Author's Note: First of all, thanks so much to everybody who has favourited, followed or reviewed this story. It really means a lot and inspires me to keep writing. Just a few notes re where this story is going. The focus is going to be on the guys as adults rebuilding their relationship. Sherlock's trust has been shattered by John in a big way. John needs to come to terms with what he's done. Just to let you know, I absolutely love John. He is in no way the villain of this piece. I just think that he may have done some things when he was younger that he's not proud of as an adult, as I'm sure we've all done. So yes, you may hate him at the end of this chapter but please believe me it will get better as I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Any out of character behaviour I'm very sorry for but this is how I see the characters!
Thank you again for all your reviews, they really mean a lot. Even those who stay silent but favourite and follow I love you all too. On with the show. And please don't hate me after this chapter…
Chapter Three
Betrayal
The next few days pass by quickly. John spends most of his waking hours either in school or at Sherlock's. He only returns home for meals and to sleep. His father seems to think he's hanging out with Joe and Rob and only lashes out occasionally.
Soon enough Thursday rolls around and John thinks that it might be time to broach the subject of the party with Sherlock. He's got to know the other boy well enough to realise that he'll be resistant to the idea at first.
"Absolutely no way."
"Sherlock…"
"No, John. I will not go with you to this party. I have far better things to do."
"It'll be fun." He feels terrible even saying it.
"It will not be fun. It'll be tedious and dull, like everything else you people enjoy."
John takes a step back. "What?"
"Oh don't take it so personally. You know what I mean. Are you going to help me with this project or not?"
"Why's it all about the work with you, Sherlock? Why can't you just relax for once in a while?"
"This is relaxing for me," Sherlock retorts, flipping his hair back with one hand. "Just because you feel the need to go out and get hopelessly drunk, does not mean I have to. If you want to make out with that whore Amy Fuller then that's up to you."
"She's not a whore, Sherlock!" John exclaims. "Why would you even say that?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm not going to this party."
"Please, Sherlock."
"Why are you pushing this?" Sherlock's brow is creased in confusion. "Why do you want me to go so much?"
For one split second, John is tempted to blurt out the whole thing. The way Sherlock's piercing eyes are staring at him, he has a feeling the younger boy knows exactly what he's thinking anyway. That feeling is swiftly overtaken by fear. If he lets Sherlock know what's planned, the popular group will reject him. His life at home will become unbearable. He'll be attacked from all corners. Sherlock… Sherlock isn't worth it. He's tough. He'll cope.
"Because it'll be fun and I want you there. Please do this. For me."
Sherlock bites his lip and gazes at John. John is just steeling himself to being an outcast forever when Sherlock replies.
"Alright. I'll go with you. But not for long. I leave when I want, okay?"
John exhales loudly with relief. "Fine. Great!" He turns to go and then Sherlock catches hold of his arm.
"Aren't you coming to mine tomorrow evening like usual? For the project?"
John scratches at the back of his neck. "Ah, no. My dad wants me and Harry home as soon as we finish school. He's got something he wants to tell us, apparently."
Sherlock shuffles slightly. "John… if things aren't brilliant with your parents, you would tell me, correct? That's what friends do, isn't it? And you know you can always stay here."
John blinks. "Sherlock, I really appreciate that. Honestly. But it's nothing I can't handle." He glances at his watch. "I should go. I'll come by about seven Saturday evening though? And I'll see you at school tomorrow."
Sherlock nods absently, those amazing eyes still scanning John's face. "Fine. I presume there's no dress code for this party?"
John laughs, although the guilt is now almost tearing him into pieces. "No. Just come as you are."
XXXXXXXXXX
After school on Friday, John lets himself into his house feeling anxious. His parents haven't said a word about what they want to speak to him and his sister about and he's fearing the worst.
The living room is silent when he drops his bag. Then he hears muted voices from the kitchen.
"Johnny? Is that you?"
He rolls his eyes as he pads towards the kitchen. "Yes, it's me."
His mother, father and sister are all sat at the table. For once, his sister has a cup of tea sat in front of her. His parents have what looks like an entire bar set out in front of them and seem to be making serious inroads into the bottles if the glazed expressions are anything to go by. John grimaces and sits down.
"Right, we're all here, let's get on with it," his father slurs. "I've been offered a job. It's a brilliant position at a new factory. I'll be the overseer. Payrise, better accommodation… the lot."
John feels a knot growing in his stomach. Not this again.
"It's a brilliant opportunity," his mother says, locking eyes with both him and Harry.
"We're moving Monday morning," his father says bluntly. "I've already made arrangements with your schools and your new one in Leeds."
"Leeds!" Harry chokes out. "What the fuck are you talking about? Leeds?"
John is shocked into silence. Monday. That's… less than three days. What about Sherlock?
"There's no point arguing with us about this," his dad states firmly. "We're moving. That's it."
"Why are you telling us this now?" Harry wails. "What about my friends? I have a life here! I thought this was the last time. You said!"
"You'll make new friends Harriet," his mum says weakly.
"Don't call me that!" she shouts. "John… back me up here!"
But John is beyond words. Everything… down the drain. All his effort… for nothing. He'll be back to being the unpopular nerdy bloke. He can't let that happen. If anything he needs to get into his role at the party tomorrow more than ever. He needs to be the centre of the popular crowd. If he can pretend to them, he can pretend to anyone.
Sherlock briefly crosses his mind but he pushes that thought to one side. He can't be having a guilt trip now. In the scale of his life, Sherlock ranks very low. They've been sort of friends for a little less than a month. This is his life.
Instead of responding he pushes his chair back and walks upstairs. Distantly he can hear the shouting and screaming beginning, along with the sound of smashing glass. He crawls into bed and presses his face into the pillow, tears soaking into the fabric. He cries for his life and for the fledgling relationship he's now lost with Sherlock.
XXXXXXXXXX
All of Saturday, John avoids his family. When six o'clock rolls around he begins getting ready. He dresses to impress with his favourite pair of dark denim jeans, a tight blue t-shirt and his prized leather jacket. Grabbing his phone, keys and wallet he shoves his feet into a pair of beat-up converses and walks outside to the waiting taxi.
The taxi drops him off at Sherlock's house at about quarter to seven. He's early and he shuffles on the porch before finally getting up the nerve to ring the doorbell. For some ridiculous reason he feels like he's knocking at the door of a prospective girlfriend, waiting to meet her family.
Jean opens the door and welcomes him in.
"Sherlock's still in his room. D'you want to go up?"
"Nah, I'll wait here if that's alright." The less he has to do with Sherlock now, the better. He knows what he's going to do to him tonight and the guilt is like a solid weight in his gut which refuses to go away. At the same time, he doesn't see any other option. He has to look out for number one now.
Then he sees Sherlock coming down the stairs and his world grinds to a halt.
Sherlock is wearing the skinniest pair of jeans he's ever seen in his life. They do sinful things to the younger boy's arse and also John's groin. A tight silver shirt is tucked into the jeans, emphasising the slender waist and surprising musculature of Sherlock's chest. He has a black jacket draped around his shoulders and his dark curls look to have some sort of product in them. It's clear he's made an effort.
"Ready to go?" he asks bluntly as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. His eyes rake over John once, twice… three times. "You look… good," he says eventually.
"Thank you," John replies, miraculously without stuttering. He would like to repay the compliment because it's very obvious that Sherlock does look very, very good, but that would be going against his distancing policy. So instead he just leads the way out to the waiting taxi.
XXXXXXXXXX
Ryan's house is the biggest on the street, which shouldn't really surprise John. Sherlock pays the taxi and they head up the driveway. All around them people are shrieking, laughing and drinking, even at only twenty past seven.
"This is going to be hideous," Sherlock hisses at him as they approach the front door which is wide open. Golden light spills out onto the path as they cross the threshold.
"Oh, it won't be that bad," John responds, hating himself even as he says it. "Get a drink down you. We'll head to the kitchen after saying 'hi' to Ryan."
"Oh joy," Sherlock says sarcastically, but nevertheless follows him through the crowd. Eventually they find Ryan in the midst of a throng in the living room.
"Ryan! Hey!" John shouts, shouldering his way through the people. Ryan, his face already flushed with alcohol, turns to him.
"Johnny! Wassup? And look, you brought Sherlock!" he aims a very obvious wink in John's direction. Terrified, John glances at Sherlock but luckily for him the other boy is looking in the opposite direction.
"Great party," John says. "We're gonna get a drink. See you in a bit."
"Yeah, you will," Ryan says, winking again. John tugs Sherlock swiftly in the direction of what he hopes is the kitchen.
"What was all that winking for?" Sherlock questions as John pops the cap off a couple of beers.
"No idea. Bottoms up!"
Sherlock eyes his drink with distaste and takes a tiny sip.
XXXXXXXXXX
Three hours later and John is blazing. He's lost count of the number of drinks he's had but it must be a few because his head is feeling pleasantly blurry.
"John, I think you've had enough." Sherlock's voice is at his ear. "Come on, I think we need to sober you up."
"'m'fine," John slurs, though he lets Sherlock lead him upstairs to the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind them and John leans over the basin while Sherlock runs the cold water.
"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asks, looking completely out of his depth.
"Drunk," John mumbles and then laughs a little. He cocks his head at himself in the mirror. "Look! I'm my dad!"
"Don't say that," Sherlock says, frowning. "You're nothing like him."
"I'm more like him than you know," John says, his tongue loosened by the alcohol. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock."
"What are you sorry for?"
John blinks and focuses back on the porcelain of the sink. "Nothing. It's just… I'm not worth anything. I'm not worth your time, Sherlock. You deserve much better than me."
Suddenly he feels a faint, cool pressure on his jaw. Sherlock's long fingers are pulling his face around.
"John, I… I really like you. I don't like to hear you deride yourself. And I…" Sherlock seems to give up on words. Instead he swallows hard and John has a split second to notice the fear in Sherlock's eyes. And then those cupid-bow lips are on his and he sighs. It is so good. It's perfect, and it's a cliché but it feels like coming home. His lips move as he begins to kiss Sherlock back. And then the bathroom door bursts open.
"What the fuck! You freak!"
John, in his inebriated state, is aware of pounding footsteps and suddenly Sherlock is no longer in his arms. He blinks slowly, disorientated.
"Get him out of here guys! Show him what we think of him! John… mate, are you alright? Shit, he must've forced himself on you. Guys, take the freak downstairs yeah?"
Dimly John recognises Rob's voice. Joe and Ryan are also there. He sees Sherlock being yanked out of his arms by Ryan and Joe. The younger boy looks terrified and sick. His face is chalk white.
"John? John! Please!"
"Shut up, freak. He's the one who got you here in the first place. He knows you need to be put in your place. Isn't that right, John? Fuck and he forced himself on you. Always knew the freak was a faggot."
"John!" the last word is a whimper. "Please."
John's head swims and he turns and vomits into the basin.
A few minutes later and he feels steady enough to leave the bathroom. His head is still swimming as he descends the stairs. The house seems oddly devoid of people until he reaches the ground floor and sees the scene in the living room.
Sherlock is in the centre, on the floor, curled into a foetal ball. His nose is gushing blood and soaking his beautiful silver shirt. The guys gathered around him include Joe, Rob and Ryan amongst others. As John gapes in drunken horror he sees them aiming kicks at Sherlock's prone form while the rest of the party laugh and point. Through the throng he catches Sherlock's gaze and his stomach threatens to repeat on him again.
Those eyes, full of pain, fear, anger and betrayal.
He's going to be sick again. Tearing his gaze away from Sherlock he runs for the door. He makes it outside and then throws up into a bush. Fumbling his mobile from his pocket he calls for a taxi.
