Runaway Home

Chp 16

Sorry this took so long! I'll try to put the next one up super soon!

As far as Sherlock knew, teenage boys were not the most talkative when it came to their emotions. That being said, John had to be the worst of them. The boy hadn't said a word about the incident at the bank in the three months that had passed. Not consciously anyway. Which was why the detective had grown so concerned. He'd known John should talk about it, that it was important for the healing process, but he hadn't pushed him. Sherlock figured the blonde would come to him when he was ready; the man had never been as infuriated with himself for being wrong. Just a month ago they had been working on an exhausting case that had the pair running all across London in search of a kidnapper. When they'd finally arrived home they hadn't even bothered to walk to their rooms, the two of them collapsed in the living room on their respective pieces of furniture. The detective wasn't asleep long however as he was soon woken by the sound of John's whimpers and the thrashing of his body. It wasn't like that night more than a year ago, it was more desperate. Sherlock had launched himself off the sofa to comfort the boy as he practically convulsed in his arm chair. There were no words for the amount of panic he had felt. Then just as he'd brought his hands to the boy's shoulders to hold him still he could hear the faint whispers spouting from John's nightmares.

"Help. Get off. Help. Stop. Stop. Stop. Sherlock."

At first he didn't know what to make of it. The blonde eventually settled down and Sherlock lifted the limp boy back up to his bed and chose to sleep on the chair in his room in case he was needed again. The next morning he'd almost put the ordeal out of his mind despite John's complaints about his 'creepy' behavior, until he'd said it. The detective had asked the boy to stop complaining and to make a stop at the bank (he needed to make a withdrawal as his homelessness network required cash not credit), he noted that John became instantly tense. That's when it struck him; the dream had been about that day in the bank, about Sebastian. About that vile man and it made Sherlock nearly scream with rage. Obviously he told the boy to ignore his request and quickly made his way out of the flat to have a private phone call with Mycroft regarding the former banker's current state, which was satisfactory but no where near enough.

Ever since that night he'd been trying to initiate a conversation about what had happened. John wasn't taking to it. Most times he changed the subjects, others he just found an excuse to leave. The detective was growing more concerned as the days dragged on and John remained silent on the matter. Sherlock decided enough had been enough when on the night in question, almost exactly one month after the night spent in the living room, he heard the boy crying out in his sleep again. The detective was in the kitchen when he first heard the noise emanating from John's room. He placed his mold cultures on the counter and moved closer to the stairs. The noise hadn't been very distinct and he wasn't sure if he should do anything. When a very clear 'no' came out in a shout from up the stairs he didn't hesitate.

John was thrashing in his sheets and pleading with an invisible attacker. Sherlock let out a low growl at the thought of even an imaginary Sebastian trying to hurt John. Quickly he made his way to the side of the boy's bed and positioned himself on the edge so he could get a firm grip on the blonde's shoulders. John whimpered at the contact and tried to squirm away. Sherlock held fast and shook the boy gently to try and pull him from his nightmare.

"John."

He called out hoping to grab his attention. John merely continued to struggle in his grasp emitting low moans. Sherlock pulled him up to his chest and into a tight hug riding out all the shivers and shakes. Finally the boy began to calm down and his breathing evened out. The detective let out a sigh of relief when the blonde gently pulled away and looked up at the man with wide misty eyes.

"You were dreaming John."

Sherlock stated factually hoping it would offer some comfort to the boy. John nodded and his eyes shifted about the room nervously.

"You're back in your room, don't worry, he's not here."

The detective continued soothingly. The boy's eyes flashed to the man's instantly with a start.

"Yo-you know."

It wasn't a question, John knew he'd been discovered, not that he'd done such a great job of hiding it.

"Of course. It's no surprise John, it was a traumatic event. To be honest I was more concerned when you weren't showing any signs of distress."

Sherlock explained. John was quiet for a while after that and the detective sat there hoping that the boy would say something. During the stretch of silence he realized he was still holding the John's shoulders and had begun to rub circles on the blonde's bare skin with his thumbs. For a second he panicked, unsure if the touch was welcomed, but he noted that the boy was indeed beginning to relax and therefore he allowed himself to continue. It was an oddly pleasant act and it made him feel a sense of calm that was rare for his racing mind.

"Thank you, for waking me, but I should be fine now."

John said not meeting the detective's eyes. Sherlock would have sneered at the boy if it weren't for his emotional state at the time. It was high time they finally discuss the elephant in the room.

"John, you need to talk about this. You should realize what you're doing is idiotic, ignoring the issue will not make it go away."

Sherlock pressed and judging by the glare he got from the boy his insights were not welcomed.

"It's none of your business, I can deal with this whatever way I want."

John protested breaking away from the detective's hold.

"How isn't it my business? We're friends; friends take mutual interest in each other's well being don't they?"

Sherlock fumed. It was ridiculous, the boy should know better, he was the one always making the brunette eat and sleep all the time! He was the one that demonstrated the very behavior he was now mimicking. Did he really think that Sherlock wasn't supposed to reciprocate?

"I appreciate the thought, but as your friend I'm asking you to leave it alone."

John replied quietly keeping his eyes cast down at the blankets.

"I can't do that. Do you really expect me to watch you continue to live your life like this?"

Sherlock questioned darkly while he attempted to make eye contact with the boy.

"Yes."

It was barely a whisper but the detective heard it loud and clear and it infuriated him.

"You're killing yourself by doing this John, it's not healthy. Mental health is just as important as the physical, if not more so. The nightmares are only the start John, it only gets worse. Eventually you might even have physical symptoms like a tick…you should see someone professionally."

Sherlock said with feeling but it only seemed to anger the boy more.

"Yes well, thanks for the advice, if I start tweaking out I'll rush down to the nearest therapist's office."

John said with a huff which took the detective off guard. This situation was becoming far more than an annoyance. John should have known better, he was normally so bright when it came to things like this, just not in regards to his own person. It hurt the man that his advice was deemed so unimportant or that John seemed to value his own personal health so little.

"You can't run away from all of your problems John."

Sherlock said in a biting tone that appeared to physically strike the boy. John had flinched back and his face had grown red; for a long moment the two of them just sat there staring at each other growing angrier.

"Try me."

John finally growled as he lifted himself from his bed and hauled the detective out after him. With a few strong shoves he affectively removed the man from his room and slammed the door in his face.

"That could have gone better."

Sherlock mumbled to himself as he stomped down the stairs.

He hadn't seen John in the morning that day, the boy it seemed to have taken special precautions to avoid him. Sherlock had suspected as much, the boy wouldn't want to have another conversation about his nightmares. Typical, he was always ignoring himself and so keen to pay attention to others. It was despicable; didn't he realize that none of those people mattered even half as much as John? He'd been mumbling to himself about such things and reviewing John's past behaviors especially those witnessed the night before when Mrs. Hudson dropped off the post. Normally such an occurrence wasn't of great importance; this time however, was different. Mail had come in for John.

Sherlock analyzed the envelopes carefully, checking for traces of poisons or any other harmful elements and came to the conclusion that they were not sent to cause bodily harm. Well, at least not to the boy. They were letters from universities, from schools that were no where near London or Baker street or a certain infatuated detective. He binned the mail immediately. There was no need for John to see those. His mind went back to the night before, how angry John had been. The boy had run away from a broken home before, it wasn't so improbable to think he'd do it again.

His mind racing and his face growing paler by the minute he came to the conclusion that he had to find away around this whole university business. Perhaps he could find some incentive for John to stay, convince him not to attend any further schooling. He didn't need it anyway; he was smarter than most people already. The detective was sitting on the sofa deep in contemplation when it suddenly became very clear John was already home and angry. The blonde was questioning him about something and was already in his face about it.

"What?"
The detective asked dumbly, not sure how much time had passed since he was certain he didn't remember John coming home or it being any time passed eleven in the morning.

"In the bin. You threw out my mail, why?"

John asked agitatedly and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Oh, right, the mail. Why did John know he'd thrown it away? Well that probably didn't matter at the moment as it seemed the growing silence was only making John angrier.

"I didn't think you needed it."

Sherlock replied trying to sound truly confused and innocent.

"Bull shit. You're throwing a fit because I wouldn't talk to you last night. Well I can tell you your little stunt didn't accomplish anything, throwing out my mail won't get me to open up to you. So just drop it."

John scowled and moved to leave the room.

"That's not it at all John! I wish you would talk to me but I wouldn't destroy your property as a means to convince you."

John turned around and observed the detective for a moment before taking a step closer.

"Then why did you do it?"

Sherlock tensed at the question, should he answer it? He could think of a lie, but even a lie would most likely result in John being upset with him.

"I…why…why do you even need to go to college, I don't see the point in it."

He stammered looking everywhere but the boy.

"You don't see the point? Well that's not really my problem. You see it's not up to you if I go to university or not, it's up to me!"

John practically shouted as he edged even closer to the detective.

"I know that! I know that…I just…you are quiet possibly the first person who has ever tolerated and understood me. John…I don't know what I'd do if you left now."

Sherlock finished quietly. The truth in his words struck the man; he hadn't meant to be so honest. John's eyes went wide but he remained silent for one excruciatingly long minute.

"Oh…Sherlock, I didn't know you…cared so much."

The boy almost whispered as he stared at the man in front of him. Sherlock's eyes flicked to John's in a heart beat and he stood almost as fast.

"Of course I do. Don't be an idiot. There have been more than enough signs, plenty of indication. Why else would I care about your well being? You've observed me more closely than most, don't tell me you didn't notice how I'd come to concern myself for you more than anyone else."

Sherlock nearly shouted due to his mounting frustration. John looked at him in shock for a moment before taking a large breath.

"Right…I suppose…I should have. Sherlock…I, um, care about you too. I still want to go to college though, but that doesn't mean I have to leave. There are lots of schools inside of London I've been looking into."

"Then why did those letters come from universities outside of the city?"

Sherlock asked in a voice that came out far more panicked then he would have wanted. John smiled back at him with one of his legendarily kind smiles that took the detective's breath away.

"They send those whether I want them or not Sherlock, I've gotten lots of them before, I'm surprised this is the first you're seeing of them honestly. Look…I was only really angry about it because of last night. I don't care that you threw the letters away, ok?"

John said softly placing a hand on the man's arm as reassurance. Sherlock looked at the boy for a beat before deciding that he couldn't let that be the end of it, no matter how easy it would be to just give in to those big blue eyes.

"I'm glad to hear that John…I am. But, do you think we could maybe talk about the dreams, just a little? Please John, I'm just…I don't like not knowing what's bothering you."

Sherlock replied with great effort and then shifted on his feet uncomfortably. He wasn't sure how the boy would take it; he hadn't been happy last night clearly. The detective had to know though. The hand on his arm tightened and then dropped. Sherlock looked to the boy to see if he was going to start yelling soon but instead found that he looked sad.

"John…"

"No, um, I can…I will, just…it's not something I really…do. So, um, can we maybe order some take away first? I'd like to do that first, if that's ok."

"Of course John! Whatever you want, I'll order the take away now!"

Sherlock rushed to his phone before he realized he had absolutely no idea what any take away place's number was.

"John, do you-"

"I was going to walk there, to the Chinese place near by. I'd like to get some air."

Sherlock nodded and rushed to retrieve his coat.

"Alone…please."

The detective observed the boy for a moment, anxious about sending him off alone. It was obvious he wanted to think about this, to let himself work up to it. If there was any hope of success he would have to let the boy go alone.

"Ok, just bring your phone."

"Always."

With that John left and the detective let out a sigh of relief. Things, for at least the moment, were looking spectacularly up. He would have to see how the chat went of course, and there was no guarantee he could convince John to get any therapy. Also there was going to have to be a conversation with his brother about which universities would have to be opening their doors to the boy. For now though it all seemed as though it was perfectly manageable and within his grasp. Sherlock sat back on the sofa and relaxed, blissfully unaware of just what was about to happen in a mere few months.