"Holy mother of God!" John shouted, "What the bloody hell? Ow! Ow! Ow!"
Sherlock rushed out of the bathroom to find John hopping up and down on one foot. He was clutching the other in his hands.
"Sherlock!" John shouted, "Why would you put a book where my feet go?"
"Ha! It worked!" Sherlock bellowed in delight, "It worked, it worked. I'm so clever."
"What are you on about?" John grumbled, lowering himself back onto his bed.
"Listen to yourself, John," Sherlock grinned at him.
"What do you mean "listen to myself-," John halted suddenly.
I wasn't stuttering. He thought, in shock.
"I'm not stuttering," he said, "I'm not stuttering Sherlock!"
"I did say it was psychosomatic," Sherlock stated.
It had been days since Sherlock had told him about that. He hadn't given it a second thought at all. He'd been too busy worrying about who Mycroft was. He brought a hand to his mouth and brushed his fingers to his lips gently.
"Oh," John whispered.
"You see, John," Sherlock said, "You felt that you were weaker than others. You subconsciously told yourself that you were. So your subconscious decided you needed some sort of disablement. It came in the form of your stutter. I knew it was psychosomatic, because while you told me your story, you had no stutter and the nurse said you had no stutter when you first met her. Times when you were entirely focused on something, you had no stutter. So therefore psychosomatic."
"Wow, I didn't realize," John said, marveling in his steady voice.
"I'm so happy," Sherlock knit his eyebrows together, "And I'm not sure why."
"You're happy for me, silly," John grinned at him.
"Oh, right," Sherlock responded, "That…makes sense."
John shook his head and smiled at Sherlock's confused face.
"And it's gone," John said, "Just like that, it's all gone."
"Once your mind consciously realized it, it stopped," Sherlock shrugged.
"Huh," John rubbed his face, "That still hurt though."
"Oh. Sorry," Sherlock's excitement died down a bit at that, "Are you ok?"
"I'm fine," John muttered.
"Would you like to have sex again?" Sherlock asked, suddenly.
"Wh-what?" John sputtered, "Now? We have classes, Sherlock!"
"I meant some time," Sherlock said, "Not necessarily right this moment."
"Oh," John blushed and bowed his head, "If you want to, I guess."
"John," Sherlock sighed, "People have sex because they both want to, not just because one wants to."
"But I don't care, Sherlock," John tried to sound reassuring, "It doesn't matter to me. We can if you want to."
"Oh," Sherlock turned away suddenly, "I thought that it…meant something to you. I understand. Well, I think I'd better get to class now. See you later."
"Wait, Sherl-," John started.
But before John could explain himself more thoroughly, Sherlock was gone. That came out completely wrong. Now he thinks I don't care about him. Ugh. John rubbed his head at the thoughts threatening to overflow. He got up and dressed quickly. He'd had a shower last night and Sherlock said that if he had a shower at night, he shouldn't have one in the morning. So he dressed and combed his hair, hoping he could get to class to talk to Sherlock before it started. He managed to get to class in time, bounding in through the door.
"Sherlock!" he shouted once he made it into the class.
He weaved his way through the desks, ignoring the stares being thrown at him. when he made it to Sherlock's desk, fell to his knees and gripped Sherlock's arm, which was normally cold, but when he touched it, it was warm. This made him falter for a moment. What….his thought was lost as he lifted his hand away and placed it back on Sherlock's arm, finding that as soon as his hand touched Sherlock's arm, it turned warm.
"What in the world?" he removed his hand and placed it down again, feeling the warmth spread from his own hand to Sherlock's arm.
"John? What are you doing?" Sherlock asked coolly.
"Sorry," John shook his head, "I wanted to tell you something, but I got distracted. Did you realize when I touch you, you turn warm?"
"Yes," Sherlock said simply.
"Oh, ok," John shook his head again, trying to clear his thoughts; "I wanted to say that I do care Sherlock. I do want to have sex with you. It's just, I don't want you to feel pressured and I don't mind if we don't. Because I love you. Sex is just a bonus. I don't need that to love you."
"Oh," Sherlock's coldness seemed to melt slightly, "I see."
"So, can you forgive me for sounding rude?" John pleaded, staring up at Sherlock.
Oh god, look at those puppy dog eyes. I will never be mad at this boy ever again, Sherlock thought and his face and heart softened, and dear lord, he's on his knees. No! Down Sherlock! Don't be an animal! Sherlock coughed slightly and shifted in his seat.
"Yes," Sherlock finally answered.
That one word caused John to relax and lay his head on Sherlock's knee. To which Sherlock repositioned uncomfortably. John breathed a sigh of relief and snuggled his face into Sherlock's leg. Sherlock pushed him off and crossed his legs, which caused John to frown. He looked at Sherlock's crossed legs and saw a slight bulge. Oh. I'm on my knees and…oops. John thought as he blushed and scooted away.
"This is a class, is it not?" rang out a familiar Irish voice.
John's head snapped up to the man standing at the front of the room. His jaw dropped as he stared in disbelief at what he saw. Mori…Moriarty? Moriarty. That's him. He's here. Why is here? Why? Why? Why? Why? John's thoughts spun into a whirlwind of whys and his hands began to shake.
"Mister Watson," Moriarty called, "This is a class, is it not?"
"Y-y-y-yes," John sputtered out, trying to calm his shaking.
"Then why are you on the ground, Mister Watson?" he asked, with a smug look, "Unless you're servicing Mister Holmes, I can hardly see a point for you being on the ground. And even then, this is still a class. Servicing should be done elsewhere."
"I-i-I wa-wasn't," John's voice shook and his limbs seemed to pull toward his body in a defensive gesture.
"Then you should probably return to your seat," Moriarty replied, turning to the board, "My name is Mister Moriarty. I am your substitute teacher."
John scrambled back to his seat as Moriarty wrote his name on the board with a flourish.
"I'm sure we'll all have quite a bit of fun, don't you?" Moriarty said as he turned back around.
John shivered as he felt those cold, dark eyes burn into his. He clenched his hands together and forced himself to glare right back at him. Moriarty grinned at John, apparently thinking that his determination and bravery was cute. The rest of the class, Moriarty pranced about teaching, using that lofty voice of his. It made John want to stab his own ears. He hated that voice. It's that awful voice that people have when they think they're better than everyone else. Who is this man? Why is he here?...he said something about Sherlock….I wonder if he intends to hurt him. John threw a worried glance at Sherlock, when that thought crossed his mind. Sherlock looked over and raised an eyebrow at John's worried face. John sighed and shrugged, looking back to the front of the class.
"Yes and then you would do this, children," Moriarty's voice was saying.
I have no idea what he is talking about John realized. Moriarty's prideful voice crept into his ears and infested his brain. It seemed to crawl about, rubbing itself against the darkest parts of John's mind. It evoked powerful feelings that John didn't ever remember having. It awakened the anger and hate he tried so hard to suppress as it made its way into every corner of John's mind. John felt his eyes begin to close and his head drooped down. Yet, Moriarty's voice continued its gentle assault on his brain. He was vaguely aware of putting his head on his desk, as Moriarty's voice turned to a whisper that prodded at all the secret places in his mind.
"I know everything about you, John Watson," it seemed to say, "You're greatest fears and your darkest secrets. I know more about you than even you know, because I know the things you refuse to acknowledge. You can't escape me, John Watson. I have you and you are going nowhere."
John felt as though the shadows of Moriarty's voice him were closing in. he frantically tried to reach out for something, but he couldn't move. The shadows swallowed him up and a scream died before it could reach his lips. He could feel something squeezing him, as though to claim the very breath in his lungs. He tried to gasp to bring back the air, but the squeezing allowed no air. He tried to move, to fight, but something held him still.
"John! John! Wake up!" cried the sweetest baritone voice.
Sherlock. My Sherlock. Save me. John could only think. He felt himself being pushed roughly. It felt like hands were shaking him. Then he felt himself fall over the edge of some chasm, but everything went black before he hit the bottom.
Little note: Hey, guys. SO sorry it took forever! I was trying to get it how I wanted it. I think I got it right, but I guess that's up to you guys! Thanks for all your reviews and the people I shouted out to before get another shout out because you're still awesome. I only add Pyroclast17, because you were very helpful and your review really gave me some things to think about, so thank you and I hope this chapter fits what you told me. And huggles to you too. Soooo tired or I would say more. Thank you for all your support, I would've given up by now if it weren't for you guys.