My first received prompt for the 30 Day Cheesy AU Trope Challenge prompt.

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"Johnny, who's 'the-consulting-detective'?"

"Harry! Get off my laptop!" The older twin grinned wickedly and scampered away, holding the laptop carefully out of reach with one hand even as the other frantically slammed the down arrow.

"Aw, look at you two. You've been talking since school started... you told him you're on the rugby team, you wanna be a doctor, you wanna be in the army. Not that it's not obvious from your username, I mean 'the-army-doctor', Johnny, really? How cute. Oh wow, you got flirty fast. And-oh! A month in is where we get to the good stuff. Oh. Ew! Definitely skipping the sexts."

John's face flushed and he made a mad dive for the electronic. That had been one of the most terrifying moments of his life: waking up from a wet dream in the middle of the night about his faceless friend's perfect lips wrapped around his cock and whispered deductions against his skin, blearily typing i get so hard thinking about you sometimes into their private chat before falling back asleep, and only finding out what he'd done the next morning when he'd gotten back on his laptop. He'd felt like he was going to be sick for about two and a half hours of radio silence before he received very explicit instruction on how to remedy his 'unfortunate malady'.

"Why don't you ever call him by his name? Didn't he tell you?" John flushed harder as he shook his head. He'd fingered himself and brought himself off countless times by way of his typed instructions, imagining it was his friend (boyfriend?) fucking into him instead. And yet, they weren't yet at the level of trust in which he could know the other's name in return. "Why not?"

"He said I wouldn't give him the chance to speak to him if I knew his name." He'd thought at the time that it was a strange thing to say. Perhaps his new friend was just shy? But a quick few minutes into their conversation, he'd quickly nixed that idea. Nothing about his new friend was shy.

"Johnny, you know he's his own website, yeah?" Blinking in surprise, because no, he didn't know, John moved closer with the intention of 'seeing' rather than 'taking', and saw THE SCIENCE OF DEDUCTION. Harry was already scrolling through, highlighting random bits of text, when all of a sudden, she stopped in the bottom right corner. "'Sherlock Holmes'? Isn't that the name of that eleventh year transfer who said all that weird stuff about you start of term?"

His heart started beating faster at the memory. Beginning of the year, he'd accidentally tripped into the back of a tall bloke in the halls. Said bloke had then turned around, revealing one of the prettiest faces John had ever seen on a bloke or a bird surrounded by the prettiest curls, and had proceeded to lay out the secrets of John's life. The teen had listened with bated breath and a dropped jaw, and when the tirade suddenly broke off, a breathless "Brilliant" had slipped off his tongue before he knew it. The other teen had flushed and then asked if John really meant it and he'd nodded back emphatically, throwing out more synonyms. While the taller teen stood there staring at him, apparently at a loss for words, the bell had rung and John started to run, stopping only to introduce himself over his shoulder, pausing mid-stride as he waited for it to be returned.

He only glimpsed Sherlock Holmes after that, their paths never quite intersecting again. Though he did remain amused by the constant stream through the rumour mill about the genius's comings and goings, who he'd deduced that day and what teacher he'd made cry. He hadn't even realised it, but the-consulting-detective had first reached out to him just a week after he met Sherlock Holmes. And the more he thought about it, the more the things his detective had said reminded him of the way Sherlock had talked.

He was going to be sick. Even in uniform, it was clear that Holmes was a cut above the rest, and certainly above John. No wonder the other teen had thought he wouldn't talk to him if he knew his name. How long had he and his equally-posh friends been laughing at John? How long had they been amusing themselves with making him fall in love with a faceless name? His foot paused mid-step up the stairs. Love. Was he really in love with the bastard?

Yes. Yes, he really was. The way he talked to John, the interests he showed, the genius he showed off. John had been in love with him since near the beginning. His feet continued, carrying him up to the second floor and into his room in a daze. He didn't think Harry even noticed, too enraptured by his conversation with his detective. No, with Sherlock. He lay down on his bed, face first and still fully clothed, and sunk into his own mind. If he fell asleep, he neither noticed nor cared.

.oOo.

He didn't respond to their private chat for a week. Didn't bother opening it even. He knew the other teen would understand why he was ignore him, but that no longer mattered. He felt like he was drifting through life, responding to friends and teachers, doing his school work and his rugby practice, on autopilot. How else can one react to finding out that not only have they fallen in love with their best friend, but also that their best friend was a fake? It never occurred to him that Sherlock might seek him out.

"John." The thirteenth year startled, nearly dropping his lunch onto the grass of the empty courtyard at the sudden sound of a deep voice. His head shot up to take in Sherlock Holmes standing just a few feet away, posture stiff and hands behind his back. Instantly he shot to his feet. He didn't want anything to do with the-consulting-detective or Sherlock Holmes. Not any longer.

He got to his feet, staring down impossibly stormy eyes for a long minute with his chin held high, and then John turns and begins to march away. Before he can go more than a few feet, there's long fingers curling around his wrist and he can't help but to wonder what they would feel like inside him instead of his own. "John, please, wait."

"'Wait'?" he echoed incredulously. "Why should I? I found your website. No wonder you didn't want to tell someone like me your name. You're so far out of my league it's laughable. Is that what your were doing? Laughing around with all your posh mates at how easy I was? Are they here now, watching?" John snapped, gesturing with his free hand at the windows of the upper floors around the courtyard.

The other student took a small step back with a frown, even as his fingers tightened to keep him from moving away. "John, what on earth are you talking about? Have I truly given you reason to doubt my interest in you? And what friends? I don't have any friends." John's breath caught in his throat, taken aback by the spike of pain in his heart at the words. He already told himself that he wanted nothing to do with the other teen any longer, and yet here he was, feeling hurt at the confirmation that he'd hadn't ever even been considered, at the very least, a friend.

Angrily, he yanked at his wrist, trying to break away before his anguish could broadcast across his face. He stumbled instead when the fingers on his wrist tightened and tugged, sending him careening into a hard chest. The hand unoccupied with restricting him cupped his jaw, tilting it up so a pair of soft, plush lips could press against his own. He could only stand there frozen as a smooth tongue tickled the seam of his lips, his own opening automatically. Before he knew it, he was being drugged by sweet kisses and an insistent tongue, and his fingers were curled in the back of Sherlock's uniform, clinging somewhat desperately. When the taller student pulled away, John was left to drop his head against a bony shoulder as he panted.

"I don't have any friends, John," a deep voice whispered into his ear, shivers wracking his spine at the hot breath. "I just have one." He was ashamed of the small whimper that slipped from his throat but it couldn't be helped. And as soon as it had, the hand around his wrist dropped it to cup the other side of his face.

"I don't understand," John whispered into the mouth in front of his.

"You called me 'brilliant' the first day we met. Everyone else would have and has said 'piss off', but not you. I wanted to know more about you, and yet, every time I attempted to cross our paths, the timing refused me." Suddenly, John remembered the glimpses he'd caught of dark hair and pale skin in the hallways, always when it was crowded or when he was in a hurry, otherwise he would have stopped himself. "Then I found out you had a blog. I could have exerted more effort into meeting you in life, but I did not have the confidence that you would accept me as you've done online. I could not pass up the opportunity speaking with you one there afforded, nor could I pass up the opportunity for you to get to know me before you cast judgement on me based on the opinions of others." That... made a stupid amount of sense, especially considering the rumours John heard daily. "Admittedly, you were, at first, a mystery I desired to solve. I did not expect to develop... sentiment."

The older student raised an eyebrow as he brought his head up to look a flushed Sherlock in the eye. "'Sentiment'?" The taller teen flushed harder and nodded minutely. Though the sight was like a ray of sunlight through a break in the stormclouds, lightning his heart, he wanted to hear it. "What do you mean by 'sentiment'?" The way the younger student flushed and his mouth opened and closed without sound was incredibly endearing.

"Yes. I um... Well, I have come to grow rather fond of you," the genius stuttered out. John raised his eyebrow higher.

"Just 'fond'?" he teased. Sherlock gave a frustrated growl and slammed his lips back onto John, kissing him with more voracity than he'd previously shown.

"You are of a great deal of interest to me, John Watson," he said stiffly, "and I would much prefer it if you stay that way. If you are amenable. Preferably no longer online." The older teen wasn't quite sure if that could be constituted as babbling, but it spoke enough to the genius's state of mind.

"Does that mean we're going steady? Can I call you my boyfriend in front of other people and hold your hand and we'll go on dates and everything?" He knew he was pushing it, but he was in a position of power right now, and he didn't have the slightest problem abusing it. Plus, just that look on Sherlock's face and the way his spine stiffened at his words made him want to giggle.

"Yes, I suppose that word applies. But really, John. Dates? You're far more exciting than something so... pedestrian," Sherlock sneered, and this time he couldn't hold his giggles back. He collapsed in a fit of laughter against his boyfriend (boyfriend!).

"You know we don't have to go on the kinds of dates everyone else goes on, right love?" he laughed, trying to bring himself under control. In his arms, he suddenly felt the taller teen stiffen and his laughter cut off immediately. "Sherlock?"

"What did you just call me?" Frowning, John reviewed his recent words and then flushed when he realised he'd just called his pedestrian-hating genius 'love'.

"Problem?" he snapped defensively, unable to remove his eyes from Sherlock's chest, wary of the expression he may be greeted with. Hands cupped his face again, forcing him to meet bright grey eyes and a soft, dazzling smile.

"Not as long as you mean it," his detective said, drawing him into more sweet kisses that threatened heart palpitations. John barely had enough presence of mind to hum an affirmation.

FIN

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