Before the Storm
Things were quiet. Quiet last year (despite the rumours that floated around, and still do) and quiet this year… for the most part. Rumours had been the biggest of my worries last year. This year, though, this year was a little different. Not necessarily in a bad way, but I was a teenage girl with raging hormones. It was difficult to supress the feelings I'd started forming for Sherlock this year more than ever. Especially because of the fact that Sherlock hit puberty this year—his voice progressively and noticeably getting deeper and hitting a growth spurt and becoming at least a head taller than me by the middle of the year.
It just spelled disaster, both of us teenagers with raging hormones (as much as Sherlock would hate to admit, or even deny it). And I didn't want to push or pressure him. He was still figuring out life, figuring out what our friendship meant to him, and I didn't want to throw my feelings for him on top of all that. He didn't seem like the relationship, romantic type of guy, either, so that was another thing stopping me.
But, you know, other than that… that year was… quiet. I'd be lying if I told you nothing happened, but compared to what came next year, this had been a blip on the radar, next year had been a hurricane with gale force winds and rain combined with hail the size of baseballs. So, yeah, this year had been "quiet." You may not agree, but it was the truth. However, we can't get into next year quite yet, because even though that blip had been just that, a blip, it was still imprinted in my memory, a day I'll never forget, for as long as I live.
"Did you forget your umbrella, today?" Sherlock asked quietly, startling me from my wallowing in self-pity. I had been leaning against my locker with the crown of my head pressed up against the cold, hard metal, my eyes staring down at the floor. I was overreacting, I know, but—and I'd never admit this out loud to Sherlock—I always felt bad when he gave me a ride home. I just did, okay? I always felt was I was taking up his time as well as the driver's time, too. So I tried as best I could to bring my umbrella to school and not ride with him unless I knew I was going to get soaked.
I sighed and pushed away from the locker, standing up straight and looking at him, nodding.
"Is riding with me really—" He broke off suddenly and cleared his throat when his voice cracked, looking away, embarrassed. I couldn't help the pull at the edges of my lips at this. He'd hit puberty at the beginning of this year (as I have stated before) so his voice cracked every now and again. Hence why he spoke quietly to me most of the time. He couldn't avoid voice cracks and I never made fun of him for it, but he was always embarrassed about it, and I noticed didn't talk as much as he used to because of it.
"Is riding with me really that bad?" He said again, slower, meeting my eyes when he'd finished.
"No," I said quickly. "Of course not. It's just, I promised to stay after school to help decorate the gym for the dance. I don't want you to have to wait around for me." I looked out the windows at the pouring rain. "I don't think this rain'll be letting up any time soon, though..." I muttered mostly to myself.
"Elizabeth—" Sherlock started, but was cut off this time by a group of the girls who'd also volunteered coming down the hall. Of the group, Serena was also there.
"Hey, Lizzy!" She called, as they came toward me and Sherlock. "Come on, it's time to go decorate!" She looped her arm into mine and started pulling me with the rest of the group.
"No, wait—" I protested, resisting a bit and looking back at Sherlock. "I'm sorry," I said quickly for Serena was unrelenting. "I'll see you later, okay? Have a safe drive home."
"Bye, Elizabeth," Sherlock responded quietly before I was completely pulled out of earshot.
"See you later, handsome!" Serena called over her shoulder, causing me to whip around and glare at her as blood rushed up to my cheeks. It'd become a thing after that whole kissing rumour last year, it had become her new nickname for him. I tried to get her to stop, but she wouldn't let up. She only said she would if I finally admitted my feelings for him. And because, at the time, I was still in denial about this, I admitted nothing, causing her to call him handsome all the time. Sherlock didn't seem to mind too much, considering he never asked Serena to stop, but it always reminded me of my confused feelings and made my blush.
She gave me a sly look in response to my glare and smirked as we continued to walk down the hall, arms still looped. I looked back at Sherlock over my shoulder. He rolled his eyes and I smiled before turning back to the front.
The gym was pretty big, but thankfully there were quite a few people who were helping decorate, including two teachers to make sure we didn't do any damage to the property. We were decorating for a masquerade, so there were a lot of whites and golds, royal blues and purples. The tables that were set up had white tablecloths thrown over them with a large, gaudy decorative flower centrepiece, that some of the students put together as other students set up garlands and hung other decorations on the walls. At the end, when everything had been set up and looked fairly well, the teachers lowered a disco ball from the ceiling that I'd never seen until now.
I went up to one of the teachers and asked if that wasn't to fashion-forward for a masquerade, though it'd been cleverly disguised to kind of look like a chandelier. Instead of answering she smiled, turned off the lights and turn on the disco ball. It spun slowly, the little squares of light circling with it around the room. It was actually quite beautiful. It fit the decorations well, which was surprising, all things considered. It still felt a bit off for a masquerade, but I couldn't argue that it wasn't a good addition. I guess they they'd been going for a new age masquerade.
Before you say anything, I didn't go. I know it sounds odd, but I felt no need to. Of course, Serena tried to convince me to, but I held firm. I didn't tell her exactly why when she asked, but I have a feeling she knew…. I'd tried to get Sherlock to go as soon as they announced that our school was going to hold a dance, especially a masquerade one, but he held firm about not going, as well. Which, I suppose, I could understand. Dances were social gatherings and Sherlock… well, wasn't all that social. He didn't like big crowds. And that was understandable. So I didn't push him any further on the subject.
That was my main reason for not going. The other reason was because, though I did have a pretty decent group of friends, I knew they'd probably join others who either didn't like me or I just wasn't friends with them, which would make things a bit awkward. And, I wasn't a very social person either. I could put a front and socialise with people if I needed to, but at the end of the day, I really enjoyed me time. I enjoyed being able to relax and recharge to some classical music or with one of my favourite books. So, all of that added together made me really not want to go.
I did, however, also volunteer to help clean up the next morning before school. So that meant waking up early and going in about an hour and half early—they weren't sure how much time was going to be needed to clean up what with all the tables and tablecloths, and all the stuff hanging from the walls.
I was probably half-awake that morning and as I was getting ready (which my parents won't ever let me live down because, apparently, what I said was "comedic gold"), which would explain why I got their about a half hour early. I vaguely remember my parents telling me something about being early, but I had read the clock wrong and was already out the door. I guess they didn't have the time to tell me this before they had to leave for work, so there I was, at school with 30 minutes to spare.
Instead of roaming the empty halls like I usually did if I had time to kill and was stuck at school (it did no good to walk back home because home was fifteen minutes away; by the time I'd get back, I'd just have to turn around and head back to the school), I sat in the gym, at one of the tables, with the lights off and the disco ball on, watching the dancing squares of lights on the walls and imagining what it would've been like last night. Or rather, what it would've been like at a real masquerade with a small stringed quartet playing music for guests who were dressed in period-piece dresses and suits (for the lack of a better word). There were people waltzing, other laughing quietly, champagne in their hands. I could practically hear the music….
Suddenly, actual music started playing. My eyes snapped open and I turned my head in the direction of the speakers, embarrassed for a moment until I saw a familiar figure walking toward me. I wasn't embarrassed anymore, but my heart still raced and I could feel my face heating up.
I stood to greet him but instead stammered out, "Sh-Sherlock, hi. I… I didn't know you-you came here this early."
He gave me a half smile.
"I like to—" He looked away, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. "I like to study here, early in the morning. It's nice without so many people." He looked out at the gym and the slowly spinning lights. I could kind of hear the silent apology for not coming. I didn't blame him for not wanting to be around so many people, especially people who ridiculed him.
I pointed to the speakers that were still playing music and looked at Sherlock after a moment of no speaking.
"Did you… turn that music on?" I asked.
He half-smiled again and gave me a mysterious look, not answering me. A few seconds passed before the song changed to something I hadn't heard before, but apparently Sherlock had because as the first song was fading into the second one, he took a step away from me and held out his hand.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked politely.
I blushed and look down at the floor, mumbling lamely, "I… I don't know how to dance."
Without warning, Sherlock grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him and into his arms, his right hand resting on my waist, the left holding my right. I let out a startled squeak and was about to ask him what he was doing but the words died in my throat when he leaned in close to whisper in my ear (his scent washing over me, making my breath catch), "Just follow my lead." His voice was soft and low which made it sound deeper than I'd ever heard it before and this made shivers run down my spine. I tried not to start panicking. I can tell you, though, my heart was in a frenzy.
Sherlock pulled back and I nodded, unable to speak, telling him I understood. (I mean I was already here, why not? Isn't that what I'd been wanting last night anyway?) Almost before I'd even finished nodding we were flying. Not literally, of course, but he'd twirled us out onto the dance floor. It was an odd sensation because I never really thought I was a good dancer, but when I was with Sherlock, it's like it all fell into place. We fell into step with each other and I could anticipate his move so as to not embarrass myself and step on his feet.
I don't know how long we were twirling around in the gym but suddenly the tempo of the song slowed and so did our dancing. We stood under the disco ball, swaying and turning in a small circle. Sherlock leaned down again, wrapping his arm around my waist, basically pulling me against him—which I could never figure out if it had been a conscious or unconscious decision, and still don't know to this day—and said, "I thought you said you couldn't dance."
I blushed and looked off to the side.
"I thought I couldn't," I mumbled before slowly looking up at him. "But, with you… it comes pretty naturally."
Our dancing stopped ever so slowly as we continued to look at each other. I could feel an emotion—a torrent of emotions, really—that I'd fought so hard to keep at bay well up inside me as the moment stretched on and on and into, what felt like, forever. My pulse pounded and I felt like my throat was closing. I was also very aware of my surroundings, very away of Sherlock's arm around my waist, very aware of our hands still intertwined from our dancing, very aware of the heat coming from his body, very aware of his breathing (shallow and uneven). He was definitely being affected by this. He was good at hiding it, but I'd known him long enough to be able to tell what he was feeling, as much as he tried to hide it. Sometimes it'd take me a bit, because he was, in all honesty, very good at hiding his emotions, but today, this morning, right now his guard was down and I could read him.
I don't know what happened or how it happened, but I saw him start to lean down, towards me. I felt my breath catch in my throat and saw Sherlock stop breathing. It was a slow process, but I was still gathering my bearings when he was so close that I closed my eyes, so close that our lips brushed, sending wave after wave of chills down my spine, making me feel lightheaded, and my knees weak.
Before anything could happen though, voices echoed into the gym. They were loud and there were quite a few of them. It must've been the rest of the volunteers here to help clean up. With the moment ruined, Sherlock and I both stepped away from each other, locking eyes as we did so.
A silent agreement: This wasn't to be spoken of to anyone, and when the time came, only we would discuss what just happened.
Sounds a bit odd, the way I worded it, I know, but I think Sherlock was rubbing off on me by then. What had happened was a… lapse of some kind, as Sherlock would put it later. He never did say judgment, and I wasn't sure if that was what he was going to say or not, but either way I got what he meant. Or, at the very least, I interpreted it the way I wanted to see it, so as not to damage my longing heart any further.
I'll admit it, I'd fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes. There was no denying it. After all these years together, of getting to know him, of knowing that he felt comfortable enough around me to open up and be himself after all the pain he'd gone through was just… endearing. I'd been around him for what felt like all my life, and I knew almost everything about him. I knew his ticks. I knew his tells. I could read him when no one else could.
So for him to say it was a lapse in… anything, hurt. And to take away that pain, I told myself that maybe he just needed time to work his emotions out. That was all, that was it. That's what needed to happen and when he was ready, he would tell me.
I sacrificed a lot of my emotions, being in a relationship with Sherlock. Because Sherlock Holmes wasn't an emotional person, still isn't. You might think that it was pointless, not worth it, stupid to sacrifice so much for a boy… but it was my decision, after all. And there would come a time when Sherlock would have to do the same. Maybe have to sounds too demanding, but I don't think he fully realised just how much I was there for him, or just how much he could trust me.
I trusted him with my life. Plain and simple. Because I loved him. I loved him dearly and deeply and there's no changing that.
But did Sherlock love me the same way? Did he merely love me as a sister? Did he love me at all? Or was I just an amazing girl for being so loyal to him? I'd find out eventually, with a little push here and a prod there. So he didn't completely and wholly open up to me on his own accord. So, what? The fact of the matter is that he finally did. He finally decided he could trust me truly and wholly, without a single doubt in his mind.
The fact of the matter is that, that moment would come too soon, too fast, and very hard.
The fact of the matter is that this was the calm before the storm, as the saying goes.
I hit a terrible artist's block, but finally found inspiration to flesh this chapter out and finish it. I hope I didn't make it too emotional or unbelievable on Sherlock's part, I did my best. Hope you enjoyed, as always.
Thank you for reading,
TheBrightestNight
