Watching a boy fumbling over a football while smoking a Marlboro is a funnier sight than John could have ever imagined. The ball flies towards Sherlock's face, and instead of protecting himself, he throws a hand over his cigarette and burns his palm.
"Ow!" he cries.
John laughs again. "I don't much like that you smoke. It makes neckin' with you…not as pleasant."
"Neckin'?"
"Kissing!"
Sherlock huffs. "Yeah, well," he retorts, "I don't much like when you pick me up after football practice."
"What, why?!"
Sherlock hits the ball away from his head. "Sweaty kisses," he says through his cigarette.
John laughs. "Catch the ball!"
Sherlock picks the ball up off the ground and delicately dusts it off with his fingers.
"Didn't your daddy teach you how to play ball?" John asks.
Sherlock clumsily throws it back, then takes his cigarette out of his mouth. "My dad gave up trying to teach me sports after he dealt with my brother. Thank god, too."
"I can't believe you don't like sports."
"There's only one good thing about sports," Sherlock says.
"Which is?"
"Quarterbacks."
John laughs. "What a coincidence, because there's only one good thing about math."
"Which is?"
"Tutors."
Sherlock smiles widely.
They give up after less than an hour later, then Sherlock pleasantly spends the rest of the evening before dinner getting the cigarette taste kissed out of his mouth.
"We really ought to tell our parents," John says a few weeks later while they walk hand-in-hand through the vineyard.
"Why?"
"Well…because I want to," John says. "And also because it's a bit weird that my dad's still paying you to come over and make out with me."
Sherlock laughs. "If a little bit of actual studying went on, it wouldn't be as odd."
John laughs, too. "I just want them to know me. My sister's so open with herself; I want to be, too. And it's unfair that my sister gets to be open about being a tramp and I can't—"
"Hey," Sherlock stops him. "That's a rude thing to say. You can't shame your sister for anything she does. Sleepin' around doesn't make her a tramp."
John frowns at the ground. "Okay, I'm sorry."
Sherlock nods. "I'm not sure about tellin' my dad."
"Why?"
"I'm not supposed to date 'til I'm sixteen."
John looks at him. "Uhm...how old are you?"
"I won't be sixteen 'til January."
John lets go of his hand. "You're too young for me, sorry."
Sherlock's jaw drops.
"Boy, you ain't even older than Arizona!"
Sherlock grows red and motions to argue.
John laughs loudly. He reaches for Sherlock's hand again. "I'm kidding! I don't mind. But why are you a junior and not a sophomore, then?"
Sherlock skeptically watches John, unsure of if he was really joking about the age difference being an issue. "Skipped eighth grade."
John nods in understanding. He looks down to check his watch. "I need to do my chores," he says before kissing Sherlock's cheek and letting go of his hand.
Sherlock feels more at ease. "Okay, go ahead."
John goes to start the water for the plants.
Sherlock watches as John picks up the biggest hose and starts spraying the plants. "I've noticed that you look more at ease out here than on the field."
"I am," John says. "That field doesn't mean much to me."
"At least you did really well last night," Sherlock says, referring to John's game.
John rolls his shoulder in memory of last night's game.
"Shoulder ache?" Sherlock asks.
John nods. "Four touchdowns will do that for you."
Sherlock steps over to John. "Come here."
John confusedly sets the hose down and goes to him.
Sherlock places his hands on John's shoulders, and John places his hand on Sherlock's hips. Sherlock grabs John's arm and holds it out straight, then begins to rub the knot out.
"Hurts," John pants. He groans. "Real bad."
Sherlock kisses John lightly.
"Relax," he whispers against the thin line of John's mouth.
John tries. Sherlock digs his fingers deeper into John's shoulder.
"Does your shoulder always hurt after a game?" Sherlock asks.
"Yeah," John answers. "Has since I was young."
Sherlock pushes his thumb into John's shoulder and feels a knot. Sherlock presses harder to rub it out.
"You hurt it a long time ago," Sherlock says. He knows John has played football for a very long time, and this is an athletic injury. "You dislocated it being tackled when you were..." Sherlock cheats by remembering that John's mother said he's been a quarterback since he was thirteen. "Twelve."
John's done asking Sherlock how he knows things John's never said, so John just nods. He winces again when Sherlock presses hard.
Sherlock rubs John's arm for the next twenty minutes. Only a few minutes were needed, but the rest are enjoyed because Sherlock can feel John's warm breath against his skin. Every few seconds, he leans in a smacks a kiss to John's face, anywhere he can reach, and he's rewarded with a soft grin.
John wonders what people would say at school. It's 1928 in Salinas, California. This isn't New York or Los Angeles or even San Francisco. But the town did open an airport this year and they played that Mickey Mouse flick in the movie theater.
The only family with any sort of ties to the future are the Watson's. Cars, money, stocks. James single-handedly brought the bootleg business to northern California and John's mother, Elizabeth, is a fighter for women's rights and Harry takes trips to San Francisco every week and John is one of the few seniors who actually has college plans.
Salinas High School isn't as conservative as other schools. With the population so small, the football team is half African-Americans, Filipinos, and Mexicans whose parents came to California because they heard the farming business was lush. Best running back they have is named Kareem and John's main receiver is named Carlos. And they're perfectly kind boys.
Homosexual kids, though? Nobody's really heard of that much.
But John knows it's better if his parents know. So, one evening at the dinner table, he tells them.
"Uh, Mom, Dad," he says. "I, uh, I have to tell you something."
"What is it, darling?" his mother asks.
"I've, uh…I've started seein' someone."
"A girlfriend?" James asks.
John furrows his eyebrows and his stomach knots. James sounds upset; surely he thinks a girlfriend will ruin John's USC plans. What would the family do if John got her pregnant? They can't stand for that.
John takes a deep breath. "Actually, uh…I'm seeing a boy."
James and Elizabeth's gaze snaps up to John. Elizabeth slowly lowers the serving spoon she's got impaled in a bowl of peas. James folds his newspaper.
"A boy?" James asks.
"Yes, sir, a boy."
"What boy?" James asks, his voice booming across the table. He isn't shouting, but John recognizes his stern voice as something that wants to be an angry shout.
John looks down at his lap. "Uhm…Sherlock."
"Thomas Holmes's boy?"
John looks up at him. "Yes, sir."
James takes a deep breath. His face suddenly turns soft. "Well…"
"Sir?"
"Thomas Holmes is a very important business partner of mine, son. This could…it could help it along."
"Help it?"
"Sure! Imagine if you two got married. Imagine the business collaboration between us!"
John doesn't quite know how to react to that. James is saying this is a good thing, he's actually excited about it. But John is still uneasy.
"What do you think, Elizabeth?" James asks his wife.
"I want you to be happy, son."
This makes John smile. "Thanks, Mama."
Elizabeth continues serving dinner and the conversation is dropped, and for that John is grateful.
The next day, Sherlock tells John about the similar conversation he had with his dad.
"Guess we're off the hook then," John says.