It was windy, light gusts of wind stirred damp newspapers and sheets of paper advertisements. The rain had eased up, and it was now only a light sprinkle that one could hardly feel. Moisture in the air was thick and heavy, though newly cleansed London sang of high spirits and new opportunities. Two adolescent boys were strolling down the wet streets together. One boy, elegantly tall and dark-haired, said something and the other shorter, lighter-haired boy laughed; his blue eyes scrunched up and as he walked by the taller boy, he reached out and clutched the taller boy's arm for support. As he giggled, the taller boy looked down to smile at his feet and looked incredibly pleased with himself. He was opening his mouth to say something to his companion when a dark, stained van suddenly screeched up to them, and a handsome caramel-skinned boy with shoulder-length, rich brown leaned out of the window and flashed a blinding grin at them.
"Oi! What're your names?" he asked boldly. A small, petite girl with platinum blonde pixie hair leaned forward to the boy and rested her chin on the bold boy's shoulder as she smiled warmly at them.
"I'm Sherlock and this is John," said Sherlock with a smirk, and he gestured to John standing next to him.
"Charming," murmured the caramel boy, eyeing John appreciatively. The blonde girl, upon noticing her partner's attention on John, stretched her face up to his neck and bit down softly on his lobe. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"What was it you were going to ask them, Aali?" she asked sweetly, though subtle venom painted er tone. John was struck by how high and trilling her voice was; it was almost as though the voice came from a child's.
Aali looked smug, though a flush had faintly creeped up to his cheeks, and he bent down to rest his forehead to the girl's. "Of course." He looked back at John and Sherlock as Sherlock gazed steadily back at him coldly; the girl had not been alone in noticing Aali's meaningful study of John.
"Yes, what did you want?" John asked him politely, smiling slightly. He was completely oblivious to the silent testosterone war raging right in front of him.
Aali reluctantly removed his challenging gaze from the indignant Sherlock, who stared at him with fire roaring in his blue eyes. Aali glanced lazily at John. "Me and Marina were wondering if you two would like to tag along to a club going on up in Cardiff later tonight. We hear it's going to be wicked," he said and gave a defiant grin at Sherlock. The sharp grin made him look wicked.
John looked conflicted. "Erm... I dunno-"
"Alright."
Surprised, John whipped his head around to look at Sherlock, as he gazed deliberately at Aali, seemingly indifferent.
"What?"
Sherlock tore his gaze from Aali, who bit his lip and looked endearing. "I said 'alright.' I think it's worth a chance, don't you?"
John looked open mouthed at Sherlock, but closed it with a snap and pondered his options. It was late morning, almost afternoon, and Cardiff was about three hours away. This was the type of stunt Harriet would pull; it wasn't unusual for her to skip school to go to a club and come home past midnight, smelling of cigarette smoke and beer with tousled hair, swollen lips, and sometimes, ripped clothing. Their mother didn't mind it very much because she had wilder stories to tell of her adolescent years than Harriet did, and felt her children should "live life," and their dad wasn't around to have an opinion. John had always wondered what kind of rebellious things his sister had just done whenever she trudged past his open door with a faint smile on her lips, as though she were remembering the night's events.
"John?" asked Sherlock, pulling John from his reverie, and looked at him inquisitively through his dark eyelashes.
John looked up, eyes glazed over with memory, and focused on Sherlock. He hesitated a moment before speaking, "Okay, let's go."
Sherlock's eyebrows shot skyward. "Really?"
Nodding firmly before he could change his mind, John said, "Yes."
Sherlock grinned. He glanced over to Aali, who was again eyeing John, and Sherlock cleared his throat loudly and rather rudely. Aali rolled his eyes golden-green eyes, giving the impression of a cat; lazy, proud, and quick, though he rested his multicolored, feline stare on Sherlock.
"We agree. To going to the club," Sherlock told him through narrowed eyes.
"So I heard." Aali gave a brief, cold smile without turning to them and started the van. It sputtered to life sickly, coughing and wheezing.
Sherlock and John hesitated a moment at the pavement, suddenly not sure whether to get into the strange van or not.
"Well get in then! I haven't got all day," Aali snapped and put the van into drive. Marina reached behind Aali's seat and pushed the door open for the two boys, smiling at them sweetly as they clambered in.
The interior of the van was bare and seats faced each other as they lined the sides of the interior. The carpet on the floor had mysterious stains on the bottom; the van had undoubtedly seen many years of teenage rebellion. Sherlock sat in the seat opposite to the door and John sat across from him, folding his hands in his lap while Sherlock scanned the inside of the van.
"Be a dear and shut the door, will you?" Marina asked John over her shoulder, and John obliged by reaching behind him to slam the door shut.
As John sat back down in his seat, he looked at Sherlock questioningly, as though to ask what the hell they were doing agreeing to go to a club with a strange teenager and his girlfriend. Sherlock looked back at him, only shrugging before turning back to studying the inside of the van.
John sighed to himself quietly. He looked out the window behind him; a tense knot in his stomach contracted as he fidgeted around in his seat. A feeling of nervousness and anxiety would not leave him, as though his body was trying to tell John something.
Little did John know though, that Sherlock was silently staring at John from the corner of his eye as he hid behind the collar of his coat. His eyes flickered from detail to detail about John as he pieced together what John was about. And he stayed like that, in a quiet study, while John was ever so oblivious, for the rest of the ride.
John was nodding off a bit by the time the four adolescents arrived in Cardiff, and they pulled up into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse that was now a bright, alight building with incredibly loud pop music pulsing off of it like the cadences of a beating heart. A group of teenagers gathered around an old car, waiting, recognized Aali and Marina, and they whooped loudly and waved the couple over. The van, pulling into a space opposite of the group of people caught the ghost of a shout. John jerked awake suddenly, grasping the seat beside him and looking around wildly with eyes sharp with adrenaline.
Sherlock saw John's panicked face and laughed deeply. "Sleep well?" he asked brightly, almost mockingly.
John blushed faintly and drew a hand across his sleep-ridden eyes. "I can't believe I fell asleep."
Sherlock winked conspiratorially at his companion. "Me neither."
Smiling, the pair clambered out of the van and followed Aali and Marina out into the midst of the parking lot, where teenagers holding beers with cigarettes hanging out of the corner of their mouths ran wild, and police officers were nonexistent.
As though suddenly remembering John and Sherlock trailing behind them like lost puppies, Marina turned around to face them. Behind her, Aali pounced on a pair of boys, grinning insanely. "Well, me and Aali are going with this lot, so I guess this is goodbye," she said, smiling slightly and sliding her hands into her jean pockets. She smiled a lot, and it suited her. But she then turned to go and hesitated a moment. "Oh and erm, I doubt we'll be able to find you after tonight to give you a lift back to London, sorry." She shrugged apologetically, looking sincerely sorry but honest.
"That's fine, we'll catch a cab or a bus back to London," Sherlock told her, gesturing to nowhere in particular. After a moment of thought though, he added, "Thanks."
She grinned at him, her teeth glinting in the already dying sunlight falling over the lot. "No problem. Feel free to call us up later, I like you two." With a final smile, she backed up into her friends and waved.
John waved back and turned to face Sherlock. "What are we doing here, Sherlock? No seriously, what?" he asked, grinning as though he couldn't believe he was actually here in this parking lot of strange, rebellious teenagers with a boy he hardly knew.
Sherlock shrugged, and then smiled. "Being adolescents."
John laughed. "Right."
The moment Sherlock and John passed through the flyaway streamers swaying in the doorway to the club, a brick wall of heat slapped them both in the face. Their eardrums were invaded by an overwhelming flood of bass and wailing high notes. They could both feel the beat of the music throbbing in their ribcages as both their hearts adjusted sync to the music infecting their bodies. Waves of bodies pulsed to the music, arms flailing above heads and hips rubbing against each other. Sherlock would have lost John in the overwhelming crowd, had he not reached out and grabbed John's hand, squeezing his fingers between his. John looked up, almost surprised, but gave a comforting squeeze back, as if to reassure Sherlock of his presence.
The couple swam their way through the crowd hand in hand, clutching each other for reassurance, for the were both unaccustomed to their foreign surroundings, this environment of rebelliousness.
But then there was a girl out of nowhere, slinking out of a dark corner, and she snaked up to Sherlock.
"Hello," she murmured lowly. An accent painted her words, made the vowels longer and quicker while the consonants were heavy and exaggerated; Irish. She flipped her brownish-ginger hair across her shoulder, and stared at Sherlock through dark, heavy eyelids seductively. A finger reached up and slid down the side of his face, tracing his sharp cheekbones and lips. "I'm Scarlett. What's your name?" she asked him roughly, pressing her body up close to Sherlock's as he stared at her steadily.
John was struck by her question; it was the second time today Sherlock had been asked that by a girl, and both times the girls looked interested in Sherlock's dark looks and graceful profile. He had only met Sherlock today, which was even more peculiar. He silently wondered if Sherlock was asked this as often as it seemed as he watched Scarlett wrap herself around Sherlock like a scarf. When Scarlett brushed her lips across Sherlock's, John felt a bizarre sensation deep inside his stomach, something to the sound of a wild, feral beast growling protectively. It was incredibly feverous and demanding like a ravenous monster that required constant monitoring. Soon, thoughts of pushing Scarlett away from Sherlock viciously infiltrated his mind and the images were impossible to drive away.
But before John could act on this fiery sensation rashly, Sherlock sighed tiredly, annoyed. He grabbed both Scarlett's wrists and peeled the girl off of him.
Scarlett looked at him with wide green eyes and her pink lips made a soft "o".
"I'm sorry, Scarlett, was it?" Sherlock asked.
Scarlett's delicate eyebrows furrowed over her eyes. "Yes," she mumbled sourly.
Sherlock smiled at her. "I'm sorry, Scarlett, but you're not my type. Plus, I've got a boyfriend," he told her apologetically. "I'm in love." And before John could protest, Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's waist and reeled him in close. Sherlock's hand brushed John's face briefly but affectionately, and he was crushed into Sherlock.
A fleeting moment of fire sparked between the two boys, and flashing strobe lights and wandering kaleidoscope lights mimicked the explosive reaction that took place between the two warm, snaking bodies.
Scarlett watched sourly with pursed lips. She muttered something about pretty boys always turning out to be gay, and walked away sullenly with crossed arms and tight shoulders.
Neither Sherlock or John knew precisely what was happening to them, but they did not really care to find out. They were far too busy.
Another hand slid around John's waist smoothly and now Sherlock was holding John gently to him. His hands spread on John's back and pressed John's body to his as their tongues explored each other's mouths cautiously but excitedly. A half sigh, half gasp escaped John when Sherlock bit down softly on John's bottom lip and tugged on it teasingly.
But the moment was cut short when a shrill, familiar voice sliced between the boys.
"John?!"
Jolting away reflexively, John pulled away from Sherlock. He was blushing furiously, though his fingers lingered at Sherlock's a moment before drawing the hand through his damp, sandy hair.
"Hullo, Harriet," mumbled John shyly. He again ran his hand through his tousled hair; it was an unconscious habit of his when he was anxious. John could not help suppress a small, secretive smile as he felt his lips throb slightly, and his entire body felt strangely alive. His body tingled acutely wherever Sherlock had touched him and it was a strange sensation that he found extremely pleasant. His mind was far, far away from where his body was, for he could not think properly. His thoughts were not occupied by what Harriet would think-or his mother, seeing as Harriet would surely tell their mother-or what Sherlock thought at their intimate embrace. He merely felt extraordinarily light and bubbly, and could think of nothing apart from the kiss.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, more shocked than angry as she stared at her brother with wide blue eyes that mirrored John's. She glanced at Sherlock briefly, before recognizing him, and did a double-take. Turning to prey on him, she said, "And you! You're that beautiful boy from earlier today!"
"A beautiful boy?" asked a high soprano voice and a round, pale face peered around Harriet's shoulder; Clara. Her emerald green eyes widened significantly when she rested her gaze on Sherlock. The corners of her lips curled appreciatively.
"How selfish of you not mention this beautiful boy to me, Harry." Clara crossed her slender arms across her small chest and stepped around Harriet carefully to waltz up to Sherlock.
"That's because he wasn't important before," Harriet told her girlfriend. "Until now, apparently, seeing as I just saw him groping my brother."
"Not important?" Sherlock looked genuinely wounded as he stared fiercely after Harriet, his eyebrows knitted tightly over his hard eyes, which looked silver in the weak, multicolored light.
Harriet waved a hand carelessly over her shoulder, already forgetting Sherlock.
Sherlock set his jaw and shoved his hands in his pockets moodily. "Not important, my ass. And I wasn't groping."
"Groping, my ass," snapped Harriet quickly, shooting a poisonous glare over her shoulder and simultaneously silenced a sullen and outraged Sherlock.
"Harriet, listen-" starred John but Harriet cut him off swiftly.
"Shut up." She removed her dagger-like gaze from Sherlock and flicked it onto her brother instead. "What are you doing here? I thought you didn't like coming to clubs like these."
John looked adorably bashful and stared at his feet. "Er... Well, I sort of only came since Sherlock was going, or wanted to go, and I dunno. I thought it was worth seeing why you like them so much," he said quietly and chanced a sideways glance at his sister. He was surprised to see an understanding expression on her gentle features.
She nodded. "Okay."
John gaped, confused. "Okay?"
Harriet shrugged, still looking indifferent. "Okay."
"Oh, my God, Harry, what is taking so long? Are you watching paint dry or something?"
Harriet rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and turned to face Clara with her hands on her hips. "Yes. Calm down, would you?"
"Let's go get drunk and make out," drawled Clara in Harriet's ear and looked at her companion under lowered lids. She discreetly slid her hand into Harriet's and gave it a firm squeeze.
Harriet looked at Clara with a raised eyebrow, clearly not convinced. She turned to John and Sherlock, who were now trying to be secretive in inching closer together. Upon seeing this, both her eyebrows shot skyward but said nothing. "Me and Clara are going to go get drunk," she said abruptly, lifting her chin slightly in a defiant manner. "Don't have too much fun while I'm away," she muttered, and turned to walk away. "But-" She whipped around on Sherlock suddenly. "I want my brother home tonight," she told him firmly, her voice almost a growl. She grabbed his collar and pulled him close. In a low voice only she and Sherlock could hear, she said, "And this had better not be some one night stand shit stunt, okay?" She jabbed a finger in his chest. "John deserves better than some asshole screwing him for the fun of it," she hissed venomously.
And looking satisfied with the shocked look on the boy's face, she released his collar with a slight push and walked away grandly.
John stood next to Sherlock, puzzled slightly. "What did she say?"
Sherlock cleared his throat and smoothed his coat collar. "Nothing you need to be concerned about," he said simply.
"Mm." John nodded as though he knew exactly what Harriet had said. He slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "So," he started awkwardly, but Sherlock was suddenly stripping his coat and scarf off and he tossed them onto a nearby couch. His button-up purple shirt was pulled tauntly over his skinny chest and his buttons looked like they were screaming.
John's eyes widened and he tried not to stare.
Sherlock snatched John's hand and started to drag him towards the middle of the floor where everybody was dancing. He lifted John's hands slowly to fold them behind his neck and he pulled John close to him. Distantly, John knew that he should shy away from touching Sherlock like this but he did not have a desire to, so he simply let Sherlock draw their bodies closer together.
"Good or bad?" Sherlock whispered in John's ear. Sherlock's lips grazed John's earlobe and John suppressed a shiver.
"Good," John whispered back roughly, a slight catch at the end of the word.
"Good." Sherlock kissed the area of skin on John's face where it wasn't quite his cheek but it was before his ear, where downy blonde hair grew. John felt Sherlock smile against his skin and felt the hair being tugged on, as if by Sherlock's teeth. Dark curls brushed against John's cheek and nose as Sherlock held him close and hair tingled John's skin. The hair was soft and tickled John's nose, and before he could turn away or stop himself, he sneezed loudly into Sherlock's hair.
John felt Sherlock stiffen and they stopped swaying to the gentle music playing. "Oh, my God," Sherlock muttered lowly. "Did you just sneeze in my hair?"
John didn't know what to say. "Erm..."
Suddenly John felt Sherlock shaking and John stiffened, horror leaking into his veins. But then he heard breathy chuckling loud in his ear and he realized that Sherlock was laughing.
"Are you laughing?" John asked incredulously.
Sherlock only laughed harder and it was a low, throaty thing that John found himself internally melting for. Trying to compose himself, Sherlock withdrew slightly from their embrace to look at John's red, horror-stricken face. He grinned widely at the color in John's cheeks. "Here I am, with an attractive boy at a club, and he's just sneezed in my hair. I don't know, I find that funny, don't you?"
John only looked at Sherlock. "No, I find it embarrassing," he blurted out bluntly.
For a timeless moment, Sherlock only looked at John with an expression that was borderlining hysterical laughter, before bursting into a fit of roaring laughter that shook his entire frame.
John shuffled his feet uncomfortably and blushed furiously. He felt incompetent but cracked a smile, despite his feelings of stupidity.
When Sherlock stopped laughing and composed himself to some degree, he only looked at John with a twinkling fondness in his eye. Upon noticing this, John felt his spirits soar.
And then, the two boys danced. They danced into the late hours of the night together, never not touching each other in some quiet, subtle way.
At some point in the night, John noticed Sherlock staring at him peculiarly. His eyes were fixed on John's face and low flames were visible in his eyes. He was breathing slowly but heavily, as though nervous about something. John held Sherlock's hand in his and could feel his pulse throbbing almost painfully. And then he grasped John's hand tightly and pulled him away from the crowd swiftly to a dark corner. He looked at John severely, a blistering expression that left John feeling slightly intimidated, and it brought a strong blush to his sharp cheeks.
"What I said before, John," he whispered roughly, raw emotion clouding his voice. His hands went up to either side of John's face. He pulled in close to John until their bodies were about to touch, millimeters from brushing skin. "I meant it."
Wonder and fascination illuminated John's face in the dark as he stared back at Sherlock. "Meant what?"
Sherlock's breathing hitched and he exhaled deeply as he finally surrendered and pressed his body to John's. There was not a single space that their bodies were not touching. John felt Sherlock's hammering heart through both their shirts.
"I'm in love," he whispered simply, like it was a matter-of-fact.
John stared at Sherlock numbly and astonishment colored his face pleasantly. Then he grabbed Sherlock's face roughly and crushed his lips to his own. There was that spark that flared briefly between them before a forest fire erupted and devoured them both hungrily.
Across the room, Harriet watched silently. She studied the way Sherlock's hand caressed her brother's cheek preciously like John's face was the most valuable, beautiful thing he had ever seen. She saw the way his shoulders were tilted as he kissed John passionately, the way his body moved to match John's. A fleeting feeling of rightness fluttered in her ribcage and she sighed.
The two boys were two halves of a whole. The dark, mysterious Sherlock completed John and Harriet had not even realized before that there was something missing from her brother before. Outside, the air was unusually warm and a faint breeze whispered through the tall trees and long grass. The trees spoke of two boys, complete opposites, but clearly purposely meant for each other. The blue moon shone its heavenly light down upon the warm Cardiff night as Sherlock and John danced together, moving as one single being, burning the night away.
Inspiration: Chasing Time by Allan Pownall, Be OK by Ingrid Michaelson, Spirit School and You Are Invisible by Anya Marina