John stayed at Derek's pretty much all day Saturday, playing video games, kicking a ball around outside, normal teenage boy things, though John couldn't help wondering how Sherlock was. He seemed pretty upset that John wasn't staying with him last night, and now they had to wait until Sunday to see each other. John supposes he could go to Sherlock's in the evening, when he'll be home, but decides to let the family have some time.
Ever since John came into Sherlock's life he's practically invaded their family, however much Sherlock's mum says they don't mind.
John sleeps on a park bench that night, underneath the stars with a warm breeze as a blanket. He falls asleep, thinking of the night Sherlock rescued him in this very spot. John will never forget the words whispered into his ear, ghosting across his neck. Live for Sherlock Holmes.
…
Sunday morning, despite sleeping on a bench, John finds the sun high in the sky. Crap. He and Sherlock were supposed to spend the whole day together, and it was almost noon already. John sits up, rubs his eyes and slaps his cheeks before standing and practically sprinting to Sherlock's house.
Half an hour later, John arrives panting at the front door. No car in the driveway. John knocks on the door, exhaustion dripping from his limbs. Sherlock answers a moment later, a small smile lifting his face for a moment. John steps over the threshold and takes off his shoes while Sherlock closes the door behind him.
"Are we alone?" John asks once his task is finished.
"Yes." Sherlock says, walking into the living room, alight with streams of sunlight from the window.
John briefly questions the bluntness of the answer, but quickly gets over it, following Sherlock. Before Sherlock can sit down though, John puts a hand on his shoulder, lightly tugging to get him to turn around. Sherlock complies, a soft look on his face.
John leans up and loops an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. "Good, cause then I can do this," John whispers and tilts his face to connect their lips. Sherlock leans into it, sighing and letting all his doubts fall out.
Their eyes are closed, mouths moving slowly and softly, all the time in the world.
…
Despite their make-up make out, a tense string of unspoken conversation hangs in the air. Though they sit close, they are worlds apart, John's lies tied up in the string. Kissing Sherlock is the only time he can get peace from his guilt because Sherlock is his whole world and John tries to convey that through his kiss.
Though they both feel the tension, neither speak aloud their thoughts. It remains this way all night, although they sleep curled up together, the warmth is weaker and the room is darker.
…
Monday morning, John wakes up before Sherlock. Still feeling guilty but giddy of the thought of his surprise. When can he plan it? Get the stuff? All this without Sherlock knowing. By the time John lightly shakes Sherlock's shoulder to wake him up, only 10 minutes remain before they have to leave for school.
…
"So, where'd you sleep those nights?" Sherlock asked, shoulder's tense, hands clenched in fists as he walks alongside John.
"Oh, you know, Angelo let me sleep on his couch in his office, and Saturday just the park bench." John takes a deep breath. This feels wrong but Sherlock might get mad if he knew the truth. Too late now.
Sherlock just hums and continues walking with a straight face.
…
At lunch, John convinces Sherlock to stay inside. It's a bit chilly out, and John wants Isaac, Derek and Victoria to get to know Sherlock a bit more, to help him make the surprise perfect, but of course things go bad before they can go good.
"John! I had so much fun Friday, we should definitely do that again!" Victoria squeals, winking at him. John's heart stops, Victoria, after noticing Sherlock behind him, looks back at John realizes her mistake. "No- I- I didn't mean- it's not what you think- I swear nothing happened- Oh gosh I'm making this worse, I'm so sorry." Her words don't register in Sherlock's head. He doesn't realize she's already sent an apologetic look towards John and made a beeline. He's frozen.
John turns to him. "Sherlock I swear I didn't do any-" But Sherlock cuts him off.
"You lied." He says. A fact. Sherlock stands there, tears behind his eyes. "You said you were at work, but you were with… her… I thought-I thought you…" but he doesn't finish. John tries to grab his hand but Sherlock tears it away, shaking his head and backing away. Before John can stop him he turns and runs out of the school, not looking back.
John puts his head in his hands, in the middle of the hallway, now alone. What have I done?
…
John doesn't go home that night. Instead he walks. Not to anywhere in particular, just silently treads along cement sidewalks. Unaware of the time, John ends up on a lonely road, far from the school with the moon high in the air.
Nearing midnight. John's stomach growls, now unused to missing dinner. Dim streetlamps provide a soft glow in the thin layer of fog blanketing the ground. John stops, stilling the mist around his feet. His mind is blank, tears all fallen. Now he is a statue. Mechanically, John turns on his heel and heads back toward the school.
In very early morning, about 2:30, John lies awake in a ditch, the soil cool and damp against his neck. Only one thing is on his mind. Gaining forgiveness.
He doesn't realize that Sherlock skipped fifth period, and hasn't returned to the school since lunch. He is unaware that Sherlock is curled up in his bed, clutching his pillow to his chest and silent tears are streaking down his face.
He is aware however, that he made a mistake and needs to fix it before he loses the only person that he has, the only person that matters, the one he loves.
