock smirked. "I looked. You're not the type of girl to wear tracksuit
bottoms and football jerseys, that's clearly Donovan's end of things. That
section takes up most of the bottom shelves." Sherlock gestured towards them
and then to the tattered trainers lined up beside them. "And Miss Adler's taste
is very classy, hence the array of dresses hanging up and the high heels
stacked over here. Oh, and not to mention the-" Sherlock had opened one of the
right hand side shelves labelled I.A and had immediately shut it again (with a
mental note to delete everything he'd seen, especially the leather whip and set
of studded handcuffs.) "...Never mind."
He shook his head and concentrated on Molly's side again. "Anyway, you're going
to be meeting Mister Watson later today. We have to find you something
flattering."
"Are you saying my clothes aren't flattering?"
"No no, nothing like that Molly." He fixed her with one of his wide, put on
smiles. "We just need to find something exceptionally flattering for you. How
about..." He pulled out an armful of clothes and dumped them onto her bed to
sort them into outfits. "Try some of these on."
Molly shuffled nervously on her feet, biting her lip as she rifled through the
clothes. "Right but... Um, could you...?" She drew a circle in the air with her
index finger, indicating for Sherock to turn around.
"Of course." He refrained from rolling his eyes as he turned around. Honestly,
he'd seen the female body before. "But do hurry up."
*
"Urgh, fuck." John woke up to find himself hanging from his bed by his left
foot, tangled up in his duvet. On the other side of the room Greg laughed,
standing up and holding a hand out to John.
"Good morning Sunshine. Alright?"
"Yeah, thanks mate." He allowed himself to be pulled up. "I must've rolled off
in my sleep." Turning around he scrubbed a hand through his hair and made up
his bed.
"All set for the match today, Captain?" John had to smile at Greg for that,
shaking his head as he pulled out his gearbag.
"I'm not Captain yet, Greg."
"You will be when we win. And don't worry, Coach put Anderson as sub today."
"Thank God for that. Right, what time is it?" John pulled off his pyjama t-
shirt and threw it in the clothes hamper, reaching down for a thermal vest to
wear underneath his gear.
"Twenty to ten." Greg sat down on his bed. "Er... John?"
"Hm?" john hurriedly changed into their team's kit; white shorts (with thermal
undershorts to keep warm) and a green jersey with Briarwood's printed under
their oakleaf crest. His name was displayed in white print on the back. It was
twenty to ten, which meant John had twenty minutes to go get breakfast and meet
Sherlock in the courtyard.
"Look, I'm not going to beat around the bush but... There's rumours about you
and, well, y'know, Sherlock."
"Rumours?" John whipped around. He already feared that Greg knew about them,
and to be told that there were rumours, of all things, floating about? Not
good. "What... Sort of rumours?"
"That you're more than best friends."
"Wha-No! We're-"
"Going out. I know, John."
"...You know."
"Yes. I've known for a while now. I'm not totally unobersvant you know." He
stood up and approached John, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Look mate, it
doesn't matter to me who you like. I just thought you'd ought to know that the
rest of the team suspect something."
"It's because of my outburst on Wednesday isn't it?" He received a terse nod
from Greg, who gave his shoulder a squeeze and let his hand fall away. "God, I
knew it. Urgh, look I have to go and meet him now. Don't... Don't tell anyone,
alright?"
"I wouldn't. Go on, I'll meet you on the pitch at eleven for warm-ups." John
gave him a thankful little smile. Grabbing his gearbag and a jacket, he left
their room and headed down to the breakfast hall.
On the way there, he passed a short, black haired boy skulking in the
corridors. It could have been just his imagination, but John was sure he saw
the boy smirking at him. He let the experience slide and pushed on, ignoring
the boy's echoing chuckles.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     Might hitch the rating up to M...
     Also, it's October in the story, just for reference.
"It's twenty past and she's still not here." Sherlock tapped his foot
impatiently on the ground and looked around the courtyard. The only people to
be seen were some first years gathered on the benches. "I told her to be here
at ten! And she's not answering my texts..."
"Maybe she got caught up?" John offered. "Or slept in."
"...Maybe. God, this is tedious." The taller boy huffed and started to pace
towards the girls' dorms. John followed behind, wondering what the hell they'd
do if Molly wasn't around or was sick and couldn't make it. He had to admit it
was odd; Molly Hooper was always the student who was completely organised in
the things she did.
"Sherlock, we can't go in!"
"That's why I'm going in alone. I can slip by Mrs. Turner's office unnoticed.
Just wait out here, John." He turned to face the sandy-haired boy and smiled.
"Go on, sit down. I won't be long." The group of first years had stood up to
leave and were walking away, paying no heed to the couple. Taking John by the
wrist, Sherlock pulled him closer and bent down for a kiss. It was soft and
chaste, so unlike their fast, heated snogging sessions during lunch-times.
"...You'd better hurry up. I have to be on the pitch for eleven."
"And you look so delightful in your rugby gear, John." Smirking, Sherlock
pulled away rather reluctantly and turned, leaving John a little pink-faced in
his wake.
Once inside, Sherlock turned down the opposite hallway to avoid walking by Mrs.
Turner's office. The hallway on the ground floor in the girls' dorm was square,
so Sherlock could easily walk around to molly's corner room. He knocked once on
the door and waited.
No reply.
He knocked again with no avail. "Molly?" He called quietly.
Nothing.
Frowning, he pushed down the handle of the door to find it unlocked, and he was
able to nudge open the door. That was strange; nobody left their room unlocked
unless they were inside, which Molly was clearly not it had seemed. Her bed was
made, still the same way Sherlock had remembered it this morning. In fact, it
had only been four hours since he'd seen Molly last, and the girl seemed ready
to fall into bed by the time he left. All their talk of what to say to John's
father and how to behave had taken its toll on the poor girl.
Sherlock shook his head and inspected the room closer. The clothes he decided
looked best on her were still draped over her desk chair. In the end, they'd
gone with a light pink floral shirt and white tank top, with beige capri
trousers and a simple pair of brown Oxford's. She looked rather classy in them
with her hair tied back to show off her long neck. Molly had joked about
Sherlock's eye for fashion.
But where in the world was she? Door unlocked, bed unslept in, clothes
untouched. Schoolbag still nestled in the corner and all her belongings in her
neat little cubby hole beside her bed. It was as if she'd disappeared. That was
impossible, of course, but this left Sherlock with a dilemma.
Call me as soon as you get this, Molly. If the plan is still on, be at the
pitch for noon. I'll have your stuff. SH He fired off the text and found a
duffel bag in the wardrobe. He folded Molly's clothes into it and slung it over
his shoulder before he left the same way he came in.
"She in there?" John asked, spotting his boyfriend emerging from the building.
He didn't want to alarm John, especially not before the first match of the
season with his father expected to be there. Sherlock smiled and gave a nod,
hoping to whatever deity was out there that this would work. A biting wind blew
across the courtyard then, making Sherlock shuffle closer to John for a bit of
warmth.
"Yes. She's just... Dealing with an issue. 'Girl stuff', she told me. I have
her things for later."
"Oh, good." John smiled and stood on tip-toe for a small peck. "Come on, we
have half an hour to spare before I have to go."
"I'm all yours." Sherlock chuckled and tried to push the Molly issue aside. If
she failed to turn up, he could always make something up until he figured out
what was going on, though it would mean a lot of explaining after a while. He
was brought out of his mind by John's hand trailing down to the small of his
back.
"Oh yes you are." John turned down a small pathway between two classroom blocks
and caught Sherlock's hand. They walked rather hastily.
"Where are we going, John?" Sherlock laughed but allowed himself to be pulled
along by his boyfriend.
"Music room. It's empty on Saturdays and so is the rest of the school." They
shared a grin and didn't slow down until they reached their destination.
The door to the music room was barely closed before Sherlock advanced on John,
pushing him up against the hardwood and latching his lips to the smaller boy's.
John's hands grasped Sherlock's hips and pulled his body against him, opening
his mouth for Sherlock's tongue. This kiss was heated, almost desperate with
the way John's hands slipped under Sherlock's t-shirt. That was as far as
they'd ever gone before; small touches under the duvet, caresses against skin.
John had even gone so far as to palm Sherlock through his underwear but never
have they actually touched each other. Right there in that music room, 'taking
things slow' was the last thing on their minds.
"John..." Sherlock's voice was deep and his lips very red. He shuffled
impossibly closer to John to shift a knee between his thighs. His lips trailed
down to John's cheek and jawline, nipping the skin there briefly as they
travelled lower still. John inhaled sharply when he felt those lips - those
glorious, full lips - press against his jugular. As his hands slid around
Sherlock's hips and his nails raked up his back, John tilted his neck to give
Sherlock more access.
Poking his tongue out, Sherlock licked along the smooth skin of John's neck.
His knee moved to knead against John's crotch, pulling a small moan from the
smaller boy's mouth. "God, you look delectable John." He breathed against his
neck before going in for the kill. He latched his lips against John's pulse-
line and sucked, hard enough to make John clutch at Sherlock's hips and grind
himself against his knee. Now this, this was needy. Two weeks of little touches
and quick kisses were taking its toll.
"Sherlock..." John's eyes fluttered shut as he felt his boyfriend remove his
knee. Only to replace it with his hand. His neck was sporting a rather red
looking hickey by the time Sherlock pulled his head back to look at him.
"Sherlock please."
"Please?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head with a smirk. "Please what, John?"
"Please just..." Huffing out a breathless laugh, John took Sherlock's hand and
guided it under the waistband of his shorts and under his thermal shorts. He
was half-hard already and could see the change in Sherlock's expression.
Without saying another word, Sherlock swooped in to kiss John again, slower
this time. As his right hand wrapped itself around the base of John's cock, his
left worked both the rugby shorts and thermal shorts down around his knees.
John gasped into the taller boy's mouth at the touch, becoming harder by the
second. Sherlock dragged his hand up towards the tip, letting his thumb stroke
over the head of John's already leaking cock. He had to bite down on his lip.
"This should calm you down, John..."
"I-I'm not... Oh god." Swallowing, John let his head drop to Sherlock's
shoulder. He was so sensitive to this sort of thing (he was technically a
virgin, see) and groaned against the soft material of Sherlock's shirt.
"And you look so good in your rugby gear. Have I mentioned that?" His hand
worked harder and his breathing deepened somewhat. "Come on, John."
John wouldn't last too much longer at this rate. He could feel Sherlock's
erection through the fabric of his trousers rubbing against his leg. His friend
had such long and clever fingers, making him more and more needy. A pool of
heat gathered low in his stomach, tensing and untensing as John neared climax.
"Sherlock... Sher-hng!"
"That's it, John... Come on... Cum for me." Sherlock's voice was deep, husky,
filled with lust. With shaking knees, John pushed his face into Sherlock's
chest, braced his hands on the taller boy's hips, and came. He spilled out over
his boyfriend's fingers, trembling. That was the first time they'd done this
and the feeling... Well, it was quite overwhelming. Sherlock gently took his
hand away, fixed John up - both their expressions rather flushed - and then
bent down to kiss him softly.
"We have to get going. Your warmups start in ten minutes, John."
"Sherlock, wait... You're still-"
"No, I'm fine. I'll be alright and we don't have time. We can... Take care of
this later." A smirk pulled up at the corners of Sherlock's mouth and he
brushed a hand down John's front. "You don't look too disheveled. Now go, I'll
be out there to watch you."
John grinned. "Good." He brought Sherlock closer for another long kiss, nipping
on his lower lip lightly, and then picked up his gearbag. "See you later."
Once John was gone, Sherlock slumped back against the wall and let his head tip
back. He was still hard, but that had to wait. He had to find out where Molly
was or at least come up with a convincing lie for when... if she didn't turn
up. Pushing himself upright, he smoothed down his front. He'd since wiped away
John's mess on a nearby curtain. It took a few moments of thought -
AndersonAndersonAnderson - until he was presentable enough to leave the music
room.
*
Molly hadn't slept a wink. Her hair was a mess, sticking out at all angles and
very unbrushed, and Sherlock found her curled up under a staircase. It wasn't
long before the match began; forty minutes tops if they hurried. Crouching
down, Sherlock tilted his head and called her name softly.
"Molly?" The girl's eyes shot open and she looked about wildly, almost
whimpering until she saw Sherlock.
"Oh, ah, s-sorry!" She was shivering. Something wasn't right. Sherlock held out
his hand to her and she took it, her skin icy cold against his warm palm.
"Molly, what on earth happened? Where have you been?"
"I... I..." She swallowed and cleared her throat, glancing around before
continuing. "I went to get a drink last night. Must have fallen asleep." The
giggle that came out of her mouth next for short and obviously fake, and the
poor girl was still trembling.
"Molly listen, I need you to calm down."
"I'm fine!"
"No you're not, but that can wait. Just lean on me a bit... There. Look, we
have to get you dressed and cleaned up. I don't know what happened but I've
told John you were coming. You weren't in your room this morning." Sherlock led
her out into the courtyard and into another block of the school, seeking out a
bathroom. By the time thet reached one, the girl had calmed down a bit.
"Here, put these on. I'm staying right here, alright? If you need help just...
Call for me." Sherlock handed Molly the bag and watched her disappear into the
cubicle with a frown. Whatever had happened to her had frightened her, and she
was jumpy and pale.
Despite her trembles, it didn't take long for her to get dressed. It only took
a few tweaks here and there and a smoothing down of her hair to get her looking
presentable. She still looked quite ashen and wild-eyed, but they had no make-
up to improve that. She'd do for the time being.
"Will you be okay until you meet John's father?"
"Yes."
"...Right. Just remember what we went through earlier and try to be upbeat
about rugby if asked. Are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine!" She snapped, then immediately shook her head. "Sorry. Look, I'm
okay. Can we just get it over with?"
Nodding briefly, Sherlock took her bag from her and led her out of the building
and to the pitch.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT AND NICE COMMENTS! Seriously it DOES
     motivate me. Anyway, school starts back tomorrow so I can't say my
     updates will be regular (I have to put effort in for my summer exams
     *ugh* )
     HUGE thanks to NonsenseandBiscuits, who drew this amazing fanart
     based on chapter one! It's utterly brilliant, dear!
     http://nonsenseandbiscuits.tumblr.com/post/21115627580/from-swimming-
     pools-and-rugby-balls
     Anyway, there might be some mistakes due to lack of usual computer.
     Can you all guess what happened to Molly?
John had won the match against St. Bartholomew's. In the last minute of the
game - after their defender had been sent off for a dangerous tackle to Greg -
John managed to get a hold of the ball and make a run for it. It took some
pushing and shoving and passing, but eventually he reached the try line and had
dived for it. It led Briarwood's to a victory of 5 - 4 and left John with
bleeding knuckles, green knees, a mucky face, and bruises down his legs. The
adrenaline pumping through his veins however, had drowned out the pain.
An roar of cheers erupted from the spectators, both on the edges of the pitch
and in the stand beyond. John was almost knocked over by his teammates hugging
and clapping him on the back. He barely registered the other team shaking their
hands in respect, and was still spinning from the win by the time his father
approached. Ever true to his son's team, Gerald Watson was dressed respectively
in a green jumper. A white shirt collar poked out from the neckline and his
trousers were neatly pressed.
"Well done, son!" Mr. Watson gave his son a hearty clap on the back and pulled
him forward to ruffle his hair. "You played well, I'm proud of you."
"Thanks dad." John grinned widely, the action pulling the caked in muck around
his face tight. "Hey, come and say hi to Sherlock"
"Sherlock? You two still thick as thieves then?" John's parents had only met
Sherlock a handful of times, mostly after rugby matches and one time when John
insisted he come home with him for Easter break. Mrs. Watson had fawned over
Sherlock the entire time. She made a fuss to make sure that he was comfortable,
and that he was not to lift a finger during his stay. John's room had only one
single bed and was the box room of the house, and Mrs. Watson made John give
Sherlock his bed while John slept on a spare mattress on the ground next to it.
John hadn't minded though, and Sherlock was kind enough to swap during the
week.
"Yeah. He's over there with-" Crap. John had forgotten about Molly. She was
standing right next to Sherlock, dressed in her appropriate handpicked
clothing. John had only really glanced over at her and Sherlock as the match
started, so he didn't get a chance to get a great look at her. Looking at her
now though, she looked pale and tired, as if she hadn't slept. He passed it off
as nerves either way.
"Is that your girlfriend, John?" Looking over at his father, John tried not to
pull a face at the almost smug grin on his face. "She's pretty. Bit tired
looking, though. That 'cause of you son, eh?" Mr. Watson nudged his son and
gave a wink. John just wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
"…Yeah. That's her." Beside Molly, Sherlock gave Mr. Watson and John a small
wave. "Dad look, try not to embarrass me, alright?" John nearly added 'or
yourself', but decided it was best to keep that to himself.
As they approached Molly and Sherlock, John could see his boyfriend nudging her
to full alertness. Molly's hooded eyes opened up wider, their wistful
expression changing instantly into a brighter, happier one.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Watson." Sherlock held out his hand and Mr. Watson shook
it heartily.
"Call me Gerald, Sherlock. As chivalrous as always, you are." For a second,
John allowed his mind to linger on that moment. It was almost like Sherlock was
meeting his dad again as his boyfriend and not just his best friend. If his dad
knew the truth, he'd most likely recoil and remove John from the school
immediately. No, he couldn't think like that. Giving his head a shake, John
snapped back to attention.
"Mr. Watson, this is Molly Hooper." Sherlock stepped up when John didn't.
"Molly, this is John's father, Gerald Watson."
"Oh, h-hello." Molly flushed a delicate pink; the only colour against her
pallid cheeks. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Watson. I can see where John gets his
good looks."
Mr. Watson laughed and leaned back to John. "You pick 'em good, John. I like
her." Pulling himself straighter, he reached out to shake her hand. "Nice to
meet you too, Molly Hooper." Molly gave her "boyfriend's" dad a little smile.
"How's Mrs. Watson doing?" Sherlock asked, stepping closer to John and his dad.
He gave John glance which told him him to calm down.
"Georgina's fine, Sherlock. She never stops singing your praises, actually."
"Oh?" Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "Too kind." John had to hold back a
snort beside him, instead looking over at Molly. The poor girl looked like she
was about to faint.
"Er, dad…" John stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Molly's shoulders.
"Why don't you and Sherlock talk for a minute. I'm just going to sit Molly down
for a bit. She's not feeling the best." Mr. Watson just nodded, waving his son
away. It was true to say he approved of Sherlock. Turning, John led Molly over
to the sideline to sit on one of the steel benches. He mumbled an apology for
his hands leaving a smudge of dirt on her shirt.
"Thanks John." Molly leaned back and let her head rest against the wall. Here
eyes closed briefly and John took a seat beside her.
"Are you alright, Molly? I'm sorry you have to do this it's just…" John
shrugged.
"Your father expects a lot from his only son. I understand John, it's fine. I
don't mind." Now that she didn't have to pretend anymore, Molly sounded… Weary.
Weak. "And I'm fine."
"I don't think you are. Maybe you should go back to your room."
"No! I don't want- I can't go on my own, I-" Her eyes went wide and frantic,
and John had to pull her close to soothe her.
"Molly, Molly, it's alright… What's the matter?" She shook her head and slunk
forward, covering her face with her hands. "Did something happen to you?"
"N-no, look… God, I'm sorry. I just…" She shrugged. "Didn't sleep last night.
I'd just rather not walk home alone. I don't want to talk about it." John
frowned at her but said nothing. He just soothed a hand up and sown her
shoulder. Finally, he sighed.
"I'll walk you back to your room, alright? I'll even stay with you until you
fall asleep if that's what it will take you to rest." She nodded, having calmed
down from her outburst. Ever since last night after Sherlock left her room… She
shuddered. Jim Moriarty: the name flashed through her mind and she clenched her
jaw, trying to ignore the sick feeling that arose… The sensations of the drug…
Jim's hands... It made her shudder.
Standing up, Molly allowed John to wind an arm around her waist. They made a
stop at Sherlock and his dad to bid farewell.
"I suppose I should get going too. Your mum expects me home soon. Anyway
Sherlock, have a think about it and tell John to let us know by the end of the
week." He gave Sherlock's hand a shake, then patted John on the shoulder before
leaving.
"I'd ask what that was about, but I'm going to bring Molly back to her room
first. Wait for me in the porch, alright?" Sherlock nodded, looking between
John and Molly. "I'll meet you in a bit." John left with Molly in tow, keeping
her close through the throng of people still gathered about. Sherlock could
feel eyes boring a hole into thr back of his head. It made his hair prickle and
stand up on end, but when he whipped his head back he didn't catch anyone.
Odd... Shrugging, he zipped up his hoodie and made way for the dorm porch.
*
After John had managed to get Molly into her room and under her duvet - fully
clothed except for her shoes and bag - he sat with her until she assure him
she'd be fine. He made sure that the door was locked before going to meet
Sherlock.
"Oi." He called over to where his boyfriend was sitting on a small armchair,
knees bent up to his chin and his feet tucked under him. He was glaring at all
the people going by, obviously peeved at their 'mindless conversation'. "Right,
I'm going downtown to eat something. I'm too hungry to care about a shower."
"Your dad invited me to your house for Mid-Term." At the confused expression on
John's face, he rolled his eyes and stood up. "What your dad was talking to me
about?"
"Oh! Right. Yeah do!" John pulled out a dark green hoodie from his gearbag and
pulled it over his muddy jersey, before changing from his rugby boots to a pair
of trainers. "Mum would love to have you again."
"...I'll see."
"Why? Are your parents expecting you home?"
Sherlock snorted. "As if. They're spending the break in France. Or Vienna,
can't remember. I don't think Mycroft particularly wants to spend it with me
back home. Nor I with him."
"Then... What?"
"Nothing in particular." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "I just don't want to
be imposing."
John paused halfway out the door. "Imposing? Sherlock you're my best friend and
boyfriend. And dad invited you! Come on, it'll be fun. We'll be back in time
for the Halloween party too. Your brother's in charge of that."
A slow smile spread across Sherlock's face and he looked back. "Yeah... Yeah
alright." He waited until they were out of the school grounds and out of sight
of any other students, before reaching out and slipping his hand into John's.
Their fingers fitted together perfectly.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     Ech, sorry for the delay. School and homework got in the way. Add
     that to my procrastination and the archive being down yesterday and
     then yeah. ANYWAY, here's chapter eight. They finally do it. I had to
     edit this a lot to make the RP logs fit in with the story.
     It's a bit rushed so I hope it's at least adequate. I might try to
     update every saturday/sunday. Also, next chaper is going to be a
     Halloween party chapter, and more sexytimes will ensue.
"Dinner's just about ready, Sherlock." John stepped into his bedroom and shut
the door behind him. It was nearing the end of their Mid-Term break and it was
the last night they'd be staying with John's family. It had been a nice, easy
week, and the couple had plenty of time to themselves. What made sharing a
bedroom even better was the fact John's parents suspected nothing between the
two of them. That led to late night cuddling, a handjob in the wee hours of the
morning, one rushed but satisfactory blowjob, and even a make-out session in
the sitting room when John's parent's had gone out for the evening. If they
shared a bed they made sure to separate before John's mum came in to wake them
up.
After a month of going out, things hadn't gone as far as sex. They weren't
rushed in any way but the topic was bound to come up sooner or later. Since
that first pre-match handjob in the Music room, Sherlock had gone out and
bought a box of condoms and John a bottle of lube. Just in case.
"I'll be right down. I'm just making sure I won't be forgetting anything when I
pack." Sherlock pulled a pair of underwear out from under John's bed and held
it up. "Like this, for example."
"Nothing incriminating." John grinned. "Anyway, mum rang. She and dad won't be
home until very late so..."
"So," Sherlock took a step forward, reaching out and pulling John against him.
"We get the evening all to ourselves?"
"Yep. Harry won't be home and if she does, well, you've met her." And by that
John meant 'She'll be too intoxicated to comprehend'. He grinned as Sherlock's
lips pressed up against his own, but he pushed him back gently. "Wait until
after dinner."
With a chuckle, Sherlock nodded. "Alright. Let's eat." He quickly cleared away
the bed and made it before following John downstairs to the kitchen.
*
It was a full hour later before they had their dinner plates cleared up.
Outside the sky was just beginning to grow dark and the first of the
streetlamps were switching themselves on. They found themselves, surprise
surprise, sharing a mutual decision to hit the hay early. Neither boy had sleep
on their minds, however, so when Sherlock tumbled backwards onto John's bed,
the older boy settled on top of him and pinned him down.
Their lips met in a heated, messy kiss, both boys seeming eager. Sherlock's
wrists fought against John's hands until they came loose, and he switched their
positions with ease. He settled with a leg on either side of John's hips,
feeling the other boy's arousal pressed up against his thigh.
Their hands roamed over each other's body, pulling at shirt buttons and t-shirt
hems and trouser zippers, until both boys were naked except for their
underwear. Sherlock slipped off John and lay down beside him. John had his
hands around the thinner boy's waist and held him close. Their next kiss was
slower, steadier, and John's hand slid down the length of Sherlock's smooth and
pale chest. Sherlock sucked in a breath when John's hand slid under the
waistband of his underwear and took hold of his already half-hard length.
"Sherlock..." There was something different about this. It wasn't going to be a
session of mutual masturbation. There was something... More. A question that
hung in the air around them.
"Yes. Yes, John, I do." Of course. Sherlock could read John like a book at this
point. He swallowed and reached out a hand to John's face. Brushing the little
wisps of blonde hair from John's forehead, Sherlock leaned over to kiss him
again. "Only if you want to."
"I do." John stroked his hand up the length of his boyfriend's cock, and the
younger boy shuddered. "I brought the lube with me."
"And I brought the condoms." At that point they both giggled. "John..."
Sherlock's hands trailed down to his boxers. He hooked his thumbs into the
fabric and pulled them down slowly, freeing John's length. John was older and
more experienced in the relationship than Sherlock was, so he would be the one
to instigate all of this. However, they were both virgins; the farthest John
had ever gone with another person, his last girlfriend Sarah, couldn't even be
considered sex. He never actually entered her because she panicked, so
technically John was a virgin too.
Removing his hand from Sherlock's cock, John sat back and allowed Sherlock to
pull his own underwear down. Meanwhile John rooted around in his suitcase for
the lube, and then in Sherlock's for the condoms. They were going to have sex.
Sherlock sat back against some cushions, legs spread with his hand on his cock,
pumping slowly. His hand travelled down to his entrance. As he slipped two
fingers inside, Sherlock had to bite his lip. He'd done this before to himself
on numerous occasions, but never in front of John. The boy in question just
looked at him, fucking himself open with his fingers. Tearing off one of the
little foil packets, John tossed both it and the bottle of lube onto the bed
next to Sherlock. He clambered back on until he was kneeling just at Sherlock's
feet.
Sherlock could feel himself stretching open. He made sure not to find his own
prostate; he wanted John to do that when he was actually in him. Finally he
removed his fingers and breathed out, face flushed all the way down to his
chest.
"Come here." Sherlock held out his arms and motioned with his head for John to
come closer. The action cause their bodies to press together and their cocks to
rub off each other. It pulled a groan from John's throat. By now they were both
hard. They kissed slowly and deeply, with Sherlock's hand reaching out to pick
up the condom packet (shakily) and hand it to John.
Wetting his lips, John took the condom from Sherlock's shaking hand. He paused
as he tore it open and looked down at his best friend and boyfriend. "Are you
sure? I don't want to do this if you're not sure." And there was the protective
side coming out again for Sherlock. Of course they'd both consented but John
just needed to be absolutely sure.
"John..." Sherlock rolled his eyes and shifted, lifting a hand to run long
fingers down John's chest. "Trust me on this, if you would. I'm sure I'm
willing." He looked up at John with half-lidded eyes; they were pupil blown
with only a tin ring of silver blue visible. Something seemed to occur to him,
and he wriggled around enough to stuff one of the pillows from the head of the
bed under his hips. The angle made it easier for John.
John finally opened the condom packet and steadied his cock so he could roll it
down. Once it was secure, he returned his attention to Sherlock. He bent one of
his slender legs just a little farther up and held onto his hips. Leaning over,
he pressed his lips softly against Sherlock's and murmured. "Here goes
nothing." With a little chuckle, he lined himself up and applied a little bit
of pressure to his entrance. It wasn't too tight considering Sherlock had
already prepared himself.
Sherlock's heart was beating a vicious tattoo against the inside of his
ribcage. That's not to say he was nervous; no, he was looking forward to it too
much to be nervous, but this was something he'd never done with another person.
John was warm, much warmer than his fingers, and he had a momentary fancy that
he could feel the smaller boy's heartbeat through the flesh pressed into him.
He became quite suddenly aware that he was drifting, and that John was probably
waiting for him to say something. "I'm alright, John," he finally managed,
voice pitched low. "Go on, you won't hurt me."
Steadying Sherlock's hips, John pushed in. Now this, this was an entirely new
experience. It wasn't like his first time at all; Sherock was hotter, tighter,
and John let his eyes close as he pushed in centimeter by centimeter. Oh god it
felt good, he thought, kneading the soft skin of Sherlock's hips with his
hands. He managed to open his eyes again when he'd pushed right in. Their
bodies were closer and John could just about feel the thump-thump of his
friend's heart under his chest. Taking a moment to just appreciate the look on
Sherlock's face, John then pulled his hips back and let his cock glide back the
same slick path.
Sherlock's eyes fluttered and a little shudder ran down his spine. It helped
that he'd already stretched himself out; there was no edge of pain, only the
slick slide of John's cock inside him and the slow, building heat between them
both. Letting out a low hum he reached up and threaded his fingers into the
smaller boy's sandy-blonde hair, giving it a little tug. "Here, stop for a
second... I have an idea that might work out for your benefit." There was one
good thing about being on the swim team; Sherlock was lean and flexible enough
that he managed to get both of his legs draped over John's shoulders without
separating them. Certain muscles tensed with the shift, and a strange
expression fluttered across Sherlock's face when his body tightened on John's
cock.
John's breath skittered out at the movement. "Oh that's better." He shuffled
closer on his knees, pushing his cock up inside Sherlock, and held onto one of
his legs. "Make sure you tell me if I hurt you." He said that with one hard
thrust, ending it with a sort of half-groan. They needed the change in pace and
position, and John could feel the muscles in his shoulders and thighs flexing
with each roll of his hips. Gradually, the pace quickened and a little sheen of
sweat was starting to build along John's chest. He bent down and sought out
Sherlock's lips, kissing him feverishly.
Never had Sherlock been so glad to have a rugby player for a best friend; all
the muscle mass that John had built up playing the sport was certainly paying
off now, and he rather fancied he was sliding up the bed a little with each
thrust. He was, in fact, but John was quite firmly planted in one spot; thank
God for that, it kept Sherlock's head from being beaten through the headboard.
The bed should have been rattling with the force behind John's thrusts, but it
was only making soft creaking noises. He kept quiet until John kissed him, then
let loose a rather ragged sounding moan into John's mouth.
And that moan carried straight to John's cock, making his hips buck rather
forcefully upwards. He nipped his boyfriend's lower lip lightly and released
his own groan of pleasure. He was close, but not quite there yet. He wanted to
make it last until Sherlock came first, because he needed to feel it. He
continued to kiss him for a few thrusts more, before his lips started to trail
down along his neck until it curved towards his shoulder, and he left a rather
deep pink lovebite there. He was careful with it so it wouldn't show abover his
school shirt collar or somewhere anyone could see it. For now. "Oh god,
Sherlock." The name drawled from his lips and he fucked him harder, longer.
Sherlock made a sharp, startled noise, his hands quite suddenly fisting in the
bedsheet under him until his knuckles went white. John had managed to hit his
prostate just so, sending a shot of pleasure straight up his spine to burst in
the back of his skull. He hadn't even noticed his own length filling and
flushing with blood, but he noticed it now; it bumped lightly against John's
stomach with every thrust, drawing little noises out of Sherlock's mouth. If it
weren't for that, and the fact that John kept hitting that same spot, he would
have protested the lovebite on his shoulder. He was going to have to explain
that to the swim team, unless he stubbornly refused to attend practices, and he
really wasn't looking forward to that conversation with his coach.
John's back muscles were getting a great working out it seemed, because John
could feel them flexing every time he pulled out. He decided to switch methods;
instead of pulling all the way out, John instead would inch back just a little
bit from Sherlock's prostate and just about graze over it, then he'd nudge
right up against it in short sharp jolts. Every sound he drew from Sherlock's
lips was like music to his ears. Slowly, he snaked a hand between them and
curled it around the base of his friend's cock.
He was almost too sensitive for that. His hips stuttered once, twice, and on
the third helpless shiver his body clamped down and his orgasm tore through
him. A spatter of his own release landed on his tensed stomach, but most of it
coated John's chest. The clench and flutter of his muscles left the taller boy
shaking.
"Fuck!" John cursed and bit down to stop himself moaning. Now that was nice.
That was extremely nice. It wouldn't be long before he came, and he could feel
his own balls start to clench. He continued to fuck Sherlock through his orgasm
- though a little slower this time - and eventually he was there too. He
dropped his head to rest on his friend's shoulder, shuddered as his hips came
to a stop, and orgasmed with a deep, rumbling moan. He didn't budge for a
moment to let himself recover. Leaning back, he looked at Sherlock through
heavy-lidded eyes. "...Alright?" He had just had sex with his boyfriend for the
first time and the endorphins were amazing.
Sherlock gave a little shiver and nodded, completely unable to move. He was
pretty sure John had just, quite literally, fucked his brains out. But then, if
he was able to get at least that far, surely they weren't all oozing out his
ears onto the pillow behind his head? The thought made him giggle helplessly,
his head lolling to one side. "Sorry," he managed finally, the word rumbling
low in his chest. "Yes, I'm fine. Just a bit giddy, though I'm sure you can
forgive me for that." Silver-blue eyes fluttered shut as he turned his cheek
into the pillow, letting out another soft noise. "Clean yourself up and come
back to bed, John. We have an early start in the morning, you should get some
sleep."
John pulled himself out and lowered Sherlock's legs to the bed. He was still
buzzing with his own aftershocks and they made him feel light and fluttery.
Sitting back on his heels, John rolled the condom off, tied it, and threw it
into the bin without a miss. He picked up his t-shirt and cleaned both his own
length and the splatter of cum on Sherlock's chest. He climbed under the duvet
and squeezed closer so neither boy would fall off the bed. He sighed and draped
an arm over his boyfriend.
Sherlock made a small noise, not quite a word, and nestled back into John's
chest. This was surprisingly comfortable, even if John's nose was pushed into
his shoulderblade and Sherlock was a good bit tired. Though he was going to
have a few issues with walking in the morning, it had been well worth it. He
had needed this, not just for the data it had given him about John, but about
his own mind and preferences. "We'll have to do this again sometime soon, I
think. I quite enjoyed that..."
'' 'Course. Same time next week?" John smirked and pressed a little kiss into
the soft skin of Sherlock's back. His hand curled around the younger boy's
stomach and he yawned. He made a mental note to apologise for the teeth marks
in his shoulder, which would fade away soon enough, even if the lovebite would
still last. "Night Sherlock."
Another non-commital noise rumbled out of him, and seconds later Sherlock was
out cold, his limbs slack and his breathing slow and even. He looked much
younger when he was sleeping, even if he was already the younger of the two.
Some short time after falling asleep, Sherlock rolled over and nestled in under
John's chin.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
     Just FYI, this is supposed to be their... around third or fourth time
     in the space of a few days to have sex. They're like rabbits, you
     see. This chapter is more smutty than plot but... It's all for the
     best, right?
Sherlock was... Sort of regretting his choice in costume.
Mycroft always sponsored Briarwood's Halloween party, which meant Sherlock was
obligated to attend. In the past, he had managed to keep himself low-key,
usually serving drinks and snacks and keeping his head down so no one would see
him. No such luck this time; John had insisted that Sherlock actually attend
this time. Which meant finding a costume. There had been some difficulties
finding anything that would fit Sherlock's tall, lanky frame, and he had found
himself rathre unceremoniously stuffed into full Victorian vampire regalia;
black silk brocade waistcoat, black shirt, red ascot tie pinned with an
enormous red glass gem on a gold pin, and black silk leggings tucked into
glossy knee-high boots with slight heels.
He was already tall enough, just topping six feet, but the whole getup, boots
included, made him look just that much taller. Pulling his cape around him
(velvet, ankle length, tied at the neck with a red satin ribbon to match the
ascot tie), he let himself into the party.
The room almost instantly fell silent, upwards of twenty pairs of eyes turning
to stare at him as he untied his cloak, draped it over his arm, and strode
across the room to the youth-friendly bar on the other side of the room. A
bubble of silence followed him across the room; everyone started talking about
five feet behind him, whispering among themselves as he went by.
John had already joined the party earlier on, having told Sherlock to come
alone once he was ready seeing as John himself was on the decoration comittee.
He'd gathered with his rugby club in one corner, being one of three pirates, a
frankenstein, a 50's pimp, and several variations of werewolves and vampires.
Of course, when the room fell silent and he turned to look, those vampires
looked incredibly mediocre. John simply grinned and tried to hide it by taking
a sip of his red orange juice (food dye, supposed to look like blood.) He was
sure that if he hadn't been told and briefly shown what the costume was, his
chin would have dropped just like everyone elses.
His own costume was rather revealing in comparison; a brown shirt, buttons left
open down the front to reveal his toned and tanned chest, tucked into a red
band that was wrapped tightly around his hips. A fake scimitar was looped
through one of the folds. He wore darker brown shorts that were ripped over the
knees and, in keeping with the cliche of pirate costumes, wore a red captain's
hat with gold trimmings along the edge. To give himself a feral edge, he'd
smeared his fingers with black paint and dragged them along his left cheek.
"Wow, he looks... Uh..." Lestrade shook his head, glancing sideward at John.
"Absolutely sexy and very handsome? Yeah." With a wicked grin, he strode over
to his boyfriend.
It seemed oddly fitting that the non-alcoholic bar was serving red-dyed orange
juice. Wrinkling his nose a bit for the tackiness of it all, Sherlock
nonetheless accepted a glass of it and turned around. Only to find himself with
practically an armful of a very done-up and rather scantily clad girl from one
of the other schools down the way from Briarwood. If the ears sticking out of
her tangle of pinned up red hair were anything to go on, she was supposed to be
some sort of werewolf. Not that she looked all that threatening; how she was
walking in those boots was a complete mystery. By all rights, she should have
ended up on her face on the floor by now.
"Mmm. Are you hungry, Dracula? I could give you a nice little snack if you
wanted."
"I'm alright." Sherlock smiled, just enough to let the tips of his fangs peep
out from under his upper lip. "I think this," he gestured with the plastic wine
glass full of juice, "will tide me over just fine."
The girl, Hayley Mills, was known for her successful attempts at getting most
of the sixth form boys into her bed. Before she could have another go at
attempting this on John's boyfriend, the boy himself appeared behind her. He
gave Sherlock a wink before leaning closer to her and whispering something into
her ear. One of his hands gave her hip a light squeeze and she turned, nodded,
and giggled before prancing away and towards John's corner. Straightening up,
John gave Sherlock a once over and smirked. "You do look delicious if I may say
so." There was nobody around to hear them, so they really just looked like two
friends chatting. Which was really all they were doing.
"Thank you." Sherlock inclined his head a bit, still smiling wide enough to
afford a peek of his fangs under the softness of his upper lip. "You don't look
half bad yourself. I like the hat, very dashing." He flicked a finger against
the brim of John's hat, just under the trim of fake gold braid, before settling
onto one of the stools at the bar and resting his hand on his leg. "Honestly,
I'm glad you like it. I feel more than a bit ridiculous in this outfit, if I'm
honest, even if I was the one that picked it out..."
"It suits you, you know. You're pale enough to pull it off and look
convincing." John chuckled and poured himself another drink. Most of the people
who'd turned and stared had gone back to their conversations, all scattered
about or dancing to music. John looked back to his original corner to where
David Johnson, their best full back, was currently sitting with a lapful of
Hayley Mills. "God he's desperate at times..." He shook his head and looked
back at Sherlock. "I like your fangs."
"He's a teenage boy and she's not wearing much. It was inevitable." He brought
the plastic wineglass to his lips, sipping delicately at his orange juice and
licking a stray drop out of the corner of his mouth as he lowered the glass.
"Thank you... They were a bit of work, but worth it. I don't need to take them
out to eat or drink, so they're not as much trouble as they could be." Rubbing
the toe of one polished boot against the floor, he took another sip of juice.
"And what about kissing?" He smirked, licking up a drop that trickled its way
down the edge of his cup. He was sure that if they did end up sneaking off to
kiss somewhere before the end of the night, he'd have puncture marks in his
lips and/or tongue. The thought made him snigger behind his knuckles, and he
set his empty cup down on the bartop. The best thing about the Halloween party
was that no teachers were around to monitor their behaviour; that job went to
the school prefects, which were in John's year in the first place, just bossier
and prissier than everyone else.
"Well, then I might have to take them out. Wouldn't want to knock one loose and
swallow it by mistake, would I?" With a cheeky little smirk he pushed the tip
of his tongue against the point of one fang. "Then again, they are for all
intents and purposes glued to my teeth. I doubt they'll be going anywhere,
should I choose to do a little snogging on the back porch."
"We can test that thory later. For now, let's socialise." John hopped down from
his stool and looked... well, not down, rather straight ahead at his boyfriend.
"Oh, don't give me that look, Sherlock, come on." Rolling his eyes, he waited
until Sherlock's drink was safely out of sight before taking him by the elbow
and pulling him to his feet. My god, he felt shorter than usual standing beside
his six-foot something lover in heeled boots.
Sherlock heaved a very put-upon sort of sigh but allowed himself to be led off.
While he wasn't completely friendly with most of the school, he could at least
tolerate the rugby team. Apart from Anderson, at least, they were better than
tolerable. He smiled politely at Greg, who seemed a little shellshocked from
Sherlock's costume. Which wasn't surprising; it wasn't normal for an eighteen-
year-old student to show up in full Victorian dress.
"David and Hayley have gone to shag." Rory shook his head. "Lucky bastard.
Wasn't she hitting on you earlier, Holmes?" John shifted a little uncomfortably
in his seat. So far, it was still only Greg and Molly that knew about them on
the team, and Anderson maybe; if he ever passed any remark John didn't hear it.
Actually, the more John thought about it, the more it occured to him that Molly
was nowhere to be seen. He new she was coming: she'd told him earlier. And she
was supposed to be bringing a friend with her.
Sherlock let out a small, humourless laugh at Rory, snapping John out of his
daze. "Yes, unfortunately she was. Lord only knows what she would have given me
if I'd taken up on that offer." He wrinkled his nose delicately and made a
small, subdued gagging sound. That earned a laugh from a couple of the boys and
gave Sherlock a moment to shoot John a reassuring little smile. He wasn't going
to out them to the rugby team; he knew better than that, especially in a
tightly knit school like Briarwood.
"Good on you, Holmes." Rory laughed, raising his drink in salute. "Well at
least he's actually getting some. My last girlfriend wouldn't put out for me at
all after five whole months!"
"Just because Molly has a bit of dignity, Rory, unlike you. Pervert." John
shook his head but then laughed, earning a playful dig from his team-mates. In
actual fact, John had been the one to console the poor girl after their break
up. Molly deserved better than Rory anyway.
Sherlock had managed to collect himself another drink on the way over, and now
kept his head down as he sipped at it. He was trying his best to keep a good
front up in front of John's teammates, but his eyes kept wandering to the
exposed triangle of skin in the neck of John's shirt. Tearing his eyes away, he
pushed the flat of his tongue against the point of a fang again.
John had caught his little looks, of course, and couldn't help glancing down at
Sherlock's snug-fitting leggings. He had to at least touch them if nothing
else. Standing up, he stretched. "Anyway, I'm going out to get some air. Bit
stuffy in here. Coming, lo- Sherlock?" Shit, that was close. He'd only started
calling Sherlock 'love' recently, and it was becoming more and more of a
reflex. He'd have to train himself to keep it in.
Sherlock seemed startled out of some sort of reverie when his name was spoken,
nearly slopping orange juice into his lap. "Mm, yes, of course. Don't want you
going anywhere by yourself, in case the girls get the wrong idea." He chuckled
softly, downed the rest of his orange juice in one go, and followed John out
onto the back deck. It was surprisingly empty, and Sherlock heaved himself up
to sit on the railing.
John wet his lips and looked around. The couple by the wall that had been
disturbed from their almost-groping disappeared around the corner and somwhere
probably far away and dark. And then they were alone. "Thanks to my amazing
decorating skills, everybody else seems pretty content to stay indoors and
enjoy it all..." He smirked and stepped closer into the space between
Sherlock's legs. His hands gingerly reached out and felt up the satin fabric on
his knees.
The satin leggings were stretched tight over Sherlock's knees, even as thin as
his legs were, and while they didn't really show much on a first glance a touch
would surely be able to find all the lines of muscle under the soft fabric.
"Mmm. Good, it's a good place for them to be. It looks lovely in there." He
shifted his legs apart a bit, making room for John's broader frame. "You did a
good job." Lifting a hand, he brushed the backs of his fingers down John's
cheek, on the side facing away from the door.
"The 'blood' was my idea. Thought it appropriate." John shrugged and glanced
back. Nobody was coming. If they were, they'd be alerted first by the squeak of
the door being pushed open. It will give them at least three seconds to pull
apart. He leaned into Sherlock's touch and smoothed his hands up further and
then around his waist. "Tell me where you got the inspiration for this outfit
again?" He couldn't see Sherlock anymore under the brim of his hat, so he
removed it and put it atop Sherlock's head instead.
"Mm. Call it a love of period dramas and proper vampires, not bloodsucking
fairies." Sweeping the hat off and laying it on the railing next to him, he
leaned in to brush a swift kiss across John's mouth. "I approve of the costume,
by the way, though it's not what I imagined you turning up in. I rather thought
to see you in some sort of Roman gladiator outfit."
"Hah! Well I can rustle up one of them too, if you really want to see me in
one." John laughed softly against his boyfriend's mouth and pushed his own
mouth back. "I'm glad you like it. I've had a love for pirates my whole life.
I'm sure if you look back at some childhood photos, you'll see me as at least
five different variations of a Pirate." After a few seconds he heaved a sigh
and pulled his head back enough to look up at Sherlock.
"Well, let me tell you a secret." Brushing a dark curl off his forehead, he
leaned in to speak quietly into John's ear. "When I was a child, I always
wanted to be a pirate. It was a silly childhood fascination, but I had my own
cutlass and eyepatch. Mycroft and mother humoured me until I grew out of the
phase. Though I don't think I could pull it off now nearly as well as you do."
"Oh-" John had to drop his head to Sherlock's chest to stifle his giggles. "Oh
my god. That is so fucking adorable, Sherlock! I'm going to ask Mycroft for
pictures the next time I see him." He winked up at his boyfriend then and bit
his bottom lip. "You know, I was going to go without a shirt at all."
"It was wise of you to keep it." He ran the tip of his finger along the line of
the brown cotton shirt's collar. "I don't think I could have kept my hands to
myself if you had gone entirely without the shirt. Much too tempting." His
finger shifted over, brushing along bare skin instead of the soft cotton. He
really was quite glad no one could see them.
 
"Maybe I wouldn't have minded." He shivered lightly, though not from the cold.
He shifted up on tip-toe and brushed his lips long the smooth, unbroken skin of
Sherlock's neck. He was careful to not leave a mark, though it was /extremely/
tempting. Just as he was getting into it, the door squeaked. "Shit-"
Sherlock pulled away and jammed John's hat back on his head, somehow without
making it look like it had just been jammed back into place. Shifting back and
away, Sherlock almost managed to avoid falling off the rail into the garden
below. Instead, he found himself falling in a tangle of long, flailing limbs
and velvet cape, landing in a hopelessly tangled knot in the flowerbed below
the railing. A string of curses drifted upward as he attempted to untangle
himself from his cloak and the flowers.
" M-Molly! And-" John half-shrieked Molly's name and was momentarily flooded
with relief. He'd had some whirlwind excuse in his mind, and a plan, to clutch
his eye in agony as if he'd injured it (it would explain their proximity. at
least.) But wait... The person with Molly, holding onto her hand...
Jim?
Molly was dressed as a cat with fairy wings (god knows why, but they were
sparky too), and Jim was dressed in a tailored Westwood suit and a skull tie.
Fitting, unless it wasn't his costume. John didn't pass much comment because he
remembered his boyfriend just then.
"Shit, Sherlock." John twirled around and glanced over the edge of the rail. It
was actually a rather hilarious sight and he found himself laughing despite his
thrumming heart. "Need a hand?"
"Oh! So sorry, you two!" Jim looked almost like he feigned surprise (a little
odd, if the upward curl of his lips was anything to go by), and Molly was
practically beet-red and silent standing behind him.
"Fuck off!" Sherlock didn't mean that and he never usually cursed, but there
was a petunia up the back of his waistcoat and another down his trousers, and
his cape was wrapped around his head like some sort of octopus. With another
string of swearing he finally flung the wad of velvet at John's head. He was
distinctly flushed, his hair all standing on end and petals in his hair. One
foot was stuck in the posts of the railing around the porch, the other was
stuck into the lattice under the porch, and his arms were as tangled up in the
flowers as the rest of him. With a last huff and curse, Sherlock disentangled
himself from the ruined flowerbed and stood up, arching his back to twist
around and yank the offending flower out of his trousers.
In spite of himself, John stifled giggles by biting down on his tongue. "Here,
you idiot." He reached over and ruffled Sherlock's curls, which allowed petals
to flutter down like confetti onto the ground around them.
 
Jim managed to tug Molly away as John turned away again. There was that little
cackle again, the menacing one John could always hear when Jim was around. He
was out of sight before John could even wonder why Molly had brought him of all
people.
"Why was Molly with him? That was definitely Jim, was it not?"
"It was," John started, brow furrowing again. "but I don't know why. They've
left now. Look maybe we should go back inside. Or somwhere else." Walking
behind Sherlock, he draped the cape over his shoulders and stood back. "We'll
ask Molly in the morning."
"He's been skulking around her all week." Sherlock twisted again, pulling a
second crushed-looking petunia out of the back of his waistcoat. After taking
an indulgent moment to stare at it as though he fervently wished it would burst
into flames, he swept his cloak around him. "Actually, I think it would be
perfectly excuseable if we went home. I'm about ready to leave."
"And you smell like wet flowers." John offered, wiping away some remaining
grass from his shoulders. "Come on then, let's go back to my dorm tonight. Greg
won't be home tonight and most of the landing's residence won't be home until
this shenannigan is over." He adjusted his pirate hat with a little 'yarr' and
wiggled his eyebrows.
As peeved as he was that he'd fallen off the railing into the flowerbed, he had
to muffle a laugh at John. "Oh, stop. As good as you look in that outfit you
can't pull off the swashbuckling pirate voice. You just can't." Smiling lightly
at his boyfriend, he hooked an arm through his and turned him to lead him
across the back lawn. "Here, it's quicker this way and we won't have to deal
with the crowd. Unless there are people you want to say goodbye to?"
"Hey! I can." John pouted and walked along with him, waving off his suggestions
at goodbyes. "To people who are probably trying to pick up cat-girls, fairies,
and 'naughty witches'? No thank you. I think I'll stick with my sexy Vampire."
They walked across the lawn to John's block, with John taking out his scimitar
along the way to swing it around.
Sherlock's mood rapidly improved as they struck off across the grass, then
through the thin wooded band between the house where the party was and the
clear grass around the dorm buildings. There was a little stream in the middle
that required jumping over, and nearly resulted in Sherlock falling into that
as well. Luckily, he caught a grip on a tree branch at the last moment, hauling
himself over onto the far bank.
"I blame those boots, you know." John nodded to Sherlock's heeled boots. The
heel would have likely caught in the railing and thrown him off balance jumping
over the stream. Not to mention seemed to make his legs go on forever.
Sherlock huffed lightly. "The heels on these boots are /not/ that high, John.
Certainly not enough to pitch me off balance jumping over such a tiny little
stream."
They reached John's dorm and he swiped the card, nudging Sherlock through by a
hand on the small of his back. "Empty. Glorious."
Sherlock swept off his cape as soon as they were in the building, giving it a
shake to get rid of any lingering plant material that might still be stuck to
the velvet.
"Still, as gorgeous as the boots are, love, they make me feel tiny. And they
did contribute to the railing thing." John giggled again at the memory, leading
them both up the single flight of stairs and up to John's room, where he
quickly let them in. "Do you want to take a shower or anything?"
"Go ahead, if you want to." Tossing his cape over the back of a chair, he fell
backward onto the edge of John's bed. Pushing his fingers through his hair, he
stretched languidly, almost like a cat. "I'm alright, though. I might put the
TV on if you're going to take a shower."
"Nah, I don't want one. But I suggest you at least get out of the leggings.
There's a wet patch on your arse." John switched on the TV anyway, out of sheer
force of habit - he always had the TV on, even if it was just a low volume to
make the place feel more homely.
"Is there? I hadn't noticed." Pushing up on his elbows, the taller boy wet his
lips and peered up at John through his lashes. "Or are you just trying to get
me out of my trousers, John? No need to hide it if you are. I hardly mind." He
shoved up the rest of the way, leaning forward to unlace the fronts of his
boots.
"It might have been a subtle gesture." John grinned and dropped the fake sword
onto his own bed. He tugged the shirt tails out of his waistband and folded it
up, draping it over the back of his desk-chair. Turning back to Sherlock, he
helped him pull off his second boot. "Let me." He reached over and started to
undo the buttons of his soft waistcoat.
"It wasn't terribly subtle." Leaning back on his hands, he tipped his head back
to let John undo the buttons. There were at least a dozen, covered in the same
black satin as his leggings. The shirt, when the waistcoat did fall open, was
obviously silk and a little loose on Sherlock's lean frame, laced up at the
neck into the hollow of his throat.
It required a lot of patience and a bit of twisting, but John did manage to
undress Sherlock and lay all his bits and pieces to the side. He even managed
to peel off his skin-tight leggings and when he was finished, his boyfriend was
in naught but a pair of silk black briefs. "You know, you manage to make fangs
look awfully sexy being half naked and all that."
He smiled obligingly, just wide enough to let the pearly tips of his fangs peek
out from under his upper lip. "Well, you did nearly rip that costume off me the
first time you saw me in it. Now, shall I take these out or leave them in?
They're pretty firmly attached." Long fingers tugged at his briefs to settle
them; he was already half-hard against his upper thigh, just barely showing
under the dark fabric.
"Leave 'em in. I like them." John was still in his shorts, but had removed his
shoes and socks. He crawled onto the bed and ran a hand up Sherlock's smooth
chest. He leaned in close enough to nip at his boyfriend's ear, hands braced on
his shoulders. "Bite me, Sherlock." His breath ghosted over his ear and he
nipped it again, tugging his earlobe between his teeth before letting go.
"Don't tempt me. I don't know that they'll actually hold up to me biting you."
He laughed softly against John's neck, tilting his head back and to the side to
bare his own neck. He breathed out a long sigh for the attention, revelling in
the sensation of hot breath on his ear and on his neck. "Then again... Who am I
to say no, hm?"
"Mm, go on." His tongue poked out to lick at Sherlock's neck just once before
he changed positions. He sat with a leg on either side of Sherlock's thigh and
tilted his head to the side to bare his neck. "Try your best, Mr. Von-Holmes."
It was cheesy but the first 'vampire' name that sprang to mind. Sherlock didn't
move for a few seconds, and when he did it was to turn his head slowly and give
John a sour look.
"Honestly... You don't need to be Transylvanian to be a vampire, John. It's a
common misconception..." He trailed off with a sigh and rocked his weight
upward, flipping them both over so he could crouch over John's prone body
instead. "Besides, I don't think I can pull off Dracula's accent."
John rolled his eyes. "You can be an English vampire with the name of Von. It's
acceptable in my head." John grinned. "Now shut up and feed on me." He chuckled
and turned his neck for Sherlock, holding on to him by his waist. He'd been
bitten playfully by Sherlock before, but never with fangs of all things in. By
all rights that shouldn't have sent a quick, hot shot of sensation down
Sherlock's spine, but it did. And in turn, that short stab of heat went right
to his cock, forcing a low noise of him as he bent his head to John's neck,
almost scenting along the skin just above his collarbones and working slowly
upward.
"This is going to leave a mark, you know... Last chance to turn back."
John shook his head briefly. "No, go ahead. Please." He pushed his hips up to
shift more comfortably, but he ended up nudging against Sherlock's already half
hard cock with his own. That surprised him a bit, usually Sherlock took a bit
longer to arouse. Still, John was far from complaining.
Sherlock made a low noise in the back of his throat and opened his mouth,
sinking his 'fangs' into the soft skin of John's neck. The low noise turned
into a sharp, feral growl as he bit down harder, hard enough to leave a mark
and almost hard enough to break the skin on his neck.
"Rgh." John squeezed his eyes shut and his mouth dropped open, a whoosh of
breath escpaing him. He could feel his pulse banging against Sherlock's hard
fangs as a wave of something flushed over him. It wasn't so much pain as a dull
throb on the surface of his skin, but he didn't want him to stop. "Oh God,
Sherlock..."
He let out another growl against John's neck, biting down still harder before
finally forcing himself away. He licked slowly over the bite to soothe it, even
if he hadn't actually broken the skin, and rolled his hips slowly into John's
thigh. He'd gone from half-hard to aching in the few seconds it took to leave
the bite mark, a little damp spot of precum forming on the front of his briefs.
"Ah-" A choked off shout escaped him and he quickly clamped his lips shut to
stop it. It took a moment later to register that Sherlock had stopped, and he
felt the other boy's arousal. John himself was still only half-hard. The press
of Sherlock's erection against his thigh didn't go past him, and he turned his
neck - and rather flushed face - back to look up at him. "God, your libido is
high tonight." He flicked his eyes down to his boyfriend's tight briefs and
smirked.
Sherlock smirked back, shamelessly baring his fangs. "I hardly hear you
complaining, John... Then again, you never do." He ground down into him again,
bright eyes fluttering shut against the little flare of pleasure. He hadn't
expected 'feeding' off John would leave him in such a state; It was never a
fantasy he'd entertained, even if it was his Halloween costume.
"No, no, I'd never complain." John reached up and pulled Sherlock down closer
by his curls for a rather bruising, needy kiss. He maneuvered himself so that
they could both rub off on each other's thighs, and he felt himself harden a
fraction in his shorts. "Mmf-" he broke away, "I need to get these off me."
"Yes, I think you do." Forcing himself away, Sherlock rocked back on his heels
to undo the button and the zip on John's ragged brown shorts. Getting them off
required a bit of wiggling, but he managed well enough and they were soon
discarded on the floor beside the bed. John's underwear, and Sherlock's, soon
followed. John reached out again to pull Sherlock fully against him, and wasted
no time in ravaging his mouth again. Bending his knees, he locked them around
the taller boy's body and rolled his hips up to push their cocks together. A
little moan slipped its way into their open mouths.
He made an unashamedly breathless noise into John's mouth, shivering for a
moment until the first wash of pleasure settled down a bit. Then Sherlock
ground back down into him, tearing away from the kiss to drop his head to the
little bite mark on John's neck. It seemed to fascinate him, since he raked his
teeth over it again before following the motion with the slick flat of his
tongue.
"Fuck..." John's skin was still a tad sensitive, and the slick feeling of
Sherlock's tongue over the little, barely there rivets on his skin sent a
shockwave of pleasure down to his cock. It wasn't long before he was just as
hard, and the friction between their cocks was fantastic. "Sherlock." John's
voice was deeper and huskier than usual, flooded with need and lust.
Sherlock made some vague noise of agreement against John's neck, still rutting
against him, but something in the smaller boy's voice made him lift his head
enough to move up and kiss him. Licking easily into John's mouth, he caught his
bottom lip gently with his fangs and gave it a little tug before quickly
letting go.
"We should invest in these fangs more often." John sounded a little breathless.
He huffed a laugh and locked eyes with his boyfriend who looked, amusingly,
like a horny vampire. "What do you want, Sherlock? Tell me." There was a smirk
playing around his kiss-reddened mouth and to punctuate his sentence, John
rubbed his cock against Sherlock's again, pulling him a little bit closer by
his heels.
Sherlock made another of those vague, indefinitely breathless noises and bowed
his head, waiting until John had stopped moving and he could breathe again to
speak. "I... I want to fuck you tonight." He hadn't tried again since the first
time, with its subsequent and hilarious consequences, but there was too much of
a chance that he'd swallow his fangs if he was flat on his back on the bed.
The first time Sherlock had tried to top, it seemed it all was a bit much and
he came before he could even get settled. But that may have been down to the
fact he was still on the periphery of virginity at that stage. John had, of
course, assured him it was fine and that they could take their time. His eyes
widened now, though. They'd been having sex for just over a week and Sherlock
had been getter at controlling himself: maybe he'd last longer. And honestly,
the image of Sherlock fucking him looking the way he did, well... "Yes. Yes, of
course yes."
Sherlock bent to kiss John quickly as a thank you, smiling against his mouth
before wriggling away long enough to dig the lube and condoms out of the
bedside drawer. It took a bit of rustling to find them, since this usually
happened in Sherlock's room, but he finally produced the familiar bottle and
one of the little foil packets. Rejoining John on the bed, he kissed him again,
harder this time. During the kiss, John fumbled around with Sherlock's hands to
retrieve the condom packet for himself. He tore it open and sought out
Sherlock's cock, only breaking their bruising kisses to get a look at what he
was doing. He eventually managed to unroll it onto his boyfriend's erect cock
and, once done, flicked his eyes up again. "M'all yours.
Muttering something to the effect of 'Let's hope it goes better this time', he
fished the bottle of lube out of the sheets and generously slicked three
fingers with the stuff. He shifted them both around a bit, draping one of
John's legs around his waist and the other around his shoulder before gingerly
pressing one slim finger into the smaller boy's body.
John took a breath in through his nose and relaxed his body. It wouldn't do any
good to be all tensed up when Sherlock was trying to prepare him. He wasn't
used to this at all and the feeling was foreign, though not entirely unwelcome.
Once the initial pain had passed, he opened his eyes with a slow exhale and
blinked slowly at Sherlock, alternating between looking at his face and looking
at his finger.
Sherlock managed a little smile, complete with a little flicker of fang at the
corners, and gently worked that single finger in shallow thrusts. He felt like
he should say something, but he had no idea what to say. So he settled for
turning his head and playfully nipping at the inside of the thigh thrown over
his shoulder.
John snorted a bit at that. The feeling was rather unexpected combined with
Sherlock's fingerfucks. He had to tip his head back a bit as the need for
someting more pushed through.
"Another. Add another." He managed, jutting his hips forward a bit onto the
younger boy's fingers.
"Right, of course..." Wetting his lips with the very tip of his tongue, he
gently pressed a second finger in alongside the first. "God, that's... Are you
alright?" Sherlock was only up to two fingers and he was already breathing
quickly, a flush spreading upward from his collarbones toward his hairline.
John gave a nod, mouth having fallen open again to confine any proper sentences
he might have had. His hips started to push themselves onto Sherlock's fingers
in time with their thrusts and john soon found himself needing his cock
instead. "Sh-Sherlock, please." He swallowed and cracked his eyes open.
Reaching up, he pulled Sherlock down to kiss him. "Fuck me." The words were
breathy little pants into his mouth.
"Just... Alright, yes, alright. Just let go of me?" When he was released he sat
back onto his heels, slipping both of John's legs up over his shoulders and
pulling the smaller boy's hips closer to him. Steadying his length with one
hand, he pressed in slowly... And managed, wonder of wonder, to last past those
first few seconds. He kept pressing inward, finally coming up flush against
John's hips and fully engulfed in what felt like impossible heat. When they
were skin-to-skin he finally stopped, panting and waiting for that first rush
to settle down. "God... John, I..."
For that whole first thrust in, John had stopped breathing. It felt so strange
to be the bottom. "Nngh, Sherlock..." One of his hands clutched onto the
bedsheets beneath them and the other settled somewhere on Sherlock's waist. "K-
keep going. I'm alright." The last time Sherlock topped, the few seconds
actually, John didn't get to fully experience how good he actually felt. John
himself was slightly thicker but Sherlock was definitely longer.
Sherlock took a couple more seconds to catch his breath, his head bowed
slightly as he waited for his breathing to even out. Then, so slowly that it
was almost painful for him, he dragged his hips back and slowly, so slowly that
it was a sweet agony, pulled out about halfway. Then his hips snapped forward
again and he let out a breathless unashamed little moan against John's neck,
followed by a low string of muttered French curses. A sharp inhale-exhale was
all John could manage at the first sharp thrust. It was a mixture of new
sensations; rubber sliding along his walls, the pain-pleasure of Sherlock
hitting back in, and the little shoots of pleasure it sent to his cock.
Groaning, he dug his heels into Sherlock's shoulderblades and curled up his
toes.
"Oh, that's good." Sherlock's long hands clutched, a little desperately, at
John's hips as he pulled out again and snapped back home. Each thrust was a
little deeper, a little harder, and punctuated by a small groan out of
Sherlock.
Pleasure, pure absolute pleasure, had pushed its way through John with every
thrust. As Sherlock grazed just off his prostate every time, John let out a
small moan-whimper, seeking more. "Fuck, Sher-lock!" He rolled his hips down
against Sherlock's and tipped his head back again. One hand found its way to
his leaking cock and he grasped it. Sherlock threw a roll into the end of his
thrusts, angling upward and in just a little. He knew what he was aiming for;
what he didn't know was exactly where he was aiming for. Since his hands were
occupied with pulling John back into his thrusts, he didn't flick the smaller
boy's hand away from his cock. "John... John, I..."
"What- Oh my god! There!" One particular thrust was just right, hitting off
John's prostate and sending an altogether new feeling through him which he'd
never felt before. His hand fell away from his cock to grasp at Sherlock's
shoulders. He moaned at him to 'do that again'.
Sherlock managed four, perhaps five more thrusts up against that spot before he
went rigid, fingers sinking into John's hips and his mouth falling open in a
sharp moan. He barely waited for the spreading heat from his orgasm to subside
before he was sliding down, pulling out of John on the way and quickly
swallowing his length down.
John almost whined at the loss of cock, feeling very open and wet. But when
Sherlock took him into his mouth - careful of fangs, of course - he was quickly
quietened. His hands twisted themselves into Sherlock's hair and he fucked
Sherlock's mouth gently, not wanting to bruise his throat (again.) "Sherlock...
Hng..." He was so close now.
Sherlock hummed around him, the smooth inner edges of his fangs just brushing
the sides of John's length. Then, of all things, he slipped a hand up the
inside of John's thigh and pressed two still-slick fingers into him, curling
and crooking them up to where he guessed John's prostate would be. That was all
it took. John's orgasm crashed through him, making him arch his back as he
clamped down on Sherlock's fingers, and near-scream his name. He spilled
himself in hot, thick spurts into his boyfriend's mouth, going slack after a
moment. "Oh god..."
Sherlock swallowed almost greedily, finally pulling back, fingers slipping out,
and cleaning off a last couple of drops with little kitten licks and flicks of
his tongue. he had recovered enough from his own climax to sit back, strip the
condom off and knot it before pitching it into the little bin next to John's
bed. "So... I guess that was a little better, then?" He smiled, still flashing
a bit of fang at the corners.
John huffed one breathy laugh and then a series of helpless giggles, still
reeling from one of the best orgasms he'd had yet. "A little better, love,
yes." Rolling over - and feeling quite sticky - he patted the bed beside him.
"Get up here. I'm not moving for a while if the little twinge in my arse there
is anything to go by."
Sherlock smiled gently but didn't lie down. "Let me just wash my hands and take
these fangs out first. I don't quite trust them to sleep in." He laughed softly
and heaved himself off the bed, padding still stark naked into the little
attached loo to wash his hands and work the fangs off his teeth. He left them
on the counter to fetch later, padding back into the bedroom to slip into bed
next to John. Draping himself over the smaller boy's side, he nestled into his
shoulder and closed his eyes.
What neither boy heard during all that, was the two chimes of John's text alert
noise. On the bedside locker, two messages were left unread on the screen:
New Message: Dad - 09:30 pm
We need to talk, John.
New Message: Unknown Number - 10:01 pm
I must say, I'm surprised that neither of you came after dear little Molly and
I. She told me all about your little realationship, Johnny Boy, and she is so
terribly sweet... She sends her love. J x
***** Author's Note *****
Chapter Notes
     Just a quick update
I wasted an entire weekend not writing this. I got dragged places and that
study I was supposed to do? Well... Hopefully I can cram eight subjects before
my exams. Oops.
I have a day off, so I'm going to see The Avengers *whoo*
Oh, and all of your support and feedback has been great :)
So anyway, I have some of this chapter written so far but I'm leaving in a few
minutes. When I get back I'll add more. School is just going to be HECTIC for
the next three weeks so I don't know how quick my updates will be. Exams and
all. But I'll try have a chapter up between tonight and tomorrow night. Don't
worry!
Thanks again, lovelies.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
     Fact: My old art teacher looked a hell of a lot like Moriarty. Of
     course, by the time I discovered this he was gone from my school. But
     yeah, Andrew Scott = My old art teacher look-alike...
     Yeah. Look-alike. Pft... :D
     Anyway, sorry for the late delay! I already had two of my exams
     (well, one and a half) and I have a gazillion next week so... Updates
     will be slow. Also, I won't be available from the 24th May until the
     2nd June so I'll at least try to have an updated chapter before then.
     I've already sacrificed today's "study" to write this so enjoy :)
     As usual, comments have been great! Thank you. Any mistakes are the
     result of my fast typing and basic eagerness to get this posted.
John was the first one up the next morning. He was a bit... Sore after the
previous night, not used to being the one actually being fucked. Biting down on
his tongue to hold back a groan, John winced and stood up. It would take a
while and maybe a cool bath to be able to walk properly. Thank god classes
weren't resuming for another three days. He yanwed and picked up his mobile to
flick through the unread messages. He was about to send a text back to his
father asking what was wrong, until he saw the other message. There was only
one person that could be: Jim Moriarty. The kid was getting weirder and weirder
every day.
"John?" Sensing the lack of warmth in the bed, Sherlock rolled over. One side
of his curls were tousled and stood out at all angles, matched with a half-red
face.
"Look." John sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned his boyfriend closer. With
his arms wrapped around John's middle and his head resting on his shoulder,
Sherlock peered at the phone's screen. "I got this last night... He knows about
us."
"So do Greg and Molly."
"You don't think Molly told him, do you?" John glanced back with a raised
eyebrow. Sherlock sighed and rolled back to flop against the duvet.
"Dunno. She knows better than that, John."
"Sherlock," John turned to face the younger boy with a creased brow. "I don't
like this. I'm going to call Molly."
Sherlock just nodded. "Probably for the best. I have swim practice today
anyway."
Yawning, Sherlock threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching
and showing off his nicely toned body. John couldn't help but smile up at him.
Catching his eyes, Sherlock gave a little wink before sauntering off to the
bathroom with a murmur of 'later on, darling,' and a small laugh.
John flopped back onto the bed and studied the text again. He went over
everything in his head: Molly was scared before Mid-Term. It was because of
Jim. Last night she went home with him... Either they were a couple or... Well,
that much was for John to find out. But then he remembered the text from his
dad. His dad only ever said that to him when he was in trouble or there was bad
news. So he sent a reply back.
Only woke up now. What's wrong?
Sent to: Dad
About two minutes later he got a reply:
New Message: Dad - 11:13 am
Come home this weekend. Alone. Your mum and I found something in your bedroom.
At that point Sherlock emerged. He was dressed in a plum coloured shirt and
some dark jeans, and his kit bag was sitting by the door. Then he caught the
look on John's face.
"John? You look as if you've just found out your dog died." He padded over to
find his shoes, but continued to look at John. "It's your dad again, isn't it?"
"How can you tell?"
"I saw the other message on your phone when you were showing me the one from
Molly." Sherlock shrugged and laced up his shoes. "What did he want?"
John shrugged and tossed his phone onto the locker. He got up and began to pace
around, picking up his strewn about clothes and costume from last night,
folding them up and putting them away. "He just told me to come home. They
found something in my room..."
"Oh." Sherlock turned to John again with a little frown on his face. "Look,
maybe they just found a porn magazine or-"
"Sherlock!"
"What? Don't most... ordinary teenage boys have a few raunchy magazines?"
"Not me! Harry was the one with the magazines. Though she did blame me a few
times to cover up her sexuality crisis." John flopped onto the bed face down
and sighed into the pillow. "Plus they wouldn't care about that. I just hope to
god Harry isn't stashing drugs in my room or something."
Sherlock knelt on the bed gently and put his hand on John's back. "Whatever it
is I'm sure you're not in too much trouble, John." He scooted closer on his
knees and bent down, close enough so that he could press a soft kiss against
the back of John's neck, nuzzling the soft blonde hairs there.
"I'll find out this weekend." John turned his head to look up at Sherlock. "You
better go. Can't have you missing out on your practice what with finals coming
up next week."
"Yes. But you better not stress yourself. You have a match next week too."
Though not as big as the swimming finals, winning a match wa still important to
John. "I'll meet you this evening in the cafe downtown. Okay?"
"Yeah. And thanks, love." John smiled up gently at him and got a smile in
return. And then Sherlock was gone, leaving john to his thoughts. He didn't
text back his dad. Instead, he sent a text out to Molly. Complete with a white
lie.
Hi Molly. Can I borrow your biology book? Left mine back home during Mid Term.
Sent to: Molly H.
It took a long time for Molly to reply. In the space of time that took John was
able to straighten out the room and take a shower. Greg still wasn't home yet
but John didn't expect that really. Usually he stayed with Dimmock on nights
out, or if Dimmock wasn't able to put him up, then it was usually one of the
other lads from the team. He respected John's privacy, especially when keeping
a secret like being in a relationship with another boy at Briarwood's.
Putting away the remainder of his books for this term, John wiped his hands on
his corduroy jeans and picked up his phone.
New Message: Molly H. - 13:00 pm
Hi John. You can borrow my book. I'll drop it in this evening, bit occupied
today.
Thanks Molly. How was your night?
Sent: Molly H.
This time, however, John didn't get a reply. That she replied to the first
message was in itself a relief, but there was still questions about Jim and
what the hell he wanted with Molly. The boy was just so odd. He was new enough
too, from Ireland - Dublin, most likely - judging by his accent. This was going
to bug him for ages. Not that it was really anything to do with him. If Molly
was fine with Jim now then maybe he hadn't actually scared her that much.
Deciding he needed some air before meeting Sherlock at the cafe, John put on
his rugby hoodie and a pair of old trainers and went out for a walk.
He met Greg along the way. The boy looked incredibly tired and rather
dishevelled. He almost walked completely by John, but the shorter boy stuck an
arm out and caught him by the elbow.
"Greg?"
"John! Hi, sorry I didn't see you."
"I can tell. You look..."
"Like I'm having the worst hangover ever? Yeah, about accurate. Some of the
boys managed to sneak in some alcohol and we all went down to the pitch once
the party was over."
"And didn't get caught? Hope you at least cleaned up." John snorted and scuffed
his feet against the ground.
"Yeah we did. We may have been drunk but we still had common sense." Greg
yawned behind his hand and shook his head. "M'going to bed when I get back to
our room. So no shagging while I'm in there."
John gave him a playful swipe across the arm. "Oi! Oh by the way, I need to ask
you something real quick. Did you see who Molly was with last night?" Greg
shook his head and made a gesture for John to continue. "Jim. Jim Moriarty."
For a second there was a flash of something in Greg's eyes, almost like
surprise but... Hurt too. "Left as in..."
"As in he was leading her back in the direction of her dorm. I take it you
didn't notice her anyway."
"I noticed her!" Noting that he sounded a little bit defensive, Greg cleared
his throat and John forced back a smirk. "I mean I noticed her at the party.
But not with Jim. Look, I'll go up and check on her before I go back if you
like."
"Yeah do. I already texted her and she said she was busy so maybe a different
face would be better to appear at her doorstep. Just make sure she's okay. I
don't trust Jim."
"Neither do I, John. I better get going."
"Right. See you after." They shared their goodbyes and went their seperate
ways. John mulled quietly over how adorable Greg's crush on Molly was. Everyone
could see it but themselves, and nobody chose to bring it up in front of them.
John had always hoped that the two of them would get together but with Jim now
in the picture... Well. With a shake of his head John continued, wandering
about the school's outer grounds and then the town. The fact that most of the
school was either still at home until the school term started up again or still
in their rooms, it gave John enough space to walk about.
Sherlock was starving. And his muscles were trained to the extreme. He'd swam
6000 yards of the pool in just over an hour without a break, which was very
impressive for someone of his age. His coach had high hopes for him in next
week's finals. By the time Sherlock had showered and got dressed again, it was
already time to go and meet John. He was sore, but he could put up with it and
walk the distance into town for some food.
John was waiting for him in the cafe. He was used to this routine they often
had even before they started dating, so when Sherlock pushed through the doors
and slumped down in the seat across from him, there was a steaming cup of hot
tea waiting for him with a plate of tasted sandwiches.
"You even asked them to leave out the tomatoes, John. You are amazing."
"Hello to you too." John smiled and leaned forward on his seat. "How did it
go?"
"Hm?" Sherloclk already had a mouthful of sandwich before John could finish
speaking. Swallowing it down, he gave a nod. "Very good! I've beaten my old
record. Coach thinks I have a great chance next week for the team." He was on
his second sandwich already. That was the thing with Sherlock; he didn't eat an
awful lot of the time, but when he did, he filled up.
"I'm proud of you. And I'll be even prouder when you win."
Sherlock concealed his smile over his tea. He felt John put his a over his own
and looked up. "I'm serious, Sherlock. This is great for you." There was more
to his eyes than just pride. Sherlock wasn't sure what exactly, but they seemed
to shine a little brighter.
"John?"
"Yes?" Was John leaning even closer?
"...I need to pick up my fork."
"Oh." Blinking, John turned a bit red and sat back. "Sorry."
"Don't be." Sherlock gave him a re-assuring smile. "You look like you want to
say something. Go ahead."
"W-what? No..." Why was John's heart beating so fast? Why were his palms
suddenly sweaty? He forced himself to relax.
"John." With something of an amused look on his face, Sherlock leaned closer
and linked his fingers under his chin. "Your pupils are dilated and, if I'm
correct which I have a feeling I am, your pulse is accelerated. Now... What
could possibly have you so nervous? Could it be-"
"I love you." There, he said it. "I know we've only been dating for a short
while but god, Sherlock, the things you do to me. I've never felt this way for
anybody before and my years of knowing you have been the best but since we've
gotten together the feelings I had for you just got a million times more-"
Now it was Sherlock's turn to shut John up. With a kiss.
"Mmf, Sherlock!" John pulled back and looked about the cafe. When he heard
Sherlock laughing he snapped his head around. "Are you mental?"
"John this place is practically empty apart from the elderly couple in the
corner, and the waitress."
"...Good point." And then John was smiling too.
"How about we finish up here and go back to my room?"
"Good plan." John took a breath and relaxed back into his seat. At that point,
his phone buzzed in his pocket.
New Message: Greg - 16:00 pm
No answer at Molly's place and her room-mates haven't seen her since the party
last night. No answer on her phone either. I tried Jim's dorm but I can't find
him anywhere. Bit worried.
"Sherlock?"
"Hm?" Sherlock gulped down the last of his tea and pushed his plate away.
"I think we have a problem."
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     PLEASE READ:
     I'm going away tomorrow until next Saturday so I won't upload next
     until after then. I wanted to get a chapter up before I left though.
     Right, so I've taken a bit of a break from the plot. Just imagine
     this as Sherlock and John going back to Sherlock's apartment after
     the cafe scene and being all horny. They need to let off a bit of
     steam before going after poor Molly and Jim :D
     So yeah, porn before plot because I need time to think up some good
     ideas. I'll be back some time after the 5th of June at best.
Despite their fears about Molly and her safety, John and Sherlock just couldn't
keep their hands off each other when they got in. Sherlock pushed john down
onto the bed and straddled him. He kissed John softly, hands running through
the shorter boy's hair. John hummed affectionately and tipped his head back.
"Has my confession of love gotten you hot and ready, love?" John laughed and
pushed Sherlock back enough to sit upright with him. "You must be all tense
from swimming all those laps. Go undress and I'll take care of you." Sherlock
smirked and stood up, stepping back to pull off his t-shirt and unbuckle his
belt.
John watched his boyfriend stand back, eyes raking all the way up. The exposed
skin of his chest made John widen his legs a bit before he stood up, and padded
over to Sherlock. "God, you're beautiful." He pulled him close the waitsband of
his trousers from his trousers, kissing him deeply as he helped him undo the
zipper.
Any witty reply the taller boy would have managed was lost in John's mouth.
Eventually, however, his trousers were being pulled down and Sherlock broke the
kiss. John pulled his shirt off over his head and took off his belt, tossing it
aside. "I'm going to ask you to go on your knees, if you will." John worked off
his trousers and stepped out of them, leaving him in just his boxers - red,
with white stripes. He was half-hard already.
Sherlock blinked once, a little startled; John so far hadn't really been
very... Specific about what he wanted. Giving a short nod, Sherlock climbed
onto the bed and knelt down, facing John. His head was still lifted proudly, of
course, chin up and his eyes locked on John's face; there wasn't a single
submissive thing about the pose.
John, though he hadn't told anyone, knew quite a lot of foreplay techniques,
one of which he was going to try for the first time; rimming. He swallowed and
knelt on front of Sherlock, tucking curls back off his face. "I want you on all
fours in a minute. But I want you hard first." One hand slid down Sherlock's
body to his crotch, kneading it through the fabric of his underwear.
Sherlock bit off his reply, resting a very slightly shaky hand on John's thigh.
His boyfriend's fingers were warm, almost too warm, but he was hardly
complaining; the heat and friction meant that it was only a few moments before
he was mostly hard and straining against the front of his briefs. Reluctantly
pulling away from John, he shimmied out of his underwear and shifted onto all
fours on the bed, all without making a sound.
John stood up and pulled down his boxers, tossing them to the pile of clothes
by the couch. He took a moment to look at Sherlock, eyes roaming over the
smooth expanse of his back. He kept his eyes fixed on it as he walked behind
Sherlock and knelt down. He shimmied forward and draped his body over the
taller boy's. Pressing kisses along Sherlock's spine, John slid down until he
was pressing his mouth to the small of his back.
Breathing out a sigh, Sherlock let the arch of his back soften under John's
hands and lifted one knee at a time to wriggle out of his briefs. He wasn't
quite desperately hard, yet, but the soft hands on his back and the press of
John's weight against him were getting him awfully close.
"John... You're an insufferable tease, you know that?" Glancing back over his
shoulder, Sherlock let the corner of his mouth curl up into a slight smirk.
"Oh, no more than you, my love." He shot a wink over at Sherlock and replaced
his mouth back onto his lower back. His kisses trailed lower, with his hands
slowly massaging the smooth skin. He poked his tongue out and let it trail
down, lower and lower, until he was pushing the tip of it at Sherlock's balls;
it required quite a stretch, but it was worth it.
"How am I... Nngh... How am I an insufferable tease?" His hips shifted under
the attention, just a little restless shift for the sensation that wasn't quite
pleasure. Very pleasant, certainly, but still just below that edge that would
make it actual pleasure. "You're just..." Trailing off, he let his head drop
forward again and lightly curled his fingers against the rug. "Get on with it,
then."
John dragged his tongue up and spread Sherlock open for better access. "With
pleasure." He let his tongue scrape around that rim of muscle with practiced
precision. He teased a few times, poking it in and out, blowing against the wet
heat. All the while, his hands had slipped around to Sherlock's cock, stroking
him off at the same time.
Sherlock hissed at first; he'd practically been asking for that edge of
pleasure, but to have it all fall all at once like that was almost too much.
His elbows quaked, threatening to give out under him and pitch him facefirst
into the duvet, and a little tremor ran down his thighs. His hips gave a little
stutter, torn between pressing back into John's tongue or pushing forward into
the clever hand wrapped around his cock. "God." He exhaled raggedly and let his
head drop forward, his curls falling loosely around his face. John pulled his
tongue back after another moment, still stroking his cock as he shimmied up.
"I'm going to fuck you now." He removed his hands and placed them on Sherlock's
hips. "But I haven't got any condoms or lube... Will you be alright or do you
want me to run back to my room? Mind you, Greg will know exactly what we're up
to, seeing as I'm hard as a bloody rock." He asked this with his cock all but
rubbing against Sherlock's arse.
"I'll be fine, John... Just... Please." He pressed his hips back with a soft
groan. Sherlock found he quite liked this more dominant side of John. He
especially liked what the hard length of John's cock laying warm and heavy
against him promised, even if it wasn't anything new. "I'll be fine, really,
just get on with it."
Without saying anything more, John lined himself up at Sherlock's entrance and,
slow but not painfully slow, he pushed in. He bit down on his lower lip and
pushed in until he was all the way to the hilt, then he stopped. "God you're
tight..." It was glorious, though, being encased by his heat. Giving his hips a
few testing twitches, John began to pull back.
Sherlock bit down on his bottom lip to muffle a curse, fingers clutching at the
duvet. Yes, it hurt, but not enough to make him want to stop. Since he hadn't
been stretched out, he was very conscious of the width and length of John's
cock pushing up into him. All he could manage was a soft moan, the line of his
back tensing and his arms giving another threatening little quake. John pulled
out until just the head of his cock was inside Sherlock, and when he thrust
forward again without too much force, he wrapped his arm around Sherlock's
body, holding him by the stomach. They were all but melded together. He could
feel the muscles underneath his hands tighten and release with Sherlock's
moans.
"Sherlock..." breathed John, fucking him at an unrushed pace.
Sherlock tipped his head back a little toward John's voice, his eyes only half-
open. The sharp burn of John's first thrust faded into a dull, soft ache,
gradually forced out by the familiar pleasure of it. John's hand brushed
against his cock, forcing a sharp breath out of him and making his stomach
tense a little harder against his boyfriend's hand. John's hand was
subconsciously rubbing at his husband's stomach, and he was muttering little
incoherent things into his ear - mostly dirty sweet talk. He built up speed by
just a fraction, thrusting in and up, trying to find Sherlock's prostate.
"God, Sherlock... Hngh..." John was rolling his hips right into him, groaning
with every move now.
The younger boy keened quite suddenly under him, his toes curling. The angle
wasn't ideal, but it was enough to make him tense and cry out. John's noises
weren't helping, either... In fact, the groan of his name into Sherlock's ear
actually made his cock give a hopeful little twitch upward.
John wasn't even sure what he was saying now, hell, he could have been saying
three Hail Marys for all he actually cared. Heat coiled in his stomach and he
could feel his balls tighten up. One hand moved from his stomach to Sherlock's
hair, knotting into the curls and giving just a little tug up; why, he didn't
know. But it was almost like a weird reflex action. "Fuck- Sherlock!"
That little tug drew a surprising reaction from Sherlock. He flung his head
back against John's hand, his mouth falling open in surprise and a sharp moan
tearing out of him. Something in him snapped, and a second later he was coming
without even being properly touched. His elbows would have given out if it
weren't for the hand fisted into his curls, and his legs were trembling a
little now.
John wasn't far to follow, having Sherlock's already tight heat clamp even
tighter around his cock. It was bliss - dirty, shagging (literally) bliss.
"Aangh, Sherlock!" The name spilling from his lips was guttural and choked and
John tugged on Sherlock's hair as he came, spilling into his boyfriend.
Sherlock managed a hitched little breath before his limbs finally went quite
limp, John's now-slack weight carrying him onto the softness of the rug under
his stomach. He dutifully ignored the sticky spot on the rug just below his
navel, and turned his head so his nose wasn't mashed against the duvet. "Christ
John... What the hell was all that, then?"
John took a moment to relax and catch his breath before he did anything. He
managed a mumbled reply and pulled out of Sherlock, already softening now. He
collapsed beside him and lay on his side. "Was it not good? Fuck, I don't know.
I was just randy..." He covered his still flushed face with his arm and started
to laugh softly.
"Don't get me wrong, it was fantastic... And I still can't quite feel my
legs... But you aren't usually quite so demanding." He made a valiant attempt
at sitting upright. Really he did. Only the attempt ended up with him flopping
back down onto the bed in an undignified sprawl of limbs and pale flesh.
"You're usually the demanding one in this relationship..." John smirked and
rolled over onto his knees, pushing himself up. Sherlock couldn't ignore the
rapidly cooling and now much more sticky spot under his abdomen, so he rolled
toward John a little to get away from it. "I'm not looking forward to cleaning
this up..."
"Oh, um... Dry cleaners I suppose." John chuckled and sat up, pushing himself
onto his feet. "Hm, it's getting a bit late. Do you want some help getting up?"
He nodded at where Sherlock was lying, still limp-limbed.
Sherlock shook his head; it finally took clutching at the headboard to haul
himself at least mostly upright. Christ, he hadn't been this weak-kneed since
the first time he and John were together. "Well, I'm going to feel this in the
morning... Not that I'm complaining." Putting a hand in the small of his back,
he managed to get completely upright and arch his back to stretch out the taut
muscles.
John picked up their clothes and handed Sherlock his own, dressing into just
his boxers. "Do you want me to try ring Molly again before I go back?"
Sherlock shook his head. "No, leave this to me and I'll come visit you and Greg
in the morning. Make sure he stays calm though." He managed to get into his
briefs and his trousers, though not without some difficulty. "I'm going to
just... Have a shower and freshen up, alright?" Even dressed, he could feel a
very slight, rather uncomfortable trickle of moisture running down the back of
his thigh.
"Okay." John reached out and touched Sherlock's cheek with his left hand,
before letting it fall away. "I'll text you later. Bye, love." He bent down to
give Sherlock a long, slow kiss, hand stroking his cheek gently. He refrained
from saying 'I love you' again, simply because it might have been too much for
one day. Besides, he had to go back to Greg and find out what exactly happened
with Molly. Sherlock smiled as he watched John leave, before dragging his
laptop onto his bed and snuggled into his duvet; he had some planning and
research to do.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm baaaaaaack. Hopefully this chapter brings us all up to speed with
     where it's going. I'm also thinking of bringing the chapter count to
     around 15/16, depending. And then an epilogue?
There was an overwhelming aroma of something musky in the air. It reminded
Molly of her grandfather's Old Spice, she thought, as she slowly came 'round.
Her head was throbbing and she could barely open her eyes. She ended up looking
through what felt like two razor blade slits, and everything she could see was
blurred and dark. The only light source came from a small crack in the
curtains. Curtains... Beside a bed... A bedroom? Twisting her head slowly so as
not to ignite the pain any more, Molly's face met with thick carpet. She
coughed, spitting out the fibres that entered her mouth, and raised her head as
much as she could. 
In the corner of the room, she could see a dark figure shrouded in shadow. Jim.
"Ah." Jim rose and swanned over to where she lay on the ground. He knelt down
and, placing two fingers under her chin, delicately tilted her head up. When
Molly tried to speak, she just ended up squeaking. "Oh, hush now my dear Molly.
This will all be over soon..."
Her hands were tied behind her back, she discovered, when he pulled her into an
upright kneeling position. There was no feeling in them apart from the very
barest of tingles. Jim left her for a few beats and then was back, a small
bottle of water in his hand.
"I know what you're thinking, Molly. You thought I was such a nice young man
the day you met me. And then there was our little... Date." His smirk was
utterly wicked. "Did you have fun? I know I did. You're so easy to tie up."
With a delicate laugh, Jim uncapped the bottle and held it to her lips. He
helped her take a small sip. "There's a good girl, drink up now. We can't have
you going back hoarse."
"Jim-"
"Shh... Just drink." He smoothed back her hair again. "You looked delicious at
the party. I bet that Lestrade fellow thought so too - his eyes were following
you all night. Until I led you away that is. But you know who looked even more
delicious?" Jim leaned closer to Molly and she did her best not to flinch back.
"Sherlock Holmes."
Molly's eyes widened and he laughed again. Shuffling around behind her, Jim
stroked the silken scarves tying her hands together. "I'm going to let you go
soon. But first, I need you to promise me something. Will you make a promise
for me, Molly?"
She nodded and he hummed in delight.
"I want you to lead John Watson here. Do you know why?" He didn't give her a
chance to reply, simply leaned even closer so his lips were by his ear.
"Because I want Sherlock all to myself. And with his little pet by his side I
just can't do that. But I always get what I want."
He started slowly untying Molly, his fingers undoing the knots almost gingerly;
the scarf was Westwood, after all.
***
"Mycroft? I need your help." Sherlock said those words with utter distaste
through the phone. But it had to be done. On the other side, he could almost
imagine his brother's surprise. Mycroft was twenty-three and already on the
high end of the government. What his actual role was, Sherlock didn't
particularly know or care for. 
"You're asking for help? Good Lord, has the Apocalypse come already?"
"Don't be an arse, Mycroft! Look, are you willing to help or not?"
Mycroft tutted. "Such language. Fine, what do you need?"
"I'm in... Danger... Sort of."
"What have you done now?" Mycroft's tone of voice was weary. He just hoped this
was no more 'danger' than the kind he used to get into as a child: the stuck up
in a tree and ready to fall type of danger.
"It doesn't matter."
"To Hell it doesn't. You're my younger brother, Sherlock, and if you think-"
"Fine! God, when did you become so interested in my safety?" Sherlock huffed
and swung his legs down over the side of his bed, walking over to his desk to
sit down. 
"Just tell me. What is going on?"
"Ever heard of James Moriarty?" Sherlock held the phone to his ear by his
shoulder and dug out a pen and paper. When Mycroft said no, Sherlock took the
phone into his hand again. "Well you're about to. He's kidnapped a friend of
mine, Molly Hooper, but he thinks I don't know."
"How exactly do you know?"
"Nothing gets past me, Mycroft. Well, except Moriarty… But not for long. Look,
I need you to send down some items. Can you do that?"
"That all depends." Sherlock heard his older brother sigh on the other end.
Sherlock never asked for help from him. It must be big. "I have a feeling
there's more to this than what you're telling me. Look, I have a fifteen minute
break now. Why don't we have a proper chat where you tell me the whole story
and then we'll negotiate what you need. Sound fair?"
Sherlock groaned and was about to protest, but Mycroft spoke through again.
"Don't make me order you, Sherlock."
Realising that this was the only way to save Molly (and John, if his fears were
correct - and they probably were), Sherlock gave in. "Fine, you have a deal. I
may as well start with John Watson…"
***
Shit. Shit shit shit. Now was really not the time to figure out what his dad
was talking about. But it hit him like a punch to the gut… Well, no that was
actually the rugby ball.
"Watson! Wake up!" John's coach's voice boomed down the pitch, making John snap
out of the cold fear of realisation. He shook his head, grabbing the ball from
the ground and ignoring the pain on his stomach where a bruise was surely going
to form. He ran down with it and passed it to Lestrade, giving his team the
'wait a minute' signal with his hand.
"John? What's wrong?" Keelan Powell, their best and burliest Flanker -
sometimes known as the Friendly Giant - cocked his head. "You're white as a
ghost, mate."
"Probably pregnant." Anderson sneered. John shot him a glare. How did that
little weasel even make the team? When… No, if John made it as Captain,
Anderson was going to be made a sub. "What? We all know you're bonking someone.
Probably Holmes going by how much time you spend together."
"Shut the fuck up, Anderson!"
"Ooh, touchy." Unlike the last time John had a fight with Anderson, less people
laughed at him. Most just shuffled awkwardly on their feet, looking to their
coach for guidance. The man came between them and put a hand on John's chest to
keep him from knocking Anderson out.
"Lads! Anderson, don't start. John… Take five. Go on, you're not looking so
good." John loosened his balled up hands and flexed his fingers. No, he didn't
look good. He didn't feel good either and if he didn't get to a bathroom soon-
Too late. He got to the edge of the pitch before he started to throw up. It
wasn't so much that he felt sick than the realization that had hit him earlier;
the reason his dad wanted him to come home that weekend.
John forgot to empty his bin in his room. The bin in which he had unthinkingly
tossed away the condom.
After a moment, he felt a hand on his back. "John? Don't worry about Anderson.
Coach'll deal with him later." Greg peered down and helped him stand up
straighter. "It's alright, mate, come on. Let's get you cleaned up, eh?"
"I'm in deep shit Greg."
"Why?" Greg soothed a hand up and down his back as he walked him towards the
dorms. What John needed now was a shower and some rest.
"I think my dad knows about me and Sherlock."
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     Oh my good god I am sorry. I had no motivation to update this for a
     while because of personal reasons. I got distracted and lazy and put
     it off but I FINALLY got around to it. It's in the morning and this
     was checked over just once. Any mistakes are entirely my own.
     Age of consent in the UK is 16. Here in Ireland it's 17, but because
     this is set in England, the former applies. Warnings for homophobic
     slang.
Molly had been released with severe warnings that if she didn't complete her
task by the next week week, there would be consequences. She hadn't looked back
as she staggered back to her dorm and into her room, flinging herself onto her
bed. Irene and Sally weren't back yet, which was probably a good thing. Molly
needed to think. She didn't want to betray John by leading him directly into
Jim's clutches, but if she didn't... Well, she hadn't actually been told what
the consequences were. However, going by the harsh and frankly menacing hiss in
Jim's voice, it wouldn't end pretty for anybody.
She curled up into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt dirty and evil,
and all she wanted was for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.
*
John was fidgety the whole train-ride home. After a long conversation with
Sherlock concerning his dad, the pair had come to a mutual agreement that John
going home alone was probably best; Mr. Watson was a straight-laced man. To
have his son's potential boyfriend there after the discovery of the condom...
It was probably best for everyone. John was shitting it. What the fuck was he
supposed to say? 'Oh, hi dad, yes Sherlock and I are fucking on a regular
basis. Yes, yes I did get Molly to pretend she was my girlfriend for your sake.
How's mum doing?'
John groaned and slumped forward onto the narrow train table. He just hoped his
father wasn't going to disown him when he told the truth (wasn't that for the
best?). It wouldn't surprise him if he did anyway.
Twenty minutes later, John stepped off the train onto the platform and looked
for his dad. To his left, Gerald Watson coughed, making John jump and clutch
his bag tighter.
"...Evening."
"Good Evening." Mr. Watson's voice was gruff. He avoided John's eyes and took
his bag from him. John wordlessly followed him to the car park and sat into the
passenger side. The uncomfortable knot in his stomach tightened tenfold and he
closed his eyes, his head tipping sidewards against the window. The car dipped
a bit when his father sat in. For a while neither of them moved. After what
felt like an eternity, Mr. Watson coughed.
"John-"
"No, dad, not now. Please. Just wait until we get home, alright?" He meant to
sound defensive. Instead, he sounded weary. He felt heat creep into his cheeks
as he glanced over at his dad.
"Fine." Mr. Watson's shoulders heaved in a silent sigh and he started up the
car. Neither of them spoke, and John was grateful for the low murmur of the
radio. It kept him at least a little bit distracted from what was bound to
come; the calm before the strom, he mused.
Usually John liked coming home. Especially if he came home with Sherlock. But
this time, the familiar front lawn and driveway of his terraced house looked
daunting, and the lights inside didn't hold the prospect of a hot dinner and a
warm bed. Getting out of the car and up to his front door felt like a walk of
shame. After dropping his bag under the hall table, John turned to his dad.
"Your mum's in there." Mr. Watson nodded to the kitchen. "Go on in."
The kitchen wasn't filled with smells of his mum's casserole, or a roast
chicken dinner. Not even a cup of tea was waiting for him. Instead, his mother
was sitting with a newspaper on one side of the small table. Upon John's
arrival, she folded the paper and set it to one side. Her mousy brown hair was
tucked behind her ears, the choppy ends resting just by her shoulders. Her
eyes- John had her eyes - were hard set and her mouth was set in a hard line.
"Sit down, John." John tried not to roll his eyes at his mother's tone. Jesus
Christ, what was this? An American soap opera? Even as a child John had never
been brought in for a 'talk'. He'd seen it been done to Harry after her first
binge drinking incident. She was fourteen at the time and had come home
smashed. John remembered being sent out to play in the garden while Harry faced
the wrath of their parents.
Dropping into the seat opposite, John watched as his father sat down beside
her.
"What is this? An interrogation?"
"Don't be smart, John." Mr. Watson folded his arms. "Look, you got my text. I'm
sure you know why we want to speak to you."
"Please be honest with us." Mrs. Watson's voice had gone a little bit softer,
but she still had a hard set face. "You and Sherlock..."
"Yes?" John shrugged. "What about us."
"You know right well what, John Hamish Watson. Don't even try to avoid the
question." Mr. Watson was growing annoyed.
"What question?" John unfolded his arms and held the edge of the table. "You
just said 'you and Sherlock...' That's not a question!"
"John, don't-"
"Don't what? Don't be smart? Cheeky? Look, cut to the chase." John's mind was
screaming at him to shut the fuck up before he dug a bigger hole. "You found a
condom in my bedroom. My bedroom that Sherlock and I slept in." Shut up "You
think we're shagging. Well you guessed correctly." John scraped his chair back
and stood up, feeling his cheeks redden. He was sick of hiding, sick of
pretending to be their perfect son. "Mum, Dad, I'm seventeen years old. Both
Sherlock and I are at and over the age of consent. We've been... We've been
going out for a while now and I-" John cut off, bringing a hand to his face and
sighing into his palm.
His parents stayed silent. They were more than a little shocked at John's
outburst - sweet, placid John. It was out of character.
For what felt like minutes - it was really only seconds - of silence, John
straightened up and cleared his throat. "It doesn't matter. Yeah, your perfect
son turned out to be a pouf. A queer. A faggot. And if you plan on kicking me
out of the family then just get on with it already. I'm beyond caring." John's
voice had gradually become lower, slower, until it was just above a whisper. He
didn't even look at his parents as he turned on his heels and made for the
stairs, grabbing his bag on the way up. Tomorrow, he was going to get the first
train back to Briarwoods.
As he climbed the stairs, he could hear his parents speaking in hushed tones.
He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he could hear his name a few
times. He fully expected to wake up to find more than just his school
possessions packed in a bag. His mother's heart was probably breaking but he
just couldn't give a shit.
At the top of the stairs, Harry was leaning over the banister and brushing her
teeth. She'd obviously been listening, judging by the way she arched one eybrow
and smirked around the head of the toothbrush. Not in the mood to deal with his
older sister, John just shook his head and ignored her. In his room, he shut
his door none too quietly and unpacked his laptop.
The instant messenger pinged as soon as he logged on:
(20:01) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk: How did it go?
(20:01) Watson06@live.co.uk: Not good. Shouted at parents. Went straight
upstairs after. Disappointment to family etc.
(20:01) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk: Did they say that?
(20:02) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk: John?
(20:02) Watson06@live.co.uk: no.
(20:02) Watson06@live.co.uk: but I am.
(20:03) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk: John Watson, you are not a disappointment.
You are a wonderful person, if an idiot at times.
(20:04) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk: John? You know what I mean. Look, don't
come back tomorrow.
(20:04) Watson06@live.co.uk: What, why? And I know what you meant.
(20:04) Sherlock_Holmes@live.co.uk has signed out.
"Great." John muttered, leaning back in his chair. "Just marvellous."
As if on cue, his phone beeped:
New message: Sherlock - 08:05 pm
Sorry, internet got cut. Look, don't come back because I'm going up there.
Don't try and talk me out of it, John. Just trust me on this one. I'll be at
your house around noon.
This is not a good idea. But fine. I miss you.
Sent to: Sherlock
New message: Sherlock - 08:06 pm
I miss you too John. Now, I have to shower and pack a bag. Try to get some
rest. Everything will be okay.
Night. I love you.
Sent to: Sherlock
New Message: Sherlock - 08:10 pm
I love you too, John. Now go to sleep.
John had to look at his phone a few times for what Sherlock sent to actually
register. John may have confessed his feelings a couple of days ago, but this
was the first time Sherlock had said those words back.
I love you. I love you. The words played like a record in John's mind. Sure, it
had taken him four minutes, but John wasn't even expecting a reply. For the
first time since he came home, the weight in John's chest lifted, and he felt
rather happy. After turning off his laptop and making a quick pitstop to the
bathroom - everything downstairs was quiet - John then climbed into bed.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
     Main focus of this chapter is The Discussion, as I've labelled it.
As the train pulled up at Birmingham New Street Station at half past eleven
with a low whistle, Sherlock collected his bag from under his seat and made his
way out onto the platform. John's house was a forty minute cab ride away if the
traffic wasn't too heavy. Sherlock didn't know what exactly to expect when he
got to John's. He knew from experience that Mr. and Mrs. Watson were a very
right-wing couple. He was sure they had John's future already pictured in their
minds: career, possibly football, wife, two and a half children, big house with
a white picket fence... The thought alone made him sigh aloud. It was all very
pedestrian.
A cab pulled up almost straight away when Sherlock approached the road.
"Where to, then?" The cabbie asked, as Sherlock slid in to the back seat and
placed his bag on his knees. He was wearing his long black coat and blue scarf,
along with a pair of black leather gloves.
"Wythall please, the village centre." John lived in a village near the
outskirts of Birmingham. It was quite small in comparison to surrounding areas,
but it was quaint nonetheless. Sherlock had been there a handful of times since
they'd become friends, but this would only be the second time as John's
boyfriend. Unlike the last time, Sherlock wouldn't exactly be welcomed, if last
night's conversation with John was anything to go by.
He was quiet for the remainder of his journey, not really bothering to respond
to the cabbie's small talk. Eventually he gave up and they drove on in silence,
which was pierced occasionally by the little intercom in the front of the cab.
He let his head rest against the window, staring out at the passing
countryside. It felt like an eternity had passed by the time the cab turned
'round a corner and Wythall village came into view.
"Just on the green, then?" The cabbie asked.
"Please. Just up here." Sherlock sat up straighter. The moment the cab pulled
up next to an old post office across from a grassy pucnic area, Sherlock handed
him the correct fare and let himself out. John's house was just down the road,
less than five minutes away. Sherlock needed those extra few minutes to get
some fresh air and go over things in his mind. Before he set off, he pulled out
his phone and sent a text to John:
I'm almost there.
Sent to: John
Hitching his bag over his shoulder, Sherlock stuffed his gloved hands into his
pockets and set off for 2 Wythall Terrace.
*
"Shit. Bollox!" John kicked the covers off himself and rolled out of bed. He'd
been asleep, despite it being just after noon, when his phone buzzed. Sherlock
would be here in two bloody minutes and John wasn't even dressed. Muttering
curses at himself for not setting an alarm, John dropped to his knees and
rooted through his weekend bag for something to cover himself with. He found an
old t-shirt and slipped it on, not bothering to find pyjama bottoms; he'd
wandered his house in boxers and a t-shirt many times before.
John caught sight of himself in the mirror of his wardrobe as he slipped his
feet into slippers. He did literally look like he just rolled out of bed, his
hair fluffed out in all directions and sleep still crusted into the corner of
his eyes. He ran a hand through his blonde hair in attempt to flatten it
somewhat, and picked out the sand from his eyes. He'd have to do. Because his
bedroom was located right over the kitchen, John could hear the drone of the
radio coming through the floorboards. So his parents were up then.
God, he hated this. Having to face them. He didn't even get the chance to warn
them about Sherlock. Actually, that was probably a good thing, considering his
outburst the night before. As John crept down the stairs, he peeked through the
banister. The kitchen door was shut, but through the frosted glass he could see
the outline of his parents at the breakfast table. Bringing his knees up to his
chin, John wrapped his arms around them and waited for Sherlock. He'd be able
to see his silhouette through the front door.
When three more minutes passed without a sign of Sherlock, John was tempted to
go back up and find his phone to text him. But as he moved to stand, he spotted
a figure trailing down the driveway and he shot up in an instant to open the
door. His heart was thumping in his chest.
"Sherlock."
"Morning." Sherlock murmured. He raked his eyes over John and smirked. "Up
long, then?"
John snorted quietly and stepped back, widening the door for Sherlock to come
through. The taller boy wiped his feet on the welcome mat and stepped into the
hallway. He was about to say something else, but as he opened his mouth to
speak, the kitchen door opened.
 
"Harry? Who's at the..." Mr. Watson paused, eyes narrowing at his son and
his... his boyfriend. He cleared his throat and shuffled back a bit.
"Georgina?"
Mrs. Watson appeared at his side a moment later. "What's the- Oh. Right...
Well." Of the two of John's parents, Mrs. Watson was a lot more docile than
John's father. "Gerald, why don't you go fetch some turf for the fire, yeah?"
She gave her husband a look that told him she had this under control. With a
grunt of annoyance more than anything else, Mr. Watson turned and disappeared
into the kitchen and out the back.
John released a sigh of relief and shut the front door. "Mum."
 
"It's alright, John, let me." Sherlock touched John's arm briefly and then
looked over at his mother. "Mrs. Watson, I'm aware that you know of John and
I's relationship."
"Yes. I do now, anyway." She looked over Sherlock and then to John. After a few
beats, she gestured to the living room. "Look, why don't you two go in and sit
down. I'll make a pot of tea and then we can talk, alright?"
John ran a hand through his hair and then nodded. He supposed it was probably
better to talk now, with Sherlock present, than last night. "Fine. Come on." He
led the way into the living room and waited for Sherlock to join him, giving
his sister a glare. She was spread out on the couch with her feet propped up on
the arm, dressed in sweats and a hoodie. From the look she gave the couple, it
seemed Harriet Watson found the whole thing rather amusing.
"Harry, get out."
"Oi! Don't tell me what to do."
"Out!"
With a loud huff, John's sister lifted herself from the couch and purposely
elbowed her brother on the way out. "Fine. Clara's waiting for me anyway." The
door slammed shut after her.
They were finally alone. Sherlock picked up on John's unease and he gave the
smaller boy a nudge towards the couch. John's living room was the biggest room
of the house. A large window framed by net curtains gave a view of the front
lawn. There was a television in one corner, a computer in the other, and a
fireplace, in front of which sat a couch and two armchairs.
Shedding his coat, Sherlock sat next to John and folded the coat between them.
He was dressed in a deep purple shirt and black trousers in way of black jeans.
"Are you alright?"
"We're probably going to get a lecture about leaving condoms lying around.
That, and my father is probably going to kick me out. No, I'm not exactly
'alright'." John whined and leaned back against the soft leather.
"Don't jump to conclusions, John. If your father wanted you out, he probably
would have done so by now. And if they really didn't approve, do you think I'd
still have been let into the house?"
"...No, likely not." John let his head roll to the side and he blinked slowly
up at his boyfriend. "You're usually the erratic one. Normally I'm the one
calming you down."
"You've had a good effect on me, John Watson." The corners of Sherlock's lips
tugged up at the corners and John smiled back. It was in that moment of quiet
exchange, of fingertips touching on top of the coat between them, that Mrs.
Watson walked in with a tray of tea. The boys sat up straighter, John clearing
his throat to look up at his mother. If she had just witnessed their little
moment then she decided not to comment.
"Do you take sugar in your tea, Sherlock?" Mrs. Watson asked. She separated the
teacups and set them out on the little coffee table.
"Just one." The door opened once more and Mr. Watson walked in carrying a
bucket of turf and coal. An awkward silence settled over the four of them, the
only sounds being the preparation of tea and the fire being lit. Sherlock took
his teacup with a gracious thank you. John took his wordlessly and then set it
down by his feet. He was fully prepared for an awkward conversation.
Standing up, Mr. Watson dusted down his trousers and set the fireguard in front
of the meagre looking fire. He turned to face the little group of people before
stepping up beside his wife and muttering something into her ear. John's mother
gave a little nod, ignoring her son's confused expression.
"John dear, could you help me take in the washing, please? I don't think it's
going to be dry all day." She raised her eyebrows and waited for John's reply.
Giving Sherlock an apologetic look, John just nodded and stood to follow his
mother out the door. He caught Sherlock's eye on the way out, and before he
knew it, the younger boy was left alone in the sitting room with John's father.
Sherlock felt cold, like he was breathing in winter air that was sucking all
the heat out of him. He waited for the inevitable screaming match. For a moment
Mr. Watson was silent. He rose, then stood by a small drinks cabinet and
surveyed the glasses and bottles as if considering pouring himself out one
instead of drinking his tea. Flicking his eyes to Sherlock, he narrowed them
and cleared his throat gruffly. "I don't suppose you drink - you shouldn't - so
I'm not going to offer you some whiskey." He gestured to the small couch next
to the cabinet and waited for Sherlock to obey him.
"No, sir, I don't drink. Can't abide even the smell of it." He sat gingerly on
the edge of the sofa, hands folded neatly in his lap and his heels just barely
touching the carpet. Mr Watson seemed a lot calmer than he'd expected him to
be, and Sherlock scooted back on the couch so he wasn't in danger of sliding
right off onto the floor.
"...Good. At least you have good sense." Gerald muttered. In the end, he did
pour himself a drink but left it on the cabinet shelf, not yet touching it -
that was clearly for afterwards. "Sherlock, are you and my son going out for
long? And how long?" His voice was rather weary. Obviously John hadn't said so
last night.
Sherlock swallowed. "We've been... Together for close to two months now. John
was understandably reluctant about telling you and Mrs. Watson." Sherlock
knotted his fingers together in his lap and stared down at them for a moment.
"I have done only what I thought was best for your son, sir. And John means the
world to me."
Mr. Watson said nothing, his eyebrows knitting together. His fingers traced
around the patern of the glass and he looked over at Sherlock. In his head, he
mulled over everything. It was a little bit sad that John wasn't dating that
Molly girl, but there was a definite change to his overall mood. John seemed to
have improved not only in his sport but in general; he was a much happier boy.
With a sigh, Mr. Watson straightened up.
"I'm not ecstatic with this Sherlock and if I could alter John's ways then I
would." Mr Watson rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment. "...I don't think
I can though. So I'm going to ask you one thing: why are you with John? I know
what happens to queers around here and I never want John to be hurt."
"I'll be completely truthful with you, sir. I am... Very deeply attached to
your son. I understand that you are not happy, and I am aware of what you have
discovered in John's bedroom." Sherlock felt his cheeks heat up a bit, but
continued on. He came here to get Mr. Watson's approval and that was what he
was going to do. "I only wish to see him happy, and every time that he smiles,
I am the proudest person in the world to know that I am the one who made him
smile. He is very special to me, sir, and I wouldn't trade him for all the love
and money in this world and the hereafter."
During Sherlock's speech Mr. Watson listened, sat back, crossed and then
uncrossed his arms. When the boy had stopped speaking, he raised his head, met
his eyes, and sighed. "John!" He called to the partially open door. A moment
later and John poked his head around the corner, his mother visible in the
background. John stepped in, glanced down at Sherlock, and then to his dad.
"Yes?"
At that his father gestured to the space beside Sherlock. "Sit."
John sat, sitting close to Sherlock. His hand, despite his father's sharp
stare, found Sherlock's and he intwined their fingers. Sherlock squeezed,
glancing at John out of the corner of his eye with the barest shadow of a
smile.
Mr. Watson watched them, his blue eyes - so much like John's - taking in their
interlocked hands, the little shared look, their proximity... It hurt, though
not in a bad way; it reminded him of himself and his wife back when they first
got together. It seemed John and Sherlock were totally and completely attached
to one another. They were like that now, and they were like that since they
first met. Finally he sighed.
"John, are you happy?"
"Yes, dad. And before you ask how much, I'm going to answer for you. I'm the
happiest I've ever been and it's all because of Sherlock. So please, if you're
going to throw me out-"
Mr. Watson stopped john there. "No, son, I'm not going to do that."
Their mother peeked in through the door at them, listening and watching. She
caught her husband's eye and then nodded, stepping back with the barest hint of
a smile. Then the door closed. "If being together with Sherlock is what makes
you happy then I'm not going to force you apart. I'm... This will take time for
me to completely accept. But for now..." He looked over at Sherlock, eyes and
voice serious. "Don't you dare hurt my boy. Understood?"
Sherlock squeezed John's hand a little tighter and nodded politely. "I wouldn't
dream of it, sir. Hurting John would be like tearing off one of my own
fingers." He managed a weak laugh and looked up to meet Mr Watson's eye. "I
assure you, sir, John is as safe with me as he is with anyone else."
"Good." Mr. Watson seemed satisfied with that answer, but it was acceptable.
Just like Harry, this would take time to sink in for he and his wife. With a
nod, he stood up and left the two in peace.
"I'm just glad neither of us got thrown out or injured." John sighed, a little
shakily. "He handled that batter than I expected. I suppose with my little
outburst last night I never actually got to hear how they felt." John sighed
and turned over so he was on his side and facing Sherlock. "You might as well
stay. But I don't expect we'll be allowed to sleep in the same room tonight.
You said last night to trust you... Did you have a plan?" He reached over and
brushed Sherlock's hair back.
Sherlock laughed and sank back against the sofa. "Honestly? No. But at least
they know the truth."
"And Dad now knows I lied about Molly." John frowned. "They reacted much worse
when Harry came out. Then again, Harry didn't have a girlfriend. She was just
sleeping around."
"Well I hope to god you're not." Sherlock snorted. John relaxed and leaned over
for a quick peck.
"Thank you." With a smile, the shorter boy stood up and stretched. "Come on,
I'll let you get set up in the spare room."
***** Author's Note 2 *****
Okay, just a quick update. I've been feeling short of muse lately and at the
moment, I'm feeling rather ill. But I think I'm going to take advantage of this
and finish writing/ upload the next chapter in the next few days. I just hope I
haven't made you all lose interest because the respnse to this fic has been
amazing, really!
So yeah, let me know if you're still reading this. If you want me to write out
and explain the basic plot, just ask! I've been meaning to reply to your
comments, but I'm too shy and I don't know what to say to such responses! But I
do read them all and appreciate all the support I can get.
Thank you all! :)
- Vancha
***** Chapter 17 *****
After the discussion with John’s father, the weather had prevented either of
them from returning to school before eight on Sunday evening. John cursed the
howling winds and spilling rain for the entirety of the weekend, complaining
about the pitch possibly being flooded so close to finals.
He hadn’t really thought about his team much, not since storming off and
throwing up at the edge of the pitch a few nights ago. Add that to Anderson’s
comments and the fact that the entire team probably had their suspicions by
now, John wasn’t sure he even wanted to go back.
But he had to. He was a hair’s breadth away from becoming team captain. Or was…
Coach had probably changed his mind over the weekend.
“Stop worrying, John.” Sherlock’s voice brought him out of his reverie. John
scrubbed a hand over his face and pulled out the key-card to his door.
“Sorry. Just a bit tired.” He managed a thin smile and pushed down the handle
to his shared room. He could hear the shower running in the ensuite bathroom,
indicating Greg was home. He probably hadn’t left judging by the state of the
place.
“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, then.” Sherlock looked uncertain for a moment,
grey-blue eyes sweeping up the length of the corridor on both sides. Then,
before John could ask what the matter was, the taller boy swooped down and gave
him a quick, chaste kiss.
If they were anywhere else, if the corridors hadn’t been entirely empty, John
would have been a little annoyed at Sherlock’s boldness. Instead, he caught
Sherlock by the sleeve of his ridiculous jacket and held on for a moment.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, John.”
Sherlock smirked and stalked off, all high cheekbones and long strides, and
John stood by the door jamb watching him until he rounded the corner and
disappeared.
A cough from behind made him jump.
“Greg!” When had the shower stopped? Greg just grinned back at him and padded
over to his bed.
“You’re like a lovesick puppy, John, I swear.” He laughed and pulled out a pair
of pyjamas, waiting until John had finally closed the door to get changed.
“Anyway, how’d it go with your dad?”
“Very good, actually. Better than I thought.” John kicked his bag under his bed
and flopped down face first. He re-arranged himself so that he was lying with
his hands folded under the pillow and his feet – devoid of shoes and socks –
tucked up by his side.
“Glad to hear it. Oh by the way, I’ve been checking up on Molly all weekend.”
“Oh yeah?” If Greg’s voice hadn’t been quite so apprehensive, John would have
questioned his moral motives. Instead, he raised his head. “How is she?”
“I don’t know. That’s the thing.” With a sigh, Greg sat back against the wall
and pulled a notebook and pen onto his lap. “She’s been quite… Distant?” He
shrugged. “Can’t really explain it, but she’s not her usual self.”
John chewed his lip thoughtfully. “She’s been like that for a while now. Since
the night of the Halloween party actually.”
“It’s that Moriarty kid isn’t it.” Greg’s hand was clenching and unclenching
around the pen, and John feared for the bedsheets if he were to snap it. “He’s
been hovering around her fucking nonstop.”
Whatever homework the older boy had started on was swiftly forgotten. He tossed
it onto the floor and shimmied up the bed and under his duvet.
“Greg? Everything alright?”
“I’m fine. Just need an early night for once.” Greg mumbled, reaching out to
flick off his lamp. “You should too, by the looks of it.” He turned over and
pulled his covers close around him.
“…Alright.” If John was concerned by Greg’s sudden sullenness, he chose not to
comment. Instead, he managed to wriggle out of his clothes, turn out his own
lamp, and slip under the covers. He was soon lulled to sleep by the pitter-
patter of rain against the window.
His heart is beating far too fast. Sweating. Can’t speak. Scared.
Everything is dark. Can’t see. He hears footsteps, slow and precise, each one a
deafening as the next until he can’t take it. His hands, arms, legs, feet, all
paralysed.
Then it stops. Has it stopped? There is no sound now.
A flick of a finger, a wisp of cold breath, a sudden gleam of red eyes.
“Time to wake up, Rover.” Cold voice, sneering. “Time to die.”
Hands, fire-hot, wrap around his throat. He can’t breathe, can’t raise alarm,
can’t fight back. He sees the hands now, attached to short arms, can see the
twisted grin on the face above him, open mouth full of sharp teeth, a forked
tongue.
Jim Moriarty.
John gasped awake. His hands flew to his throat but nothing was there save for
his rapid pulse. It was mostly dark still, the hint of dawn just about peeking
through the curtains. Dropping his head into his hands, John took a few slow,
deep breaths and kicked the covers off his sweating body.
“John?” He glanced across the room to see Greg staring at him, confused. “I
thought the nightmares stopped. That sounded… Bad. You alright?”
“Ye-“ John stopped and cleared his throat. “I’m fine.” He wasn't though; he
could still see Jim looming over him, eyes blazing, choking the air from his
lungs.
Greg didn’t mention the fact that John had been whimpering. He lay down again
and checked his phone. “Just gone six. You should probably catch the next hour
of sleep if you can, mate.”
Instead of doing so, John swung his legs out of bed and searched for pyjama
bottoms to wear instead of just his underwear. “No, I won’t be able to sleep.
I’m going to walk around for a bit, clear my head.”
“Okay… See you after.” Greg gave him one more concerned glance before settling
back down. John slipped his feet into a pair of trainers and pulled an old
hoodie over his t-shirt. He picked up his phone and left the room quietly, not
wanting to wake the other boys in the dorm.
Right now, he just wanted Sherlock. But it was a school night and it was
against the rules to enter anybody else’s room at this hour. He wasn’t going to
risk getting caught by a self-righteous school prefect doing dorm patrol.
Fucking twats.
What he needed right now was some fresh air. Maybe a jog around the outer
courtyard would help.
*
Sherlock skimmed through Mycroft’s email with a scowl. While he didn’t exactly
like asking his brother for help, he appreciated the information he was given.
He clicked on the link to Jim’s student profile and records, starting with
Briarwoods.

Name: James Moriarty
Active student: Yes
Gender: Male
Birthday: March 12th
Full Term/Transfer student: Transfer – Lakelands Castle
Overseas student: Yes
If yes, specify country : Ireland, Republic Of

So far so obvious. Next, he clicked on the records from Lakelands Castle. Time
to find out the reason for his transfer.
Student average grade: A-
Dorm partner: No, single room
Reasons for transfer (if any): N/A

Sherlock growled, pushing the laptop away for a moment. Under this, however, he
discovered his dear old brother had provided him the reason. Oh the government
had its perks sometimes.

‘Sherlock, as you are quite aware, Jim Moriarty’s previous school did not
provide the reason of his transfer. After many phone calls with people in high
places, I can give you that information. I am trusting you not to go running
about with this information, and to keep the source of it (that being me) a
secret.
I believe Moriarty to be a deceiving boy with a rich past. I implore you not to
do anything particularly stupid, dear brother, for this boy is more dangerous
than he seems. The information in brief that I have found is that there was an
incident at the school, with several fires, students going missing for days,
and a teacher dropping out for no apparent reason. The worst of these
incidences was the death of a student, the details of which simply stated
'sudden death'. However, all suspicions including my own point to Jim.
Jim Moriarty was held accountable on all these charges, though with no evidence
other than a few eye witnesses under the age of 18, the only thing that could
be done was to suspend and/or transfer him. That latter, as you know, was the
decision.
This boy could simply troubled, perhaps, but after you explained about Miss
Hooper’s brief captivity, I have no doubt that he is behind it.
As for the safety of John Watson, I encourage you to keep an eye out on him. If
you can, keep him at a distance from Moriarty. There is more to this boy than
meets the eye, Sherlock, and I have my own suspicions about him that for
certain reasons, I cannot mention here.
Stay safe and don’t get into trouble, Sherlock. I’ll be in touch.
-MH
Sherlock shut his laptop and checked the time. Half past six. He sighed,
letting all that information digest for a moment, before standing and changing
into his uniform. He hadn’t slept for more than two hours, but there was no
time for rest.
Sherlock had to keep John away from Jim at all costs. If he didn’t, he feared
the worst was about to happen.
Giving his room a quick one-over, Sherlock finished dressing and slipped out
the door. There was still another twenty minutes left until students began to
wake for showers and breakfast and homework catch up. Maybe he could fit in a
few stretches in private before the day began. He had swimming finals next
month and needed to stay in top shape and performance levels. He knew full well
his coach would disapprove of his sleeping habits, but Sherlock was well used
to it.
Outside, it was just beginning to brighten. The rain from the previous night
had clung to the grass and left small puddles on various areas of the ground.
It was set to be another wet day, and Sherlock felt sorry for the rugby team.
As much as he disliked most of them, he didn’t fancy the idea of getting wet or
being tackled to the muddy ground. More importantly, he felt sorry for John.
In the distance, Sherlock saw something move. He thought it was a stray dog
that wandered into the grounds, but on closer inspection it was a person,
sitting down on one of the old grey benches. For a split second, Sherlock had
thought it was Jim skulking around again. Except Jim didn’t have sandy blonde
hair and striped pyjama bottoms.
Sherlock frowned. What was he doing out here at this hour?
“John?”
John whipped his head around to stare at Sherlock, wild eyed. He calmed down
once recognition set in and his shoulders visibly slumped with the relief.
Sherlock strolled closer and sat down next to his boyfriend on the bench.
“Sorry. Thought you were someone else for a second.” John looked wrecked and
Sherlock placed a cool hand on his forehead. “I’m alright, before you ask. I
just had a nightmare.”
“You haven’t had a nightmare since-“
“Since we first started here, yeah. I know.” John exhaled and tipped his head
back.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
John shook his head. “No.” After a few beats, he looked at Sherlock curiously.
“Why are you up?”
“I sometimes get up for an early stroll. Especially on swim days. Helps clear
my mind a bit.” Flexing his wrists a bit, Sherlock crossed his ankles. “You…
You shouldn’t wander on your own, John.”
John narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. Sherlock never said that before.
Usually he was all for independence. Why was he suddenly concerned for John
walking about by himself?
“And why not? It’s the school grounds, Sherlock, not central London.”
“I know that.” Sherlock snapped, closing his eyes briefly; now wouldn’t be the
time to get annoyed. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes and the air around
them grew chilly. John shivered. Noting this, Sherlock unwound his green school
scarf and looped it around John’s neck. “You can give it back to me later. I’m
warm enough.”
“Thanks.” Burrowing down into the warmth, John flicked his eyes over Sherlock.
They both looked as if they hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep.
“Sally has a new boyfriend. Anderson’s not happy about it, so expect him to be
acting the fool this evening.”
“I thought they were doing each other?” John frowned. An angry Anderson was
never fun to deal with, especially not lately.
“They were.” Sherlock smirked, tempted to make a joke about Anderson’s probable
lack of performance in the bedroom. He caught John’s eye and they both
collapsed into fits of giggles. John knew exactly what Sherlock was thinking.
It was brighter by the time they stopped. John stood up and held a hand out to
Sherlock. Nobody was quite up yet, and they were hidden by trees anyway.
Sherlock took it and allowed John to haul him to his feet.
“Sherlock-“
Sherlock cut him off quickly.
“It’s because I worry, alright? There’s people here school who don’t care if
you get hurt, John. And I don’t like the thoughts of you walking around when
they could be lurking around.”
“I play rugby, Sherlock, I know how to defend myself.”
“That’s not the point, John.” Sherlock tugged him behind a skip and backed him
up against the wall. “There are dangerous people in this school. You know who I
mean. And…” He paused, wetting his lips. “I told your father that you’re safe
with me. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
His hands had found their way to John’s face, cupping it in such an
uncharacteristic and affectionate way. Usually this sort of stuff was confined
to the bedroom. John blinked slowly up at him and wrapped his arms around
Sherlock’s waist.
There were things Sherlock wanted to say to John, things about Jim and his real
fears about John’s safety around the cretin. But if he did, John might think he
was being smothered and that’s not what Sherlock wanted. He wanted to protect
John by all costs, yes, but it would be far too dangerous to tell the truth.
John would only go after Jim and confront him himself. That wasn't going to
happen.
They stayed liked that until doors could be heard opening.
“Just promise me, John, that you’ll keep vigilant at the very least.”
“Yeah. Yeah okay.” John nodded and Sherlock dropped his hands (and definitely
didn't caress his cheek while he did so.) They were still hidden from view by
the skip, so John leaned up and kissed Sherlock soundly on the mouth. “Come on.
You go get some breakfast and I’ll go get dressed. Meet you in English in an
hour.”
With a gentle smile, John squeezed Sherlock’s hip and left, passing by a few
first years on their way to the breakfast hall.
*
Molly Hooper’s second favourite class was English, after Biology. She loved
Shakespeare, poetry, media studies, writing… It helped her escape from the
world. She was also a stickler for romance, and often dreamed of being the
tragic heroine of a Mills and Boon novel, saved by a handsome man she could
call her hero.
Of course, it was all just fantasy in the end.
Instead of going to class with her usual cheery smile and gusto, Molly kept to
herself and blended in with the other students in the hall. She stopped outside
the classroom, feeling her mobile buzz in her pocket. Checking for teachers,
she pulled the phone out and flipped it open.
New Message: Jim – 09:00 am
Four days, Molly darling. Time is ticking on. Remember my deal. J x
Keeping a straight face so as not to arouse suspicion, Molly shoved her phone
back into her pocket. John came ambling down the corridor then, bag in hand and
face red from running.
“Hey Molly!”
“Oh, John!” That didn't sound too much like a squeak, did it?
The bell rang out and students began to file into the classroom. Saved by the
bell, Molly thought. She gave John a quick, put-on smile and slid inside ahead
of him, moving quickly to her seat on the opposite side of the room.
She felt like the biggest traitor in the world.
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