A/N: Hello, thanks for visiting this story. I hope people are liking it, or at least reading it. Not much feedback lately but I'm still goin'!

This chapter has a warning for implied intimacy. Which, I mean, I guess it doesn't need a warning, but...here's one anyway.

Thanks for reading, please review!

The last day of school for the first term goes by quickly, and in no time, Sherlock's getting ready for his piano recital.

"I love when you wear suits," John says, sprawled across Sherlock's bed.

"I happen to love what you do when I wear suits," Sherlock replies, buttoning his shirt.

"Oh?" John questions, as if oblivious. "Like?"

"Well, there was a few months ago when you gave me a hickey for the first time. I deserve a medal for what I did to hide that from my dad."

John chuckles. "Yeah, that was—"

"And there was that time when we were fourteen and you drooled half the night—"

"And yet you didn't know that I liked you—"

"But my favorite," Sherlock ignores him, "Was when we were eight and my Christmas suit was velvet. Do you remember?"

John looks as if he's trying to remember. "I…"

"You followed me around all night," Sherlock continues, "And continuously stroked whatever patch of fabric you could reach."

John's jaw drops. "I didn't—"

"You did, you so did!" Sherlock stops him. "My arms when we were talking with my mother, my leg under the table when we were eating dinner, my back when we were standing by the fire. You even grazed my arse a few times, John."

"I don't remember that!"

"You didn't notice then," Sherlock explains, "I didn't, either, not even when you touched my bum."

John laughs. "Well? What can I say? You in a suit—"

"I quite like you in suits too, John. Maybe for Christmas you could wear yours?"

John shrugs. "I don't know, Sherlock. I don't like them."

"They're not bad, and your Christmas jumpers are hideous."

John frowns. "Hideous?"

Sherlock goes to his closet and mutters, "Hideous, my love."

John blushes at the name. "Well, maybe I will give it a try."

Sherlock returns to the room and smiles. He's now wearing a bright red tie that goes well with his crisp white shirt and black jacket.

John grins at him and sits up. He reaches for Sherlock and Sherlock steps close enough for John to grab his belt loops. He pulls Sherlock to stand between his legs.

Sherlock grins down and cradles John's face with his big hands.

"I love you," John says, smiling. He runs his hands up the back of Sherlock's thighs, past his bum, to his hips. "I love your perfection in this ridiculous suit."

"Perfection—"Sherlock is about to correct him.

"I stand by it."

Sherlock leans down and lightly kisses John. "I love you too," Sherlock replies. "And I…" he bites his lip. "I love your perfection out of your ridiculous jumpers."

John laughs. "Maybe later, babe."

Sherlock kisses him again. "My dad's not here," he whispers. "He's not even coming home; he's meeting us at school."

"We have to be at school in half an hour," John replies, now running his hands up to under Sherlock's suit jacket.

Sherlock rips his suit jacket off and tackles John onto the bed.

They manage to get their clothes off before they make messes in their concert clothes, and a while later, Sherlock is readjusting his tie as John stands behind him in the mirror while stroking his sides.

"You're amazing," John mutters, stepping close behind Sherlock and mouthing at the back of his neck.

"You are," Sherlock says, turning around in John's arms.

"We'd better go," John says, gazing at Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock kisses John's cheek and steps away.

John whimpers and grabs Sherlock's hand. Sherlock pulls him through the room and out the door, and as he closes his bedroom door, he pushes John against the wall and kisses him deeply.

"A-hem," is heard down the hall.

Sherlock quickly backs away and John wipes his lips.

"How long have you been here?" Sherlock questions.

"Long enough," his big brother answers.

Sherlock blushes and looks at his shoes.

"We'll talk later," Mycroft says. "It's time to go."

Sherlock nods and goes down the hall, barely glancing at Mycroft as he passes.

John clears his throat as he walks past Mycroft. "Hello," he awkwardly mutters.

"Good evening, John," Mycroft stiffly replies, following the boys down the stairs.

They get to the concert right on time for Sherlock to go backstage. He and John lean in to each other to kiss before he goes, but Mycroft stares at them, so Sherlock just leaves without kissing John.

John awkwardly goes to his seat with Mycroft. He and Mycroft sit without really greeting Clement, and Clement eyes them.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," they both quickly reply.

Clement continues to watch them, but the lights dim and the curtain raises, so he looks back at the stage.

They watch and clap for Sherlock each song. A few songs are sang a Capella by the choir, so Sherlock sits back to watch, too. Sherlock looks through the crowd and spots John. They lock eyes and grin at each other, but soon Mycroft glares at Sherlock, so he quickly looks away.

The concert ends after a while and Sherlock stays at the piano to collect his sheet music. He sees John and his family waiting by the door, but he takes his time.

"Hey," Sherlock hears right next to him.

He jumps and looks up.

"I don't know if you know me," the girl shyly says. "I'm Ellery Westbrooke."

"Oh," Sherlock awkwardly says." "What...can I...do for you?"

Ellery takes a deep breath, along with a breath of her inhaler.

Sherlock calmly watches her, obviously knowing she's nervous.

"I heard you help people," she says when she calms.

Sherlock nods.

"I, uhm...I lost a few textbooks. I don't know where they are, and my teachers say that if I don't have them in by the start of second term, I'm in a lot of trouble."

"Oh," Sherlock mutters again. "Well, uhm..."

She frowns and looks at her shoes. "If you can't help me, then-"

"I can," he stops her. "Just...not tonight, ok? I'm really busy," he says, "My brother caught my boyfriend and I having sex, and-"

Ellery's eyes widen and she takes another gust of her inhaler.

"Oh, fuck, I'm-"

She shakes her inhaler again.

Sherlock frowns and stands, grabbing his sheet music. "Email me tomorrow," he says. "We'll talk later."

Ellery quickly nods and scurries away.

Sherlock runs his hands through his hair.

"Hey," John says from the ground.

Sherlock, from the stage, looks down at him.

"What was that?" John asks, chuckling.

"I accidentally told her that my brother caught us having sex and she had a panic attack."

John's eyes bulge out of his head.

"Oh, relax," Sherlock says. "She's the one who was bombarded with the fact."

John rubs a hand over his face. "Come on," he turns away from the stage. "Your dad's taking us out to dinner."

"Yay…" Sherlock mutters, following John through the auditorium.

Dinner is terribly awkward. Sherlock and Mycroft stare at each other between conversations with their father, and John tries not to make eye contact with Mycroft.

Sure, it's not like Mycroft saw them, or anything. But neither boy knows how long Mycroft was in the house or what he may have heard. And just knowing that he knows they're being intimate is enough to be embarrassed and worried of what he'll tell Clement.

It doesn't help that Mycroft starts every story with: "So Father, I saw—" or "I heard—" or "This evening—".

Finally, after a long time of glaring at each other, Sherlock stands. "Mycroft, may I see you a moment?"

Mycroft stands from the table. "Absolutely, little brother."

They walk briskly through the restaurant, both buttoning their suit jackets as they make it to the entrance. They step outside and both briefly hiss at the cold.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Sherlock asks.

"How long are you going to squirm every time I look at you?"

"Are you going to tell Dad?"

Mycroft crosses his arms. "Depends. What are you doing?"

"Doing?"

Mycroft raises an eyebrow.

Sherlock catches on. "Nothing. I mean, obviously something, but not…something-something."

Mycroft sighs. "I was your age when I first did…something—"

"Ew."

Mycroft glares. "Anyway," he mutters. "I know about hormones and urges and I know you love John, but I'm concerned, Sherlock. You're not ready for…something-something."

"How do you know I'm not?"

"Because you called it something-something."

Sherlock sighs. "I guess…I guess you're right."

"How long have you two been doing something?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Only a few weeks."

Mycroft nods. "Be. Careful. And I know all parents and older siblings say this, but I mean it, Sherlock. If you need anything, you need to come to me."

Sherlock nods.

"Do you have any questions?"

"I'm a tad curious as to who you, uh…something'd with."

Mycroft grins. "I don't kiss and tell," he says.

"What about Lestrade?"

Mycroft blushes. "Answering that would be telling," he replies, turning around to go back inside.

Sherlock laughs. "I can tell that's a 'yes'."

"Be quiet, Sherlock."

"Mycroft and Lestrade, sittin' in a tree—"

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"K-I-S-S-I-N—"

Mycroft reaches over and pinches his arm. Sherlock squirms away and laughs.

The rest of the evening goes smoothly, and they drop John off at home before returning to the Holmes residence. Mycroft spends the night there, so he and Sherlock stay up all night playing chess and talking. Sherlock enjoys it, because he notices how much he and Mycroft don't spend enough time together. They finally go to bed around four in the morning, and they're both very happy that they spent that time together.

John calls Sherlock around ten with a new email.

"From a…" John pauses, then says, "E. Westbrooke?"

"Ellery, yes," Sherlock says. "Something about losing textbooks?"

"Yeah," John confirms. "She says she takes really good care of her books, so she has no idea where they could be if not in her locker."

"Did she leave a number?"

John gives Sherlock her mobile number, tells Sherlock to apologize for what he said when they met yesterday, then they hang up so Sherlock can call her.

She answers almost right away. "Sherlock?"

"Uhm…" he pauses. "Yes…"

"I thought it'd be you," she says. "Did you get my email.?"

He refrains from saying 'Duh!'. "Yes, I did."

"I put all the information there," Ellery tells him. "I never misplace my books, and I really, really don't want to be in trouble."

"Did you look in the lost and found?"

"Yes," she says.

"The book lost and found?"

"There's a book lost and found?"

"Yes," he says. "Not many students know about it. It's in the library, a whole shelf. You've just got to ask the librarian."

"Is the library open during break?"

"It should be."

She sighs. "Thanks, Sherlock."

"If they're not there, then you can call me back and I'll help more if I can."

"I hope I won't have to call you," she says. She quickly starts again. "I mean…no, I didn't mean…I meant…I hope…ugh!"

Sherlock can't help but laugh. "I understand, Ellery. And listen, I'm sorry about our meeting yesterday. My mind was otherwise occupied and I didn't have much control over my mouth."

Ellery chuckles. "It's ok, Sherlock. Just a bit weird."

"Oh, I know. Well, call me if you need any more help."

"I will. Thanks, Sherlock!"

He smiles into the phone and hangs up.

Sherlock immediately calls John back.

"Solve it already?"

"Yes, "Sherlock says. "Well, kind of. I told her to check the book lost and found."

"There's a book lost and found?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, mister."

Sherlock glares at his phone. "Come over," is all he says, then hangs up.

John is there in minutes.

After that, they spend the entire day together with Clement. He makes them go grocery shopping with him, and he ends up having to separate them because they begin to bicker in the shop. On the drive home, they're still fighting, and John flicks the back of Sherlock's head from the backseat. Clement pulls over and makes Sherlock get in the back with John, and he tells them to hold hands until they make up (something he always had to do to Sherlock and Mycroft). Eventually, Sherlock and John get over their tiff and John kisses his cheek, and they go back to normal for the rest of the day.