"Come on, Sherlock! It's not going to kill you. It's only one tiny party. What's the worst that could happen?" Lestrade pleaded. Sherlock immediately went through a very detailed list of all the terrible things that could possibly happen. Spilled beer, vomit, bodies pressed all around. Why would he want to risk any of that?

"Everything" he finally said. "Everything and anything could happen. Which is precisely why I shouldn't go." Lestrade opened his mouth once more, likely in order to impart another detailed explanation as to why he should go, but it turned out he'd never get the chance.

"Oh, give it up." Irene interrupted. "He'd never go. And even if he did, he'd never survive." her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "Too many girls." Sherlock felt his cheeks flame.

"So, what if there's girls? Why should that stop me? In fact I might actually go anyway. Especially for the girls." Sherlock said as convincingly as he could.

"Oh, Sherlock, you aren't fooling anyone. And even if you liked girls, you would never actually go. You'd probably stay five minutes then run away." Irene smirked.

"I would not!" Sherlock said petulantly, his bottom lip sticking out briefly.

"Then prove it." Irene said, leaning in until her face was inches from his. Sherlock knew Irene was just trying to goad him, but couldn't quite find something to respond with.

"Well…" Sherlock huffed in annoyance. "I've had enough of this. I don't need to prove anything to any of you. If I'd rather spend my nights sleeping like a normal person then that's my choice. You people can't control me." Sherlock ended his monologue with a final nod, hoping that would be the end of it. It wasn't.

"Knew you wouldn't do it." Irene said, looking up at him with a gleam in her eye that Sherlock couldn't quite place.

Sherlock felt something boil up inside him. His mind palace was getting muddled, torn between wanting to prove Irene wrong and the fear of what that entailed. In the end, though, the choice seemed obvious.

"You know, I will go tonight and I will stay for the whole party. I will drink and dance and be perfectly NORMAL!" Sherlock shouted out the last word at her.

Irene smiled. "It's a bet then. If you can make it more than one hour-" Sherlock made a sound of protest but Irene quickly spoke over him. "One hour. Then I will be out of your hair. No more teasing out about your little crush on captain rugby-" Sherlock interrupted immediately. "His name is NOT captain rugby, his name is John."

"Ooh, John." Irene purred breathily. Sherlock scowled briefly, fighting the urge to poke his tongue out.

"Anyway, as I was saying, if you however can't last more than an hour then…" Irene paused as if for dramatic effect. "Then you will have to help me get my dress for the twelfth night ball!" She announced with a giggle. Her giggling intensified as Sherlock's scowl grew as putrid as it could get. He'd been tricked into doing the same thing last year and he really had hoped to avoid seeing Irene prancing around in mini dresses and asking if her boobs looked big enough.

Sherlock sighed. There really was no way of getting out of it. "I suppose it's a bet then." Irene held her hand out and they shook on it. Sherlock sighed again. There really was no going back.

"Hey, John."John started slightly at the hard slap on his shoulder.

"Oh, hey, Mike." John smiled over at him.

"You going to the party tonight" Mike said with a wink. John chuckled.

"When don't I?" he said with a mocking shrug. Mike laughed.

"Never can resist all those girls in skirts." Mike said with another wink.

"Nah, mate." Said Dimmock, coming up behind him. "It's the boys in tight jeans that have to watch out!" The locker room erupted in laughter.

"Yeah, yeah. Quiet down would you." John said, shaking his head at the debacle. There was still a couple of catcalls and wolf whistles but John put them off as a bad job. And when he left the locker room, being followed by the smoochy noises of most of the lads, he didn't notice Gregory Lestrade, smiling to himself and knowing just who that "boy in trouble" might be.

Sherlock sighed. He'd never known how much work goes into preparing to go out. Sherlock was going to a party, and you couldn't wear black suit trousers and jackets to a party, this Sherlock knew for sure. What he couldn't seem to figure out, however, is what you could wear to a party.

Sherlock had gone through all his drawers and his wardrobe and still nothing. He had a few options, but Sherlock just didn't know. He found himself idly wondering what John Watson would wear to a party, before quickly dismissing the thought with a shake of his head. Now was no time to be thinking about that.

Sherlock studied the one pair of jeans he had found. They were from a faze he'd went through last year, where he'd worn anything that could be described as "grunge"and then smothered it in Mycroft's face. Sherlock had enjoyed his brother's increasingly alarmed expressions before getting bored and wearing his normal clothes again.

Still, when he tried the ratty jeans on, they fitted. They were just on the side of too tight and Sherlock felt like he'd be able to move freely without hurting himself. They were quite tight though. Sherlock looked at his legs in the mirror, but decided it was better than the other options.

Sherlock had almost given up on shirts, deciding instead to wear one of his normal ones. Luckily, tucked into the very back, back corner of his closet, he'd found a glow in the dark periodic table T shirt. It was a bit small too, showing a tiny sliver of skin if he put his arms up just a bit, but it was better than nothing.

Besides, it wasn't like anyone was going to care.

John rushed home after practice. He always loved party nights. They were always the same days; Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. People always kept it that way, the rest of the week devoted to homework and sleep. That had been what John had been doing the three previous nights.

John had always loved Wednesday parties. They were the ones after a short break. People had had time to recuperate and by now they were bursting for a good night out.

John was one of those people, and he grinned madly at himself in the mirror as he walked by it to the shower. He showered then dried himself, smiling all the way. He chose his usual getup of jeans and a simple white T. He spent a bit more time on his hair, Giving it a good tousled look, before he was ready to go. Mike was driving him tonight, as usual.

As John hopped in the car, he felt a rush of excitement course through him. He wasn't quite sure why. It wasn't as if anything particularly special was going to happen.

Was it?

Sherlock sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that now days.

The party was starting soon, but still, he was bored. Lestrade had told him that the party started at Nine o'clock, but to not show up until Nine thirty. This had confused Sherlock immensely. Why show up at any time other than the time designated as the beginning? It wasn't as if he was busy, he'd only been waiting around.

It didn't matter anyway. With the time allotted, Sherlock decided there'd be just enough time to begin a new experiment he'd wanted to try. He only needed to begin it and it'd be fine. So long as he got back by eleven thirty, the acid wouldn't have caused more destruction than the experiment was supposed to entail.

Even so, Sherlock moved all the clothes still strewn across the room to a pile well away from the table the experiment was residing. His mother might scream murder if anything got on her carpet, but he'd rather that than have to wear his current outfit to school.

Irene would have a laughing fit and Molly might actually choke up a lung. Not that that wouldn't be interesting to witness, but Sherlock preferred Molly more alive than dead.

Sherlock wondered for a bit if that meant anything sentimental, but quickly dismissed it. Sherlock Holmes and sentiment? That didn't sound right at all.

John moved through the thick throng of people, struggling to keep the drinks he was carrying steady. Why Mike always made him get the drinks, John never knew.

"Suppose he's just a lazy bastard."John grumbled to himself. Though in all fairness, it had given John a bit of a chance to move around and scout the crowd.

As he came back to his seat, he noticed a mousy haired girl sitting next to Mike.

"Hello." He said curiously.

"Ah, John. This is Molly." Mike looked over at the girl fondly.

"I think I know you."John said, looking at Molly more closely.

"I think we have history together."Molly replied, a crinkle appearing on her brow as she tried to think if that was indeed correct.

"Ah, the one subject I don't pay attention in, that would explain a lot." John said, smiling.

"If you don't like it, why do you take it?" Molly asked teasingly.

John only smiled and leant in until his lips were brushing the shell of molly's ear. "I have my own little secrets."John whispered in her ear, smiling as he heard Molly giggle faintly.

Mike gave him a friendly shove. "Oh, get off her. Why don't you take your flirting somewhere else." A smile on both friends faces, John decided he'd do just that. Who knows who he could meet tonight.

Sherlock had walked to the party. Greg had offered to drive him but Sherlock had told him straight up that if he wanted to see Sherlock's brother, he'd have to come up with a better excuse.

Now Sherlock was standing by himself in the corner of some room of a stranger's house. He'd already found Lestrade and gotten him to start the clock. Now all he had to do was wait it out. Which was, in fact, proving to be a little difficult.

Sherlock hadn't realised just how loud the music would be when he'd made his deal with Irene. The room was completely full of people, mostly shouting over the music, although some were attempting to dance to it.

Sherlock had tried at some point to leave the room and find somewhere quieter but he'd ended up surrounded on all sides by walls of people who only ever relinquished a gap in order to fill another.

In the end Sherlock had given up. Now he just stood and deduced the people around him.

They were all so boring though. Just standard teenagers living standard teenage lives. Sure, some were going through breakups, and others through their parent's divorce, but there was nothing of real substance, nothing Sherlock hadn't seen before.

Sherlock scanned the room again. There had to be someone in this crowd who was at least little bit interesting.

Right?

John moved through the rooms, heading toward where the music was playing loudest.

Harry had told him sometime last year that all the funnest party people were always found there. John had doubted that at the time, but he had to admit it had proved true on occasion.

John was standing in what appeared to be the biggest room in the place. He had just about decided that the room was too full and that he would check again later, when he noticed a figure standing in a quiet corner across the room.

He took a step closer to get a proper look. He could just make out the silhouette of wild curls and long legs around the swathes of people on all sides.

There was something different about this person, this man John corrected as he took a step closer. Where all around the room you could hear the strains of false laughter, see the insincerity of smiles, this man had none of it. He didn't speak to anyone, just merely stood there and watched.

He seemed equally part of the crowd as he seemed distant from it. John didn't think he'd seen anything like it.

John allowed himself one more step closer, and what he saw took his breath away. The previous silhouette transformed into luscious curls, rosy lips and long, long legs wrapped in tight, tight jeans and a glowing periodic table T shirt stretched across his chest. This man was beautiful.

Sherlock didn't know how long he'd been standing there but he suspected it was a shorter time than it felt. He was so BORED. There was nothing to do and he simply wanted to escape.

The room was so crowded and there was no way out.

Sherlock turned his face to the door once more, hoping to find a free path there. All he saw, though, was another figure entering the room. Sherlock felt his vocal cords tighten as he resisted the urge to scream the place down. That would probably get him kicked out and he wouldn't be able to win that bet with Irene. He really didn't want to go dress shopping with her.

The figure seemed to be deciding to leave, which made Sherlock's lips twitch up in a relieved smile.

A smile which immediately dropped as he watched the stranger seemingly change their mind before slowly making their way through the crowd.

As the person made their way closer, they became more than just an outline. Sherlock felt himself gasp as he realised just who it was he was staring at. Wrapped in a white T shirt and dark wash jeans stood John Watson.

And it seemed he was making his way straight to… Sherlock? No, it couldn't be. This was John Watson, the captain of the rugby team and by far the hottest man alive.

Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but it certainly seemed true at that moment.

John was still walking toward him, navigating the crowd expertly as he continued toward Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't know what to do. He had the urge to turn and run, but how could he when he was frozen to the spot?

Then John had finally reached him and was smiling that gorgeous smile of his and Sherlock couldn't breathe. It was like a fantasy come true and Sherlock wondered idly if he was dreaming. He certainly felt like he was dreaming.

John, who had just been standing there, watching, took a final step forward and cleared his throat. "Hey, my name's John Watson. What's your's?" John said, raising his voice above the noise just enough to be seemed slightly nervous but that was probably just the dream.

Nonetheless, Sherlock answered "Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." His voice shook, seemingly giving him away but John didn't seem to notice.

"Sherlock, huh." John licked his lips, looking away for a second before turning back to him.

"So tell me, Sherlock," Sherlock had to suppress a shiver at hearing his name said in that tone by that man, "Why haven't I seen you around at one of these things before?" he continued questioningly, his tongue lingering on his lower lip.

Sherlock had to take a moment to clear the fuzz in his brain before answering. "I… This isn't my usual… crowd." Sherlock finished, lamely.

John just nodded in response. "I like your T shirt." And John actually reached out and touched him. "It glows."John continued, looking down at it. "Bit like you." He finished, looking up at Sherlock through his lashes and twisting the fabric just barely.

Sherlock felt his cheeks flame hot. Was John flirting? Was that what was happening here? Flirting?

"I.. uh.." Sherlock couldn't find a response and felt his cheeks grow hotter still. Any hopes that the flush could be blamed on the lighting vanished and Sherlock was left as an embarrassed mess.

John did seem to notice that, but rather than laugh at him, simply retreated to more comfortable waters.

"So, what school do you go to?" He asked.

"Baker high."Sherlock answered, swallowing through a lump in his throat that had appeared out of nowhere.

"Baker high?"John seemed genuinely surprised. "That's weird, I don't think I've seen you before." John said. "You'd think I'd remember a pretty face like you." he ended with a smirk.

Sherlock was going to explode. Or combust. Or do both at the same time.

John Watson was saying this to him. Sherlock breathed deeply, trying to gain some control.

"It was actually a friend who invited me here." Sherlock had been aiming for aloof but he'd ended up with meek and the obvious avoidance of John's comment hanging in the air between them.

"Oh?" John said, and Sherlock would accuse him of feigning interest but John facial expression was so genuine and his smile so true.

"Yeah, Lestrade." Sherlock said.

"Greg Lestrade?" A small wrinkle appeared on Sherlock's brow as he tried to remember if that was Lestrade's first name. Did Lestrade even have a first name? John laughed at the sight, his joy so infectious that Sherlock laughed too.

They ended up leaning against the wall together, giggling their heads off. "That is ridiculous." John said through the giggles.

"And you're a rugby player."Sherlock said in response, still giggling too.

"Oi, don't diss the rugby."John said, elbowing him in the rib but he was still giggling.

"You're fun." John said, reaching out to tug on his arm and bring him closer. "I like fun." John whispered lowly.

Sherlock tried to hide the shiver that crawled up his spine in response but judging by the gleam in John's eye, it didn't go unnoticed.

Sherlock pushed himself off the wall and straightened his clothing, trying to act more composed than he really was. He was still facing John when he felt somebody crash into his back, causing him to fly forward into John's arms. Rather than relinquish the hold, John pulled his arms around Sherlock tighter.

"Sure is crowded in here." He said lowly, his voice sounding as affected as Sherlock felt. Sherlock could only nod dumbly in response, feeling his blush deepen once more.

Sherlock couldn't seem to concentrate properly. It was like everyone else in the room had vanished and it was only Sherlock and John.

John seemed to notice his confusion and gently helped him take a step back, recreating the small distance between them.

This John was so gentle, so different to the John Sherlock was used to seeing around school. He still had his captivating charm and his infectious joy, but he seemed much more sentimental.

He was a mix of too much and too little at the same time, and it was driving Sherlock mad.

"It looks a little less crowded now."John said with a glance around the room. "Feel like risking the waters?"

"Yes." Sherlock said immediately, already taking hold of John's wrist and pulling him through the crowd.

John laughed beside him. "My, my, aren't we confident?" John said slightly mockingly.

"What's wrong with being confident?" Sherlock asked, turning to him in the hallway.

"Nothing." John replied. He slowly leant in, his hand coming to rest on Sherlock's waist.

"In fact…" Sherlock held his breath at the buzzing shooting across his nerves at the feeling of John's lips brushing his ear, "It's my type." John purred.

Sherlock felt a shiver run down his body. His brain was a full on mess, fleeting thoughts mixed with old desires and a longing that Sherlock couldn't place. What was John Watson doing? Purring In his ear and making Sherlock's toes curl.

At some point in the conversation, Sherlock's breathing had gone raggard. Now with every inhale Sherlock could feel John's chest brush his own. It was driving Sherlock crazy and he couldn't seem to blink the spots out of his eyes. His pulse was beating faster than the wings of a bee and Sherlock didn't know what was going on.

He could vaguely make out John stroking his face with one hand, still whispering things in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock felt like he was burning alive, like he would be cinders before anything could actually happen.

Sherlock was given a little more insight to reality, however, when he felt a cold brush of metal against his jaw. Sherlock glanced down to see John's watch. It was clearly from a sibling or other close relative judging by the many scratches and the size and make of the model.

Sherlock was about to dismiss it fully, when he actually comprehended what he was seeing on the face of the watch. If the hour hand was there, and the other hand there… Sherlock's mind was instantly flooded with images of him setting up that experiment earlier in the night. He had planned to go straight home once his obligatory hour was up but he'd stayed for John. And by now it must be…

Sherlock felt John pull back as he seemingly realised that something was off. "Is something wrong?" John asked worriedly.

Sherlock licked his lips briefly before asking "What would you say the time was now?"John immediately looked at his watch.

"Eleven thirty?"John said like it was a question.

Sherlock let his eyes slip closed. He had hoped, however briefly, that his mind had been playing tricks on him. Which is funny in a way, because if his mind had been playing tricks on him, he'd have much more to be concerned about.

Sherlock looked at John and felt something sad settle in his stomach. "John, I have to go." Sherlock said, his voice sounding wrecked even to him.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." John said, looking down and swallowing hard.

Sherlock didn't know what to say in response so he just turned and started walking as quickly as he could through the house toward the door. As soon as he reached it and stepped through, he started sprinting, telling himself it was for the experiment but feeling like it was from something far more frightening.

Sherlock looked around his room in dismay. Running home the way he did had almost halved the time, but he still ended up with some rather telling marks on the carpet. He'd tried masking the marks but in the end just covered it with a bunch of his clothes while hoping that his mother wouldn't pick them up when she was next in there. What he was truly upset about, however, was that he had just left John standing there. What had he been thinking? What was a ruined carpet and an angry mother compared to a night with John Watson?

How had things gone so terribly? He had been a nervous wreck half the time and when John seemed to actually be making a move on him, he fled like a maniac.

He didn't even tell John he liked him. John was probably talking to some other person right now. They would actually know how to respond to John rather than becoming a flushed mess.

He probably already had a girlfriend anyway. There's no way he'd actually have wanted a relationship with Sherlock. No. John deserved better than a flushed, stammering catastrophe who couldn't string two words together.

Sherlock looked around his room in dismay. Nothing would come from this, he decided. He'd been given a chance and he'd blown it. It was time to get over it. To get over Jon Watson.

Sherlock got ready for bed, resolutely turning off the light and dragging himself under the covers. Sherlock exhaled slowly and shut his eyes. It was time to let go.

Unfortunately, letting go was harder than Sherlock had surmised. It was 2 am and he hadn't slept a wink. All he could think about was John. What he was doing, who he was with, who he loves, who he hated, why he was so nice, why he had talked to Sherlock in the first place. Everything was spinning round and round in his head, a dizzying confusion with terrible consequences. Scenario after scenario, wafted through his mind, inescapably false hope building in his chest.

Sherlock knew John wasn't going to magically turn up at his door and tell Sherlock how brilliant he was and how much he liked him, but Sherlock couldn't stop himself from wishing he would. John didn't even know where he lived for God's sake. Sherlock huddled deeper under his duvet, berating himself over and over for being a pig-ignorant idiot.

And, eventually, he slipped under and fell asleep.

The next day Sherlock was more resentful and snappish with everyone than usual. Mr Beckett told him off twice for disrupting the class with his deductions about the teacher's ruined holiday he'd recently returned from with his wife. Well, soon to be ex-wife. It wasn't Sherlock's fault that she had a more specific reason for wanting to go to Dublin than seeing medieval churches.

He almost made Sally Donovan cry during Home Ec, but he really hadn't deserved the slap she'd given him for it. It didn't seem like it would bruise though, so that was something.

He DID make Molly Hooper cry during science though. Maybe it was going too far telling her he didn't want a bumbling halfwit ruining his experiment with their idiocy. Life isn't fair though, and Molly should've known that without Sherlock telling her.

By the time lunch rolled round, Sherlock was a fuming mess. He glared at everybody who dared to look into his eyes, and glared at some who didn't.

Sherlock set his tray of food down with a bang, almost causing Lestrade to spill his entire can of coca cola. Snatching it up just in time, Lestrade looked across at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow. Sherlock ignored him, choosing instead to attack the granny smith he'd set on the side of his tray.

"Didn't see you leave last night. And when I tried to find you, you weren't there." Lestrade opened pointedly. When he was meant with silence he tried again. "Where were you, Sherlock?"he asked. Sherlock still didn't answer.

Irene leant in close to Lestrade, high pitched giggles escaping her as she she said "You met someone didn't you? You met someone and they took you home." Irene giggled again, leaning toward Sherlock now as she said salaciously. "Were they good Sherlock? Who was it? Come on, you can tell me.

Sherlock's mouth remained open in affront. Just as he was about to deny her ludicrous statement, a voice interrupted them all.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock's neck turned so quickly, he almost gave himself whiplash. There stood John Watson, clad in softly worn blue jeans and his rugby jersey. Sherlock promptly forgot all about Irene, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

"John." he said faintly, perplexed at what was going on.

"It's nice to see you." John licked his lips and Sherlock followed the movement. "I was looking for you for a while. Quite the spot here isn't it?" Sherlock acknowledged silently that choosing a table in the far corner of the canteen had been purposely designed so that it wouldn't be immediately obvious where he was if someone came looking.

"I was a bit worried when you ran off last night." John chuckled hollowly. "I hope it wasn't me." Sherlock felt his face flush at the reminder of his tactlessness last night.

"Of course it wasn't you, it was…" Sherlock trailed off, wondering if he should tell John and possibly lose him forever. But John was going to find out someday so he continued sheepishly. "I had an experiment I was running in my bedroom. It was to do with various acids. I'd planned to get home well before the acid spread but…" Sherlock blushed again. "But I was distracted."

Sherlock looked up to see John grinning at him dazzlingly, and Sherlock felt himself relax under the full shine of those blue eyes. John glanced away for a second before fixing his eyes on Sherlock once more with one eyebrow raised. Sherlock slowly turned his head to find the whole table staring open mouthed at John.

Irene recovered first, crossing her arms and leaning back. "I knew it." She announced. Sherlock glared at her before turning back to John.

"Look Sherlock,"John breathed a shaky sigh. "I know we only technically met yesterday but I really like you and I was wondering if maybe you sorta wanted to go on a proper date with me. You know, where no one keeps pushing us into each other."

It took a minute for Sherlock to actually catch up on what John meant. John Watson want to do on a date with him? Why? What had Sherlock done to capture the rugby captain's attention? It was best to warn John first.

"I… I'm not always nice to people. And sometimes I get bored and complain about everything." Sherlock looked up at John warily.

"I'm not always nice to people either. And sometimes I forget people's birthday and to feed my cat. It doesn't matter." John grinned happily. "I like you anyway."

Sherlock smiled. He couldn't remember being so happy.

"Then yes. I accept."Sherlock announced. And then, to his enormous surprise, John leant down and kissed him. Kissed him. In front of everybody in the canteen. And Sherlock decided that John was right; it didn't matter.

And even though this all happened before Sherlock first deduced John, before their first fight, their first time, first day at university, first day as consulting Detective and doctor, first day as fiancés, first day as husband and husband, first day as daddy and papa, the truth was that Sherlock and John knew that it was right. This was how it was meant to be.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Together at last.

The end.

Notes:

This was my very first fic, so I hope you liked it. If you want, you can follow my tumblr here: . Any kudos or comments are greatly appreciated. Seeing as this is my first, any feedback would be great as I'm always aspiring to improve where I can.