A/N:Here is chapter two of my Teen!Lock fan-fiction. Keep in mind I have placed this in the year 1993 because they are in high school. I apologize, I'm not sure what the equivalent is in the U.K. This might seem dis-jointed and I apologize for that! This is subject to changes and improvements in the future. If you have questions, or comments or concerns, please let me know! I don't bite, hard!


"C'mon, before they suck you into something you don't want to do." Sherlock was halfway up the staircase and gesturing wildly when John meandered into the flat. The girls were a couple of steps ahead and talking excitedly among themselves. John quickly closed the front door and trotted up the stairs to follow Sherlock to his room. It was surprisingly messy, with piles of books and papers and a skull on his dresser to his right that John pointed at.

"A skull?"

"He's...a friend." Sherlock grinned and gestured to the bench under the window across from the door way. A pillow with a Union Jack design on one side rested comfortably in the corner.

"I need to talk to my father before he leaves for his dinner party." Sherlock said as he took off his coat and hung it on the back of the door and walked out of his room.

John sighed. He already had a long day, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for the emotional roller coaster of questions he was sure Sherlock was going to heap on him.

He sat on the bench and placed his messenger bag on the floor beside him. The view out of the window was pretty remarkable. He had a distant view of the London eye and tower. A mist hung in the air, obscuring the view to the rest of the town, but he could see, in the fading daylight, the lights from the city poking through the mist.

Even though the rain that fell earlier in the day made everything cold and damp, the girls were out in the garden in the back of the flat. William came into view along with Sherlock. John could see where Sherlock inherited his mysteriously sculpted cheekbones and the dark hair. He also saw the lean and lanky way they stood was similar as well. Sherlock said something to his father and pointed up to the room where William looked and waved. John waved back and smiled. Sherlock said something to someone out of John's view, then walked away.

John brought his attention to Sherlock's room again. The walls were painted a standard beige color. John had missed a picture of a skull in his first assessment of the room, hanging over the head of Sherlock's bed that was opposite him, on the same wall as the door. He also noticed a picture on Sherlock's nightstand that looked like a woman. John was so intrigued by this, he forgot to listen for Sherlock's footsteps on the stairs. He sat on the bed and grabbed the picture. It was a woman; a woman with big blue-green eyes and full lips that resembled Sherlock's.

"My mother was a very logical woman living in a very emotionally charged house." Sherlock's voice startled John who fumbled the picture and almost dropped it. Sherlock knelt and grabbed it in time.

"Bloody hell," John said under his breath as he put a hand over his heart.

Sherlock chuckled. "Don't worry, I can replace the frame. I don't care about that."

He was still kneeling in front of John as he placed the frame back on his nightstand.

"Ah... so, what happened to her?" John said as he scratched his head nervously.

"Hmm...my father had an affair with a psychology professor, ironically enough, and my mother couldn't handle it. She divorced him and moved to France to be with her relatives there. Father bowed out gracefully at the University, which is why he tutors." Sherlock scrubbed his face with his hand.

"Oh..." John was going to apologize for asking, but remembered what Sherlock did to him yesterday and stopped himself.

"Why aren't you living with your mother?"

"I don't get along with her mother, my grandmother. Plus, I like London."

Sherlock stood and ran a hand through his hair. "I was right yesterday wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were." John refused to look at him, staring at his hands instead.

"C'mon, you can admit it. You are curious how I knew all that about your father aren't you."

"I don't feel like talking about my father." John looked up and found Sherlock bent at the waist, his hands on his hips and a cocky look on his face that disappeared as soon as he saw the hurt in John's eyes.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You were very close to your father. You miss him, more than you will admit. Your mother is hoping that you will bond with my father to have some sort of male influence in your life-"

"Shut-up Sherlock!" John suddenly stood. He was a couple of years older than Sherlock, but they were the same height. "You need to think before you say things."

Sherlock blinked at John.

"I'm going to leave-" A cold hand gripped John's wrist tightly as he started to grab for his bag. He looked down at the hand, then up at Sherlock's face. The expression he wore was something John had never seen there before. "What the-"

"You are right." Sherlock's voice was low and soft. "I should think before I speak. I can't. It's...It is..."

Sherlock swallowed hard and he blinked several times. Normally, John would make a jab at another boy for crying. Seeing the emotions that crossed Sherlock's face; he couldn't bring himself to do that to Sherlock.

"It is...what?" John prompted the other boy.

Sherlock pursed his lips. John could almost see Sherlock's brain working overtime.

"It's hard for me to control what I say. I have to speak my mind. I have to vocalize what I am thinking sometimes. And sometimes it doesn't make sense."

John blinked.

"Is it as hard to express emotions? Or gratitude?"

"I- what?"

"I see you struggling right now with something, and I think it's this exchange. No one has ever confronted you like I have." John pulled the hand into view on which Sherlock had a tight grip. "You are also hurting my hand."

"Oh," Sherlock let go and John shook his hand to get the feeling back. "Please don't leave."

"What?" John was still shaking his hand.

"I was hoping you would stay. That's why I had the tight grip on your hand."

"I...umm..." John looked everywhere but Sherlock. He'd never had this happen with another boy. He'd had girls ask him to stay, although to be fair on John's part, he had no idea what he was doing at the time. He was thirteen, he didn't realize that girls hearts could be broken so young. He had gotten in fights with his friends over stupid video game, he'd go cool off and they'd apologize. Well, more like grunt at each other.

Confused, John sat down on the bench under the window. "Yeah, I'll stay. Whatever."

"Good, I'm glad." Sherlock said slowly. "Thank you, and I am sorry, John."

John was so surprised at the words, he wasn't sure he heard them right. He went to stand in front of Sherlock again. The boys eyes were shut tight and his fists were shaking.

"It's alright, Sherlock, my hand-"

Sherlock suddenly sprung into life and grabbed John's hand again. "No, you don't understand. It's not just the hand. It's everything. It's you defending me that day, it's you talking to me in class like I am human, it's you making me want to feel something again."

John stared incredulously at Sherlock.

Sherlock's bottom lip started to shake and he sniffed. "My mother taught Mycroft and I to value our brains and educating them, over emotions and feelings. She said that those things would just get in the way and complicate everything. When she left, I didn't know what to think, how to contain the emotions I was feeling. I was angry for the longest time, because, if she followed what she said to be true, she wouldn't have left, because that meant she didn't feel anything for my father. But she did, and she left us."

A tear spilled from Sherlock's eye and John and he looked down at his shoes.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." John's voice came out in a whisper.

Sherlock sniffed and looked at his hand wrapped around John's wrist and released it.

"I know we don't know each other well, but-" John paused, unsure of himself, and surprised at the things he was going to say. "But if you want to talk about it-"

Sherlock drew in a sharp breath and tapped at his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I have a lot going on up here that my therapist can't even sort out."

"You have a therapist?" John said slowly as his brow furrowed.

"Yes." Sherlock sighed loudly and sat down on his bed. To Sherlock's surprise, John sat next to him. Sherlock's eyes darted over John's face.

No Judgment.

Only an open, honest face.

"My mom put me into group therapy of sorts," John cleared his throat and looked down at his hands in his lap. "When my father died..."

Sherlock scooted closer to John.

John sniffed and looked up. "Ever since my father died, I've had nightmares. Mom wasn't strong enough to deal with them herself, although, she was comforting at night. There were a couple of times I woke up swinging and fighting."

"I was right, you were close to your father. But why the violent nightmares?"

John clenched his jaw, but kept his sarcasm to himself. "Yes, we were close. The last time I talked with him...was a very late Sunday evening, one or two in the morning, I think. He was thinking his unit was going to be called out into the field, so he told them that they each could have one call." John's throat became tight, his eyes watery. "My father...my father told me he loved me, and that no matter what, he was proud of me and he would talk to me in two weeks."

John wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Sorry, I don't know why I unloaded on you like that just now. It's not something that I share with a lot of people. I should leave you alone-"

John started to get up, but was stopped again by Sherlock's tight grip around his arm.

"No! Stay, please. I was just going to be reading or researching," Sherlock paused and ran a hand through his unruly dark hair. "Maybe it would be good for both of us to just sit and talk."

John's eyes searched the others face. He saw nothing but open honesty there. So open, that it scared John a little. He had never seen such raw emotion since his father's funeral. The way his mother cried made his heart-break, and it hurt now thinking about it.

"What are you thinking about?" Sherlock's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Sorry, what?"

"I saw something in the look you gave me just now."

John gave a small smile. "My mother says I have a very expressive face. That I wear my heart on my sleeve, whatever that means."

"It means to display your emotions openly. It may derive from the custom at middle ages jousting matches. Knights are said to have worn the colors of the lady they were supporting, in cloths or ribbons tied to their arms. I don't think it dates from that period though. I believe it was first recorded in Shakespeare's 'Othello'. Iago's plan was to feign openness and vulnerability to appear faithful."

John opened his mouth to say something, but was so rattled by Sherlock's train of thought that nothing came out.

Sherlock smirked.

"I am part of the theatre group at the school and we are putting on Hamlet in early December." He stood and grabbed the skull. "Hence the skull."

"You are full of surprises aren't you?" John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock and the dark-haired boy winked at him.

"More than you know."

"Sherlock?" Amanda's soft voice and a gentle knock on Sherlock's door stopped Sherlock from going into his piece on Hamlet.

"Yes, Amanda?" Sherlock had to clear his voice before he answered her and he held the back of his hand to his mouth as he watched John get up and open his bag.

"John's mother is on the phone." Amanda said as Sherlock opened the door.

"Thank you, Amanda, John can take it in here."

"Oh, okay." She smiled warmly at John and he gave an awkward smile back at her. "Everything okay in here? You two have been awfully quiet."

"Yes, we were just studying and reading." Sherlock pursed his lips together and nodded and started to close the door. "Thank you Amanda."

"You're welcome, Sherlock. John can spend the night if he needs to! Oh and there is dinner in the kitchen. Home made pizza."

"Thank you, we'll be down in a minute." Amanda nodded and Sherlock closed the door.

"Where's your phone?" John asked.

"Oh, yes. It's over here." Sherlock walked over to his desk in the corner of the room and lifted papers to reveal the phone. John walked over and grabbed the phone. Before he could push the talk button, a hand came into view. He looked up and Sherlock's gaze bore into John as he drew in a sharp breath.

"You are welcome to spend the night." His voice was low and it rumbled through John's muddled brain. It affected him so, that all he could do was nod once.

"Hi, mum," John stuttered as he turned away from Sherlock who cocked his head to hear the conversation. It took all his self-control to not hug John when he heard him ask if he could spend the night.

"Thank you, mum. Love you. Okay...okay...yes, oh, um I never thought of that...Wait I have an extra outfit...yes mum. I'll be fine, I promise. K, yes...Love you too. Bye."

John pushed the off button and turned. Sherlock was right behind him.

"Oh, god," the sandy-haired boy put his hand over his heart. "Why do you have to stand so close to me?" John smirked as a song ran through his head.

"Are you spending the night?" Sherlock cocked his head. "Why are you smiling?"

"Don't stand so, don't stand so, don't stand so close to me..." John sang and snapped his fingers. He stopped when he saw the confused expression on Sherlock's face.

"Right, let's get something to eat." Sherlock turned on his heel and John followed him out of the room and down the stairs.

John ended up spending the weekend at Sherlock's house. Thinking back on it over the week, he surprised himself by putting up with Sherlock. John found out however that Sherlock was worse around other people, but he was civilized to John.

It wasn't until three weeks later that he found out why.

John was in his living room pacing. He was early in getting ready for the date that he had finally gotten the courage to ask Mary Morstan out on.

"Dude, calm down." Harry said as she entered the room with a couple of sodas and tossed one to John who almost dropped his. "She said yes, and she's pretty to boot. You've got this!"

"Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?"

"Because, you are my baby brother, you are going on your first date. Mom and dad aren't here to witness it, so I want to make sure you are...sent off properly."

John looked at his sister incredulously. "Have you been drinking? Which you better not be because you are driving."

"Pshaw," Harry said after taking a drink. "That's not until later bonehead!"

John rolled his eyes and drank his soda as Harry approached him. She was only a couple of inches taller than him but her unruly red hair made her look taller.

"Listen, John," she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know we've had our differences and arguments, but, I want you to know that I really do love you, because you are my little brother, and you might be all I have in the future."

John grunted as Harry took him in a bear hug. He was so unsure of himself that he couldn't respond. When she pulled back, Harry's face was streaked with tears.

"Oh God, you are being serious." John whispered as he wiped his sisters tears. "What is going on, Harry?"

"I-I can't tell you until I know it's serious." She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"A boy, what's so wrong about being serious with a boy?"

"When that boy is a girl."

John gaped at his sister.

"You hate me don't you?"

"I-...no of course not," John shuffled his feet nervously. "I'm just surprised. I had no idea."

"Yeah, well, it's not something I advertise. People aren't so open-minded at the school, you know?"

John knew, as he thought of Sherlock.

"And you are afraid of how mom will react?" He went on.

She nodded and her hair bounced with her.

He took a drink and hummed. "I think she'll be fine. She's pretty open-minded."

"Dad wasn't."

"Dad was military...wait you told dad?"

"No, but his cousin came out and Dad disowned him."

"Oh." John frowned. "How did mom take that news?"

"With a grain of salt I guess," Harry shrugged. "She was so calm and mild-mannered then."

Harry stood after a long silence and grabbed her keys and purse. "We should get going. And John?"

"Yeah?" He said as Harry hugged him again.

"Thank you!"

"Of course."


"John," Mary said breathlessly as she stepped closer to him. "It's so beautiful."

They had been watching fireworks from a park close to the restaurant Harry had her own date that she met at the same restaurant that John and Mary ate. They all walked to the park, bundled up and holding their hands out to the bonfire.

"I'm glad you like it Mary." He put his arm around her and she snuggled into him. They chatted for a few more minutes, then John leaned forward.

"May I?" He smiled and he could see her eyes twinkling.

"Yes," she answered and he closed the distance between them. Her lips were soft and she smelled of cinnamon. He let his tongue roam over her lips and she paused, but then opened her mouth just enough to let him in. John kept waiting for the fireworks. Waiting for that feeling one is supposed to get when they finally kiss the girl of their dreams. He gently pulled away when it never came.

He opened his eyes and saw that Mary still had hers closed and she sighed. He clenched his teeth and stifled a scream. Six years he had waited for the fireworks, six years he had been disappointed.

Mary smiled brightly up at John and he returned the smile as best he could.


"John, what's wrong? You are a sixteen year-old boy. You should have hit that!" Harry exclaimed after turning over the motor on her car.

He smirked at her, then sighed.

"The fireworks weren't there."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno. I suppose I'm a romantic at heart. I want that feeling, that exhilaration you get when you kiss someone and you know it's right."

"Good god, boy! Are you a virgin?" Harry glanced over at him as he squirmed.

"Oh my God!" She grinned, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

"I've made out with tons of girls," John sighed.

"I'm sorry. I should be proud of you. Hell I am proud of you for not giving it up so easily. But a good-looking kid like you? You should be getting some action!"

"Thanks...I think."

"Are you going to see her again?"

"Yes, we made plans to go to the cinema. We'll see how that goes."

"Will you hand me a pen?" Sherlock said to John as he entered his bedroom a couple of weeks later. He was sitting in the window seat, his hands steepled under his chin.

John dug in his bag for a pen and tossed it to Sherlock who started twirling it between his fingers.

"What's going on?" John asked as he sat down on the bed. "You seemed nervous about something when you talked to me downstairs."

Sherlock was silent for a minute before he stood and grabbed a notebook from his desk, then sat next to John.

"How was your dates with Mary?" He asked still twirling the pen.

"Good. She's a nice girl. I like her."

Sherlock's blue-green eyes swept over John's face then met his eyes. John held his intense gaze, then turned away.

"What's with you?" John looked down at his hands. "You have been acting stranger than usual the past couple weeks."

"You think I'm strange?" Sherlock's voice was quiet.

"You're different from most kids. It's not a bad thing." John looked back up at the other boy. "We've had this conversation before...did something happen today?"

"You don't feel anything for Mary do you?"

"What-?"

"You don't feel that spark when you are with her. You don't try anything with her and she initiates all the kisses-"

"Sherlock? What the hell? Are you following us?"

"No, well, kind of. I-"

"I don't need this right now." John's voice came out in a low growl as he stood and grabbed his bag and started out of the room.

"Wait, please, John."

Sherlock's tone made John stop and turn. Sherlock was standing right behind him. He had a pleading looking on his face that John had never seen before. John opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock interrupted.

"I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy. I don't understand, what is going on, Sherlock?"

"Are you happy when you're with me?"

"Yes," John drew in a breath to calm his frustration. "Sherlock, you're not usually this ambiguous with me. Please, just tell me what is going on in that crazy head of yours."

Sherlock blinked at him, then opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then stopped. John's eyes glanced at his perfectly shaped lips, which were suddenly on his own. He was so shocked, he couldn't move. Sherlock stepped away.

"I'm sorry," when John didn't move, Sherlock put his hand on each side of John's face.

"No, I'm not."

Then leaned in and kissed John again.

The only thing that John knew in that moment was that it felt right and the spark that he had waited six years for, finally came crashing down on him like a lightning bolt.