Just a bit of AU Teenlock I wanted to write. Let me know what you think. :)

John laid awake on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. He'd just come back from prom with a large group of friends who were now strewn haphazardly about the living room, all deep in drunken or exhausted slumber. John stayed awake though. He hadn't had anything to drink, simply not in the mood. It had been a bit of a disappointing night. I mean yes it was good fun to be around his friends, but wasn't prom supposed to be something more than an outing with friends, wasn't it supposed to be romantic?

Sarah rolled over on the opposite couch with a low grumble, heavy with sleep. It was her doing that he was here, awake in this unfamiliar house. John had taken Sarah as a friend because, honestly, no one at John's high school was worth asking romantically. Sarah had insisted on coming on the limo with her good friend Mycroft.

Sarah said he had style, and she didn't lie. The huge house with the huge, sparkling staircase and high ceilings was borderline gaudy, but with just the right amount of class. Mycroft wasn't a particularly good friend of John's. He was a bit older, 19, older than most seniors. He was one year older than John and Sarah, but Sarah was good friends with him regardless so John tagged along. Now he was stuck alone in this huge house with no way out and no one to talk with.

John was getting restless in his uncomfortable position on the couch, so he carefully rolled off and tiptoed out of the living room. John began walking and eventually found himself at the foot of the staircase.

Music was drifting down from one of the rooms upstairs. That couldn't be right, Mycroft had said his parents were gone for the night. Nevertheless, the soft sound of a violin and golden light was spilling from an ajar door upstairs.

John tiptoed carefully up the stairs, closer to the sweet music. It was soft and warm and seemed to fill him up with this bright and wonderful feeling. John inched closer and closer until he was just outside the door, pressed against the wall, listening with his eyes closed.

Heart racing, John peaked around the doorway. There was this sleek, elegant figure there, facing the window with his back to John. He was standing tall with his long legs reaching all the way down to the floor clad in loose plaid pajama pants and his delicate fingers dancing nimbly across the strings of a violin, perched perfectly under his chin.

John couldn't see the stranger's face, just his dark brown curls swaying with the breeze drifting in through the window. He had a long, beautiful neck, merging with his bare porcelain back. He was skinny and long, but his back was still rather muscular, his shoulder blades tensing, coming together, and melting back with the strokes of his bow.

John stood there in the doorway, awestruck until the stranger had let go of his last note and lowered the violin.

"You have elephant's feet, but I do appreciate you holding your breath. Breathing is quite distracting to my focus," the stranger said suddenly, still facing the window.

"Oh…" John was startled by his cool voice and sudden speech. "I… I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to… erm… disturb you or anything… I was just… just…"

"It's quite alright. I'm actually quite fond of an audience. You must be one of Mycroft's crew. I'm Sherlock, his younger brother."

Sherlock spun around to face John, who was dumbstruck once again. Sherlock's slim and muscular physique was painted with the well defined lines of his ab muscles and love lines low on his abdomen, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pajama pants. His eyes were a beautifully striking, golden emerald and were coupled the with sleek, sharp lines of his face. John was all but drooling over the marble body of this unexpected Greek Adonis.

Sherlock smirked mischievously, he knew only too well what that slack jawed, glazed eyed gaze meant. "And you are?"

"Oh right," John said, pulling himself together briefly to respond. "I'm John. I don't really know your brother that well. My friend, Sarah, dragged me along."

"Mmm… Better be glad you don't know him. He's a right pain in the arse. I take it you've had a rather disappointing night."

"How did you…"

"Oh come on. You're sober and awake on prom night, wandering the halls of the huge house of some guy you barely know, dragged along by a friend because you were hoping for something exciting at prom which never happened, or else you wouldn't be so restless as to be roaming some giant, empty house at night, not to mention following violin music to an open door in hopes of something romantic and mentally undressing his younger brother."

"What? I wasn't. No. No. I'm not."

"Oh stop stammering like a fool and have the dance you've been waiting for all night."

Sherlock tapped on his laptop, sitting open on the window seat and the sweet, warm sound of acoustic guitar poured softly out of the speakers.

John looked uncertainly behind him and suddenly Sherlock was beside him.

"Turn off the lights," he whispered into John's ear. His voice was dark and soft like velvet, grumbling smoothly in his throat and ghosting over John's neck.

John couldn't help but do as he asked, in fact, John got the feeling he'd do anything Sherlock asked if he said it in that velvet smooth voice.

The only light now came from the silvery moonlight creeping in through the window. Sherlock faced John again with his back now to the window and the moon seemed to outline his chiseled features. His pale skin was practically glowing in the moonlight.

John stepped uncertainly towards Sherlock, who promptly closed the distance between them in one huge, graceful stride, wrapping his long, slender arms around John's waist and pulling him close, smiling darkly at the short distance between their faces.

John wrapped his own arms around Sherlock's neck and leaned his head lightly against Sherlock's shoulder who responded only in holding John impossibly closer.

John looked up at him and Sherlock looked curiously down at John. "You know that was kind of amazing, the way you…"

"deduced you?" Sherlock interrupted. "That's not the usual reaction."

"Really? What is?"

"Something along the lines of a slap or 'piss off.'"

"Well I think it was really extraordinary."

"Hmm." Sherlock purred deep in his stomach. The noise was full of unloved beauty and pleasant surprise. It made John smile.

"Aren't you afraid?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

John looked up into his dazzling eyes, somehow unflinching under his rigid gaze. Their faces were so close that their foreheads were almost touching. "Strangely, no. I'm not afraid of you."

"A strange boy, playing violin, alone in his room, on prom night, at 3 in the morning invites you to slow dance in his dark room and you're not even the least bit frightened?"

"Well sure it's frightening, but all the best things are."

"You, John, are an astounding mystery."

"In a good way, I hope." John chuckled lightly in Sherlock's arms.

The movement stirred something within Sherlock. He looked down at John with a new intrigue and warmth. John almost squirmed under the gaze. It was the first time anyone had looked at him like that, truly amazed and impressed with everything he was. You might almost say there was a delicate flicker, a hint of love in Sherlock's normally guarded visage. John saw it if only for a moment and was awestruck by this man's beauty.

Sherlock heard John's breath stop. "Don't be frightened," he whispered, leaning in, "or, I suppose, do."

Sherlock's lips met John's delicately and slowly. Time seemed to have stopped all around them, in fact the whole world seemed to melt away around them. The two of them meshed together so perfectly and this beautiful enigma that John had just met felt like someone he'd known all his life. Sherlock clutched John hard to his chest as if he wanted to absorb the magnificent man into himself. They kissed harder and harder, crashing their open mouths together, teeth clanging, and breath heavy in each other's throats. John thrust his hand through Sherlock's dark curls and pulled him closer hungrily.

Finally, the two of them came up for breath and opened their eyes to see the other's emblazoned eyes staring back into their own. Neither spoke, and the silence began to press thickly into their skin. The air was charged with warm, impassioned electricity.

Sherlock pushed forward again, colliding roughly with John's lips. John felt him being pushed back further and further, moved swiftly, gliding until he crashed backwards onto Sherlock's bed.

He held fast to Sherlock's neck, pulling him down with him. Sherlock planted his hands beside John to steady himself, before blindly grasping to the edge of John's shirt and pulling it nimbly over his head. John let him, lips only parting for a moment and then Sherlock was pressed against John again, pushing him back on the bed with one hand under his back and the other on his waist so that they were both laid completely on Sherlock's increasingly rumpled grey covers.

Sherlock's lips left John's, trailing down the corner of his mouth to his jaw and then to his neck. All the while, Sherlock's soft fingertips were running down John's bare chest like he was a canvas and they were the brushes. They painted the hours away, existing brightly somewhere between night and day, as music played quietly from Sherlock's laptop, now a world away.

John woke up with the soft light coming through Sherlock's window. He was wrapped up in long, beautiful limbs, holding him closely to a warm, bare chest. John could hear the soft, sweet beat underneath Sherlock's skin, his cheek pressed firmly over his heart.

Sherlock was already awake. He had been watching protectively over John as he snored. Surprisingly, Sherlock was quite entranced with the sound of John's breath as it moved calmly through him in even sleep. He could count and measure the breaths, which were always in perfect rhythm. That is, until he fluttered his perfectly blue eyes, blinking at the light and then looking up to smile at Sherlock.

John was so warm against his pale skin, his breath whispering over his skin. It set his insides swirling in bright colors, almost as if he could feel the kiss of the fluttering eyelashes that tickled against his skin on the inside of his stomach.

John looked warmly up at Sherlock who returned the silent gaze with equal measure of care. He pulled himself up to Sherlock's lips and kissed him sweetly, lingering there, skin to skin for a moment that wanted to last forever.

The taste of the morning tingled on John's lips and on the roof of his mouth, that soft, comfortable warmth of sleep lingering on his taste buds, stolen from his lover's lips.

Suddenly, there was a bright voice coming from the bottom of the stairs. It was Mycroft. "John? Where have you gone? Breakfast in a few."

John jumped, startled in Sherlock's arms, who just smiled knowingly and nodded. John stumbled out of bed and out the door just as Mycroft was taking the last few steps up the stairs.

John patted down his ruffled hair nervously. Mycroft stopped on the stairs and looked to John inquisitorially, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

John cleared his throat. "I was just… umm… looking for the restroom…"

Mycroft peaked around John and into Sherlock's room where those brilliant emerald eyes were watching carefully. A wide, knowing smile crossed Mycroft's face.

"Of course," he said with mischievous eyes saying something inconsistent with his mouth, "the restroom. It's the last door down on the right. You can go ahead and freshen up, take a shower, anything you need. We can live without your presence at breakfast."

With that, Mycroft turned back down the stairs smugly and John waited a moment before returning to Sherlock.

"I'll never hear the end of this," Sherlock said extending his arms for John. "Come back here. I'll get you breakfast later myself."

John crawled back into bed with Sherlock who then proceeded to wrap his arms tightly around him and place a warm kiss on his forehead.

"I won't give you up that easy."