*Thanks to ALL my followers, reviewers, and favoriteers (like the name?) So this chapters gets pretty intense, and I'm not terribly happen with the end, but oh well. I think the characters get a little OOC as well. Please, please, please review! I love hearing YOUR input.
John watched as Sherlock-and there was no better way to describe this- strutted away into the forest. John couldn't help but stare a bit as he disappeared into the forest. There was another reason the Watson family had moved that the observant boy had missed- which John was was incredibly thankful for. He had recently come out as tentatively gay, just about the same time his sister had come out. This is why Captain David Watson had been drinking and driving that night. Not that there was any excuse for drinking and driving, but John couldn't help but feel that his actions had contributed to the accident. He had called his dad after overhearing some of the other boys talking about ambushing John when he walked home. He knew it would look weak of him, and he didn't want to look weak in his dad's eyes. So he had pretended to be sick-most likely food poisoning(which was admittedly not a far stretch when one considered the miserable excuse for food the school cafeteria served).
John's dad had shown up in a drunken haze. It was obvious he was inebriated, and John had tried his best to get his dad to get out of the car. He had tried to convince hi to let him drive, to just wait, to call a cab, and finally just to walk home. With every attempt, Mr. Watson had grown angrier, until finally, he yelled at John "If you don't get -hiccup-in the car right now, you can just forget about comin'-hiccup- home!"
John knew he was drunk, and that he hadn't meant it, but he still felt hurt. David Watson had taken the news about his two kids fairly well, aside from turning to the bottle. He hadn't told him to leave, he hadn't looked at them in disgust, hadn't even yelled. He had nodded, and went back to watching some crap telly show. But John watched as he began to drink more. His mother had been a bit disappointed about not getting grand kids, but had other wise been quiet about it.
John had climbed in the car, and remained silent the whole ride.
John blamed himself for the accident, at least in part. He was mad as hell at his dad, but his dad had only been the instrument of destruction. John had been the catalyst. The unintentional mastermind behind it all. He had sunk down into a pit of grief, and had only attempted to climb out when he had found the tree house this afternoon.
It was old, yet elegant. It sat in a beautiful tree that reminded John a bit of a pretty version of the Whomping Willow from Harry Potter. He'd wanted to check it out, but didn't want to intrude. When Sherlock had appeared out of no where to grab his arm, he, of course had been surprised. Not just by the unsuspected appearance, but by the jolt of electricity that had jolted through him at the point of contact between their hands. Then he had gotten a good look at Sherlock. Bloody. Freaking. Gorgeous. His dark, curly hair contrasted his pale, angular features in an exciting way. It gave an air of life to his very presence that hinted at danger and screamed mystery. This boy was the epitome of all of John's fantasies.
Then Sherlock had opened his mouth. Bloody. Freaking. Brilliant. John had been stunned once more. Was there anything about this boy that could possibly be a turn off? He had been a bit rude at first, but that was to be expected. John had invaded his tree house. Yeah, John had called up first, but perhaps the boy had been asleep, or otherwise occupied. He kept conversing with Sherlock, hoping the other boy wouldn't notice how helplessly infatuated John was.
John had to know more about this boy. Especially whether or not he was currently in a relationship. If he was, John could always just be his friend. But if not...well get ready Sherlock Holmes. John was known for being relentless when it came to pursuing a relationship. Of course, that had been mostly when he dated girls. He had always tried so hard, convinced that it was his fault that he really wasn't attracted to them. Then his sister had come out, and he talked to her about it. He had concluded from these discussions and his own feelings that he was gay. He hadn't been a hundred percent convinced until he saw Sherlock. His face was just so perfect. God those cheekbone! Those dark curls would be perfect to run his hands through and clutch. And that arse was perfectly shaped, perfect to cup and squeeze.
When Sherlock had said that he wasn't in a relationship, John had noticed that he got a little flustered, but had assumed(the assumption had been driven by hope) that it was because Sherlock liked him too. But then, when Sherlock had told him that he needed to go, and John saw the bruises, he had known something was up. Sherlock tried to tell him it was an experiment, but that couldn't possibly be the source. John had quite a bit of medical knowledge, as he hoped to one day become an army doctor. Many of those bruises were yellowing, indicating that they were weeks old. Others were obviously fresh. These had been sustained over time, and John highly doubted that any experiment that was this harmful would be continued long term. Sherlock wasn't the only one who could put two and two together and get four. John knew Sherlock had an abusive partner. Damn, still don't know if he's gay! John was astounded that this would be the prevalent thought in his head. He mentally berated himself as he desperately attempted to prolong his time with Sherlock, trying to figure out more about him. He wanted to help, but he didn't want to embarrass the other teen.
Despite John's best efforts, Sherlock wasted little time in getting John out. He must be in a hurry. Wonder what he's so anxious about...could it be? Sherlock had recently gotten a text. Could it have been from his abusive partner? John figured he would chance it. It would be worth it if he could help the boy out. This would also be an excellent chance to figure out which team Sherlock played for.
John quietly ghosted after Sherlock. He stayed just close enough to keep him in sight. He stayed to the left of the boy, so that he could sprint back toward his own house if Sherlock discovered him. He was sure the other boy would be quite cross with him if he was discovered. Plus he would have to explain why he was following, and he wasn't sure he was quite ready to lay his feelings out on the table. He was a bit apprehensive. What if Sherlock was straight? What if he just didn't like John in that way? Why would he ever like John that way? John wasn't special. He was just selfish and bad for all those around him. He tried to be good. He was friendly to everyone, and tried his best to stop bullies, but he went around chasing after girls for his own selfish purposes, and then had drove his dad to an early grave(no pun intended). He had pleaded with his mom, who already had enough on her mind with the accident and the economic problems they were sure to encounter soon, to uproot the family and move somewhere that wasn't so homophobic. He was a bad person, but he wouldn't stop trying to do good.
The two walked for about 10 minutes until a the forest opened into a clearing. As John closed in on the clearing and carefully hid himself between a large tree, he could see a rather large pond off to the right of the clearing opposite to the tree he was behind, surrounded by flowers of many different shapes, sizes, and colors. It was a picturesque scene, but was marred by the presence of a boy with reddish brown hair who appeared to be about John's age. He was taller than John, but not by much. He was slender like Sherlock, but had a rosy complexion that made him appear healthy and rounded.
Sherlock looked indifferently across to the other boy. The boy held out his arms wide, as if expecting a hug.
"Come here Sherly," the boy said, a distinctly Irish lilt apparent in his voice, "You know you missed me." His mouth curled up into a grin that looked downright evil to John. Definitely the boyfriend. John's heart gave a little flutter at this realization.
Sherlock snarled and said "Don't call me Sherly. And I've decided that I've had enough of you Moriarty. Both of you." John was puzzled at this. Both of you? Does he have two boyfriends? Is it a threesome? I wonder how kinky this boy is? John blushed. His mind seemed to be stuck in the gutter since he gazed upon the perfection of Sherlock. He wasn't usually this dirty minded. But then again, that one bloke-Oscar something, Oscar Wilde, maybe? eh not important- did say that we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking out at the stars. Maybe he had stopped looking out at the stars. John frowned. That sounded a bit not good. He didn't need to be any lower than he already was. Ah bugger it, I need to focus on this now.
But that thought stayed consistently at the front of his mind as he watched the strange scene unfolding in front of him. The other boy, Moriarty, dropped his arms, but the smile on his face remained. It looked rather tight now, though. The two had a stare down, both refusing to look away. Then Moriarty took one step towards Sherlock.
"What was that, Sherly? Hmmmm, you don't want me anymore?" The other boy said far too cheerfully. Sherlock continued to stare directly into his eyes.
"Don't-"
"YOU DON'T WANT ME ANYMORE?" Moriarty's smile broke as he roared over Sherlock's protestation."Well that's just too bad, because, unfortunately for you, I am the only way to get you what you need."
"Wrong!"Sherlock retorted, furious at being interrupted "I don't need you, your drugs, anything! I AM NOT addicted, I only have one want, and it is NOT YOU!" The hidden boy was surprised by this revelation. Sherlock is a druggie? No wait, he's a recovering druggie? I'll have to figure this, and the mysterious 'want' out later. John marveled at Sherlock. It was terrifying watching the two argue. John imagined that this is what the clash of the titans would look like. Sherlock was calm and cold, yet exuded a ferocity and dread not unlike that inspired by the Daleks. Moriarty was all rage, but was obviously still in control of himself. He was more visually frightening than Sherlock, but Sherlock was psychologically terrifying. Damn, how does he make that look so sexy? By this point, John gave up on trying to censor those little blurbs from his mind. He was too engrossed and the battlefield below.
Moriarty started chuckling. "Oh Sherlock, poor naive little Sherlock. You'll come back. You always do." Moriarty walked closer to Sherlock as he said this. He got right up against Sherlock. "After all, I'm the only one who loves you. Who could ever love you." Sherlock lost focus for a minute at these words. Moriarty took the opportunity to lean forward and press his lips to Sherlock's. John's mind went blank. Red filled his vision. With an almighty yell, he charged toward Moriarty, thinking of nothing but using his years of rugby experience and the resulting body to take the little shit down.
"Sherlock!" he yelled as he pinned Moriarty beneath him "Go Sherlock. Get away from this scumbag. Don't give in, you don't need those drugs!" John felt he babbled a bit to much, but he was nervous. He always was when it came to violence.
John was doing well at first. He caught Moriarty by surprise and managed to get him to the ground. But Moriarty was stronger than he appeared, and insanely clever. He managed to flip John, then smack his head back on the rocks of the pond. John groaned loudly and attempted to fight back. But Moriarty laughed, and slammed his head down once more. John's world went black.
Sherlock picked himself off the ground and spun to where John and Moriarty were tussling on the grass. John's tackle had been forceful enough to knock him back on his bum. His initial confusion was replaced quickly by momentary happiness, which was replaced by dread. John came for me. Moriarty might kill him. The drug dealer was incredibly mercurial. One moment he could be caring, but the next he would be in a murderous rage aver the banal detail. He had to get Moriarty off John.
But Sherlock was frozen to the spot as a sickening crunch came from the kerfuffle. John's eyes closed as Moriarty stood up with a nasty grin.
"John?" Sherlock asked mootly. John was, at best, unconscious.
"Now, Sherlock, either you come back to me, or I promise-no scratch that, I swear- that I will BURN the heart out of you." Moriarty sneered.
"I have been reliably informed that I do not have one." Sherlock retorted, eager to have the last word. The staring contest between the two resumed. As Sherlock looked deep into the brown eyes of Moriarty, he realized something.
Sherlock was absolutely disgusted. How could this boy have ever caught his fancy? How screwed up did Sherlock have to be to ever come to rely upon this boy? If Sherlock was honest with himself(which he was beginning to realize that he hardly ever was), Moriarty had, at one point, seemed very attractive. Mostly because of the drugs that came with him, but his clever mind had caught Sherlock's attention. Almost like a toy caught the eye of a bored pup. Now all Sherlock could see was the malignity of the devilish teen. He would surely bring destruction wherever he went. Sherlock detested him. He didn't want to end up like him.
There comes a point in every person's life when they must make a choice. For some, it's hardly a decision. They know exactly what they want. Now, it is true that one can come to many crossroads in one's life. However, one stands out amongst the others as a definitive turning point that affects the course of life. At least, this is what Sherlock had read. He had never quite believed that one point could be so definitive. He believed life was made up of the little decisions, not one big one.
But this one moment, with John unconscious, possibly dead, on the rocks, Moriarty having put the boy there with no hesitancy over his actions; With Moriarty grinning at Sherlock vilely, as if planning exactly how he would make Sherlock pay for his insubordinance. This one moment changed Sherlock's mind. Because in this one moment, Moriarty was so purely evil, so malign, that Sherlock knew that he would rather die the most painful death than EVER turn out like Moriarty. In this one moment, Sherlock fell. He had been teetering on a ledge for awhile now. He had been at the top of the cliffs, where Moriarty tempted him to be evil with him. Where life would always be easy. Where he could kill people, mess with their lives, use them as his puppets, just because he was bored. He had been slowly backing away from the edge. But now he took a flying leap off. He fell, plunging towards the ground at a terrifying pace. This road would be more difficult, but he could see now that this way would be eternally more gratifying. This was the side of the angels.
A new found strength flooded through him as a moan came from the direction of the pond. John wasn't dead. He swung his head towards John, glad to see him squirming on the ground. He swung his head right back as Moriarty began to chuckle. He laughed harder, tears(fake, no doubt) started rolling down his face. This perturbed Sherlock to no end.
"I think we both know that this is not the case." Moriarty managed to get out.
John awoke groggily, just in time to hear laughter. What the hell? He tried to sit up, but pain shot through his head.
He settled for opening his eyes and searching for Sherlock. He was in the same position as before: body tensed, locked in stare down mode. But Moriarty was laughing so hard he was...crying? John wondered if he had somehow entered an alternate universe. Moriarty was giggling gleefully, and Sherlock was looking rather...nervous? Where was all the confidence from before? How long had John been out? Why was Moriarty so damn happy? John was so utterly confused.
Moriarty finally stopped chuckling and wiped the tears away from his eyes.
"Well, you two boys are just so much fun to play with. I think I'll let you go. For now. You'll be crawling back to me as soon as that withdrawal hits," the drug dealer gleefully said, and then sang out "Good bye!" Sherlock continued to stare him down, but started slowly walking towards John as Moriarty retreated out of the clearing.
"Catch you later." Sherlock said, almost to himself. It seemed more like a conviction than a retort..
As soon as Moriarty had disappeared, Sherlock fell to his knees at John's side. His calm and cool facade shattered to reveal his panic.
"John!" he said as his eyes frantically surveyed the downed boys body as he ran his hand all over, checking for broken bones and bruises " Are you okay? Where does it hurt? Can you sit up?" John smiled at the boys concern. It was rather endearing to see the usually cold and emotionally cut off boy so open and natural. John lifted his hand to the sharp cheek bone of the frantic boy. Sherlock flushed under his touch.
"That-um. That thing you offered to do back there. That was- um good." Sherlock said, obviously flustered.
"Anytime, Sher." John said, grinning easily. Sherlock grinned back. Ugh, that grin, the concern, the sexy. I should kiss him right now. John was nervous at that thought, but resisted the impulse long enough to ask "So...definitely gay, then?" Sherlock looked rather confused, then slowly broke out into a grin. Before John could make good on his impulse, Sherlock slowly leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on John's lips. John saw fireworks. That's so cliche he scoffed at himself; But it was true. The kiss was so amazingly wonderful, so right. He whispered Sherlock's name against his lips, then gasped as a tongue creeped out of the other boy's mouth and tentatively swiped across his lower lip. Asking permission? God yes. John moaned his consent as he reached up and put one hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and weaved the other through the luscious mop of dark curls on Sherlock's head. John was having mightily inappropriate thoughts now. The quote from earlier popped into his head, and he frowned.
He felt, rather than saw, Sherlock's confusion as he pulled away.
"What's wrong John? Did I do something wrong? God, I have haven't I. I'm so sorry! Please don't leave me!." Sherlock panicked and curled up into a ball. He tucked his head up under his arms.
"Sherlock, no. God no. That was so...wonderful-perfect-right! Take your pick. Any of those describe what just happened. I just... I had a weird thought." John tried to console the ball of boy. Sherlock peeked up from behind his arms. His eyes were glistening and wide, distress clearly written across his face. God he looks so cute when he's vulnerable.
"yourdon hava libe tor akeem freel befferrt" Sherlock mumbled. The words were completely non understandable due to the arm that was in front of his mouth. John just smiled, struggled to sit up, then grabbed Sherlock's arm.
"Want to try that again?" He whispered. Sherlock glanced down at his shoes.
"I said, you don't have to lie to make me feel better, John." He whispered. John felt his heart flutter. What would inspire Sherlock to be this shy. Where was that confidence he had seen against Moriarty?
"Sherlock, love, I'm not lying. I think you are incredible. ..Brilliant... .Sexy. I want you. I don't understand how I could ever deserve you, but nonetheless, I want to be with you. All the time. You are passionate, fierce, genius, gorgeous, genuine. And I like you. Quite a bit."John put all his feels into this speech, hoping Sherlock would understand. He slipped the hand on Sherlock's arm down to his hand. He laced their fingers together, then gave a reassuring squeeze. Sherlock looked back up into his eyes, his expression cautious.
"Then why were you...frowning when I kissed you?" He asked hesitantly, as if by saying this he would remind John that he did in fact hate Sherlock. John felt a flare of rage towards Moriarty, who most definitely caused Sherlock to lose faith in himself. He rubbed his thumb in small circles on the back of Sherlock's hand to reassure him that John was there, and didn't plan on leaving anytime soon.
"It's just- you are so incredibly sexy- I've been...thinking...not good things about you and me," John said slowly, searching for the right words "My thoughts aren't usually so...explicit. It made me think about this quote from Oscar Wilde, I think. He said that we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking up at the stars... I was worried that I had stopped looking at the stars, meaning I had sunk even farther than I already have..." John mumbled, embarrassed. He wondered again how Sherlock could ever love him. John was so disgusting.
"Perhaps," Sherlock started slowly then paused. "Perhaps you aren't falling farther. You physical position has stayed the same. Your mental position, however, has turned from the unattainable, yet wildly tempting, to a healthier goal." John stared at him, lost in thought.
"So you're saying that I have abandoned my attempts to achieve the impossible because I've realized that what I have, or what I can actually achieve is better for me?" John asked. Sherlock nodded. John looked down to process that. It was true. He had finally abandoned the notion that he might be straight, that he could be straight if it would make the people's lives around him easier. But John couldn't lie about something like this. He wasn't attracted to girls, plain and simple. But his attempts to be that guy had been hurting him, and had given his parents false hope that was ultimately hurting them. John smiled up at Sherlock. He leaned in close and put his forehead against Sherlock's.
"Bloody genius, I think you're right. Absolutely right." Sherlock smiled and said "Of course I am." The two laughed.
"Pretentious git" John joked.
"Sherlock captured John's lips with his own before replying with "foolhardy idiot."
The kiss deepened, and soon the air was filled with gasps and moans ans the two explored each others bodies with their hands. Soon, John became light headed. He pulled away, then chuckled at the pout on Sherlock's face.
"you're so adorable when you pout." John smiled. Sherlock let out a low growl, then went back to kissing John with fervor. John felt light headed again, but ignored it, too caught up in Sherlock. Then, for the second time that day, John passed out.