Author's note: Buckle up, readers. Thanks for the continued comments and for following my story. Comments and feedback is always appreciated.

Chapter 6

The moment he had taken that chance and accepted Sherlock, John felt as if something had been put rightly into place. It was as if he had been waiting to meet him.

Sherlock didn't have any classes with him and strangely enough, without being by the other boy, the day dragged out in a way that John couldn't have imagined it would. He did notice, however, that his chemistry grade had taken 180 degree turn. His teacher had said nothing to him, but he seemed relatively pleased. John wondered if that would change if he knew exactly what the boys considered "studying chemistry."

Over the next several days, John's life was simply the same and classes and going home to Sherlock. The two spent the late afternoons curled up together on Sherlock's bed, kissing and holding one another.

John was still hesitant to go further and he worried if Sherlock would grow bored of a partner that wouldn't sleep with him, but Sherlock said that he didn't mind.

"It's okay, John," Sherlock said softly as John held him, "I'm not going to rush you."

John nodded but was silent. He didn't say any of the million things buzzing around in his head. He wondered how Sherlock dealt with it.

"Did you do your homework?"

"Yes mother," John retorted. Sherlock made a face at him.

"John, you know I'm not mothering you."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Sherlock grinned and leaned down, kissing John on the lips. John moved into the kiss and ran his hand through Sherlock's dark curls. Sherlock's hand moved against John's back, comforting the other man while getting John hotter.

There was a knock at the door.

John nearly flew out of Sherlock's bed and jumped unto his own. His cheeks were royally flushed. Sherlock strode across the room and opened it.

"Yes?"

"Hey, is John here?" It was Reed.

"Hey mate."

"Where were you this weekend?" Reed asked, walking past Sherlock and over to John. "We kicked some major ass and went out the pub afterward and picked up some girls."

"I wasn't feeling so well," John said, shrugging. He had to keep himself from looking over at Sherlock, who was curled up with a physics book.

"Aw mate it was amazing," Reed continued, "after we won the last match, we went to the pub and we all got smashed and met up with some local girls. A lot of the boys went missing for a while, if you know what I'm saying."

John laughed and nodded, but it felt very fake.

Reed continued to talk about the weekend and John listened as he described the highs and lows, but his friend didn't notice that he was getting a little upset that he couldn't be there with his rugby buddies. Granted, his tale of the debaucheries night, he didn't regret missing that.

He looked at Sherlock from the corner of his eye sitting cross-legged and with a small ballpoint pen behind his ear. He was reading, with his face scrunched up at determined. He was biting his lip slightly, which made John smile.

"John."

He snapped back to Reed.

"Where were you, man?"

"Sorry, haven't been feeling so well," he lied.

"Well, don't get me sick," Reed said, backing away, "some of us have a game versus Somerset this Saturday. Later."

John nodded and Reed shut the door behind him.

He couldn't look over at Sherlock so he rolled over and he fell asleep almost immediately. Sherlock turned off the lights and followed suit, if only to make it easier for the other man to sleep.

Sherlock woke the next morning to find a note on his pillow.

Hey, so, I've been told I'm back on the rugby team. Thanks for all that extra tutoring. Won't be home until late. –J

It was more personal than a text, Sherlock resolved but something was still bugging him. What was he afraid of? That he'd tell John he couldn't play? Granted, he had loved the lounging around that they had done, but he knew John's heart and soul was into playing the sport.

Sherlock pulled on his uniform and straightened his tie. It was going to be a long week.

"Oi, come on Watson, pick up your game!"

His teammate Oliver was pushing him to keep up with the other boys. It didn't matter to him, John supposed, that he had been unable to even set his foot on a field for several weeks. Nevertheless, he was pretty rusty.

He kept himself open as he ran down the field to catch the ball. Oliver passed it to him and he pumped his legs rapidly to carry himself down the field. When he scored, he had to try very hard to not collapse from exhaustion. He braced himself before Oliver came running up to him and he yelled with him as they bumped chests.

"Not too shabby!"

"Haha thanks."

"Let's hit the shower boys," Reed called out. The boys, apparently getting a second wind, ran to get their bags and to hurry up to the showers. No one wanted them after the other boys went in. Therefore, the locker room was soon filled with the chatter of the boys. Reed was especially talkative as they were toweling off.

"You were a little slow today," Reed commented.

"Not being on the field for a couple weeks will you do that to you, I suppose."

Reed grunted and he started getting dressed.

"Well, I'm glad you're back," Reed continued. "I guess that tutor helped some, eh?"

John nodded.

"I heard you got your roommate," he continued. "Tough luck."

John shrugged, but he didn't make eye contact.

"He helped me study for some of those chemi-"

"What's that fairies name?" Reed asked, pulling on his pants.

John swallowed hard.

"Sherlock."

"Yeah, that's it," Reed answered, "What was it like getting taught by the poofer? He try to teach you some new biology terms?"

"Chemistry, not biology," John answered, pulling on his uniform. He was glad he was faced the other way because he was getting red.

Oliver was now walking over to listen.

"Is our own Watson learning how to make Chemistry with St. Bart's most infamous poofer?"

"Sod off," John replied. "I didn't even know he was one."

"Oh yeah," Oliver interjected, "the guy is practically floating around campus."

John was a little confused, considering Sherlock was practically asexual. It was probably just because he was so different. And well, so was he.

"Has he been…like, seen with another guy?" John asked, trying not to sound too interested.

"Why do you care?" Reed asked, butting in.

"He's my roommate," John responded, his voice involuntarily gruff.

"Yeah, tough luck. Bye boys."

Oliver just shrugged at him, but not unkindly.

It was at that moment he was glad he hadn't told anyone about the changes in his life.

Sherlock was worried about John. Well, he was aware of things. Not only for the obvious, his inability to show a lot of affection towards him and "consummating" their relationship, but because of the changes in him since he had started playing rugby again.

It was obvious that the new surges of testosterone had him acting more aggressive and assertive. It turned Sherlock on a bit, especially when he would return from practice in his tight rugby outfit and covered in mud.

Still, the rational part of him was aware of personality changes that he was uncertain of.

He had just finished a research paper when the door opened. Sherlock swallowed hard at the sight of John, sweating profusely in his tight outfit.

"Hey."

John nodded at him on the way in.

Sherlock turned back to his work. It was only after a shower, when John was sitting on his bed, did Sherlock look back over.

He was sitting shirtless, with a notebook on his lap that he was scribbling into. He seemed to be frustrated with it, but he kept writing. Sherlock was ready for him to ask for help, like he had so many times before, but John didn't and struggled along.

So, Sherlock let the man alone. He knew too well the need to be alone.

Two weeks later, however, and with no real connection from his roommate, Sherlock thought that perhaps there was a problem.

He caught John one evening after practice in the room.

"How is your chemistry class?"

John shrugged.

"Fine, I guess."

"You guess?"

John stared at Sherlock with a horrified look.

"What is this about? Are you saying that someone told you to help me again?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Do I really need to say anything?"

For the first time in weeks, Sherlock saw a bit of the old John coming through.

"Yeah…that…"

"Yes."

"I don't…I really…"

Sherlock cut him off.

"No, I understand completely." Sherlock picked up his violin and made to leave. John blocked him.

"Wait, Sherlock, I-"

"John, let me go."

"Why?"

"I have to practice, Sherlock answered, his cheeks now flushed with rising anger.

"Don't play stupid w-"

"Me? I'm the one playing stupid? Listen here John Watson, I'm not the one pretending to be whom I'm not. I know who I am," Sherlock said, his voice getting slightly louder. "I don't string someone along for weeks and then when it comes time to show it, back out. Sorry John, but I don't work like that."

"Please, wait, the guys, they said i-"

"Save it. I'm not a second choice," Sherlock responded as he walked out. "Sort out what you really want, John because if you don't, you might lose everything." The door shut behind him and he left the building and turned the corner.

Sherlock nearly ran into another boy with slicked back black hair, one that he never thought he would see again. His beloved violin slipped from his hands and the other boy barely caught it before it hit the floor.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you again too, Sherlock," the boy said toyingly with a smile. He was dressed also in a St. Bart's uniform but it was almost obscenely clean and pressed.

Sherlock took his violin, which the boy was holding out to him.

"It's just odd seeing you here."

"My parents moved," the other boy said with a smile, "but I never expected to see you here. It's a quaint little place, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded, but he just wanted to get away.

"I'd like to stay and chat, but I need to get going."

"Oh, I'm certain we'll run into each other again. Ta-ta."

And he turned to walk down the hall, carrying a rather large suitcase.

The name on the boy's suitcase read James Moriarty.