Runaway Home

Chp 9

Love. love/ləv/ as noun: An intense feeling of deep affection: "theirlove fortheir country". A verb: feel a deep romantic or sexual attachment to (someone): "do you love me?". Synonyms: noun (affection, fondness, darling, passion), verb (like, be fond of, fancy, adore). Sherlock Holmes was a man of intelligence and wit, therefore, not one to normally depend on online definitions of simplistic words. However, today it seemed necessary. It had been almost a full three months since the incident with the killer cabbie and, coincidently, the night Sherlock had undoubtedly begun feeling…love. He didn't recognize the symptoms at first, and why should he? He had never felt it before. It was three weeks after John's brush with death that the detective had started to wonder. It might have been the way the boy had laughed that day, or how he'd stood up for him at another one of Lestrade's 'drug busts', or even just in the way the sunlight caught in his blonde mop of hair. Whatever it was, it became glaringly obvious from there on out, that he was feeling something very different for his flat mate than his previously presumed friendship. It had taken him until now though to finally get around to whole heartedly launching a full scale investigation.

John didn't know it yet (or if he did he made no mention of it) but Sherlock was studying the boy closely. He was watching, observing, and categorizing. It was just all so curious, his feelings for the boy. Watching him only made it worse too. Even the simple things could cause the detective's throat to go dry, his heart to race, and his palms to sweat. John would be doing something, anything, and it would make the man's body go ablaze. John cooking, making him eat, that led to the chest tightening. John licking his lips made his lungs collapse. John yelling at Anderson made his heart swell. John walking around in just his boxers whilst reciting his new mantra 'not a rent boy, just warm', it made his groin go impossibly tight. All these new sensations and the boy remained infuriatingly ignorant to it. He didn't even realize the pain he was causing the detective, and it was maddening.

Sherlock had decided there were a number of reasons that John would be so naïve. One being that John was too inexperienced in this area to know what to look for. To be fair, it had taken Sherlock a few months to figure it out and he was the one experiencing it first hand. Another idea was John figured their age difference or even their gender made the probability of Sherlock's attraction impossible. Then there was the horrifying thought that John didn't care what the detective felt, he might even already know, but it wouldn't matter, because John wouldn't want to be with the older man. John had never shown an interest in men, and from Sherlock's research he knew that John had had a girlfriend. This information, those unpleasant thoughts, is what led to the investigation. He needed to know, before this got even more out of hand, if he even stood a chance. When he was little he'd tuned out emotion, he'd shut it out so the insults wouldn't cut, so they wouldn't cloud his thought. He could do it again, if he had to, if it was a matter of self preservation in an entirely different manner. Because it was on that day that those thoughts and this new forming worry became painfully clear, and threatened the detective's sanity. John had just returned home from his second full week at school and Sherlock discovered that the boy managed to conjure up another new feeling. One that made something dark settle in his stomach and something painful grip his heart.

There was a sickly sweet scent sticking to the boy, and his button down shirt had been tugged free of his trousers. Further examination revealed traces of lipstick on his collar, jaw, and the corner of his mouth. John's belt was disturbingly loose as well and the detective gritted his teeth at the sight. He had stumbled into the flat with a dreamy smile plastered to his face, without a care in the world he made his way into the living room and collapsed in his arm chair. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. His spot on the sofa gave him the perfect angle to observe all of these facts and he found every single one offensive and intolerable. He looked over to the clock; John was exactly forty minutes and twenty six seconds late. It took immense self control to contain the scream that was gurgling in the back of his throat.

"You're late."

Sherlock spit out hoping to wipe that stupid grin off the boy's face. It shouldn't be there, it didn't belong, only Sherlock was allowed to make John smile like that. His tone had no affect however and John merely hummed back in response.

"Well, care to explain? You certainly look pleased with yourself."

John let out a long and contented sigh before sitting up to look at the detective with half lidded eyes.

"Janette Baker."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed even more than before.

"Is that name supposed to mean something to me?"

John let his smile grow even wider sending a pang of…jealousy? Through the detective.

"Perhaps not, but it means something to me. Now it does anyway. Janette Baker is the sexiest girl in school and she wanted me."

John stated proudly slumping back into the chair. Yes, the detective was certain now, this was jealousy.

"What do you mean by that? Does she intend to date you or something ridiculous like that?"

Sherlock hoped his investment in the matter wasn't too obvious to the love drunk adolescent, and evidently, it wasn't.

"She didn't say."

John said drifting slowly back to reality. Now that was a surprise, because if Sherlock had the chance to have John in a committed relationship he'd let nothing stand in his way. How stupid was this girl?

"I'd think that the level of intimacy you two have clearly had would insinuate some sort of relationship being formed."

John shook his head heavily.

"No, not necessarily. She did it because I stuck up for this kid who was being picked on, got a punch to the gut for it, but the other guy walked away with a broken nose so…"

John trailed off for a moment, probably running through the event in his mind, relishing in his accomplishment.

"Anyway, the kid who was being bullied ended up being Janette's little brother, and she just happened to be a very grateful older sister."

John's smile grew once again and he stretched out his arms briefly before resting them behind his head. Sherlock's knuckles went white as he clenched his fist.

"I didn't realize such events had so little value to you John. I thought you cared for people as individuals, it's not like you to treat someone as just a means of sexual relief."

Sherlock scorned. John straightened up at that and eyed the detective defensively.

"I do care for her as a person. That doesn't mean I want to date her. She's pretty and a bloody wonderful kisser, but she's just a few eggs short of a dozen if you know what I mean. A relationship with her would be complicated and time consuming based off what I can read from her. Besides, it's not like she asked me to date her, that's not what she was looking for. Anyway, weren't you a teenager once? It's not like I was going to turn down the school's most shagable upperclassman's offer to suck me off behind the bleachers. I respect women as people, but I'm not a saint, I have desires."

For a while, Sherlock could do nothing but stare. That girl, that stupid, horrible, despicable girl had touched him. Had touched parts of him the detective was now starting to question if he'd ever even see. Worse, was that she had touched him and John liked it. John liked the feel of her feminine hands on his tan skin, or her plush lips against his thin strong ones, her mouth…it was too much. John should know better, he should know that Sherlock would be so much better for him. He was smart, he could teach the boy things, he gave him adventure, and real affection. The detective wasn't experienced in romance, but he could learn, he could be just as good as that girl, he could be better.

"You said women. Do you only rely on women to aide in your release?"

Sherlock asked before he even processed what was going on. He wanted to know, yes, he needed to know if John could ever see him as something more. This was just a bit too forward for his taste however. Would John see through him now? Would he hate him for it? John blinked once, twice, and then licked his lips as a light blush rose to his cheeks.

"That sort of thing wasn't really accepted where I come from so I guess I'd never really…thought about it. Not that it's bad or anything I just never considered it an option. My sister is that way and her and her girlfriend were constantly being ridiculed. Besides I mean, blokes are blokes, I've never seen them as an option. Just friends, nothing more, never even considered what another man has looked like. Why, do I look like the type? Because I think I'd know, and I'm sure I'm not."

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat; that was a lie. John was a horrible liar, he would continue to rattle off pointless thoughts or offer up arguments that made little to no sense. So he had considered it, there was still hope. Something warm settled in the detective's chest. This girl was meaningless, she would fade into the past soon enough, Sherlock would remain. He would stay and he would continue to study John, he would fully investigate into the matter of dating John Watson. He would solve this case, he was sure of it, because he had to, and it was possibly the most important one he'd ever take on.