Beloved Silver

Chapter Fourteen: "All Love And Glory"

A/N: Oh, my, it's been too long, friends. Sorry. I've been busy doing aggravating, time-consuming stuff. I'd rather be writing, trust me. But I did get a new laptop, so no more slowly pecking at my tablet with my thumbs. :)))

Chapter title comes from "Fiction Romance" by The Buzzcocks.

John was late on the last day of school. His alarm messed up and didn't wake him up until he had ten minutes to get there. He knew it didn't really matter because it was the last day and it wasn't like he would be missing anything, but he still rushed to get ready and out the door, jogging down the pavement.

The real reason why he was rushing was because of the day, but not for a school-related reason. He grabbed the little box he'd prepared a week ago and shoved it in his jacket pocket, heading out the door. John attempted to wrap it and tie the bow as neatly as the gifts he'd received from Sherlock, but his wasn't nearly as pretty. Hopefully, though, the present itself would make up for the haphazard wrapping job he'd done on it.

He could hardly believe it had already been six months with Sherlock. Not only was it his longest relationship, but he also had never felt this way about anyone. He could imagine being with him for another six months, see them going to university together, see them get married, see them start a family. He could see them happy.

It was a strange feeling, but he loved it. He loved everything about it. He loved . . .

Was it too early for that? John had been debating the question for a few weeks now. He knew couples who said they loved each other just a few weeks (sometimes days) after they start dating, and he didn't really want to appear as one of those people. But six months was half of a year, which was longer than those couples. They usually broke up a few days after saying that, anyway, because it wasn't actual love. But he and Sherlock; this was real love, wasn't it? John had nothing to base it off of, and Sherlock probably didn't either, but it had all the symptoms of what people say love should be and feel like.

His parents weren't the best example, so John had spent a lot of time thinking about the people he considered to be in love.

Incessant doting on each other? Check.

Plans for the future? Check.

Annoys their friends? Check.

Deep understanding of each other? Check.

Never tires of looking at each other? Check.

The feeling that you would protect them with your life? Check.

So, yes, John Watson was in love, by definition. But that didn't mean he would say it yet. Probably.

"Hey, mum, I'm probably won't be home until late tonight. Is that okay?" John said as he walked into the sitting room, his bag thrown over one shoulder. He didn't actually have plans yet, but if he knew Sherlock, which he did, he suspected they would be celebrating.

She took off her glasses and pushed her blonde hair back, wiping the glasses off and continuing the type away important texts on her phone. "Yes," she said absently. It was needless to ask at this point because John always stayed out after the last day of school, but he still said it anyway.

"'Kay, thanks," he said on his way out.

He practically ran to school, and was nearly sweating and short of breath by the time he got there. On the side of the building where the influx of kids filing in was thinning out, John saw the screen of a phone lighting up Sherlock's face and giving his dark brown hair a lighter tint on the bits that were being highlighted. He was sitting with his back to the wall and his knees pulled in and one hand delicately placed under his chin, giving his quite a sophisticated look.

John went over and tapped his shoulder, and Sherlock looked up, his admittedly rather angry-looking resting face turning into that beautiful smile of his. He held out his hand for John to pull him up, who rolled his eyes, but gladly obliged, kissing his jaw as he did so. Sherlock's arms snaked around his waist and pulled him against him, their chests touching.

"Let's skip today," John said.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," Sherlock said.

"I doubt they'll notice."

"No, they won't. I'm still taking you out tonight, though."

John smiled. "Somewhere fancy?"

"Of course. It's a celebration, isn't it?"

"Fine, but I'll probably look awful." John took Sherlock by the hand and pulled him towards him while walking backward. He gave him another quick kiss before turning around and walking, now with Sherlock at his side and still holding his hand.

"You don't look awful."

"You're too sweet, love."

With a sigh, Sherlock said, "John, you are the single most radiant thing in all of London, and it would be my honor to spend dinner with a creature as beautiful as you."

"Much better." Once they came to a stop near a tree somewhere, John pulled the box out of his pocket and handed it to him. "Here's your present," John said, holding out the box.

Grinning adorably bashfully, Sherlock took it and slowly undid the bow and paper, revealing a velvet black box that swung open.

"They're puzzle piece necklaces," he said, and they were.

One for Sherlock and one for John. Of course, the puzzle pieces fit together. The saleslady told him, Oh, your girlfriend will love these, and John almost immediately said no because the first time she said that, one of the necklaces had 'hers' written on it. But then he saw them and bought them, not even correcting the saleslady, which he did feel slightly guilty about.

"Yeah, I walked into that jewelry store with the intention to walk out of there with the cheesiest gift I could find."

"You succeeded," Sherlock said, going behind John to put one of the necklaces on him, the other one already around his neck and glistening in the sunlight almost as prettily as he did. "But I love them. Thank you."

Then, on cue, Sherlock gave John his present, which was in a bigger box, but weighed about the same as John's gift, if not a tad lighter. John opened it, feeling Sherlock's eyes intently watching him, almost looking nervous.

"You got me a new jacket," John said with a smile, holding it up. He almost asked how much it cost because damn, did it look expensive. It was grey (John's "color", according to Sherlock because where it looked dull on other people, it supposedly made his eyes stand out) and soft and fit perfectly and had round, smooth little black buttons on it.

"Did I get your size right? I was pretty sure I did."

"Yeah, fits great. How much was this?"

He was quiet for a moment. "To a lot of people, it would sound expensive, but . . ." he trailed off. "I got my mother's approval and everything. She said it was fine. She said, and I quote, 'that will look great on John.'"

"Tell your mum thanks. And it's fine. It's just that sometimes I forget how posh you are.'

"I'm posh?"

"You are the definition of posh." John leaned over and kissed him. "Thank you for the jacket. I might even consider giving you back the one of yours I've been holding captive since I was last at your house."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Is that where my leather jacket went?"

"It's very comfortable," John tried to say with a straight face, but ended up laughing at the glare he received from Sherlock. God, he loved him. He felt his heart speed up when he realized this was the first time he'd actually admitted it to himself in the complete form. And it felt okay to love him.

xxx

Dinner at a posh restaurant somehow led the conversation to coming out. It came up almost every date they had, when John was reminded of how ridiculously happy he was and how he didn't want to hide it from anyone anymore. It was getting exhausting, especially after the epiphany he'd had recently, which only made him want to make it public even more.

"I don't want to hide what we have forever," John abruptly while he was holding Sherlock's hand on the table.

"We can tell people whenever you're ready, I've told you before."

"It's my parents I'm most afraid of. I don't know how they'd react, but I have a feeling it'll be bad."

"You'll know when it's time, John. It might not be for a long time."

"I know, but when I get married, I don't want that to be me coming out. Because I want them to come to my wedding and accept it."

"Have you thought about how you're going to do it?"

"I don't know what I would say. What was it like for you?"

"Once my brother came out, it wasn't so hard. It was just, 'mum, dad, I'm gay,' and we moved on."

"How did your brother come out?"

Sherlock chuckled softly. "Well, I was twelve, and I was upset about my curly hair—"

"Why? Because all the cool scene kids on MySpace had straight hair?"

"Maybe."

"Oh, my God." John began to laugh, while Sherlock fake pouted. John reached over and ran his fingers through his hair, and Sherlock leaned into his touch, stealing a kiss from John's cheek. "For what it's worth, I think your hair is beautiful."

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "Anyway, it was at this family reunion, so we were surrounded by absolutely horrendous, bigoted people, and, Mycroft being Mycroft, says, 'my hair is straight,' to annoy me, and my father says, 'it isn't completely straight, Mycroft,' so Mycroft couldn't resist saying, 'just like me.' Loudly. In front of everyone. It was great. Everyone looked so horrified, and my mother tried to look disappointed, but you could tell she was trying not to laugh."

"See? You love him. Hell, I've never met him, and I love him. You always act like you hate him."

Sherlock appeared stubborn for a few seconds, but his features softened eventually. "Okay, fine, he was a fun older brother. It's good to have a teenage sibling when you're so young because they're more mature and manage to be like a sibling, but also like a parent at the same time. We were very close. He took me everywhere, whether he wanted to or not. It usually only took a tantrum or two to get my way with him. The point is that even if my parents didn't have time for me sometimes, he would."

And Sherlock couldn't mention this, but after the incident, when Mycroft walked in and saw Sherlock amongst their family, pretending everything was okay, and Sherlock still remembered the look on Mycroft's face before he walked over, grabbed him by the arm, yanked him aside and whispered in his ear, "Who was it?", clearly intent on killing the perpetrator, and with how he sounded and looked right then, Sherlock wouldn't have put it past him right then to find them and murder them.

"That's really sweet, actually," John said.

"Even though I called him a fat pig yesterday."

"And you ruined the moment."

"He was annoying me!"

"Be nice to him!" John said, amused, and then fell quiet. He looked down and twirled the straw in his drink, and he was still smiling, but it fell only slightly. "I have an older sister, you know," he finally said.

Sherlock stared for a while and blinked. "You don't talk about her much."

"Not many people do. I think my parents like to believe they don't have another child."

"What happened?"

John sighed, taking hold of Sherlock's hand and massaging it with his own, the cool, pale skin and all of its familiar lines and veins comforting him. "A lot of things. She's twenty now, but I haven't seen her since she was sixteen, almost seventeen. So I was like twelve," John said, recalling all of the information about her as it came back to him.

"She didn't get along with our parents. She never had. But when she became a teenager, things got really bad. She started drinking a lot. Smoking, too, and I think maybe some weed, but that wasn't as bad as the drinking—that was the worst part. And then . . ." He blew out a breath through his mouth. "She came out as a lesbian."

He went quiet, but Sherlock didn't say anything because he knew John wasn't finished. "That was it for our mum and dad. There was a huge, huge fight. It was terrifying, especially for a twelve-year-old who barely knew what being gay really was. So they kicked her out. She left that night, and it was so weird in the morning because everyone went along like she never even existed. I never said anything. Still haven't."

By now, John's smile had faded completely, leaving an impassive look on his face, like one he'd use walking down the street. But he always seemed to have the hint of a smile with Sherlock, if it wasn't a full-on smile. And when he didn't smile around him, that meant something was wrong.

Sherlock didn't know what to say. He was horrible in these situations; he always said the wrong thing. So he said nothing. He clasped John's other hand and gave both of them a simultaneous, reassuring squeeze and grazed over his skin with his thumbs, creating a mirror image on each hand.

They fell into a comfortable silence that required no words because there were none necessary. John wasn't really upset about it that much anymore and didn't mind Sherlock knowing, but they didn't have to further the discussion unless they chose to, which apparently they weren't.

After a few minutes, John smiled and retracted his hands back from Sherlock's, putting them in his lap. Sherlock's were left on the table, but he quickly moved them to himself again as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Stop looking at me so sad," John said. "It's okay, honestly. It was a long time ago. Let's just change the subject. You said there was a reason you brought me here? It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with, oh, I don't know, a certain important date that happened six months, perhaps, prior to today?" John asked with a wry smile.

Sherlock had almost completely forgotten. Now his pulse increased and his cheeks flushed all over again at the reminder of doing this. "No. Well, yes, we're celebrating our six month anniversary, but I brought you here for another reason."

He took a very deep breath and found that his voice has stopped working. Either his voice or mind, he wasn't sure, but no words would come. So he warmed himself up with an introduction. "John, I . . . I have something to tell you, but I don't know how. Well, I do, actually, it's a mere matter of making words come out of my mouth, but this is a lot more than that."

"Sherlock . . ." John began, sensing what was about to happen. But he didn't look nervous or tense or awkward, and at least he wouldn't laugh or reject him.

"Forget it. No, don't, I need to say it, I'm just nervous," Sherlock said at a rapid pace.

"Okay, Sherlock, calm down. What if I say it first, and then all you have to do is say it back?"

Sherlock swallowed sharply and nodded, tapping his knuckles against the table, a habit he hadn't intended to start until now.

John smiled and took both of his hands, taking a deep breath. He actually looked nervous. Why would he look nervous? He already knew that Sherlock was going to say it back. But neither of them had said it very much.

"Sherlock Holmes," John began, grinning even wider and squeezing his hands, "I love you."

And then all was right in the world. It was like their surroundings all melted away, along with every bad feeling Sherlock had ever felt in his life. It was like being born again, with nothing but those first words spoken to you, with no idea of what evil things were in the world.

Sherlock wasn't sure how long he sat there starry-eyed and smiling like an idiot, but he finally found his voice. "I love you, too," he said.

"That is what you wanted to say, right?" John giggled.

"Yes. It was," Sherlock replied with a small laugh.

John relaxed and kissed Sherlock's fingers. "I've never actually said that to anyone that way before."

"Neither have I. But I do truly love you."

"And I truly love you." Sherlock gently grabbed his chin and kissed him as John put his hands on either sides of his slim neck. "I'll never get tired of saying that," John said, inches from Sherlock's face. And then kissed him lightly. What a perfect way it was to end a school year.