"Are you tickleish?" John asked as they soaked up the sun.
"A little wh-" Sherlock's sentence was cut off by John straddling his hips and tickling his sides. He squirmed underneath John howling
with laughter. When John finally gave in from the slapping and shouts of stop he got off from on top of Sherlock and sat next to him.
His face was red and blotchy from the heat. Sherlock sat up holding his arms around his waist to protect the ticklish areas and turned to face John. He reached out a hand toward John but retracted it quickly. John caught the hand before it was fully snatched away and held it gently between his fingers. Staring down at the pale skin in his fingertips he stroked his thumb across the top of Sherlock's hand. He flicked his eyes up to Sherlock whose gaze was firmly on their hands, he noticed his breathing had become shallow. With his other hand John lifted Sherlock's chin so that their eyes met. "Hi." Was all that John could muster and he swallowed hard after saying it.

John's hand moved from Sherlock's chin to his cheek. He felt the soft pale flesh and saw it flush pink. He pulled Sherlock closer to him, so much that their noses were inches from each other. "Hi." Sherlock squeaked back and pressed his lips lightly on John's. He slowly pulled his face away and searched over the tinted pink cheeks of the other boy, when the hand that was on his cheek was in his hair. The soft touch had become slightly rougher. They slid their lips over each others, it was messy and uncoordinated but nice. John's lips tasted salty from sweat and they were soft under Sherlocks. John pulled away from the embrace and sat up a bit straighter.
"Well urm we should probably get back.." He stood and began to dress. Sherlock hadn't moved, he was still in a sort of daze from what had just happened. He heard John cough and he snapped back, standing at an alarming pace and following the smaller boy out of the trees quickly.

They walked back to town in silence until they reached the statue where they had started.
"So urm i'll see you at school on Monday?" John asked quietly. Sherlock nodded trying to focus his brain. John left quietly. Pulling his thoughts together finally he turned and John was gone. Breathing out loudly he set off back towards his house. Sliding into the kitchen when he arrived home he dug through the cupboards to try and find something even slightly edible. Settling on a pack of chocolate biscuits and a tub of ready made cake icing he retreated to his bedroom. Grabbing his laptop he flung himself on his bed, ripping the lid of the tub of icing and delving his fingers into the gooey goodness. He browsed at new goggles and test tube racks while he licked the chocolate off his fingers. After eating half the tub and more than he cared to remember of the biscuits he threw them under his bed and shut off his laptop. He padded over to his wardrobe and pulled open the door. Glancing in the mirror he spotted the icing stuck to the corner of his lip. Wiping it away he pulled out his shirt and shorts, changing quickly he turned out the light and got into bed. He could feel the biscuits sitting in his stomach, he'd had a moment of weakness because he for once felt almost blissfully happy about the days events. Closing his eyes he hoped by morning the feeling would have gone.

Sherlock awoke the next morning feeling sick, sick with himself for having such a graphic dream. And for eating like a pig when he got in. Rising slowing he padded to the bathroom and shoved his fingers down the back of the his throat, but only managing to cough and spit out bile. His hands shaking as he brushed the horrid taste out of his mouth. Running his hands under the cold tap then through his matted curls he took a deep breath. He'd kissed John Watson yesterday. He turned on the shower and stepped in. Sitting in the dusty library at the rear of the house Sherlock gazed out of the large glass panels that made up one wall. Clutching the old book he'd been reading, his mind was hastily constructed another John related scenario. This time they were sat under the tree in the garden kissing and cuddling, one of his less graphic fantasies. His daydreaming wasn't even interrupted when the housekeeper entered the room. She balanced a tea tray and tapped the door as she entered the room.
"Tea Sherlock dear, that looks like an interesting book." a lovely yet rather flustered woman Mycroft has hired since their parents were rarely there.

Snapping the book shut he turned in his chair, just as she left the room. He looked down at the silver tea tray, she has used his favourite mug. A yellow and black striped one with bumble bee wings are the handle. She only used this one when she was either worried about him or was happy for him. She'd used it when he came home crying from primary school because some boys had thrown eggs at him, filled it with juice not tea. His John induced happiness was obviously more noticeable than he'd imagined it to be. He spent a good portion of the day filling his head with words only moving to pull the curtains across as the bright sun blazed through. Around 6.30pm he wandered into the kitchen and stopped blustering around the hob. Pans bubbling and a warm aroma radiating through the air.
"Evening Sherlock read anything interesting today?" She questioned hardly looking up from the pans. To which was answered with a small nod. He had began to think could read minds as she always knew what he was thinking. "So how's that lovely young lad you had over the other night?" Turning to face him with a warm smile as she spoke.

Picking up an apple from the fruit bowl he tossed it into his other hand and took a bite. "What about him?" Sherlock asked leaning his hips on the counter.
"What's his name?" She asked dropping in some kind of spice to a large pan.
"John Watson." He answered through a mouth full of apple. turned and gave his actions a disapproving look. He held his hands up in apology and turned to leave the kitchen.
"When are you seeing him again?" She called.
"Tomorrow." Throwing the apple in the bin as he left he walked back to the library and buried himself into a big dusty book.