John's head was a disaster for a week. He did nothing but lie in bed with the lights off and the shades drawn, desperate to feel better. He was missing a week of classes and a week of football. It was unbearable. To make things worse, he hadn't seen Sherlock all week since he left the hospital. His head felt as though it would burst when he tried to recall images of the man to his memory. Quite possibly the amnesia was the worst part.

It was a Monday when he finally returned to a normal schedule. Practice was hell and left his head throbbing. John threw up once he reached the locker room. Biology was equally awful as John struggled to remember the basics and focus on the ramblings of his professor. Somehow he managed to survive the day and make it to chemistry, the only part of his schedule he was actually looking forward to.

John entered the room with a smile, relieved to see the dark curls and sharp grey eyes of Sherlock Holmes once again. The man was more beautiful than he had remembered. But when Sherlock's eyes fell upon John his mouth contorted into a frown that left John's heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach.

After class Sherlock beckoned John over. "Mr. Watson, could I see you for a moment?" He waited for all the other students to leave before shutting the door to talk to John.

"What's up?"

Sherlock breathed a sigh. "We need to talk, John."

"I'm free Saturday night," John input, trying to keep the conversation positive. 'We need to talk' was hardly ever positive.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly. He seemed to ponder the words before he spoke again. "First we need to talk about why you're here."

"What do you mean?"

"John, you're clearly not well. You're concussed. Why are you back in class so soon?"

John shrugged. "I'm cleared. I'm fine."

"No you're not. You reek of vomit, which I assume was brought on from your premature return to practice." John reddened self-consciously. "You hardly look functional in class and you're only damaging your brain by returning so soon. You need more time to recover."

"I'm fine, Sherlock," John insisted, although he felt anything but fine. "The doctor said so himself."

"The doctor is an imbecile who cleared you so you can go back to scoring goals for the soccer team. He cares more for the reputation of a barely-acknowledged sports team than your health. Don't go to practice."

"I have to."

"You don't. I'll call a doctor. I'll have him write you out."

"Sherlock, I have to practice. I have to play. If I don't, they'll take away my scholarship money and ship me back to England."

"I don't give a damn about your scholarship money. I give a damn about your mind. Don't go to practice."

John was frustrated. "Well I'm not bloody well going back to England. I can handle it." He turned to leave (or rather, storm off).

"John." Sherlock reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "John, please. You're hurting yourself."

"No, I'm saving myself. I'm saving myself from going back. Let me go." He twisted out of his teacher's grip.

He was almost through the door when Sherlock spoke again. "I can't do Saturday. Or ever."

John turned around again. "What?"

"I know I said yes, but now I'm saying no. It would be a mistake."

"Are you fucking with me? Is this because I'm going to practice?"

"No. This is because you're my student and I'm your teacher and there are laws against this sort of thing."

"I thought you broke laws."

"I do. But this is different."

"How is this different?"

"Because it's a law that's actually strongly enforced, John. It's not a law I can bypass because my brother is important and I'm intelligent."

John stared at Sherlock's face. "There's something else. What else?"

"That's all."

"No it isn't, Sherlock. What else?"

Sherlock wrung his hands together. "You won't like me once you really know me. It'll be a disaster."

John laughed. "You're being dumb."

"I'm being logical. You're smart and charming. You have a confidence in your step that demands attention and a determination that causes the most adorable little wrinkle between your brows. You have a big heart and you care too much what others think. And there's something deeper, something mysterious, that says despite the innocence you exude you have a darker, primordial side that absolutely fascinates me and drives me crazy with desire to analyze every last bit of your inner workings. But you're also so caring, and you so desperately crave appreciation. That was clear during your game. And I'm a sociopath. I won't be able to provide you with the appreciation you need. You fascinate me, John Watson, but I will bore you."

John walked back over to Sherlock. Quick, sharp steps. "Do you hear yourself talking?" he asked. "Do you not hear the words coming from your mouth?"

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "I'm simply stating facts."

John had another moment of reckless bravery when he stood on his toes and reached a hand to the soft skin of Sherlock's face, caressing the defined cheekbone, and pressed his aching lips to the beautiful bow shape of Sherlock's mouth. It was a quick kiss, lips closed, but the action left Sherlock stunned and speechless. "Shut up," John whispered against Sherlock's lips, his own brushing softly against them.

"J... John," Sherlock breathed back.

"You fascinate me, Sherlock Holmes. I have never met another man like you."

"I'm a sociopath."

"You're perfect," John corrected, and reached to kiss Sherlock again. This time the taller man's lips parted and John slipped his tongue inside, tasting the deliciously smoky interior of Sherlock's mouth. "I didn't know you smoked," he said when the kiss broke.

"Habits. Not important. What if I made an offer?" Sherlock's eyes were bright and desperate, his pupils dilated.

"What would that be?"

"What if you skip soccer practice and we practice this instead?"

John broke into a grin and ran a hand through his short blonde hair, noting how Sherlock so slightly licked his lips when he did so. "I can't just skip practice," John pointed out, hating to be logical.

"Mmm, what if I call that doctor to have you excused?"

"I still have to show up," John said, hating the words coming from his mouth. Only moments ago the roles had been reversed, and it had been Sherlock turning him down. "What if we continue this Saturday night?"

Sherlock bit back his smile. "Yeah. Yes, Saturday. But John, please, let me call the doctor still. Don't make your head worse."

"Sherlock, I already told you. I have to play. I can't go back."

"You're not going to lose your money. I promise."

"You can't promise that. You don't know for sure."

"I have... ways of guaranteeing it, alright? My brother is very important."

"So you say."

Sherlock bent his head and kissed John passionately. "Don't argue with me," he murmured. "Please. Just trust me."

John thought his argument was compelling. "Alright," he murmured. "But now I have to go."

So this chapter turned out to be longer than the others... Don't forget to review!