"John Watson, I asked you a question. What is the square root of 169?" The teacher calmly said.
John jumped from his day dream and drearily answered. His mind was on Sherlock again. It was rarely off of his mind. He would do absolutely anything to see his face again, to see his smile.
Sherlock had been gone for three weeks now. Three weeks without ever seeing his best friend- his only friend. No one would speak to him now. Not even Molly, and Molly used to stand by John no matter what. And he was fine with that arrangement too. Fine. Just fucking marvellous.
Ever since they departed ways he told no one of what had occurred. It was that withholding of information which made Molly break the friendship off. She hung about with Greg now, but he hadn't said anything about the morgue to her.
But John was coping on his own. Everything was fine.
Liar...
It was a lie he told himself all too often. A lie which gave him the strength to get up in the morning without wanting to crawl back in and let the sun pass overhead day after day. A lie which would get him through the name calling, the rumours and above all else the intense loss he was experiencing. Lies were his way of telling everyone he needed help.
***
John walked through the door after a very long day at school. It was almost half term, but it didn't feel like it. He ran to his room and closed the door and sat down behind it, running his hands through his hair.
He was on house arrest until he was 18. It turns out that the neighbours saw John holding hands with Sherlock and alerted John's mother making her take an impromptu visit.
Usually during his long evenings he would get on with the menial task of homework. But that day he had an urge, a very exciting, dangerous, urge. His mother would be off to work for at least a week and a half, all half term, and he would be left on his own, well, the neighbours would check on him every few hours. Other than that though, he was alone.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Sherlock, keeping his back firmly against the door.
-Look, my mother will be out next week. What she said was unfair. I have been thinking. We need to talk x J-
Pressing send he held his phone loosely and stared at the wall.
After half an hour of waiting, John resigned himself to thinking Sherlock wasn't going to reply so he pulled out his maths book and did some homework.
Continuing on in that fashion for the rest of the evening, John missed dinner and cleared the back log of work that had been building up for a week.
While getting ready for bed, John heard his phone buzz. Forgetting about his insubordinate text earlier, he left it. In his mind it was someone taking the Mick.
Slipping into bed he set his new alarm clock, ready for the next day.
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz, bu-
There was a loud crash as John threw his alarm across the room, successfully silencing it and smashing it simultaneously. Seeming as his alarm clock wasn't available to tell him the time, he glanced at his phone.
Something caught his eye, not the time, the little text icon in the top corner of his phone. Memories rushing back from the day before flew through his brain. Opening without delay, he inhaled in suspense.
-Thank you, I shall go and wait in your shed. Come ASAP. X S-
The text had been sent at half ten the night before. Had Sherlock spent the night in the shed?
Mentally slapping himself John shoved some shoes on and checked his mother had gone to work, before he sprinted into the garden. Feet pounding on the grass, he wondered why Sherlock hadn't heard his stomping feet and come out yet.
Undoing the lock, he flung open the flimsy door to see a rugged looking Sherlock sleeping on the floor of the shed, covered by his Belstaff coat. Dirt was covering him and blood had crusted on his pale face.
Sighing, John entered the shed and knelt down by Sherlock's head.
"Sherlock, wake up. It's John." John said softly.
Sherlock looked up wearily to the sound of the voice, "Took your time..." He mumbled sleepily.
Laughing, John helped Sherlock stand up, letting the coat fall to the floor. He picked it up and handed it to Sherlock. An awkward silence permeated around the shed.
"Come inside," John started after the silence marinaded around the room for a while, "You look like you need a shower and a change of clothes. How long have you been sleeping rough? And what happened to your face?"
Sherlock didn't answer, just moved his head to display his neck.
Gasping, John eyes widened and bile rose in his throat. The initial M was carved onto neck on the right hand side, next to the jugular artery. A millimetre to the left and Sherlock would be dead.
John fell back a few steps and clutched at his chest as his heart hammered fervently.
"Dear God Sherlock. Who the hell did that to you?"
"Moriarty."
Another tense silence followed and John couldn't do anything but stare into space.
Sherlock was the first one to move and led the shell-shocked John by the hand into the house.
The house was silent. The kitchen was immaculate. And stood in the middle of it was the bloody and beaten Sherlock Holmes. He observed the kitchen quietly, ignoring John as he pottered around shakily making tea, and found out his mother would be gone for a prolonged period of time... Again. But something was different. Something was off.
"The neighbours will be here soon to take me to school." John said as he handed Sherlock a cup of tea, "I doubt they would like it if they saw you so just stay in my room until I have gone, okay? Then you can have a shower and I think you know where the first aid kit is if you need it. Oh, and you can stay tonight if you want."
Nodding, Sherlock responded in a dull monotone, "Sure. But something feels off. I suspect someone is watching the house."
John huffed, "No one is watching the house. You are being paranoid. Now lets go upstairs, I need to get ready for school."
-line break-
After John departed for dreaded school, Sherlock showered and checked his body for injuries. He still hadn't told John about why he was in such a bad condition. But John didn't ask so he didn't tell. He wouldn't want to scare away his only friend.
So as the water cascaded down his bruised body and the blood, diluted in the water, washed down the drain, he thought about the case.
Moriarty was a dangerous person; that much was a give fact. He had a thing for mutilating people. Or well at least getting people to do the deeds for him. That would take time and money though, so he must be rich. By what means? Theft most probably-
BOOM!
A gun shot rang out across the street. A thud.
Sherlock grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, before sprinting his sopping wet body down the stairs and peering out of the window.
Did someone get shot?
Did a murder just occur?
No, it was just a car back firing and a door slamming.
Cursing at his eagerness he moved his dripping wet body onto the armchair in the front room and sat on it, thinking.
-Line break-
After another tormenting day at school, John couldn't wait to be back at home with Sherlock. Shouting a thanks to his neighbours, he walked through the front door and dropped his bag by his shoes (he would pick them up later). Walking past the living room door he did a double take. Was Sherlock sitting there in just a towel?
He moved himself into the room and stared at Sherlock. The curly haired boy was zoned out and his towel had slipped almost obscenely down his abdomen.
"Ahem." John said rather embarrassed.
No response.
"Ahem!" John said louder, almost shouting.
A loud grunt of annoyance was heard from Sherlock and John laughed as the boy aggressively tried to keep his modesty.
Standing up, clutching the towel, Sherlock's face bloomed red with embarrassment.
John laughed, "Look," he said, "I don't even want to know what you were doing. Just put some comfortable clothes on while I go and find something to dry the chair."
When Sherlock had came back down, John was sitting on the two seater watching a film and eating some popcorn. John made a gesture for Sherlock to sit beside him.
"Come here Sherlock. I hope you don't mind. I put the new Star Trek movie on."
"It's acceptable." Sherlock smirked.
Laughing, John moved over to let Sherlock sit beside him. The extra weight made the chair creak, but it didn't do much else.
"So," John started, "Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"
Sherlock took some popcorn and placed it delicately in his mouth. After he finished eating it, he said, "I don't think you want to know."
"Just tell me. It can't be as bad as the body we saw." John countered.
Sighing, Sherlock put his feet on the couch, "All right, I will tell you. You might want to pause the film, though."
John paused the film.
"When I left this house I was abducted by two men in balaclavas. I couldn't see their faces, nor anything about their identity as they placed a woollen scarf around my eyes. The woollen scarf held no clues as to who they were so I had to really on smell which didn't get me very far as I was shoved in an old van, which clouded my nose with the putrid stench of petrol, and taken to an old ware house, or something of the sort. Then I was tied to a table. I didn't try to escape as I didn't know where I was. A women came up to me after approximately five minutes and held my face and stroked my neck, before skilfully engraving the M onto my neck. She then said "Moriarty," very, very carefully and then she left.
"As she left, I tensed up my wrists- you see, if you tense your arm then it becomes easier to get out of bonds,- and I slipped one of my wrists out carefully. It was only then when I took off my blindfold that I noticed the blood pouring down my neck so I used to scarf to mop up the blood. The women then left the door open, possibly on purpose, so I got out and took shelter with some homeless people.
"But, of course, if you live on the streets there is going to be trouble, so a few people ganged up on me every night. I beat them of course but I took a few punches first. I got your text though. I checked my phone once a day, just before my nightly fights, turning it off straight after so it keep its charge. So there you go. That's my story."
It was the way that he said it which made it seem almost believable, but it wasn't the whole truth. There was something about it. Something strange.
John's face paled slightly and... and then it clicked. Why was he spending so much time with this mysterious boy? Anyone would have just called the police, but John wasn't anyone. Like a jigsaw coming together, all of the pieces fell into place.
He lent forward, grabbing the back of Sherlock's neck, carefully missing the healing wound and brought their lips together in a short, chaste kiss.
Sherlock's eyes widened and a blush rushed through his face. Awkwardly John blushed too, quickly apologising.
"You don't need to apologise." Sherlock replied as he smashed his lips onto John's, pushing John backwards so that he was on top of him. Teeth clashed together and inexperienced tongues mingled in a messy heat. John's hands wandered all over Sherlock's body, over back, ghosting along his protruding ribs and cautiously on the damaged neck, before finally tangling in the curly black mess of hair.
Sherlock groaned into the kiss, hands either side of John's face as he tried to lean on his knees so he wouldn't crush the smaller boy. A few weeks ago he never thought that he would even see John again, but now he was kissing him like there was no tomorrow.
John moaned as Sherlock started to press kisses onto his neck. Pushing on Sherlock's head in pleasure as he felt him nip and suck at the pulse point intended to leave a mark. Wincing slightly as Sherlock bite down on his neck John came back to reality, he pushed Sherlock up and off of him, leaving a trail of saliva from his neck to Sherlock's plump, flushed lips.
Noticing Sherlock's slightly disappointed face, John said, "I stopped you because now I'm going to have to hide a hickey from my mum. You know what she is like and... Well I would hate for her to ruin this."
Slightly more relived Sherlock smiled, "Yes that would be a shame."
He leaned in again to kiss John but strong hands stopped him, "It's time for dinner, and we need to talk some more."
Sighing, Sherlock got up from John and sat on the armchair pouting.
John disappeared into the kitchen and when he came back, two warm bowls of instant noodles were in his hands.
Passing one bowl to Sherlock, he said, "Sherlock, you literally ruined my life and yet I have found myself kissing you to within an inch of your life. I don't know what to make of that. I would have swore on my mother's life that I wasn't interested in guys, yet I made the first move."
"Quite," Said Sherlock finishing his mouthful of food, "I shall have to write that down as one of the most important discoveries ever made. Of course I already knew you were interested in guys. I just never said anything because you would have just denied it. Oh, and that Mark who used to follow you, wasn't a stalker. You led him on. Even that stupid Anderson guy could see that."
John looked at Sherlock puzzled.
"How the hell did you know who Mark was? And who is Anderson?"
"I have my resources and Anderson is just a kid trying and failing to be an adult."
"Hmm..." John said, unsure, "Okay, and we still haven't finished the film. After we finished eating though."
Sherlock nodded and continued to pick at his food.
-Line break-
Dirty dishes in the sink and pyjamas on, the two teenagers sat on the sofa in each others arms fast asleep. The film had finished an hour ago and the title menu of the DVD lit up the room, bathing them in a gentle aura of light.
-Line break-
John woke up first to a mess of curly hair tickling his neck. He couldn't stop himself from giggling and the erratic movements of his chest soon awoke Sherlock. Gazing down, John smiled to himself. Sherlock smiled back wearily and lazily pushed his lips onto John's. Surprised, but not repulsed by this action, John reciprocated and licked along the bottom of Sherlock's lips. The raven haired boy responded idly and opened his mouth, not bothering to fight for dominance. He moaned at the taste of John's tongue in his mouth and moved his hands around John's neck. John moaned and propped himself up to get better access to Sherlock's mouth.
A loud cough caught their attention and John shoved Sherlock onto the other side of the sofa.
Then a young man, only about twenty years old, walked into the room, swinging a black umbrella.
"Good morning boys. I hope all is well. I can certainly see you are quite happy." The man said, sitting on the armchair and turning the TV off.
John flushed red, but Sherlock stared daggers at the man.
"Now, now brother. I am here to help." The man reprimanded.
Brother... That man who had just walked in on us is Sherlock's brother? John thought.
"Yes, I am his brother, John. Now," He turned to Sherlock. "I brought you some clothes, your toothbrush and a few other 'things'. Now I know you want to stay here but mother says you must come home ASAP. But I think I can make arrangements for you to be picked up on Sunday."
Sherlock just grunted.
"Well then, I shall go. A pleasure meeting you Mr. Watson."
John just looked at the man. So Sherlock wasn't the only weird one.
A/N Well Sherlock is back and they kissed and Mycroft and an extra long chapter! Lucky you guys. The plot thickens... you can review favourite and follow if you want but it is by no means necessary, I have figured out the pacing so phew... ^wipes brow^ hope you enjoyed. And I apologise for lateness, I am quite busy on weekends.