We accept the love we think we deserve.
A/N: Warning for masturbation, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd spoilers, and an offensive opinion on religion (which I do not have an opinion myself on but think it fits Sherlock's character).
Dear acquaintance,
Harry recently informed me about the value of masturbation. I had heard of the term before but deleted it. I'll admit that it is indeed intriguing. At first, the thought of stroking my genitals to the point of orgasm confused me. Why should that be appealing? Until I had that dream about John and awoke with a startling erection, I saw no point in it. If only I had learnt of masturbation sooner.
I told John about the dream I had (which, admittedly, causes me some embarrassment now to recall), and he laughed. It wasn't condescending or rude in any way, it was a nice, warm laugh. He said that I was being "cute." I've never been called cute in my life, and if I ever were to be called so again, it would annoy me quite a lot. But I didn't mind it at all when it was John saying it. John asked if I thought he was handsome, and I replied honestly. I told him that I found him compelling and extremely attractive. He looked me right in the eye and said, "You know you're too young for me, Sherlock? You do know that?"
I told him that yes, I did.
He said that he didn't want me to waste my time thinking about him that way.
I told him that it was just a dream, and that I understood. How foolish of me to tell him!
John gave me a hug after that. I've never been used to hugs. My family is not the hugging kind, except for my Aunt Martha. Eventually I hugged back, but not long after I could smell John's cologne and feel his body against mine. I could feel myself getting a "hard-on" (Harry taught me that term. It is slang for an erection). I quickly stepped away, and he looked at me curiously.
I felt the need to explain my actions, because I knew that John's brain was much slower than mine. "I was thinking about you in a sexual way again."
He shook his head at me, and then put an arm around my shoulder and walked me down the halls.
Harry was standing there smoking a cigarette. We were skipping class. I quite liked this part about them; class was hideously boring and constantly dull.
"Sherlock fancies me in a Sherlock-esque way, Harry," John said. This was a very puzzling statement at first because I had no clue what made it so 'Sherlock-esque'.
Harry smirked and said, "He does, huh?"
I felt the need to defend myself and said that I was trying not to, but that made them laugh.
Harry said she wanted to talk to me in private so she could explain to me how I should act around other blokes and not waste my time thinking of John in a sexual way. She said that John was very flattered but did not think of me that way.
"Sherlock, have you been told how it works?"
How what works? "Not properly."
"Well, there are rules you follow here not because you want to, but because you have to. Understand?"
"More or less."
"Okay. Unfortunately, most blokes who are gay don't like to say they are, and most blokes who are straight don't like male attention."
"Yes. I see."
"Are you interested in women too, Sherlock?"
"I suppose I could be."
"Okay. They're even more complicated."
"Humans aren't that complicated."
She looked at me with almost pity.
"Alright. Know this. Some girls think that they can change blokes. They think of men as a challenge, and once they change them, they get bored." She took another drag from her cigarette, holding it between her two fingers and blowing out with practiced precision.
Harry told me not to worry about this too much.
I worried about it a lot. In English class, I looked around at everyone, observing. There was one other homosexual in my class, a very 'girly' girl who I'd heard from Harry gave every boy 'blow jobs.' This is another sexual slang term for oral sex, meaning that she would put penises in her mouth. Obviously she does this because she wants everyone under the impression that she is a heterosexual. It doesn't work on me. Harry told me her name, too, but that was irrelevant and didn't matter to me so I deleted it.
Another girl in my class whose name was Sarah is in a complicated relationship. Her boyfriend gave her his letterman jacket to wear, but she thought that he was cheating on her. He is. She just wants him to pay more attention to her. He won't.
Greg approached me after class. He walked with authority and his facial expression said obviously that he felt we needed to have a serious chat.
He told me that he had observed me observing people and did I usually think this much.
I asked him curiously if that was bad.
He said that no, not necessarily, but that sometimes people use intense thought not to participate in life. How illogical. The simple act of breathing is participating in life.
I asked him if that was bad and he told me that it was.
I told him what I had just thought, how his opinion was illogical and invalid because 'participating in life,' as he put it, was clearly done by breathing and continuing to exist. Greg informed me that that was not what he meant. Then he moved on to a new topic of conversation, 'family problems at home.'
I told him that I didn't have problems and that I have been doing very well since my old friend Victor hanged himself and my Aunt Martha died the night before my birthday. This shocked him, though it makes no sense why it should. I decided to tell him about Mycroft's bald girlfriend, and how she yelled at him all the time and was always getting him naked (for sex, no doubt) and calling him a 'fat-arse', and that Mycroft put on a convincing mask to pretend that he was happy, but that was illogical because it was quite obvious to me that he was very sad.
Greg looked at me with pity and told me something that I consider to be a wise statement, and I respect him for it. "Sherlock, we accept the love we think we deserve." I stood there, quiet, assessing his proclamation and he patted me on the shoulder (I didn't like that touch and I hope he never does it again) and gave me another book. He told me it was a mystery novel. He said he thought I would enjoy this one because I like to solve mysteries about people. I was very impressed because I never told him that and he had gathered that information from simply observing. He told me that if I could solve the mystery before the end of the book he had a surprise for me. I didn't like the thought of a surprise, so I told him that it might be best if he just told me what it is. He laughed and said that 'in due time' he would.
-Sherlock
15 October 1991
Dear acquaintance,
I do not believe I mentioned in my last letter how often I masturbate, which is a lot now. I don't look at or watch pornography when I do it, I've found that I can 'get off' just as easily if I'm occupying my brain with something else. I do not think about John when I do this, because it is important to me that I keep my word and not think about him in a sexual way. So I just read the mystery novel Greg gave me. It was called The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie. I deduced while in my masturbatory state that Dr. Sheppard had murdered him, and found myself to be correct by the end of the novel. It was quite obvious, as no one else could have done it. Flora Ackroyd was too stupid to be clever enough, Miss Russel was an illogical suspect, and Ursula Bourne was an interesting and plausible suspect, but it couldn't have been her. Overall I rather enjoyed the book and I would like to continue to read others like it. I really liked Caroline Sheppard because though she was not nearly as smart as I am, she was a significant bit smarter than the rest of the human race. She reminded me of John and myself.
One time while I was 'having a wank' (Harry teaches me so much) I decided to think about John, just once. He wouldn't have to know, because I wouldn't tell him. So I sat on my bed and closed my eyes and pictured John, naked and sitting on my lap, stroking my penis. I liked that image so much that I did not stop thinking about it and I reached my orgasm very quickly. As soon as I finished, I felt extremely guilty, because I promised I would not think of John that way, and incredibly confused because I do not feel guilty about things. So I decided I would pray to God and ask for forgiveness. I am not a religious person at all, because the idea of having a God is so absurd, but my mum was raised in Northern Ireland and is very Catholic. My dad never went to the Church of England very often but he still believes in God.
I think God is just an idea humans invented to feel less scared. Because when you know you are alone, you get scared. You need someone to talk to and you need to know that someone is protecting you, that you aren't in charge. But then people started making all these rules and defending a book that is thousands of years old and has no logic or fact basis to support those outrageous theories whatsoever. Nonetheless (this is a new word I learned from Greg.) it made me feel a bit better about masturbating and thinking of engaging in consensual sexual intercourse with John. So I started using blankets to touch my penis and reading while masturbating but blankets hurt, so I switched to pillows, but the pillows hurt, so I went back to using my hand and lubrication.
I decided to talk to Mycroft about Anthea. He did not want to talk about her. I asked if that meant he wanted to break up with her, but he didn't confirm that suspicion. He wants to break up with her. I just hope that when I get a girlfriend or boyfriend that I am content one-hundred-percent of the time.
-Sherlock
Thank you for the lovely reviews! I hope to post as often as I can. Constructive criticism is ALWAYS welcome. I'm doing some research on the British school system, in hopes to mix that into the American school system, to keep it a little closer to Perks of Being a Wallflower. I have gotten some reviews saying that this story would be better with John in the place of Charlie, but the reason I picked Sherlock is because I needed someone 'fun' for the part of Sam, and had John been Charlie, then I would be too tempted to change his character to resemble Charlie too much, and I think John is a lot different. My hopes were to maintain the character.