Runaway Home

Chp 10

Sharing a flat with Sherlock was one of the greatest decisions John had ever made, and he was well aware of it, but some days he didn't feel so grateful. Some days he was reminded just why his flat mat had so few friends. The tall man could be so self involved and lacking in any common decency. This morning John could tell was going to be one of those days. He awoke to the sound of his alarm clock as usual, except…it wasn't usual. The chime was sounding off from another room, from downstairs. John shut his eyes even tighter trying to squeeze out his grogginess. With sleepy determination he lifted himself out of the bed and began making a slow trek down the stairs. As he entered the kitchen he stretched out his arms and let out a yawn. When his eyes began to focus the first thing he noticed was the brunette staring at him over an enormous mound of junk (amongst which was his alarm clock) on the kitchen table. Probably some experiment he thought tiredly taking another step forward.

"Sherlock, what are you doing with my alarm clock? You know I have to be up for school in the morning."

John stated still trying to shake off the sleep. Though somewhere in the back of his mind he felt that it was just a bit too bright for the earlier hours in which the detective would remain awake and working.

"Yes, well you still have a whole…uh, um, fifteen minutes until your first class."

Sherlock explained. John's eyes shot open as the news hit him at full force. He turned to observe the kitchen clock on the wall and came to the startling revelation that Sherlock was in fact telling the truth, he had fifteen minutes until his next class.

"Christ Sherlock! Couldn't you have used your own bloody clock!"

He cried out snatching his clock back and running up the stairs. As he made a mad dash through his room he threw the alarm clock on his bed and began scrambling to put his uniform on. One positive to religiously sleeping in nothing but boxers was that he didn't have to bother with taking off any pajamas. Making quick use of the buttons John put his shirt on first. He hesitated before the pants, right, hygiene. He had just opened the top drawer of his dresser when he heard Sherlock at the entrance of his room.

"What do you need?"

The boy huffed out in annoyance as he searched desperately through his disorganized drawer for a fresh pair of boxers.

"I, well, I hadn't realized the time John, if I had known…"

The detective's voice trailed off as John retrieved a grey set of boxers and hurriedly shimmied out of his old ones. The blonde heard a sharp intake of breath once he'd turned to throw the dirty underwear into his laundry basket. He looked quizzically at his flat mate who stood in front of him with wide eyes and a deep blush. If it were anyone else he'd assume he was embarrassed, but Sherlock didn't do embarrassed. So it was just a bit off putting that the man stood there and stared at him as he did. John had never been bashful about being naked around other men as he grew accustomed to it when changing in the locker room for rugby, but he was growing uncomfortable with the current situation, for a number of reasons.

"Problem?"

He asked pulling on his new boxers. Sherlock shook his head vehemently but the blush remained, John wasn't sure if he imagined it but it seemed the detective had wrapped his robe around himself tighter as well. The boy continued to pull on his pants and jacket, quickly tied his tie, and then picked up his school bag. He wasn't as well put together as he normally was, but it would have to do, he was late enough as it was. With that he made his way to the door only to have his path blocked by his ever stranger flat mate.

"Sherlock, do you mind moving, I'm sort of on a dead line."

He said with an exasperated hand motion. Sherlock shook his head again as if in a daze and moved to the side. John eyed him curiously for a moment before dashing out the door. While exiting the flat, just after a brief goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, John noticed that a familiar black Lincoln was parked and waiting outside. He walked over to the car and saw Mycroft's posh face appear as the window rolled down.

"Running late I see, that's the tenth time this year and with only a month until finals."

John fought the temptation to roll his eyes.

"Yes, well, it can't be helped when your flat mate decides your alarm clock is an essential part to one of his experiments."

The politician nodded his head knowingly and opened his door.

"I'll give you a ride there."

He sighed scooting over to make room for the boy.

"Thanks."

John said simply and shut the door behind himself as he sat in the leather seat. The ride was silent for a short moment and John wondered idly if perhaps this was nothing more than a friendly favor.

"I've noticed over the past year that you and my brother have grown quite attached."

So much for favors. John turned to look at the older man questioningly.

"Yes, I suppose, what's that got to do with anything?"

He asked, hoping not to sound as concerned with the inquiry as he really was. Mycroft smirked and John was sure his cover was blown, he was almost positive the man could see right into his thoughts.

"Nothing really, it's just my brother appears to be taking a particular interest in you and I was curious as to how it was you felt about him."

The question came off unassuming in tone but there was a gleam in the man's eye that made John grow pale.

"He's a good friend, my best friend. He gets on my nerves a lot but otherwise we're perfect mates...what do you mean by interest?"

John said in what he hoped was a confident voice. Mycroft nodded almost absentmindedly but never dulled the sharpness of his stare.

"Oh, nothing really, just that he prefers your company to most is all. I'm sure you've noticed."

The politician stated dully. John nodded and turned his head to look out the window hoping that the conversation was over. Talking to Mycroft about such personal things put him on edge. After a few moments of nervous silence the boy relaxed a little. It seemed Mycroft was finished with his questions and was now occupying himself with some lengthy text-messaging conversation. Probably something of the highest priority regarding the state of the free world or whatever it was the man did.

John noticed they were coming close to the school and breathed a sigh of relief. He would be free soon. He'd have to face his teacher and a tardy slip but it was better than being subjected to these invasive questions. Not that they were principally invasive, but they were to John. He found himself becoming more and more confused around his flat mate. Sherlock was a bloke, and blokes were blokes, right? That's what his dad had said the night Harriet came out: Birds were birds, and blokes were blokes, nothing more than that. It had been slurred and certainly wasn't the most clear or elegant of phrases, but his meaning made itself known by the way he'd hit Harry when she first uttered the word 'lesbian'. Boys and girls were born to be a certain way, were supposed to fit some mold, and weren't supposed to break that mold. John had been too young at the time to know one way or another. Maybe he'd liked boys, maybe he'd liked girls, but after that night he'd decided it didn't matter much either way. He was going to like girls, because blokes were blokes.

That had never been a problem for John. Girls were nice, they were soft, and he liked them. He'd never been in love with one, but he had just turned seventeen a few months ago, there was still time for love. He'd liked kissing girls, feeling them, being in their company. He respected them as friends and peers, and he also recognized them as his appropriate means for arousal. None of that had ever been a problem, not once, or at least…not until a month or so after the 'study in pink' case (he'd so named in his journals as it came up so frequently it required some sort of title) Sherlock had worked.

He'd seen his friend in a new light that night and it had changed his perspective on everything. Sherlock had said that he loved him (Not in so many words mind you, but the message had come through loud and clear), and it meant so much more than he'd ever thought. It made John inexplicably happy and had filled him with a sort of joy he'd never known. He loved Sherlock and Sherlock loved him. Which at first was the simplest thing in the world, because blokes were blokes, and blokes could love their friends. Things only remained simple for a matter of weeks, then he had the dream. The dream that made it all so very not simple, the one that told him that blokes were not blokes, not all the time. Because it made him question the real reason he found those eyes so captivating and the man's overall appearance breath taking. It made him wonder why it was that he didn't mind being snuggled against him on the couch that night.

Sherlock didn't notice his internal struggle with these strange new feelings that he couldn't quite place anymore. Which was good because he was sure that wouldn't go over well, the detective would probably want him to move out if he knew. Sherlock had told him once that he didn't have sex, it had been shortly after the row about Janette Baker, or AKA: the girl who had been mysteriously transferred the next week. John would get to the bottom of that one, eventually. He had more pressing matters to worry about at the moment however. For now he was convinced there was only one cure for his predicament, and that was to fall in love…again. With a girl this time. His feelings for Sherlock might have confused him but he knew what it boiled down to, he was in love with the man, and that would just not end well for him. Because Sherlock didn't care if blokes were blokes or if birds were birds, he just cared about the chase. Besides, John wasn't so sure he was ready to drop his heterosexual status, he'd grown accustomed to it, he felt comfortable with it. He wasn't sure how people would see him if that fact changed. Hence the need to fall in love with a girl. One who he could love just as much if not more than the detective. That would solve everything…he hoped.

At any rate by the time the black Lincoln had pulled into the school he'd made up his mind. He was going to try his hardest to find the girl of his dreams, the one that would take his breath away. He would do it no matter what, even if he had to date every girl he ever met.