15. The morning after
In the morning Sherlock pulled on his dressing gown and moved quickly to the bathroom to shower and get ready. He studied his own face in the mirror, to assure himself that no one would know what had happened just by looking at him. He would have to be careful. Mycroft was most certainly capable of reading him, but his parents weren't too far behind, being more perceptive than most people.
In a mix of horror and pride he saw the telltale red mark on his neck. It was faint, but his skin was so pale that the contrast made it stand out vividly, like an emergency flare in the night.
It was real, it had happened.
Not that he doubted it being real, but this was concrete, palpable evidence. Physical evidence, the corners of his lips tilted up.
He touched his neck, remembering the previous night. He replayed John's actions in his head. Then he ran his hand from the stomach up to his chest. He played with his nipple, just like John had done and shuddered, closing his eyes. He looked in the mirror again. His own face was scandalous and obvious. He would have to close his mind for now.
...
He was sitting at the counter with his tea, scarf wound around his neck, while his parents bustled about with breakfast. John walked in, showered and ready, always so alluring with his hair wet. He had a serious, somewhat sheepish look about him and after one quick look at Sherlock with a magnificently crinkled forehead, he lowered his eyes, settling on the stool next to him.
'Good morning,' he said quietly to the room in general.
His parents answered brightly and John smiled a bit at them. He kept staring straight ahead. Then he turned his head slightly and, still avoiding eye contact, asked 'How're you doing?'
'Fine,' Sherlock responded noncommittally, also staring straight ahead.
'We'll start packing right after breakfast and go,' said Mrs. Holmes. 'I hope both of you had a good time here.'
'Yes, Mrs. Holmes, I did. Thank you again for having me,' John rushed in, politely.
'Oh, don't make such a grim face John, your Winter break is not over yet,' she smiled, placing a cup of tea in front of him.
He gave her a small smile and raised the cup to indicate it, 'Thanks!'
'How about you Sherlock? Was it less boring for you having John over?'
First his stomach dropped hearing "Was it less boring for you having John?" Then his un-helping mind finished her sentence with You. He suddenly felt naked under a spotlight, that was unexpected. For one second he feared they could all read him. That's not what she meant. Pull yourself together! 'Erm, yes,' he replied in a bored tone. He was proud of his self control.
Mr. Holmes turned, setting plates in front of them, 'John, that means he had a tremendous time with you here. He's just too stubborn to admit it.'
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
...
On the trip back, John spoke very little and as they were sitting at opposite ends of the airplane, there was never a chance to talk.
When they had finally landed and retrieved their luggage, they met the Watsons.
As their parents chatted, John looked at him for the first time since that quick look in the morning. 'I'll talk to you later.' He looked serious, frowning slightly, and the corners of his mouth twisted into the resemblance of a smile for a fraction of a second.
'All right,' was all that his mind came up with. He had a sinking feeling that this didn't bode well.
Sherlock waited the whole day and night, but John didn't call.