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Mummy Holmes was still rubbing John's shoulders and back by the time he was finished explaining what happened. "It's all my fault," John sobbed into her shirt. "No John, it's not. Sherlock was simply being protective. He wouldn't do that for many people John, he cares about you deeply. It's not your fault." John stayed silent, still feeling guilty but at least a bit better.
"It's getting late John, why don't you go up to Sherlock's room and get some rest, it's been a long day."
John had one, left his stuff back in the alley and two, really needed a walk. "Thanks, but I think I need a walk. I'll find a place to sleep, I'm sorry, and thanks, for everything." Mum frowned but knew it was for the best, "Alright, but take some cookies. And promise you'll come over after work or whatever you need to do. I haven't seen Sherlock this happy since Victor, but you're different." Her eyes were solemn and swimming with unsaid words of the past. "Never mind that though, he needs you John, come for dinner, I'm making pasta." She pinched his cheek and gave him a paper bag containing a few chocolate chip cookies. They smelled delicious and John couldn't wait to indulge in them.
"Okay, I'll be there, thank you, again." John grinned politely. "You're welcome, have a good night, stay safe, if you need anything we're here." She responded with worry tainting her voice. John nodded and left the warm house, greeted by a welcomed cool gust of wind. His face was still soft and tender from crying and the breeze dried up his skin before long. He'd barely stepped down the porch before digging into a cookie, they were not disappointing. It's been too long since he tasted something so sugary and sweet and soft. John chewed slowly and softly, savoring the flavors exploding in his mouth. His taste buds thanked him.
The soft breeze harmonized with the rising full moon, stars twinkled above and the sounds of night engulfed him. Owls and the rustling of branches in the trees calmed John's racing heart. John walked past the school, past the park and took the back roads avoiding the city. Natural environments were more calming and contemplative then city lights and noises. John inhaled deeply, relishing in the smoothness of the air if that was possible.
Suddenly one set of footsteps turned to two. The padding of footsteps behind John were almost silent, stalker-like, obviously someone who has practiced the art of being sneaky, lying low. John tensed, aware of someone following him. John quickened his pace, wanting to get into the city where there would be witnesses. "John wait." A semi-familiar deep voice called behind him. John stopped in his tracks and briskly turned around, a perplexed look painted across his face. "Mycroft?" John inquired.
"I know this is unexpected and at this hour not much appreciated, but I need to talk to you about Sherlock. I am his older brother and therefore responsible for him not getting hurt, physically and emotionally." Mycroft walked up to John. "Let's walk." He said and started walking, long strides which John struggled to match. "Mycroft, wha-"but the elder Holmes held up a finger to silence him. "Just listen. Don't speak. My brother is special. He picks people to care about and sticks by them, blocking out all else. He focuses mainly on one person at a time, whether it be a friendship, romantic entanglement, sibling or another such phase. Ever since Molly left, Sherlock chose you. He chose you whether you like it or not. I must warn you however if you hurt my brother in any way shape or form I will take action. Despite his cool outside my brother can be very sensitive and emotional, so be careful what you say to or about him. Out of everyone he's ever taken interest in I have to say he is best paired with you. You give him life John, and if you leave then he will be broken. I don't know if it's a phase or if it's a forever commitment thing, but John, please, do not cast aside my brother." Mycroft paused to breathe. "He's fragile."
As this was sinking in, John carefully weighed his words. "Mycroft, I have no intention of hurting Sherlock. He is my first and only true friend and I care deeply for him. I will try my hardest not to hurt him." Now John was worried, what if he did hurt Sherlock. What if this was a phase and Sherlock would just one day decide that John wasn't good enough.
"Relax John, I doubt my brother will ever cast you away, as I said, you make him happiest. Plus, you make a cute couple." Mycroft's gaze glanced over to see John's face slightly red in the moonlight before returning to staring ahead.
"Er, we're not a couple." John said. Maybe he thought of Sherlock in other ways, but he was perfectly fine being his friend. Sherlock wasn't interested in more, as far as he knew. "We're friends." John added, for himself more than Mycroft's information. "Yes well, one of you will have to make a move, it's getting rather pitiful when you look at each other when the other isn't looking." Mycroft muttered under his breath and raised his eyebrows, perhaps realizing he's said too much. "Goodnight John." Mycroft said pointedly then disappeared in the shadows. "Wait, Mycroft, what do you mean? Mycroft?" But the Holmes was gone as quickly as he had appeared. John groaned, great, more stuff to think about. Exhausted, John walked to the alleyway and crawled into his space, the familiar yet uncomfortable dirt floor and rough dirty blanket.
John's mind was restless, filled with thoughts of Sherlock, and what it would be like to be more than just friends, if Sherlock would be comfortable or willing. John would be a good boyfriend, take him out for dinner and compliment him constantly. How could one not find Sherlock attractive, how one could not want to run their fingers through Sherlock's curls or hold his long slender fingers or kiss his beautiful Cupid's bow lips would be a mystery to John. I'm a teenager pining over my best friend, this will definitely turn out great. I mean, even his family thinks we look good together, what if Sherlock finds that repulsive? What if Sherlock isn't gay, or bi, or simply just not interested in me?
John groaned into the crook of his arm and fell asleep.
