They would try again.
Sherlock took a deep breath and looked at the wheel before him. Yes, they were trying again—but it was the seventh attempt and Sherlock didn't feel any more confident than he had before starting. If John were completely honest, he wasn't feeling too safe, either. It was beginning to rain, Sherlock was more moody than usual, and neither man had eaten in twenty-four hours because of case work.
But John had made up his mind that today—yes, today—they would go out on the main road. Not in London, mind you. They'd stay on side streets, sure, but it was time to get out of the parking lot. John buckled his seatbelt with a heavy sigh and reverted into soldier mode, doing his best to hide his fear.
"You'll do fine," he managed to get out.
Sherlock buckled his own belt and glared at John. "Do you want me to point out the nine signs I spot—no, ten—that tell me you're lying?"
"Just drive."
Sherlock put the car into drive but immediately returned it to park. "I forgot my coat. You'll have to drive us back."
John turned off the air conditioning. "You're fine. Go on, now."
The detective paused, searching for a new excuse. "We could talk about my childhood. Visit Mycroft? Talk about your latest girlfriend?"
"Sherlock." John patted him on the shoulder and turned to face him. "It's fine. You've made progress. I wouldn't be letting you drive me on the main road if I thought we were at risk." Sherlock said nothing. "You're old enough to learn. I don't know why you haven't yet."
"My hard drive, John. This is…"
"Pointless, yes. So you've said."
The men sat in ornery silence. "I…You know, I have tried before. Once."
John waited. He'd long ago learned not to prod.
"My father taught Mycroft. Apparently he had it down right away. Only took him an hour to have everything perfect." Sherlock spoke with no emotion or disdain. He was simply relaying fact. "He was busy, anyway, so I understand why he asked Mycroft to teach me instead."
John held his breath. He'd never heard Sherlock speak of his father. He wasn't sure if the man was even alive.
"I didn't want Mycroft to teach me, which is odd." Sherlock's eyebrows collided. "I still haven't figured that one out. I mean, he's an idiot, but he could have taught me."
"Sentiment," John murmured.
"What?"
"Well, I mean…It's normal for a teenager to want his dad to teach him things. I understand why you made yourself fail with Mycroft, but…" John waited until he had eye contact. "That doesn't matter anymore. I'm teaching you now. Alright? I know I'm not your dad, but…well, I'm just saying I'm here. You know? Your dad isn't, but I am. I always will be." He cleared his throat. "So we might as well learn now."
Sherlock frowned and thought for a moment. "I'm not sentimental."
"Yes you are." John smiled and looked at the phone, wondering if Sherlock was just stalling. "You just won't admit it because you don't understand it."
Sherlock paused and, after a small nod, put the car into drive. "Left or right?"
John tried to hide his smile. "Your choice."
