Haha, I know I'm cruel but this chapter was getting far too long, so I had to cut it off. And I know I keep saying this, so hopefully I'll take it to heart sooner or later… I have exams that I need to study for! Sherlock and John, GET OUT OF MY HEAD FOR THE NEXT THREE WEEKS AND LET ME STUDY! I'm going to try my best to study, but you guys might get a chapter or two before my exams are over. We'll see how badly my procrastination gets :P Thank you for reading this far, I really appreciate your interest. Reviews are very encouraging and I love receiving them!

I (sort of) have the next four to five chapters mapped out, but if there's something you would like to see in the story, send me a PM and I'll do my best to fit it in if it works with my story!

Also, I'm super sleep deprived and I haven't reread this chapter or edited it yet. Will hopefully have time to do that tomorrow. Once I do, I will remove this note. However, if you see something that isn't right, or doesn't make sense, please let me know! :D

Exams soon arrived and the stress level elevated tenfold for John.

"John, don't worry about it. Stressing out will only make your mark worse." Sherlock looked down at John. He wanted so badly to lean in and kiss the worry away. Sherlock wasn't good at self-restraint, and his resolution was wearing thin, very thin.

"Oh, thanks, Sherlock. Very helpful. I feel so reassured now." John knew Sherlock didn't catch the sarcasm, and that Sherlock had only meant to encourage him with his peculiar words. He looked up into Sherlock's eyes, getting lost in them for the millionth time, until Sherlock turned away focusing on something, anything in the room that could distract him. John wished he could enter Sherlock's mind, just for a moment so he could better understand his struggles. It pained John to think how empty and alone Sherlock's life could be, abandoned by his emotions. He was left there trying to find a place in the world that would accept him for who he was. John wanted to be that place, be there for Sherlock. He wanted to fight anyone who tried to discourage Sherlock, he wanted to… love Sherlock.

Love? John had never used that word in reference to anyone outside of family. Love. I can't love Sherlock, I'm in a relationship with Jeanette. Anyways, I'm not gay. We're just really good friends. John nodded his head in mental agreement, and turned to look up at Sherlock. He was zoned out, subtly moving his hands in thought. He's not interested in me anyways, he's not interested in anyone. But that doesn't matter because I don't like boys, I like Jeanette and that's who I'm with.

The argument sounded weak, even in his mind. But John couldn't be gay. The thought overwhelmed and scared him. He was straight. He was with Jeanette. He liked Jeanette. Those three thoughts are the only thing that kept images of Sherlock from entering his mind. Even if he was gay – which he wasn't – how could John even begin to tell Sherlock that he fancies him? Hah, fancies. Nobody fancies Sherlock. It was an all or nothing thing with Sherlock. You couldn't be sort-of, but not completely, sure that you may or may-not have a crush on him. You do, or you don't. And what happens if he doesn't reciprocate my feelings? Sherlock wouldn't want to see me after a confession like that. Even worse, what if he does and becomes bored of me? I couldn't survive without him. And what of Jeanette? If I ever confessed to something like that, we'd be over for sure. John paused. What on earth am I thinking about? Admitting homosexual feelings – that I don't have – to Sherlock? Wow, do I need to get laid. Maybe I'll call Jeanette tonight and apologize for whatever it is that I've done wrong now. Maybe she'll let me stay the night.

John sat next to Sherlock, who was still deep in thought, until Sherlock finally came out of his state.

"Want to do a little more studying before the final?" Sherlock looked around his dorm room and spotted the bed. If not, there are other things we can do…

"Every bit helps, I guess."

They opened up their bags and took out their notebooks. Sherlock sat close to John, as they had been for the past few weeks after their first study session together. He would occasionally lean over closer to John, to put an emphasis on certain details or to point out important concepts. There was almost nothing that Sherlock wouldn't do to put his arm around John when he did that, longing to pull him in for a deep snog. But John was with Jeanette, he was called for. Sherlock shouldn't care, but he couldn't lose his only friend. Occasionally, he thought he saw something in John's face that desired physicality, but it would pass as quickly as it had appeared.

As John worked on a question, Sherlock pulled away just far enough that he could admire him. His multi-coloured, sandy hair was a bit out of place, and his face was scrunched up in concentration. He was wearing a striped jumper and beige trousers that had become wrinkled from sitting at the desk. He looks perfect. His arm moved in short, rapid movements with each pencil stroke creating John's signature chicken scratch. Sherlock moved back in once John finished the question. The air around John smelled of him, a rich, smooth smell. Nothing over-powering but completely intoxicating to Sherlock. God, I want him.

Sherlock watched John for the rest of the night, consumed with lust. He tried his best to explain the homework through his foggy brain, but was failing horribly.

John figured that Sherlock was tired, so he bid Sherlock goodnight and left. Sherlock paced his room, his mind still muddled by desire. He paced that way for most of the night. He knew that if he should fall asleep, his innermost dreams would come true and he wasn't going to give into any of those bodily urges. His crotch had been tingling all evening with John there, and Sherlock wasn't going to give in to it.

He checked his computer again. There was a new message from Lestrade, more cases to be solved. They had been corresponding for the last few weeks, and Sherlock had met him in person a few times. He was too young for his position, but he was doing the best he could. And best, by definition, was consulting Sherlock. Sherlock half-heartedly replied to Lestrade's email, then put a jacket on and went for a walk for lack of anything better to do.

At around 6 am, Sherlock received a text. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket as quickly as possible, hoping it was John.

I haven't heard from you since I gave you Lestrade's name. And believe it or not, Sherlock, I do care how you are. –MH

Sherlock didn't bother to reply, he could have sworn that they had an unwritten rule to only text in emergency situations or when Mycroft needed help with a case. Sherlock put his phone back into his coat and continued to walk slowly, lost in thought. Another text alert caught his attention.

Sherlock, where are you? The exam is starting in 15 minutes! –JW

Sherlock checked the time, it was 8:45 am. He slowly headed back towards the school, exams were the last thing on his mind. At 8:55 am, he was nearing the school. He received another text.

Sherlock, at least let me know if you're alive. I'll hold you a seat if you are. –JW

Sherlock made it to the school with a minute to spare and entered the examination room. He spotted John immediately who was sitting next to an empty desk looking worried. As soon as John saw Sherlock, his anxiety turned to anger.

"Why didn't you let me know if you were coming?"

"My mobile died." Sherlock didn't have to lie, but it was easier than explaining that he was too lost in thought – thinking of John – to type properly on the tiny keyboard.

John looked disbelieving at Sherlock and opened his mouth to say something. Luckily for Sherlock, the professor came into the room at that moment and addressed the class. Sherlock smiled and shrugged at John and received an icy glare in return.

The exam went by slowly for Sherlock and far too quickly for John. A pattern of last-minute cram sessions followed by long tests occurred all week until they had each finished all five exams.

The campus that Friday night was alive. Students flooded the dorms with alcohol and music. Each dorm that wanted to participate in the party would leave the door from the outer hallway to their common room open. Anyone could enter and the party was different in each room. Some common rooms had beer pong, others had pizza and movies, and others had stoners watching strange Youtube videos labelled "Watch While You're High." John had slowly meandered from room to room, checking out each party. The rooms with free booze were easy to spot by the number of people in them and the intoxicated people crashing on the floor wherever there was room.

John found his way to Sherlock's dorm, and its door was open. Inside there were Sherlock's roommates, all gaming on the Playstation 3. A few boys John didn't recognize had joined as well. There was one girl sitting amongst the boys, just as into the game as the guys were. And from their shouts, she was slaughtering them.

John made his way to Sherlock's room at the end of the hall. He knocked twice and entered when he heard the familiar, deep voice say, "Come in."

"Wanna go check out some of the parties?" John studied Sherlock who was sitting, perching more like, in the centre of his bed with his hands drawn together in front of his face.

Sherlock's mop of dark curls moved back as Sherlock looked up at John.

"What good will that do?" Sherlock had no interest in surrounding himself with drunken buffoons.

"Consider it a social experiment," John replied with a coy smile, and Sherlock almost melted. He tried his best to gain composure before he retorted, "I suppose, if that is something you find fun."

John didn't even mind Sherlock's snap, he was just excited to go out and drink, and glad that he would have Sherlock there with him. Together they left – one excited and one bored. They started down a hall that John hadn't been down yet, but the parties weren't vastly different from the ones he'd already seen. They found a room that was busy, but not too full. A girl welcomed them in and explained the 'Room Rules' to them. Apparently, to stay in their room you have to take part in a beer chugging contest. After chugging two pints, you're allowed to stay as long as you want. John looked at Sherlock, silently asking him if he wanted to take part. Sherlock shook his head. John flashed him a teasing smile.

"You only live once, Sherlock. Annnd, I bet I can take you down."

Sherlock wanted to point out that John drank often enough that his body was somewhat accustomed to alcohol, so he would most likely win on that basis alone.

Instead, Sherlock agreed to his dare.

They walked up to the table with all the pints, grabbing one cup in each hand.

John looked at Sherlock. "Ready?"

Sherlock nodded. "Set."

Together they yelled, "GO!" and started chugging as quickly as possible.

The harsh taste of alcohol burned down Sherlock's throat. Why do people do this on a regular basis? John however found his first taste of beer to be refreshing after the tedious exam period. They surprisingly finished their first glass around the same time, John a little ahead. They paused for a second to stare each other down, competition heavy in their blood. They both took off on their second glass, small streams flowing down each chin from around the cup. Sherlock took one last glance at John and finished his cup, setting it harshly down on the table. Only when he finished did he realize that the room was watching them drink and were shouting, "CHUG, CHUG, CHUG!"

John looked at Sherlock in amazement. "Yo-You beat me! I'm impressed, Sherlock. Really impressed!"

Sherlock grinned, and when he did he noticed that his face felt funny. He blinked to clear his head and the blink felt as though it lasted for minutes instead of seconds. He felt light headed but oh, so good. The constant ramblings of his brain had finally slowed down, allowing him to rest from the incessant noise. He turned to look at John, and his vision took a while to catch up with his head. Oh God, John looks so good. His eyes are on fire, if fire could be blue. His face is flushed. He seems to shine from the light around him. His lips look so soft… I wonder if the room will stop spinning if I'm locked onto John, my lips against his..?

Sherlock started to lean in and lost his balance. John caught him, explaining to the laughing crowd that this was probably his first drink. He pulled Sherlock over to a nearby couch and sat him down.

"Are you okay, Sherlock?" John had completely sobered up, looked worriedly at his friend.

"Shwell," Sherlock slurred, his head bobbed as he turned to look at John.

"Haha, why don't we take a stroll and walk it off?" John didn't wait for Sherlock's reply. He picked him up, man-handled is probably a better word, for Sherlock was much heavier than John expected. He finally got one of Sherlock's arms around his shoulders and tried to lift.

"Sherlock, you need to help! Stand up when I try to lift you!" John's face was contorted in effort and he was grunting at the attempt.

"Ohhhhhhh, riiiighhhht." Sherlock tried to lift his body but slumped over. John was there to prevent the fall. They tried twice more before they got Sherlock on his own two feet. They began walking, slowly to prevent any falls. They walked the halls for 10 or so minutes, and in that time, Sherlock's head began to clear. He was by no means sober, but his body had finally dealt with the flux of alcohol he had chugged. Sherlock played up his drunkenness for a while so he was able to keep his arm around John. John was starting to tire under the weight of Sherlock and the influence of two chugged pints. Sherlock regretfully retrieved his arm from John's shoulder. They continued down the hall until they found another open door. People in here were taking shots.
"Let's try some," Sherlock suggested questioningly to John.

"Are you sure you're okay to drink more?" John looked at Sherlock who had, in all fairness, regained his ability to stand and talk.

The residents of this room charged for shots, but Sherlock didn't mind paying. He ordered two of a variety of shots: jello, rocky mountain bear fucker, tequila, bottle cap, and skittles. As each flavour came, Sherlock and John would count to three and shoot them. Sherlock felt fantastic when the shots were done, however the alcohol shifted throughout his body as soon as he stood up. It hit him hard, making him sick but extremely relaxed at the same time.

John had a similar experience, feeling the alcohol's full effect upon standing up. He looked at Sherlock to see how he was doing, and his drunken brain reeled at the sight. Sherlock was dishevelled and completely perfect. His hair was everywhere, curls sticking any way they could. His coat arm was wrinkled from being around John's shoulder. His face was no longer his normal pale tone, but a pinkish shade that suited him perfectly. His lips were bright red and his eyes were glossy. John could feel himself starting to get hot and bothered. Not here. Bloody hell, Sherlock shouldn't be allowed to look like that.