It's been a long while... What can I say?

I lost motivation to write Johnlock after season 3, but I hate to leave things incomplete. Besides, Row keeps nagging me to finish this fic XDD

So here we are, let's see how this ends!

John's steps had a strong swag on Monday morning, and he caught himself whistling by the school's corridors. He tried not to show off, but it was being hard for him not to shout his happiness to every corner of Greenwood. The rapist was at last in jail, his job was fine, and Sherlock... God, Sherlock! They hadn't seen each other during the weekend, and he had to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary was happening during the morning's first period, allowing himself only some sneaking glances at the young man, but keeping them short and not too obvious. He couldn't be happier when the lunch time bell rang.

He arrived first to the lab, but Sherlock came barely two minutes after. They smiled sheepishly to each other for a moment, and then they retreated to the back of the lab, where they couldn't be seen from the corridor, and John pushed Sherlock until the boy was sitting on a high stool, grabbed his face between his hands and proceeded to snog him. Deep. Slow. Wet. John let his hands wander by his young man's back, but Sherlock seemed shy at first, not knowing where to hold. Some minutes later, though, he obviously lost his inhibitions and John felt Sherlock's hands grabbing two handfuls of his buttocks. He snorted, but put his boyfriend's hands aside.

"Sorry, love, but we better keep our hands waist up", he mumbled.

Sherlock's reaction was pouting. It shouldn't look so charming on him, John thought, amused.

"You are worse than a grandma", Sherlock complained, sighing.

He put his hands on John again, this time holding his hips, tightly, and grinded his lower body against John's crotch. The teacher gasped, and caught Sherlock's hands in his ones, putting a bit of space between them.

"Sherlock, don't. Remember my conditions. I'm sorry, but they are not negotiable."

The young man looked at him with sad eyes.

"But I have been thinking about you all the weekend, John."

"Me too. But we can do other things together." John released Sherlock's hands and walked to his desk, where his bag was, half open on top of the table. "Look, I've brought pasta salad and turkey sandwiches. I thought we could eat something and afterwards you could use the lab to do whatever experiments you would like."

Sherlock's eyes light up as a Christmas tree.

"Really? I can do whatever I want? But you will stay here with me, right?"

John nodded, smiling. Sherlock came closer and kissed him lightly, his eyes already set on the chemicals cupboard.

"Perhaps", John coughed, "you should go to the toilet first. You know, to take care of that."

Sherlock looked puzzled for about thirty seconds, and then laughed.

"Don't go anywhere while I'm gone!"

John assured him he would be there, and Sherlock ran towards the restroom. The teacher smiled fondly and started to unpack their meal, humming. Light footsteps at the door made him turn; Not even Sherlock can be so fast, he thought. And of course it wasn't Sherlock at the lab's threshold, but Molly Hooper, who looked at him tilting her head and stroking her braid.

"John? You have come fast... Oh." Something in John's face obviously told her that he wasn't expecting her there. "You... told me last Friday that you would help me to test an exercise, remember?"

"Oh! True, that!" John felt like a complete fool. Of course, how could he have forgotten? Too many things on his mind lately. "I'm glad I was already here."

"I didn't expect you would remember, honestly, John, so it's alright if you have something else to do. After all that happened on Friday afternoon... You are quite the hero!"

Molly blushed slightly, and John laughed, shaking his head.

"Of course not! It was all Sherlock's plan, and it was him who jumped over that guy... And Rick and the girls who volunteered, they were awesome."

"Yeah, they were all very brave, as far as I have heard. But John, you could have told me, or told Mike, instead of working it out with students..."

John's face fell and nodded.

"I know. The Head Teacher and that Scotland Yard Sergeant have already reprimanded me. The kids were enthusiastic, and I don't think it would have worked if they hadn't helped, but I shouldn't have allowed it. It was far too dangerous."

Molly's gaze dropped to the ground.

"Well... I guess it's difficult to deny anything to Sherlock", she whispered. "He's like a magnet sometimes; he pushes forward and the only thing we can do is run after him."

John felt his mouth suddenly dry. He licked his lips, uneasy. Molly looked at him again, and her eyes had turned hard all of a sudden.

"So that's what you are doing here at lunch time, John? Rewarding Sherlock with some lab time?"

John nodded. Not so far from the truth, anyway.

"But I will stay here with him and will make sure any accident happens", he hurried to add. "And he will pay for all the chemicals he uses."

Molly considered it for a moment and nodded, still very serious.

"That seems... fair."

"I would be grateful if you don't mention our deal to the Head Teacher or Mike, though. I will tell Mike myself; I'm aware he must know, as the Chemistry Head, but I prefer he catches up on the events by me."

"Of course", Molly nodded.

"Miss Hooper, so nice to see you here…"

Molly jumped at hearing Sherlock's voice behind her. John hid a grin and pretended to be focused on the chemicals cabinet. But he spied with the corner of his eye as Sherlock looked Molly over and offered her a crooked and knowing smirk.

"H-hi, Sherlock. How are you doing?"

"Fine. John has promised me some extra exercises as a token of appreciation for helping him last Friday. I hope we are not bothering you."

"No, no… Of course not. As long as John is here, it's perfectly okay…"

John couldn't believe that was the same awkward and socially misfit Sherlock he knew… He was staring at Molly with cockiness, standing inside her comfort zone and making the poor woman blush. Time to intervene, John thought with an inner sigh.

"In fact, Sherlock, I'm helping Molly with an exercise first. Do you mind? You can work on something from the book. Do you have it here?"

Sherlock face lit up, dropping the act, and he was suddenly the same enthusiastic young man he knew so well.

"Ah, yes! I have it in my locket! I'll be right back."

And he rushed again to the corridor. John felt compelled to give Molly an apologetic smile, although he wasn't responsible of Sherlock's behaviour. The girl smiled him back, shrugging her narrow shoulders.

"You know how boys are…" she said. "Let's do the exercise quickly, should we?"

John nodded and they got down to work.

As the days passed and they turned into weeks, John started to feel bold and confident again, without that pressure inside his guts every time the Head Teacher passed him down the aisle, or every time Mike paused his litany of jokes and seemed about to ask him something. He hadn't commented further when John told him he was going to spend some lunch times with Sherlock at the lab; he had seemed dubious but agreed after a short silence, and that was all. John, though, knew perfectly well that Mike had its reservations about Sherlock, and he understood his old friend. But now that he knew Sherlock better, he was confident that everything would be alright: the young man only needed more incentives, and then he would work a hundred per cent focused and under control. If only John could tell Mike about it.

A new monotony had installed itself in his life, one that was comfortable and safe, without rapists or heart-stopping emotions. His hidden moments with Sherlock were enough for John's comfort. Every time they kissed, closeted inside the teacher's toilets or a storage room, his heart raced at the thought that they might be caught at any moment. But it was worth it, every moment with Sherlock at his side, being it while taking a walk or having lunch at the Chinese take away, or working at the lab, every moment was special and… yes, happy. His limp seemed reluctant to come back, besides, and for once Sherlock was grateful to be wrong in his deductions.

"But of course I hadn't added myself to the equation when I deduced that, John", he hurried to explain, to which John could only nod in acquiescence, grinning.

It was another Monday and John had already laid a take away lunch on top of his teacher's desk at the lab. He took a look again at the time on his wrist watch. Sherlock was fifteen minutes late. He frowned. It was really uncommon for Sherlock to arrive late when chemicals were involved. In fact, he was usually waiting for John at the door when he arrived with the key, because John had to go back to the teacher's room or the Chemistry Department to leave his books and the exercises to grade and retrieve his lunch. They only had an hour, so at that rate Sherlock wouldn't have enough time left to do any experiment after eating. John sent him a quick text, and the answer took another couple of minutes… what was also unheard from Sherlock.

"Coming." SH

John started to pitter-patter on the desk, nervous; he suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands and was tempted to start eating his kebab without waiting for Sherlock, so anxious he was. When his pupil finally pushed the door to enter, he stood up to greet him, but froze on the spot when he glanced at Sherlock's face.

"Oh, my… What the hell, Sherlock…"

There was a red, swollen area under Sherlock's left eye, and his lower lip was split in half. The boy was holding a bundle of cloth against his wound, presumably containing ice cubes to avoid that it puffed further. He walked inside, closed the door behind him, and let himself drop in a chair, with a visible flinch. John came closer, sighing loudly, and took Sherlock's chin, as delicately as he could. That's three or four direct punches, I would say, he thought while examining the bruised areas, and that flinch surely means there's more under his clothes. John breathed deeply, trying to keep calm, although he could feel his rage starting to boil and go up inside his guts. Stay put; you need a cool head right now. The last thing he needed was frightening or offending Sherlock, and he already knew the boy tended to feel defensive about the attacks.

"Where else are you injured?"

His voice had gone out calm. Good.

Sherlock kept staring at the floor, stubbornly, avoiding his gaze.

"Don't worry, John, it's alright. It's nothing."

"Don't give me that; I need to know!" John noticed he had raised his voice, a bit, so he tried to rewind and start again. "Look, Sherlock, this is getting out of hand. We should go to the hospital and then to the police and file a complaint."

Sherlock raised his head to look at John in horror.

"No!"

"Then at least to the Head Teacher. This can't keep happening, Sherlock. I'm sure the Head Teacher will expel these bullies if you give him the names…"

"I said no!"

Sherlock snapped up and picked up his backpack in a twirl, almost running back to the door. John grabbed his forearm just in time.

"Sorry, sorry! Please, stay, Sherlock". The boy stopped, with his hand on the doorknob and his eyes downcast. "I just want to help."

"I know."

"I can't stand aside and watch how they abuse you, Sherlock. I didn't know they were still going for it."

"It's not as bad, usually. But yeah, they are always around."

The young man allowed at last to be turned to face John, and John buried himself on his boyfriend's chest, nuzzling the side of his neck and sighing inwardly.

"I can only give them detention", he whispered against Sherlock's shoulder.

The boy chuckled without humour.

"As if. They are already punished with detentions from here to the end of the term. They don't mind anymore."

"That's why I asked you to go to the Head Teacher". John slipped from Sherlock's embrace and looked him in the eye, very serious. "Let's try for expulsion. That way you won't have to face them during the rest of your time in this school."

Sherlock started to bite his lower lip, found the cut there and refrained in time to make it worse. He let go of John completely and walked towards the teacher's desk, where their lunch was.

"What's on your mind, Sherlock? I can't guess if you don't tell me."

He watched the teen, who was grabbing one of the kebabs and sitting at a table to eat it. He did the same, sitting in front of him, but kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock. At last the student met his gaze and sighed in annoyance.

"Alright, John, if you insist… I'm not a hundred per cent sure that Adrian and his clique aren't aware of our relationship. I would say that they have their suspicions, at the least."

John muffled a gasp, mortified. Well, what was he expecting? People weren't blind, and Sherlock and he spent a lot of time together in Greenwood. People like Adrian didn't have the need of seeing them kissing to guess what was going on. And once gossip started to run, there would be nothing they could do to stop the rumours, and the consequences. John closed his eyes, feeling his stomach churn.

"So that leaves the Head Teacher out of the table, I think", Sherlock concluded.

They resumed their eating, feeling miserable. But after a few heartbeats, John had an idea.

"Sherlock".

"Hmm?" The teen gave him a puzzled look, stopping to munch.

"I'm sorry, but I'll be cutting your lab time a bit". Before Sherlock started to complain, John raised his hand and grinned, with an amused glint in his eyes. "Let's say you only get two lunch times a week. Monday and Thursday, alright?"

Sherlock didn't look very happy.

"So what are you doing tomorrow, then?" he asked with a pout.

"What are we doing, you should say… You will see. Meet me tomorrow at the gym. Same hour. And, ehem, perhaps you would like to wear something more comfortable, you know?"

"I don't want to do sport", Sherlock hissed.

"It won't be sport. Now finish your meal quickly, it's almost time to go back to class."

As if in queue, the bell chimed, and Sherlock groaned loudly, eliciting a chuckle from John.

But the next day Sherlock was indeed waiting for him, leaning on the door of the gym, with a not-amused-at-all face. He was wearing the same style of clothing as always, though, but it was better than nothing: John had almost expected that he would skip their meeting.

John rewarded his young man with some minutes of heated kisses as soon as the door was locked from the inside, and in a moment Sherlock was relaxed and boneless in his arms. But. They had work to do.

"Alright, Sherlock… Stop it, Sherlock! I can't concentrate if you keep kissing me."

"That's perfect". Sherlock was latched to his neck, peppering soft kisses that felt too good for John's taste at that very moment.

"No, it's not! Right. Fine." Having at last a foot distance between them, John felt again in control of himself. "Well, you are aware of the fact that, apart from being a doctor, I have also been in the army."

"Aye, Captain Watson", Sherlock grinned.

John smiled back at him. He had unconsciously taken a military posture, he noticed. Well, it couldn't be helped; some things were engraved in his nature, and would be forever.

"That means I have an army training… that will come very handy for our current problem."

"Are you going to train me, Doc?" Sherlock's grin widened.

"A bit of self-defence is useful to everybody… and yes, it will give you the confidence you need right now. If you are able to stop those bullies on your own, without depending on me or on anybody else…"

Sherlock's eyes lit, and he became more serious and alert, straightening up to his full height.

"Yes", he said, and there wasn't a hint of amusement or doubt in his voice. "Yes. Train me, Captain."

Lunch time was a very short length of time, John reflected afterwards. But still they ended sweated and heated up, and when the bell rang Sherlock ate his sandwich almost without chewing it and ran to the toilet to clean himself a bit. John watched him go with a fond feeling heating also his insides, and then shook his head, snapping out of his reverie, and picked up his stuff. Three hours a week. Perhaps in a couple of months he would be able to teach Sherlock at least the basics… He might be able to stand his ground against his bullies even earlier, if he was confident enough. And he was certainly strong, and tall, and had those big hands… John's smile fell and kept cleaning up the gym with a frown.

There were other things worrying him, of course. Small things. Like the way Sherlock nagged him every weekend.

"John. There's a fantastic concert at St Paul this evening. How do you feel about Gregorian chant? SH"

John sighed and glanced at the hour: it was seven a.m. He buried his face on his pillow again. It was Saturday, for God's sake… Was it wrong to want to sleep a couple of hours more in the weekends?

His phone chimed again.

"It's St Miche'sl Benedictines. From France. Best Gregorian chant in the world, John! SH"

And again.

"But it's ok, if you are not fond of Gregorian, we can do another thing. Whatever you want. SH"

"Except football. I hate football, sorry."

John chuckled and finally whatsapped back.

"You forgot to add your 'SH'"

"John! Good morning! SH"

The teacher shook his head, amused, and got ready for at least an hour of chatting with Sherlock.

Chatting on whatsapp was fine, but he didn't meet Sherlock in the weekends, no matter how much the teen insisted. He was aware that his young boyfriend couldn't understand why, but for him it was a must. Of course he was eager to see Sherlock also in the weekends, but he wouldn't, shouldn't give in. He was risking a lot spending time with him in Greenwood, and in fact he was quite sure he wasn't going to be renewed for another year at the school, even without any gossip about Sherlock and him. But Greenwood was a small fish in the great sea of London. A shudder ran up his spine at the mere thought of meeting his faculty or army friends while going on a date with Sherlock in Central London. What would Bill say about him? Or his flatmates? Or even Mike, old patient, easy-going and wide-minded Mike? He would surely freak out if he knew of their relationship.

So no, thank you. John wasn't ready at all to come to terms with the fact that he was dating a seventeen year old pupil. Not in public, at least.

He had an hour of school availability the next Monday, during the third period. It was usually a rather boring hour, if any of the teachers were ill, so he lingered at the teacher's room door with a cup of tea until everybody had run to theirs classrooms. There was only a French teacher and him in availability, so the room was almost deserted. He cleared a patch on the cluttered huge table and sat with his tasks to grade and his cup.

A light tap on the door made him turn his head. He expected a student, perhaps in need of chalk or toilet paper, but the person at the door was a total stranger, and an adult. Well, a young adult at least.

The man was tall and with a slim built, but at the same time out of shape, as if he hadn't seen the inside of a gym in his life. He was in his twenties, but again there was a slight contradiction between the age his face declared and the age his choice of outfit alleged. He was dressed in a three-pieces suit in sober colours, with a tie of course, and he had such a grown-up and serious air around him that John wouldn't have been shocked if the young man was wearing a neck tie.

The visitor smiled at seeing John and stepped in. Something in that smiled reminded John of an alligator, but he smiled back as kindly as he could.

"Good morning, Mr. Watson. My name is Mycroft Holmes", the man said, offering a hand to shake. John reached out and took it, too shocked to speak. "May I sit down here, or would you prefer if we were to talk to a more private place? The character of the things I would like to discuss with you might have a private turn…"

He looked askance to the French teacher, who was pretending to be minding her own business, but who was quite obviously trying not to miss a word. John cleared his throat and stood up, feeling incredibly awkward.

"Right. Of course. If you are so kind to follow me, we can use one of the interview rooms we have especially for these situations."

The man narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, really? I wasn't aware these… situations… were so frequent."

John gulped and led the way out the teacher's room, glad to loose sight of those cold eyes for a moment. I am fucked, he thought. Completely and thoroughly fucked.

He guided Mycroft Holmes to one of the two small rooms attached to the Head Teacher's office, and thanked god for finding the office empty, so he wouldn't need to give explanations. The interview room was plain: a small desk, three chairs and a dull picture on the wall, that was all. Obviously, the Head Teacher didn't want any distraction at sight when he explained to the parents why their children had been given detention, which was the most common use of those rooms. Mycroft Holmes looked around in disgust before sitting down on the chair John signalled for him to use.

"I get you are Sherlock's older brother". John tried to sound friendly, but he couldn't avoid the nervousness that was creeping through his limbs.

"And", the man said and stopped during a long pause, leaning back in his chair and watching John with an almost amused look. Like a bird of prey who had just spotted a mouse on a wheat field. "You are the teacher who is fucking my baby brother."

He had managed to highlight 'baby' without any inflexion of his voice or a raised brow. John gulped and hurried to try to explain himself.

"That's not what is happening here. What... What has Sherlock told you, pray?"

The man frowned and his amusement turned into obvious annoyance.

"He hasn't told me anything. Is not like Sherlock to say anything at all about what's on his mind or any problems he might have. It's been like that for some years. But I have just come back from Oxford for a short break, and the last thing I was expecting to find was my younger brother mopping around the corners like a love-struck puppy. As he didn't give any explanations and my parents seem to be oblivious about anything that has to do with Sherlock, I took the liberty of borrowing his phone and take a look at his recent messages…"

John straightened up in his uncomfortable chair, grounding his feet also metaphorically.

"Well, if you had asked Sherlock directly, he would have told you, perhaps, the rules of our relationship. Which, for your information, don't include any kind of physical intimacy."

"Sure… I will take your word on it…" Mycroft added with a lopsided smirk.

"I swear! I'm… I'm not taking advantage of him, I would never do that. I… I care for him. A lot. And I only want to help him and to make him happy."

"Then you are doing a poor job of it, Mr. Watson… What I saw this last weekend wasn't what I would call a happy teenager."

John avoided his stern eyes and studied his own hands on the desk.

"He is young… and is of course impatient, and would like the relationship to go further and faster. But I swear to you, it won't happen."

The man huffed.

"You know what will happen if my parents or the Head Teacher hear of this… relationship of yours, do you?" He managed again to stress the word 'relationship' without any effort, as if it was a word that filled him up with disgust. John nodded. "Then, you know perfectly well what you must do. Stop this nonsense at once and break up this stupid relationship as soon as possible."

John smiled slowly, feeling his whole body filling with sadness even before starting to speak.

"That won't be necessary."