Wondering through the streets on his own, John thought over and over again what would happen now after that unforgetting moment. It was now 5'o clock; he had spent at least two hours trying to get back home, but it seemed so difficult. Or was it three hours? He wasn't entirely sure. Most of the buildings looked the same; nothing looked familiar to him. Often, he would try and stop someone for directions, but no one would stop to even give him the time of day.
It was his own fault anyway. When he was suppose to be learning directions and routes around town, he was instead distracted by Sherlock. John couldn't believe it. Well, he couldn't believe many things. The idea of being gay never came across John's mind; he had girlfriends before, the only problem was the relationship didn't last. Old friends used to joke about him being gay, due to the fact that he wore clothes they considered not manly enough.
Reaching for the phone in his pocket, he wanted to call his mum to pick him up. Instead, he was starting at a black screen which refused to turn on. There was no power left. He was in a random street in London with no way of contacting for help. For the second time that day, John was starting to panic.
As it got darker, the streets started to fill with people on a night out, already drunk out of their heads. An alley was coming up towards him, so instead of staying on the main street like his father told him to, he turned to the left and walked further into the darkness. Being in the passage made John feel slight nauseous with fear. But as he passed a set of ladders on his side, he realised this could be his way back home. Wiping his hands on his shirt, John firmly gripped the bars and started to pull himself up. At times he tried to cover his hands with his sleeves, but failed whenever he nearly slips.
Once he reached the top of the building, he climbed off the ladder and stood up straight; looking at the breath-taking scenery before him. The sun was settling down behind the buildings, a ray of orange and red striking the sky as darkness started to appear from above. If he could, John would have stayed there forever, constantly watching the top of London gleam with life as his troubles would melt away. But this was merely a petty wish.
"Do you plan on standing there forever?" A voice appeared from behind him. Swirling around-his leg tensing from the movement- towards the voice, he was greeted by none other than Sherlock, who appeared to be sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side.
"Wha- What are you doing up here?" asked John, cautiously moving closer towards him; remembering the last time he did this he was pushed against a wall, "And how did you find me?"
"My family wouldn't stop questioning me about why you left in such a rush, even thought they had a basic idea. You couldn't seem to hide your flustered cheeks or dilated pupils well enough. To answer their question I left the flat and told them I would be back later. I didn't come up here, intending to meet you here. I sat here because it's out of the way. The only reason we are here now is because of pure coincidence."
"Is it though? Look Sherlock," slowly, trying not to lose his balance, he sat down next to Sherlock but as far away from him as possible, "I'm sorry about- well you know. What I did wasn't called for. I was stupid and shouldn't have put you in that situation. I hope this doesn't ruin anything, because you seem like an alright even though you act like a dickhead."
"John I am willing to offer you a proposition. If you wish to accept then good, but if not then it would put us in a terrible position." said Sherlock, ignoring John's insult.
"Go on." John shuffled closer towards him, but not too close so Sherlock wouldn't be uncomfortable.
"My mind works in a way in which normal minds don't. I have a method of retrieving a piece of my memory and permanently deleting them from my hard drive. I am willing to forget the whole thing that happened earlier on and never speak of it again."
"Really? You can just forget something like that and never speak of it again?"
"Yes, like I said. Do keep up John. If you're willing to forget, then I'm willing to forget."
"But what if I don't want to forget?" asked John, receiving a heavy, irritated sigh from Sherlock.
"Then I will still delete it from my hard drive. It only takes a few seconds, if I delete it we can forget the whole thing and continue with our lives."
"Fine. Whatever. Just do what you have to do, I guess I'm willing to forget. Like you said, it only takes a few seconds, right?"
"Precisely." said Sherlock. Resting his elbows on his knees, Sherlock leaned forward and placed his hands below his chin and closed his eyes. John guessed Sherlock was already in the process of deleting it from his memory, so John tried to do the same. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on deleting it from his own mind. Reaching back to the memory, he tried to recover it and remove it permanently. Thinking he had done it, he opened his eyes and saw Sherlock was still in the same position as he was before.
It was at this moment that John saw how calm Sherlock looked with his eyes closed. John loved the way the sun reflected onto his face, how his raven hair was swaying in the- Wait, what was he saying?
"Done!" Sherlock swung his legs back up on the ground and got up from his seat.
"Done? So that's it?" asked John, following Sherlock's movement before joining at his side.
"Hate to sound like your mother but shouldn't you be home now?" Sherlock started to walk on the roofs again just like they did before, only this time their pace was much more slower, "Unless you don't know where your home is."
"Right again Sherlock. I know you say I should learn these streets off by heart but-"
"Not to worry. However you do seem know a bit more about the area. Your house is only over there." Sherlock was right, somehow, he was only a street away from his house.
Luckily for them, they just reached the front door of John's house before the alley they just left was flooding with drunken adults who probably spent most of Friday night and Saturday morning drinking. Walking ahead of Sherlock, John rushed towards the front of his house and waited for Sherlock to catch up.
"You know," he opened the gate and then closed it behind him, "Remember what I said about showing me around all weekend? Well, I probably have stuff to do tomorrow so I'd be busy."
"Not to worry John." turning on his heel, he slowly continued to walk down the street. Circling around again, he faced John while walking backwards and called, "See you on Monday!"
After Sherlock turned the corner and out of his sight, John continued to stare down the street. Was it because of fear? Or shock? John didn't really know, the day has been confusing enough as it is. And what did his mother mean about his 'first friend'? It must have meant that he was Sherlock's first ever friend, even though that sounds hard to believe.
"John!" he turned to find his mother looking as if she'd seen a ghost. If John would have guessed, she had been crying, but he wasn't gone for that long, was he? John didn't have time to prepare himself before his mother ran up to clasp him in her grip.
"Where the hell have you been?!" she released him and pushed him into the house, "I've been worried sick! Your father's been worried sick-"
"I haven't been worried sick!" his sister was sat at the bottom of the stairs, sneering at John who was being pushed by force, "In fact, I hope you stayed wherever you were and gave us peace for the night, but I couldn't even have that."
"Shut up Harriet!" she slammed the door behind her and pointed next to Harry. Dropping his phone on the side table, John nudged Harry aside and sat back; his head resting on the next step, "Now John you said you were going to call me every two hours, and what do you do? Yeah, you did it the first time but after that-"
"The battery on my phone died and anyway, nothing bad actually happened to me, so I don't know why you're like this."
"I'm a mother. It's my job to be worried; to be scared; to be caring. Why can't you see that? And ever since what happened in York-"
"I thought we weren't going to talk about that anymore. Look-" he got up from the step, his sister tripping him on the way, and walked over to his mother who was pinching the bridge of her nose, "I know you're worried, sometimes I am too. Actually, while out there I was terrified. But you have to trust me. You won't always be there to watch me, so at times I'll have to look after myself. Alright?"
Raising her head, him mother looked up at John. Looking into her eyes was the most hardest thing he could do; in a way, he let her down and this truly troubled him, "Goodnight mum."
"But it's not late. Stay downstairs for a bit. I'll put the kettle on make you a nice cup of tea?"
"No, you're alright. I'm tired anyway, I'll just have an early night." Kissing his mother's forehead, he grabbed his phone before walking up the stairs, making sure to kick Harry along the way, "Goodnight!"
"Fuck off!" shouted Harry.
"HARRIET!" shouted his mother, "Goodnight John!"
John guessed it was one of those nights where he wouldn't be getting any sleep, which didn't bother him, anything to avoid the nightmare's away. It never came across John's mind that his ceiling was extremely plain, as he stared up at it. The coffee keeping him awake had now turned cold, but he still drank it for the caffeine.
Closing his eyes, he tried yet again to forget what happened earlier on. When John thought about it, the whole process was very simple. He imagined himself retrieving the memory and placing it in the bin of his mind. If only it was that easy, simply throwing something away would save him the trouble, but he couldn't. How could he? The thought of them both kissing was still in the back of his mind. The way he rested his hands on Sherlock's cheekbones. His soft lips against his own. He even remembered how much he wanted it to happen.
Forget the whole thing? Like that was going to happen.
