At the end of school, Sherlock couldn't find John. After checking all the bathrooms, hallways and backyard he gave up, assuming John had left already. When he arrived home though, John wasn't there, nor did Sherlock see any evidence that John had been there recently. Rain was still pouring down in buckets, thunder crashed and a bolt of lightning cut across the sky.
His mum wouldn't let him go out to look. 'Too dangerous' apparently. Drivers will be blinded and slipping, hypothermia, blah blah blah. Stupid, Sherlock thought. By nightfall Sherlock was ready to sneak out. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, reaching out to John, wanting him close. Tears prickled the back of his eyes. Sherlock jumped off his bed and grabbed a sweater from his closet.
As soon as he opened the window though, someone knocked at his door. Not just someone. Him. Sherlock didn't even bother closing the window before rushing to open the door. John looked awful, cold: shivering, sad: faint tear tracks, tired: soaking wet, hair mussed, corners of mouth turned down.
They stood there for a moment before Sherlock pulled John gently in by the hand. John let himself be led into the room. Sherlock disappeared for a moment before returning with a fluffy towel. He wrapped the softness around John's shoulders and hugged him, rubbing his hands to try and warm up John.
John shuddered and tucked his arms in front of his chest, leaning closer to the warmth emanating from Sherlock.
Once John was warmed up enough to move, Sherlock shuffled through his drawers and tossed him a cotton shirt. Without hesitation, John peeled his wet, sticky shirt over his head and tossed it to the side.
Sherlock couldn't help staring at the strong 6-pack, muscular shoulders yet overall thin form. John smirked and purposely took a bit longer, and stretched a bit more than necessary slipping on the dry cloth.
"Wow." Sherlock could only say.
"You like?" John asked, still shivering a little.
Sherlock broke out of his trance and softened his smile, "How could I not like anything about you."
John smiled so softly it looked like he was going to cry. Sherlock had to look away or he would cry. He tossed John a pair of sweatpants, which John gratefully took, winked at Sherlock and went into the bathroom to change.
…
Later when John was tucked into Sherlock's chest lying in bed, Sherlock spoke while carding his hands through John's hair.
"You wanna talk about it?"
John shook his head, further snuggling his face into the soft material covering warm skin. Neither spoke for the rest of the night.
…
Wednesday consisted of few words spoken, a tense atmosphere and more rain.
Sherlock felt that John wasn't trusting him as much lately. A little stab of pain was ever present in his heart, yearning to know if John felt the same way about him and reminding him of the chance that John didn't feel the same and the possibility that it was happening again…
…
Thursday rolled around and John barely spoke a word all day, but he did hold Sherlock's hand under the table. All hope was not lost.
After school Sherlock caught John before he could run off just to return to the house at a late hour.
"John, wait, hey. Where are you going?" Sherlock walked alongside John.
"Oh, hey. Um, nowhere really, I'll meet up with you later, kay?" John said. Sherlock eyes dropped, his smile wiped from his face, a pained look in his eyes. He started to turn and walk away but John stopped him. "I'm sorry. I've been a bit rude and quiet and I've been blowing you off. How bout we get something from the café?" Would that be good?"
Despite his previous mood, John genuinely seemed apologetic. The corners of Sherlock's lips raised slightly and he nodded shyly.
"Good," John took Sherlock's hand and warmly kissed Sherlock's small smile. "Let's go then."
They walked in silence, but instead of tense silence like the days previous it was comfortable and peaceful. Thin clouds covered the sky, providing a perfect veil for the sun. Slowly the suburbs became the city, the noise of cars and people bustling home from work increased and the café came into view.
"That's weird," Sherlock said as they approached the door. The window was covered in black paper, opaque, blinding anyone from inside. Sherlock tried to open the door but it just rattled and stayed shut. Locked.
"Hm." John said, confused. "What now?"
"I know a place we can get drinks, then I don't know, maybe we could go to the park behind the library?" Sherlock suggested, just hoping John wouldn't bail.
"Yeah okay."
They each got a coffee from a bright corner shop and sipped slowly as they made their way to a little park. Thankfully it was empty, for children were home for dinner and the elderly have had their turn at feeding the birds. The rusting metal structure and swing set stood in a flat sea of pebbles. A soccer field lay behind, torn tufts of grass littered the whole area surrounding.
Sherlock went ahead and sat down on one of the swings, John followed. His feet dangled in the air, and so he swung slightly in the light breeze. For a few minutes neither spoke, until John finally talked.
"I'm sorry for neglecting you the past few days. I got a bit mad about being bullied and I took it out on you, so I'm sorry. I didn't want to say or do something I didn't mean. Can you forgive me?" John sadly looked down at the ground.
"Of course I forgive you John, I understand, you just needed time. And you told me a lot of personal stuff and I haven't really opened up. I trust you, really I do, it's just I wanted to forget about it, but I get a nagging feeling, every day that the same thing will happen and it scares me. You say you won't leave, and I believe you, but that feeling won't go away." Sherlock says kind of angrily.
"You can tell me anything, Sherlock, but if you don't I understand. Whatever you have gone through I promise I will do my best to prevent it from happening again." John smiled softly.
"Thank you," Sherlock whispered. "You've been so amazing, you deserve to know more…" Sherlock took a shaky breath. "I guess it started when I met Victor…"
