John hated all these questions running through his mind. John especially hated having questions while his best friend lay on the camp bed wearing nothing but a towel, poring over a book he'd found.

"What are you doing?" John said, running into a mostly-nude Sherlock.

"This book you've got on anatomy. It's fascinating." Sherlock muttered. "I'm sorry but I think I'm going to replace Frodo with the amount of weight it takes to snap a ligament."

"No—" John shook his head. "Why are you naked? Why don't you put some clothes on?"

"I'm more comfortable nude. And I haven't got any extras. Your mother is washing the clothes I was wearing today."

John's mum came home with Chinese and a couple of words of welcome to Sherlock before she had to rush off to do the night shift at the hospital.

"That doesn't mean you lounge around nude!" John said, averting his eyes. He felt the heat rise up his neck and nestle on his nose. There was a pregnant pause.

"You said that it didn't make you uncomfortable." Sherlock frowned. "But it does."

"Yes, Sherlock. I guess it does." He replied.

"I like making you feel that way." Sherlock muttered, staring at John. John still couldn't look at Sherlock. "Did you know that several forms of evolved primates have elaborate penial displays to their desired mates?" Sherlock finally looked away. "I sort of… I feel a bit like that now."

"I thought you hated trivia."

"I can't get that stupid fact out of my head, especially now. It just seems so… appropriate. Though I don't suspect for sexual reasons… more or less to gauge your reaction."

"Are you trying to tell me that you want to show me your—" John couldn't get the word out, his cheeks were bursting with holding the laughter in.

"Please don't laugh." Sherlock said, his face as flushed as the first day John saw him. He was clearly very self-conscious about his actions.

"Oh… no I'm sorry Sherlock." John walked in, closing the door behind him. "There's a primary schooler inside me. Penis. Okay."

"You still giggle at the word penis?" Sherlock frowned.

"And you never have?"

"No." Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "They're parts of the body, like an arm or a leg. They're just highly sensitive reproductive bits."

"So you…" John closed his eyes. "Nevermind."

"What?" Sherlock said sharply.

"It's nothing."

"No it wasn't. What were you about to say?"

"Put some underwear on, and then we can talk." John said, sitting on his bed. John had to find another blanket to put on his bed because Sherlock absolutely refused to use any other blanket than the original one that he'd slept on. Sherlock picked a pair of boxers that were checkered and relatively new. He dropped his towel without any bravado and John's eyes widened and he quickly averted his eyes. Too late, though. Sherlock's tight, firm bum was imprinted on his eyelids. And now Sherlock's tight, firm bum would be slipping into his boxers. John had to press on his lap rather forcefully to discourage his dick from responding. What was happening? He had never felt like this about another man before. He'd seen several nude men with no sexual reaction at all but Sherlock—

"Now, what were you going to ask me?" Sherlock drawled. Or perhaps he didn't. But Sherlock sounded every bit of a temptress to John right now. He didn't want to talk about penises right now. He couldn't.

"Why did Mycroft kick you out?" John said. He was honestly curious and it would send the flush on his cheeks away. He took a shaking breath and turned to look back at Sherlock. The boxers hung low on his hips, his thin, pale body curved toward John in interest. His legs were crossed underneath him. He bit his lip.

"I told you already, John." Sherlock said softly.

"Don't give me that. I know you come from money. I don't care. Tell me what is wrong." John said, seriously. Thoughts of sex had all but gone from John's mind. Something serious happened to Sherlock and he wanted to help him.

"It's nothing."

"Liar."

"It's nothing to mope about, alright?" Sherlock snapped. "I'll tell you but you have to swear not to pity me."

"I couldn't pity you if I wanted to, Sherlock Holmes." John said. Sherlock looked down. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders for some comfort and started picking at his nails.

"I have never… been very good with words. I didn't speak until I was two. After then, it was all one-word sentences until age 10 when it was required I recited poems. It… takes a lot of practice for me to understand what's acceptable socially. Like walking around nude. I become obsessed with the littlest of topics. I was incredibly obsessed with serial killers from age 5 to age 15. My parents thought I was sick. Sick as in 'unable to be helped' or 'this child is a demon' sort of sick. My father tried ever so hard to beat it out of me. Evidently to no avail. I had thought my name was r-retard. As well as Sherlock." Sherlock took a shaky breath in. "Sometime last year he…got frustrated… when I revealed that he had been sleeping with one of the maids. He hit me until I hit back. The instant I did that, the guards took me away. I was rid of my personal tutor and I was sent away to a boarding school. Just a few months ago I intentionally got myself expelled and took the train into London to live with Mycroft. He sent me to his flat here, saying that he was staying here and he enrolled me in public school and… here we are." Sherlock met John's eyes again and was relieved to find them steady and sure as opposed to weepy and pitiful. "Mycroft thinks that I'm acting childish, not wanting to go to my parents. He says that every good child gets a decent beating and that I was meant to go back to live with them. Normally, I would've just listened to him, but I can't now. I can't go back now. I've found happiness. I haven't been happy since I was seven. I'm happy here with you." Sherlock sighed. "It's stupid to make judgments based solely on human emotion—"

"No it's not." John said. "If you're happy, then what's right will follow. Your brain is incredible. You'll succeed anywhere you go. But it takes a special sort of place to make a brain like that… actually happy."

Sherlock looked up at John, icy eyes wide and innocent—searching John's face for a truth. His lips slowly parted in shock. "I…I don't…"

"You don't have to." John blew off. "Everyone has their demons, Sherlock. It's how we attack them that defines us."

Sherlock laughed softly and looked down at his feet.

"How very poetic of you, John." Sherlock muttered, smiling. "But thank you very much."

"Yeah… well… I think we'd better be getting to bed." John said. "It's late."

"It's only midnight."

"Yes, and I'm going to school tomorrow." John yawned. He laid down in his bed and curled up underneath his sister's extra sheets. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

Sherlock stood up and turned off the light. "Goodnight, John." He muttered.


And such is the Sherlock High School AU where they have a sleepover and kiss that night

and I take my fist

and I SHATTER THAT PATTERN!

I'm only joking. To be honest, this is really more of a "how would their lives move if they had met in high school" sort of deal. post-graduation being my main focal point. So I'm not really focusing much on high school, just more on how their relationship would pan out if they had met when they were younger

and gayer of course

just a little bit gayer

okay so let me stop talking before you hate me for it