Hey guys! Here's chapter 15. I posted it a few days ago on Ao3... Then forgot to do it here.

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Hopefully the next one won't take nearly as long.

Sorry for any (and all) mistakes!

Enjoy!

John didn't go to class very much for the next few weeks. He skipped school nearly every day to hang out with Jim. John was afraid that Sherlock would find out at first, but if he did, he never said anything.

The first week, the one he started off skipping just the second half of school, was great and he still made it to the majority of his classes.

John and Jim would hang out and talk about how things were in life. Jim would tell stories about his work, never giving enough detail for them to make a lot of sense, but John enjoyed them anyway. John would tell about Sherlock's antics.

John really liked hanging out with Jim. It made him feel older. It made him feel appreciated. Sherlock hadn't been around recently and the last time he and John had talked was when Sherlock had sent John to his room.

John was definitely over it, not all that bitter anymore, but he was starting to miss Sherlock. John was alone more often than not when he was at the flat, to try to combat this, he spent every moment he could with Jim. They went to the park, their coffee shop. And just hung out.

The second week was similar but not the same. Another dead body, less time with Sherlock, normal. John tried to convince himself that there were six people dead, but, damnit. John wanted to be important had work, though John still didn't know what he did, but John had lunch with him every day and during that time, he still went to his first few classes and his last class though.

The third week, the seventh body, he couldn't remember going at all. He had missed a large chunk of school, so he didn't see the point of going if he was already so behind.

It's not like Sherlock was around to yell at him.

John didn't know what was going on with the case, but it didn't really matter. Sherlock wasn't telling and John gave up asking.

There was another word, from what John heard when he listened in on Greg and Sherlock. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't care.

Jim was his best friend.

John knew he shouldn't say that, because it felt like he was leaving Sherlock behind, but Sherlock left him first. Sherlock was busy, but John wanted his attention… Well Jim provided. They were together every time they could be, and when they weren't, they were talking via text.

Jim expected things to always go his way and if they didn't… well John had only seen that once in the three weeks they'd been hanging out as oficial friends.

"Sherlock was asking me about you, you know."

"Oh?" Jim had stopped smiling.

"Yeah, he wants to meet you."

"I don't know about that, Pet. He might not approve."

"Of what?"

"Us. I'm not exactly your age, you know? And what about the things you've done?"

"Well, you said we were friends when you wanted to... you know… Why not when my best friend wants to meet you?" John snapped.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that. I'll do whatever I please, whether you like it or not."

"I just don't think it's very fair that-"

"If you were really my friend, you wouldn't keep bringing that up and trying to force me into meeting someone I don't want to know. You're so selfish." John had stayed silent. Jim was right. Just because Jim had taken his choice away once didn't mean he owed John… and even if he did, he'd more than made up for it.

"I-I'm sorry," John lowered his head.

"I'll let it go this time, but, maybe next time, think before you have ideas."

In health class, they had an entire week's lesson on abusive relationships. How to identify them, what to do if you find yourself in one and how to keep yourself safe from abusers.

Such a shame John skipped his classes. That lesson would have saved him from a lot of trouble.

In the first week, Jim had convinced John to stay out late. Later than he had ever been out with Sherlock, but because it was fun and John was responsible enough that Jim trusted him with keeping a secret, John loved it. They didn't do anything besides walk around, but it was so much fun to see the streets of London from this side of the street at night, knowing he had somewhere he could go home to. He still made it to school in the mornings. Usually…

The second week was different… John knew he was at an impressionable age, but he wouldn't fall for tricks. Jim really was sorry about what he did and he was trying to make up for it. John believed him and it wasn't just his hormones talking.

So when Jim offered a sip of alcohol, telling him it was okay under supervision, John didn't refuse to strongly. He knew he could handle it as long as it wasn't a lot. He had more the next time. Enough to feel slightly woozy, but not to impair his judgment or motor skills.

The next time he did. John still couldn't really remember that night very well. As the week went on, it only got worse.

It was bloody brilliant… until it wasn't.

The third week was probably the worst. No, not probably, it definitely was.

He and Jim stayed out every night, walking, talking, sometimes they would throw rocks, break windows, lamps, CCTV cameras… John felt bad, but it felt great to break things. John was frustrated all the time, it seemed. With Sherlock, with the people at school, with… with life. Jim made it better. So did the alcohol.

John didn't know how Jim kept sneaking a way too young kid into bars… but after one such night, Jim was completely sober, claiming he had to make sure John didn't do anything stupid, as they walked out of the back of the bar. Jim never drank. John assumed he was allergic to alcohol or something. He didn't really care.

John wasn't nervous around him anymore, and Jim couldn't be wrong, so John didn't see any problem with this. Maybe if he'd been sober a red flag would have popped up… but he so rarely was anymore.

They walked for no more than two minutes before John was pushed against a wall, sharp metal to his throat.

"If you move, your kid dies." The man growled.

"That hurts." John's arm was twisted painfully, but wasted as he was, he couldn't really feel it. Or the knife pressed to his throat for that matter. But he knew it should.

Not a second later, John slipped to the ground, watching through blurry vision as Jim kicked the man in the chest, no doubt breaking a few ribs. Jim helped John up, but the tunnel vision was so bad, Jim was basically carrying John at this point. It also meant John didn't see the wad of cash Jim threw at the man who was now wheezing for breath.

John had come to shortly after, nerves still humming.

"You can put me down. I can walk now."

"Does this count as touching you?" Jim joked.

"No, I'll let it slide. This time."

"Whew." Jim faked relief.

"That was scary." John said, not really meaning it, but it had been scary to not know if he would have been able to stop the man if Jim hadn't been there.

"Here, try this. It always calms me down." Jim pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

If John had been any less drunk, he would have hit himself. Jim didn't smoke. John knew that. Jim had never smelled like smoke and for all the time they spent together, John had never seen a single cigaret on Jim's person. But he wasn't any less drunk, so he reached for it, letting Jim light it. He sucked in a breath, not even coughing. He was a natural. Feeling the hot smoke breath life into his lungs.

He was drinking and smoking as much as his father and his sister. He was just like them. He would hate himself, if Jim wasn't the one saying it was okay.

John was still very drunk and he couldn't move in a very straight line, so when Jim started to walk away, John found he couldn't follow.

"Jim, wait up." He slurred, but Jim just turned and smiled, then slipped into the darkness.

The next thing John knew, he was in the back of a police car.

Sherlock was done. This case was ridiculous. The bodies were obviously a countdown, though he didn't know what for. The last word in the previous sentence was 'safe' carved in Morse code, with the body seemingly decapitated with safety scissors.

It didn't make sense and Sherlock was done. There would be three more victims then it would be over.

John was going to hate him.

But there was nothing he could do. No reliable pattern, no distinguishable suspects.

And it was too bloody early in the morning. No one should be up at the crack of dawn, though John would have already left for school by now. Strange, Sherlock hadn't heard him leave. But, really, that wasn't surprising.

He hadn't slept in days and hadn't eaten since John forced that sandwich down his throat nearly two weeks ago besides a nibble here and there.

And he hated being away from John for so long.

Sherlock was done. When Lestrade called, Sherlock sighed in relief, he could tell the D.I. he was out right then and there and be done with it, then he'd go get John from school and maybe pass out on the couch while John talked his ear off about arbitrary things he liked to go on about.

"Get your ass down to the station now. I'm not even joking." Geoff sounded pissed. Then hung up.

Sherlock was already on his way down the stairs.

He was at New Scotland Yard in under five minutes. Maybe there was finally a break in the case, maybe this would be over and he wouldn't have to back down.

Then he saw Lestrade's face. It was twisted with furry.

"I am so angry with you I have no words."

"Whatever it is I'm sure I didn't-"

"Where's John, Sherlock?"

"At school."

"Oh, is he? Because last I checked, when I got in this morning, just about fifteen minutes ago, he was in the fucking drunk tank. We also found cigarettes in his pocket with a lot of them missing."

Sherlock didn't even know how to react.

"That's not-"

"Just because he's not your kid doesn't mean you shouldn't fucking ground him when he need to be taught a lesson."

"He's my flat-"

"Yeah, flatmate that you have custody over."

Sherlock tried not to be a prick. Well, no he doesn't, but for Lestrade he usually tries at least a little bit not to be terrible to the D.I.

But Lestrade has no say in how John is reared. Especially when it was him that asked for help in the first place.

"I'm dropping the case. Bring John out here, we're leaving."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I won't repeat myself."

"You've never dropped a case before. Why-"

"If John needs my time, well, not having a case opens up my whole schedule. If I have to drop this case to make time for him, so be it. We have no leads, no suspects. All you've done is wait, letting trails go cold and making it harder.

"In your mind I'm a bad father, but I will not fail as a caretaker. But you know what? I'm lost. John had another incident the other day. I think that's where this outburst came from. And if you think I'll wait idly while John falls down the exact same hole I did, you can go straight to hell, Lestrade."

People were staring. Lestrade was staring. Sherlock was done.

"If you don't turn around and go get him, I will never set another foot onto one of your crime scenes."

That got him moving. Without a word, Lestrade went back to the holding cell.

John didn't know what hell was like, but he'd say this was close. His head was throbbing, and the metal clank of the door was not helping.

"Get up John. Sherlock's here to take you home."

John slowly got up, trying not to vomit, fall over or a sick combination of both.

"Oh, John, I'm so disappointed. I thought you were better than this."

"Why don't you go fuck yourself, Greg? You just don't understand."

Greg sighed. He remembered his first teenager… not as bad, but he remembered how hard it could be.

He hopped Sherlock knew what he was doing.

Sherlock did not know what he was doing. John looked sick, but even so he had a scowl that made the muscles in his face twitch slightly.

The way home was silent. When they did get home, Sherlock was the first to speak.

"Go to your room until I figure out what to do with you." Sherlock sounded defeated and John almost felt bad. Almost. Quickly it was replaced with anger.

"Oh, the genius doesn't know what to do? Did hell freeze over while I was passed out?"

"John I-"

"Save it. I don't care." And up the stairs he went.

Sherlock collapsed into his chair. He felt old. Not even six years ago he was a teenager. He remembered it vividly. How much damage he'd done… not only to himself, but to everything he touched.

There was only one person who could help… and if it weren't dire, he'd never even consider it.

He picked up his phone. It was picked up on the first ring.

"Mycroft."

"Ah, brother, what a surprise. Tell me, what hell has arrisin that you've called me of your own volition?"

"I… I'm calling into effect rule number 16 from the book."

"Do remind me. Was that the one about fires or helping on another and then never speaking about it again?"

"Take a wild guess." Sherlock wasn't in the mood for word play. He just wanted to help John and Mycroft was the only one who could help right now.

"Alright. How can I be of assistance?"

" … Damn it, Myc. I just pulled John from the drunk tank. He had cigarettes in his pocket and suddenly he is really aggravated. Constantly. And he keeps talking back. I don't know what's going on and he won't say more than 'fuck you' to me. What do I do, Myc?"

He hadn't used the nickname since he was six, but he was tired, hungry and worried about John. If anyone could be there for Sherlock right now, it was Mycroft. Sherlock knew if Mycroft was any less composed, he'd be teasing Sherlock within an inch of his life. Maybe even try to get Sherlock to owe him a favor… But rule sixteen said 'One may ask the other for help once a year for advice/help, for three consecutive minutes, no favors due, and once the problem is fixed, it will not be talked about again unless the problem persists.' and Sherlock hadn't used this in years. But Mycroft couldn't help but poke a little.

"This is shocking. I never-"

"Yes, yes. It must be rich coming from me, but please brother."

Mycroft sighed. "Be firm with him. Don't give any bend. Ground him or punish him in some way. He's not you, it will work, but don't be cruel, be truthful. Most of all, talk to him. Let him know why you're upset, not just that you are. Figure out what suddenly changed. Look at what you've been doing. Have you been around? When's the last time you said something nice to him? Given him attention at all? If it is sudden, there's a reason."

"I didn't have a reason. What if he doesn't?"

"First, this isn't about you. Second, you did have a reason, even if it was just to see what you could get away with. Third, you and John are polar opposites. John has a reason. Don't force him to talk about it, but get him to tell you and have him think it's because he wanted to."

"Well, how do I do that?"

"You're a genius, figure it out."

"Anything else?" The allotted time was almost up.

"Yes. One last thing. Don't doubt yourself, you're a good man. You can do this."

"What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"

"Keep John from making the same mistakes you did."

"…Thanks, Myc."

"Let that horrid name die already."

"Not a chance." He hung up, knowing Mycroft was busy and also wanting to get the talk with John over. He put the kettle on and sat at the table, trying not to fall asleep right there.

After he and John got this all squared away, he was going to take the longest nap ever.

The kettle whistled and, with John's tea just how he likes it, Sherlock knew he couldn't stall anymore.

He walked to the base of the stairs.

"John, come down here."

John was fuming. Not only had Jim left him to be caught, but now Sherlock was trying to be his parent. It was infuriating. John wasn't a little kid. He knew damn well what he did was wrong. He just wanted to hit something.

He heard Sherlock call for him.

"John, come down here."

John debated not doing that, but he didn't have anything better to do.

When John had walked as slowly down the stairs as possible, he saw Sherlock in the sitting room with tea.

Two cups… John tried to not let his guard down, but Sherlock never made tea.

"What do you want?"

"Have a seat." John didn't budge yet. "You need to tell me what drove you to take up smoking and drinking. I can help, trust me, I've been there before."

"Sherlock, you don't get it. I'm not like you."

"I was in the same spot as you when I was your age, smoking, drinking. Mine, however, moved onto more serious things."

"I don't care. I'm not you."

"No, you're not. But I can help anyway."

"No you can't."

"John, I can do whatever I want. This is nothing." Sherlock was tired. John could see he hadn't slept in a very long time… But John couldn't help it. He was livid. So what Sherlock hadn't slept? What made him think he could solve every damn problem?

"Nothing? How can you sit there and tell me it's nothing! I'm just like my sister… just like my father!"

"No, you're not. You had a bad few weeks. Just because of that doesn't mean your life is suddenly over."

"Why the hell shouldn't it? If I was this easy to sway, why not next time?"

"I can help."

"How can you help when you're never fucking here?" John was shouting, but he didn't really care.

He knew Sherlock was about to ground him seven ways from sunday. John wouldn't listen, not really. He didn't care, just like Sherlock didn't. If he did care he would-

"I quit the case." It was sudden and John didn't catch it at first. All John heard was 'case' and of course Sherlock was talking about the case again he never-

"Of course you-" John stopped and actually understood what Sherlock had said. "You what?"

"The case, I quit it."

"Why would you quit the case? You say the work is everything all the time and now you just bloody quit?"

John walked over and finally sat in the seat facing Sherlock, he grabbed the offered cup, but just set it aside. He didn't want tea right now.

"There are a lot of reasons, but first and foremost, I haven't seen you for more than five minutes at a time in nearly two months. With everything that's happened, I really think I should be around more. I won't take another case, no matter how interesting, until we get you better."

John wanted to be touched, but he'd been so angry the past few days, it was hard to have any other reaction.

"I'm fine! I don't need to get 'better' there's nothing wrong with me!"

"And yet today's the first time you have ever raised your voice at me. There has been something going on and I'm going to help you get past it."

"So you're quitting? What about the people?"

"You know I don't do it for them."

"Do they mean anything to you?"

"Would it help them any if I said yes?"

"No. Not a bloody lick. I'm going back to my room, let me know when I'm ungrounded." He started to get up.

"John sit down, we're talking."

"No. You're talking. I'm going to my room."

"We need to talk about this."

"Did big brother tell you that? Or did you read it on ' '?"

"John sit down, it doesn't matter where I got it from, it's what needs to be done."

"Bull fucking shit."

"Watch your language."

"There's no subtitles."

Sherlock brought a hand to massage his temples. "John, don't you get smart with me."

"How can I? You're Sherlock bloody fucking Holmes. No one can get smart with you!"

"Was it the same friend you made last week that was the cause of last night's adventure?"

"Leave him out of it."

"Come over here and talk with me face to face." John did. He remembered how Jim reacted to meeting Sherlock before. Even though he was pissed at his friend, he didn't want the older man to stop being his friend.

"If he's the one who brought this on, I think you should stay away from him."

"You're one to talk! You, who not four years ago, were on enough drugs to kill an elephant!"

Sherlock didn't even blink. John wanted to take back the words, but he really wanted to hurt Sherlock too. He wanted to unsay them… but they felt so good.

"I'm not saying he's a bad person. I'm saying you're better than that, John."

"What, better than him? Or better than you?"

"John, I was very stupid. My brother tried to help for years. For years, John, I lived on the streets. Starving and not caring where my next meal was coming from, not where I could sleep, only where my next fix was.

"I met Lestrade when I was 19 because someone tipped them off about the drug den I had been in at the time. I have done awful things for drugs. Things even I won't say out loud. All for drugs. And you know how it started? Cigarettes. Cigarettes and a smooth talking friend who was cool."

That… didn't matter. John wasn't going to be like Sherlock.

"I'm not you. I'm not going to suddenly shoot up."

"Nether did I."

"Why then? If drugs are soooo addictive, why did you stop?"

"Because of you."

"...Me?"

"Yes. I swore I'd help you and I couldn't do that if I was constantly high. The day you and I met on the bridge? That's when I swore it off. God, I've wanted to go back. But I haven't and I won't because I know your father was always under the influence of some substance or another. And I'm not your father. I'm your friend."

The wind was knocked out of John. He slumped back and finally picked up his cup. It was perfect. Maybe he was being too rude… he didn't want to be a pushover, but this… what John was doing was cruel.

He took a deep breath. "Okay. You're right, I… yeah things have been going on. I just, I'm not ready to talk about them."

"We need to. Not right this second, but tonight. Neither of us is leaving until we've talked this through. I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did."

John nodded slowly. "My friend… He just… I want him to think I'm cool. He's really cool and I want to be like him. He's funny, charismatic, and so… amazing."

"I had a friend like that. He's the one who pushed me. I just didn't know when to say no. I'm not saying your friend is the same, I'm saying I want you to see how it could end." Sherlock rolled up his sleeve. There were track marks. A lot of track marks. John didn't know how to react. He knew Sherlock wore long sleeves every day. John himself did too, for different reasons, but he suspected Sherlock knew about it. That wasn't what they were talking about right now, though. John took in the marks. They were faded, but there were still so many of them.

"I… okay. I won't. I'll stop. I won't touch it if you don't…"

"Deal."

John sighed in relief. He really hadn't liked being at odds with Sherlock. He took another sip of tea. "So… I guess you know about school, too?"

"No. Pray tell."

Shit. Why had John opened his mouth? "I… well as long as I'm being truthful, I… Well I haven't gone to school in almost two weeks."

Sherlock sighed. "Do you want to be homeschooled?" It wasn't a threat, it was a real question. And John didn't know anymore.

"I don't know. I… maybe that would be better. School has been nothing but trouble… Maybe I just wasn't ready."

"I think that a lot of things have happened and it made it harder."

"I think as long as I keep going, it will get better."

"If that's what you want."

"Can I still change my mind later?"

"Always."

"Then… I think I'll stay a little longer."

Sherlock nodded, looking like now was the time to stay anything more that he might have done.

"Can I still text him?"

"As long as I can meet him soon."

"He… He said he didn't want to meet you yet."

"Then he doesn't want to be your friend."

"I… Can I text him and let him know what the situation is? I'm rather upset with him myself…"

"Yes, you may. Just remember what we've talked about here."

"So," John hesitated. "Are you taking back the case?"

"I don't think so. If I'm right, there will only be three more bodies. I'm- well, frankly, John, I'm worn out. I haven't eaten since you make me that sandwich. And I haven't slept in longer. I'm not ready for a case."

"I… wow you must be burned out if you're admitting it… Okay. I'm going to make you some food, then you're going to take a nice long nap."

"I would argue, but that sounds phenomenal." Sherlock smiled. He looked pale and his eyes had enough bags for an airport.

"When I've had a bit of rest, you and I can talk about what you're hiding under your jumpers all the time."

John's heart froze. He knew Sherlock would say something sooner or later, but he'd really hoped it would be later.

"I… I'd rather not?"

"I'm sorry, John. That's a serious issue. I'd really like you to stop that as well."

"I'll… I'll try."

"I can help. Don't worry, I've got experience there too. But that's for another time. I trust you, John. Don't make me wrong."

"I- I'll go make you something."

John rushed off to the kitchen. His arm burned from the cuts that he'd put on himself, yes, but he hadn't even done it in a while. They were scabbed over and didn't even really bleed anymore. John always waited until they were healed before doing it again.

There were reasons. He wasn't trying to kill himself… but he… well, it was complicated. He'd have to carefully go through and figure out why later. Right now, he made Sherlock a light snack, knowing the detective's stomach couldn't handle much right now.

John hung back a second to text Jim.

You and I need to talk, I'm pissed at you right now. Let me know when you're not busy. Sherlock needs to sleep and I'd rather not yell at you and wake him up.

-JW

When that was done, he brought it in only to find Sherlock asleep sitting up in his chair, head slumped forward. "You unbelievable git." John sighed affectionately.

Sherlock would be very sore when he woke up if he stayed like that.

John struggled and twisted and pulled and finally got Sherlock into a more relaxed position and threw a blanket over him.

If he weren't so damn small he could have probably picked Sherlock up and carried him to the couch if not his room.

John, once again, wished for a growth spurt. Soon, he'd be as tall as Sherlock. He just knew it.

He'd be able to fit into the taller man's jacket, too.

John knew he had to do a comparison. He sought out Sherlock's belstaff. It was on the coat rack, right next to the door.

John turned back, making sure Sherlock was asleep before he reached up to the long coat. He had to tiptoe to reach it, but he finally had a hold of it. He pulled it down and examined it. He turned again, unconsciously, then slipped his arms into the allotted slots.

He pulled it up and frowned. Even hiked up as high as it could go, the coat dragged in the floor by about half a meter. Which wasn't fair at all. John couldn't be that much shorter… right?

John thought maybe he just had to have the hat on. Yeah. That would fix it. And the scarf. Maybe the shoes too.

He was not playing dress up. This was for science. John wanted to know how Sherlock's things felt now, so when he was taller he could laugh at everyone who called him small.

"See, it even almost fits." He mumbled after doing up the buttons and tiptoeing.

The door suddenly opened and he was mortified. The buttons were hard to undo and there was no way he could get out of this getup in the time it took for someone to open the door.

He was resigned to his fate when Greg walked in.

The D.I. took one look at John and burst into laughter.

"John, by the gods, what are you-"

"Shh!" John pointed at Sherlock's sleeping form. "This is for… science."

"Sure it is. And so's this picture." John heard the camera shutter and nearly pushed Lestrade out of the flat trying to get the phone.

"Aaaannnd sent. Sherlock is going to love this when he wakes up. So will the yard."

"Oh, come off it. What do you even fucking want?"

"Hey, don't give me sass. I came to make sure you and Sherlock hadn't killed each other during, I assume, your guys' talk."

"We didn't. Please leave."

"Listen John, if you ever-"

"Listen, Greg. I don't care. I have had to explain my actions and I regret them. I'm still coming to terms with how I can win back trust and- Will you stop fucking laughing?"

"I can't help it! You look so cute. I can't take you serious in that outfit."

Another picture. "Get out before I go wake Sherlock up."

"You wouldn't. Then he'd see you wearing his clothes."

"Damn it Greg, this is my flat and I have a fucking say on who gets to be here. Right now, you aren't welcome."

"Okay, fine. But one more picture. I'm sending these to everyone in my contacts list." John shoved the D.I. to the door, then slammed it after him, making Sherlock stir. John froze. He'd just die if Sherlock woke up and saw John right now… luckily, the universe didn't hate him as much today.

Sherlock settled in again, and John all but ripped the ridiculous clothes off of him. He wouldn't be caught like that again.

John couldn't stop blushing. That had been a nightmare. And now everyone and their cousin would see John like that… He almost wished it was the photo Jim had taken… Almost. Speaking of, John had a message.

Come to lunch? We can talk then.

Xoxo

~J

John sighed. He had to. He wanted things with he and Jim to be good again. And Sherlock had brought up a good point. If he and Jim didn't meet, Jim didn't care about John enough.

I'll meet you at the usual place in 15.

-JW

John left Sherlock a note, saying where he'd be, but John didn't really expect Sherlock to wake up any time soon.

He grabbed his jacket and walked to the small coffee shop nearby.

When he got there, Jim was already sitting at their table, two cups already there. John didn't really trust Jim right now, so he left the cup.

"Johnny boy! I'm so glad to see your owner let you out after being so naughty!" Jim giggled.

John tried to quell his anger. He was trying to move past it… but Jim was making it really hard with his name calling and belittling.

"I don't belong to him. And it was your fault." John dropped into the chair.

"Oh, don't get a bit head, Johnny. It's not an attractive look on you. I like you just the way you are. Small." Jim picked up the cup but didn't take a sip. "I know you're not his." He swirled the piping hot liquid. "Because you're mine."

"Damn it, Jim. No I'm not. I'm here to lay down some rules."

"Aw, putting on the big boy pants?"

"Jim, what is with you today? You're being mean… More so than usual." John was starting to get worried. What if something was wrong?

"I just don't like seeing my pet in someone else's clothes."

John's eyes widened.

"How-I…" John cleared his throat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're not as good a liar as you seem to think."

"It doesn't even matter. I'm not yours and we need to talk. I'm still really mad at you!"

"And I don't care. You're the one who wanted to drink, you're the one who got caught."

"Yeah? Well, I would never have had anything to drink if it hadn't have been for you!"

"That's where you're wrong. Forget about dear old dad?"

John froze.

"Oh, yes. I know all about little Johnny's childhood."

"I-I'm leaving." John tried to stand.

"No you're not. Sit back down." Jim waited until the boy did as he said. "I apologize… I've been having… let's call it trouble at work. I did not mean to say those nasty things out loud."

"I- but how did you-"

"I do believe you were trying to scold me?"

"I-..." John knew this was his chance. He cleared his throat. "Sherlock wants to meet you. He said he's not mad, but if we're allowed to stay friends, he said you had to. And before you refuse, I'm with him. If you two don't meet…" Jim pulled out his phone, causing John to lose confidence. "I'm, well, Jim, I'm done. I can't keep, ya know… lying to him…"

Jim showed John the screen. It was a picture Jim had taken of John while John was on his knees.

"You- you said-!"

"Maybe I lied."

John could only stare in horror as Jim pressed 'share photo' and started to type Sherlock's number. John didn't have it in his mind to think about how Jim had Sherlock's number. His finger hovered over the send button.

Jim then hit the power button.

"Don't get cocky, pet. I could ruin you in a second. Less, even. But I won't. Not this time."

"W-why would you scare me like that?"

"Because, you need to know what I'm capable of. Even if I agree to meet you're precious Sherlock."

"Y-you mean-?"

"Yes. I'll set up a meeting for us."

"A-also… I'm done drinking. I really don't like the consequences."

"I assume the cigarettes are also out."

"Correct."

"Well, any other meaningless 'rules' you feel the need to lay out?"

John thought. Aside from deleting the pictures, there really wasn't. "No… I think that's it." Then a thought. "Oh! Can we not stay out as late…? We can hang out during the day… after school… I have to start going again, by the way. I just, staying out that late is… not safe."

"Oh, Johnny, you don't know who you're talking to. Okay. I can agree. I was trying to see how far I could push you anyway. You need to be less of a pushover."

Less? John thought he needed to be more… He'd said some pretty horrid things already today.

Maybe just not to Jim. Jim would kill him… just to see if John would let him. John had to put his foot down… he would just need to practice and not go to far…

It was like standing in the desert during a monsoon. Nothing made sense and everything was dangerous.

"Wait… don't you have work during the day?"

"Yes, but no one is going to say anything, I'm important."

"O-oh… Okay. Well… do you want to come to my house today?"

"Will Sherlock be there?"

"Yes."

"We'll see. I'll text you about it later."

"You're leaving?"

"Pet, you've been trying to get out of this conversation since it started. You're on your own for being mad at me."

"I-"

"See you later, Johnny Boy."

Jim left without another word and John was left to sit and watch after him. Sherlock and Jim might meet tonight… and there was no way it was going to end well.

John sighed and got up. As he walked home, he realized something odd… How had Jim known about the picture? Surely he didn't know Lestrade… Maybe a friend of a friend? But who would be friends with both Jim and Greg?

Maybe it would be easier to tell if he knew what Jim did for a living…

When John got back, Sherlock was still out cold on the chair. John could try to get into the phone and delete the picture… but if even Jim had seen it, there was almost no hope for Sherlock never seeing it in all his life… That didn't mean John wasn't going to try.

Sherlock's phone was password protected… and there were any number of things it could or couldn't be… John knew it was a four letter word… so that narrowed it down some.

John didn't know how many guesses he had until it locked the phone up, but that was starting to look like where it was going.

Game

221B

Clue

Work

Case

John felt arrogant, but he typed 'John' into it… only for the thing to beep incorrect.

And then John was locked out.

Too many failed attempts, please try again in one minute.

"Oh, come on! You bloody ridiculous thing." John shook the phone, knowing it wouldn't really do anything.

"John?" Sherlock was awake… John must have been louder than he thought.

"Uh, yes?"

"What are you doing with my phone?"

"I-Well… someone sent a picture to it of me in an… embarrassing situation… and I wanted to try to delete it before you saw…?"

Sherlock leapt up. "Is it from him? The one that r-" Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. "The one that had the picture of you?" John didn't know what Sherlock had just stopped himself from saying, but now he wanted to know.

John shook his head vigorously. "N-no!" Sherlock flopped back down. "It's not that bad… He… he said he wouldn't unless I told and I didn't. This one was from Lestrade. I'd still rather you didn't see it though…"

"Oh, John, I think it hardly matters."

"B-"

"No buts, young man. Hand me my phone."

John took a deep breath. "Just know that this was for science."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Sherlock waited the last few seconds then unlocked his phone. John tried to see the password, but he couldn't quite catch it.

"John."

John turned bright red. "Y-yes, Sherlock…?"

"Please do not wear my clothes without permission again. You seem to have made a habit of it. I want that jacket back, by the way."

His ears burned. "It's in my room." John tried to pretend Sherlock wasn't trying to hold in laughter… But there was only so much he could delude himself into thinking. "I'll go get it…"

As soon as John had reached the top of the stairs, he heard Sherlock let out a small chuckle. John was not happy. Now everyone in his whole life had seen how utterly small he looked.

He grabbed the jacket and trudged back down the stairs.

"John, I'm going out a little later. I need to… set things straight with Lestrade. I may have been a bit harsh on him."

"Who are you and where is Sherlock?"

"Very funny, John, but if they ever need help, and they will, I don't want him to try to find someone else… not that he could."

John smiled. "Okay. My friend said he was okay with meeting you. He said he's set something up."

"Good. Alright. I'm going back to sleep. Don't lock me out of my phone again."

"Well, you know my password!"

"No, I figured it out. Pick something harder than jam or tea, John. Really."

"Well, what's yours?"

"I can't just tell you. That wouldn't be any fun at all."

"I'm changing mine." John grumbled. He knew just what he'd change it to. Bridge was a hard concept for John to be okay with… but no one who knew him would guess it and it was easy to spell.

"Good luck with that. Wake me up at half seven." Sherlock got up and walked into his room, shutting the door with a decided click.

John groaned. He cleaned up a bit in the sitting room then, exhausted and still with a headache, laid down on the couch to take a cat nap. He'd be up before Sherlock needed to be and, really, naps were amazing. Leo, who had taken this moment to come in from the kitchen, jumped up and settled with John, making it warm.

"Hey, Leo… sorry I've been, ya know, avoiding you lately… But I promise, I'm not going to do that anymore. I'll be around so often, you'll wish I was away."

John giggled slightly. "Then who would give you treats?"

Leo's head perked up at the word and he started to meow.

"Oh, I guess I shouldn't have said that… Now I'd be a right bastard not to get you one, wouldn't I…?" John got up to get Leo a treat, grabbing his phone from the kitchen counter as he did so.

Jim had sent a text.

I'll be at your place at 7:45ish. See you then, Johnny.

Xoxo

John quickly replied.

Sherlock won't be here, maybe some other day?

-JW

I'll still come keep you company.

Xoxo

John smiled. He wouldn't be bored out of his mind!

Cool. See you soon!

-JW

Jim and Sherlock would just miss each other. Strange, that. John knew they had to do something fun. It was the first time Jim would be over. Maybe they could cook dinner… or do arts and crafts? No, no… John wasn't a nine year old… maybe he'd have a better list when he woke up.

John laid back on the couch and, with Leo munching away at the snack, fell asleep.

How was it?

Reviews make my day! Stop by and say hi!

Again, I hope to have chapter 16 up a lot sooner than it took for this one...

Have a beautiful day!

Xoxo,

~Miss Taken