A/N: This chapter has a warning for sex! After this I'll probably have another long-ish break spanning the next week. Sorry! Hope you enjoy, please review!

Sherlock's phone rings at five the next morning.

He assumes it's John, so he answers, "Hey, babe."

"Hi honey," he hears back.

Sherlock's eyes dart open. It's not John, it's Olive.

"Olive?"

"Duh," she says.

Sherlock sits up in bed. "What's up?"

Mycroft grumbles next to him. "Get the fuck out or I'll punch you in the face."

Olive laughs. "Are you in bed with your brother?"

Sherlock scrambles off the bed. "Yeah, something came up last night that I…" He gets out to the hall to find Brook passed out on the sofa. "It's a long story."

"Alright," she says. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that Danny made bail, so he's out. Taylor's parents will be back in a few hours, but she's staying here still just in case he returns to their house."

"Right," Sherlock replies, getting back to the guest room and laying back in his bed. "Good."

"Yeah, no problem."

There's a long awkward silence. There's so much Sherlock wants to say, but he thinks she's silent because she doesn't want to talk.

Though, the way she replied when he answered, she's obviously more playful and it seems to Sherlock that she's prepared to maybe have the apologetic conversation.

So he tries.

"I'm really sorry about what I said. And how I said it. You know, for shouting."

"I know, Sherlock."

"So…you'll talk to me again?"

"I'm talking to you right now, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but I meant—"

Olive sighs. "Look," she says. "In all honesty…it was about time we spend some time apart."

"What does that even mean? Why?"

"Because…because Lane…he was starting to get suspicious. You know? Of us."

"What?! That's absurd. Tell him it's absurd!"

"Well…it's…it's not that absurd when…when it's true…"

"What?!"

Olive bursts into laughter. "Dude, I'm totally kidding!"

Sherlock's not convinced. "What the hell?!"

Olive continues laughing. "I promise you, Sherlock, I'm kidding. I was just really upset, that's all. I've spent the last, what? Week and a half? Thinking about how dumb I was being, and I'm sorry. I overreacted."

"No, you didn't. I shouldn't have said those things to you."

"Well, you know and I know that you were right, that I wouldn't have treated Taylor very well. Luckily, over the past week, I've been able to think that over and, well, this weekend has actually been really nice with her. You know, considering."

"Good," Sherlock says. "I'm really glad. And Lane…he's not really suspecting anything, right?"

"Of course not. He's been begging me for the past week to call you. To be honest, I think he's tired of me. He's probably tired of me whining about not talking to you."

Sherlock laughs. "I'm sure John feels the same way. So, we can get back to regularly scheduled visits this week. How about tomorrow?"

"Well," Olive says, "I've got plans with Taylor tomorrow."

"You do?" Sherlock excitedly asks. "That's great."

"Yeah, I think so. So maybe Tuesday, right?"

"Sure."

"How's New York?"

"Gorgeous. I'll send you some pictures. I'm coming home today though, and I'm a little bit sad."

"I would be," Olive replies. "Now, to the important question. Did you get me a present?"

Sherlock laughs. "Maybe."

"It's a yes or no, Holmes."

"Fine. Then, yes."

"Oooh!"

"You can have it Tuesday."

"Tuesday?!"

"Yes, when we hang out!"

"I bet John gets his today."

"Of course, he's picking me up from the airport."

"Typical," she mutters.

He laughs. "What do you want to do on Tuesday?"

"I don't know," she says. "We can go to a movie? We can—"

"We can do a new experiment!"

Olive sighs. "Great."

Excitedly, Sherlock replies, "It is gre—" he stops. "…oh, you were being sarcastic."

"Yes. Yes, I was."

"Rude."

"Experiments mean you go on doing whatever you do and you completely ignore me."

"Yeah, so?"

He can practically hear her roll her eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes at me."

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"Fine, fine."

Sherlock yawns loudly.

"Go back to sleep," Olive tells him.

"I might."

"What time is it?"

Sherlock checks his watch. "Quarter after five."

"Geez!" she cries, "I'm sorry!"

"No, it's okay. I'm glad you called."

"Were you missing me?"

"No. Of course not."

"Liar."

Sherlock smiles.

"Go back to sleep," she says again. "I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, at school."

"Great. Okay. See you then."

"See you," he replies, then hangs up the phone.

Mycroft wakes Sherlock up two hours later for breakfast.

Instead of cooking, which Sherlock would refuse to eat anyway, Mycroft takes him to a fancy Sunday morning breakfast.

After fighting over who will miss who more in the middle of the restaurant, they go back to Mycroft's apartment so Sherlock can pack.

They make it to the airport on time for Sherlock's flight. By the time they arrive, Sherlock's irritated and snippy with Mycroft.

Mycroft pulls his suitcase through the airport while Sherlock walks with his arms crossed and a pout on his face.

"Alright," Mycroft finally says. "I know you don't want to go back, but you need to. You can come back in a few weeks."

"When?"

"After school. You have the rest of this month and May. You can come back for an entire week the first week of summer."

Sherlock just nods.

Mycroft stops and turns to Sherlock. He grabs Sherlock's shoulder and makes Sherlock face him.

"Be good for Dad, please. Be careful on your cases. Please, and I cannot stress this enough, call Lestrade when anything big happens. Seriously, you don't need to be in danger and neither do your friends."

"I know," Sherlock sighs, looking down at his shoes.

Mycroft takes Sherlock's chin and lifts his head. "I know you know, I just worry."

Sherlock nods.

"Have fun at prom, okay? I know you, and I know by Friday you'll be sulking about having to go. But you'll enjoy it, and John certainly will. Remember, love means thinking about someone other than yourself all the time. Right?"

"So I should expect you back in England soon?"

Mycroft shakes his head. "I don't love you that much."

"Yes you do."

Mycroft laughs, so Sherlock smiles.

"I do not. When you were born, I tried to sell you."

"You did not."

"I did, ask Dad. I finally decided to just give you away, but nobody wanted you. Mum eventually gave me three pounds and a handful of chocolates for you."

Sherlock laughs.

Mycroft laughs too, then pats Sherlock's shoulders. He reaches over and wraps his arms around Sherlock's neck. Sherlock hugs back, even though he doesn't want to.

"I'll see you soon," Mycroft says.

"Soon," Sherlock repeats.

Sherlock makes it onto his plane and gets settled before take-off. He texts John and his dad to let them know that he's on the plane and that he'll see them soon.

As he's putting his phone away and getting ready to take out his iPad, he finally notices a boy having difficulties stuffing his bag into the overhead compartment. He quickly stands to help, and the handsome stranger looks very appreciative.

"Thanks a lot," he tells Sherlock, "I guess I packed too much in my carry-on."

"You're welcome," Sherlock says, slipping back into his seat. "Are you sitting here?"

The boy checks his ticket. "Yep, looks like it," he says, sitting down in the isle seat. He reaches over to shake Sherlock's hand. "Paris Lapointe. Everyone just calls me Lapointe."

Paris. Lapointe. French. Canadian? Dark skin. African-American. American southern accent. Louisiana, then. Visiting London? With the size of his carry-on, moving is more likely. Age? 18 or 19. Recently graduated high school. Needed a move. Also, straight brown hair, a few freckles, and auburn eyes? One parent isn't African-American. Maybe a European French parent. Test his language later.

"French?" Sherlock asks, just for the sake of saying something. To find out if he's right, he asks, "Louisiana?"

Lapointe looks at him in shocked awe. "How'd you know?"

Sherlock doesn't want to scare away someone he's stuck next to for a seven hour flight. "Uh…Southern accent," he says.

Lapointe laughs. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"I hadn't gotten there yet," Sherlock says. "Sherlock Holmes."

"What a name," Lapointe replies.

"None like Paris Lapointe. Let me guess, dad's from France?"

Lapointe smiles widely. "Close. Dad is French, but Mom's a Shakespeare professor at Louisiana State University."

Sherlock laughs. "So she named you after a mean character who gets murdered?"

"She didn't have high hopes for me, sounds like," Lapointe says, laughing. "What are you doing in the states, Sherlock Holmes?"

"I was visiting my brother. What are you doing leaving the states?"

Lapointe alarmingly looks at his plane ticket. "This plane is leaving the U.S.?"

Sherlock watches, confused. "Uhm…"

Lapointe cracks a smile and looks back at Sherlock. "I'm kidding! I'm nearly positive of where I'm going!"

Sherlock sighs relief. "Scared me there for a second."

Lapointe laughs. Sherlock laughs too, but it's mostly just to cover up the smile he grows when Lapointe smiles, his straight teeth impossibly whiter against his dark skin, making his smile sparkle. He runs a hand through his straight brown hair, obviously a nervous tick.

"I am…running away from home," he says.

"Running away?"

"Well," Lapointe explains. "My parents know I'm leaving. I just…I needed out of Louisiana. I thought London would be a good place to get away to, would you agree?"

"Yes," Sherlock says. "It's a wonderful city."

"That's good," Lapointe says.

"Why do you need to get out of Louisiana?"

"Friend, I'm the oldest of six kids. You'd want to get out too."

Sherlock smiles playfully and asks, "Are their names Hamlet, King Lear, Benedick, Macbeth, and Romeo?"

Lapointe laughs harder than he has. "Nah, man! But let's see, there's…" he counts on his fingers, "Hal, Voila, Lennox, Alice, and Juliet. And we've got a dog named Dogberry. Somehow they all get the normal-ish names and I'm a Louisiana football player named Paris."

This makes Sherlock laugh. "That's...unfortunate, I guess. But that's quite the clan. I understand your need to get away. Do you have a flat?"

"That's an apartment, right?"

Sherlock chuckles. "Yes."

Lapointe nods. "Yeah, I don't really know much of where it is or what it looks like, but I got one. I need a job next. I just really wanted to get out of Louisiana."

"Understandable," Sherlock says.

The plane takes off in no time, and Sherlock and Lapointe continue talking through take-off.

Lapointe confirms that he just got out of high school and made it through one semester of college before he quit. Sherlock says he understands, telling Lapointe that he doesn't want to go to university.

"It's not for everyone," Lapointe tells him. "I was set to go to LSU, Louisiana State University. I got a full-ride scholarship to play football. Not to brag, but I was one of the best in the state. Country maybe, I don't know, I didn't pay attention that much. I won the state championship twice, once sophomore year and once junior year, but…"

"What happened?"

Lapointe takes off his jacket and lifts his shirt sleeve, revealing long scars along his shoulder. "Blew my shoulder out the last game of senior year. Lost my scholarship, lost everything. I went through a lot of stuff, but I tried to go to college anyway. Didn't work out."

"Wow," Sherlock mumbles. "What kind of stuff, if you don't mind me asking?"

"It was a sort of post traumatic stress disorder thing. It took a lot to get out of that place, to be honest I'm not fully out of it, but I'm getting there."

"That's good," Sherlock says.

Lapointe nods. "You're still in school?"

"Yeah," Sherlock says. "My last year before university."

"Well, whatever you do, university or not, it's your choice."

Sherlock fully agrees.

Much to his disappointment, Lapointe tells Sherlock about the girlfriend he left back in Louisiana.

"She was devastated when I said I was leaving," Lapointe says. "Maybe one day I'll go back for her. But she isn't going to wait for me."

"That's too bad," Sherlock says.

Lapointe doesn't ask about Sherlock's relationship status, so Sherlock doesn't tell him he's got a boyfriend. He gladly changes the subject when Lapointe does.

"So," he asks, "You live in London?"

"I do," Sherlock says.

"Since I know nobody on this continent, you want to exchange numbers? Show me around a bit?"

"Sure!" Sherlock gladly cries. Any excuse to be able to look at Paris Lapointe after he gets off this plane is worth taking.

"Maybe help me find a job too," Lapointe jokingly says.

Sherlock can tell he's only half joking. "I might be able to do that."

Lapointe smiles widely. "Really?"

Sherlock shrugs. "I'm sure we can find something. If anything, I know a guy who works for a bank, but was just arrested for cocaine related crimes. No doubt that bank is looking for a new employee."

Lapointe laughs. "How would you know that?"

"Someone hired me to find out if was using cocaine or not. Turns out, he is."

Lapointe looks confused. "What do you mean, hired you?"

"Oh…I, uh, I solve crimes. Usually little things, like finding missing earrings, but sometimes they're real crimes."

"Wow," Lapointe says. "That's neat."

"Yeah, it is."

After a while longer of talking, the boys decide to quiet down to get some rest. Lapointe falls asleep in his seat, but Sherlock stays up and watches a movie on his iPad.

When they finally land many hours later, Sherlock asks where Lapointe's flat is. He hands over the address, and Sherlock is delighted to find that it's near his house. He offers Lapointe a ride so he doesn't have to waste a lot of money on a cab.

"You don't have to do that," Lapointe tries.

"I insist. And tomorrow we'll help you find a job."

Lapointe grasps his shoulder. "And my mama said I wouldn't meet any nice people here."

Sherlock laughs. "What's your mum like?" he curiously asks.

"She's a tiny black woman who can recite Shakespeare in her sleep and make a mean gumbo without having to grocery shop first."

Sherlock laughs again. "Wow."

"She's the kindest person you'll ever meet, but she's not afraid to bend you over her knee in public."

Sherlock doesn't have to ask what he means. "Wow," he mutters again. "What about your dad?"

"He is the polar opposite. Big, quiet, serious, white, and yes half-French, dude with a giant beard and always wears camouflage. When he's not out fishing or hunting, he's a firefighter."

"Ahh."

"What about yours?"

Sherlock spots his dad and John down the path. "Well, there's my dad," he says, pointing to Clement.

"And your mom?"

Sherlock shrugs. "She was nice and loving, but she left recently. I don't see her anymore."

Lapointe pats his back. "That's too bad, friend."

Sherlock weakly smiles. "Thanks."

The new friends finally get to John and Clement, and John attacks Sherlock in a tight hug. Sherlock gladly hugs back, but he glances at Lapointe to make sure he doesn't look scared or disgusted. On the contrary, Lapointe looks amazed.

"Uh, John, Dad," Sherlock says, pulling away from John. "This is Paris Lapointe. Lapointe, this is my dad Clement and…and my boyfriend, John."

Clement shakes Lapointe's hand first. "Paris," he repeats. "Pleasure to meet you. Did my son find you in the city and insist you return with him?"

Lapointe laughs. "No, sir, we met on the plane. I'm moving here from Louisiana."

"Louisiana, wow!"

Lapointe shakes John's hand and tells him what a pleasure it is to meet him, too.

"Dad," Sherlock says, "I offered Lapointe a ride to his new flat. He doesn't know where it is, but it's near our house."

"Not a problem," Clement gladly says. "On the way you've got to tell me what brings you all the way to London."

Clement starts walking towards the exit, and Lapointe stays right next to him to talk. John and Sherlock hang back behind them, John wrapping his arm tight around Sherlock's waist and holding him close.

They drop Lapointe off at his new flat and Clement tells him that if he needs anything not to hesitate to call Sherlock. Lapointe thanks them profusely, saying he'll call Sherlock the next day so Sherlock can show him around.

Clement agrees to let John spend the night, of course, and he tells the boys to go to bed right when they get home.

"Tired?" John asks when they get up to Sherlock's bedroom.

Sherlock nods. "Very."

John steps up to him and places a hand on his hip. "I missed you so much."

Sherlock wraps both arms around John's neck. "I missed you, too."

John leans in and kisses Sherlock lightly.

Despite being very tired, Sherlock did miss John a lot. He wants to be close to John, in every sense.

He pulls away from the kiss first. "I smell like airplane," he groans.

John dips his face into Sherlock's neck and sniffs. "You smell like sex…" he sighs against Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock grins. "Oh, yeah?"

John nods, his nose brushing Sherlock's neck.

"Well, then…" Sherlock says, then lets John go and pushes him onto the bed. He climbs onto John's lap, his knees on either side of John's hips.

John places his hands on Sherlock's thighs. "Take your clothes off," he says, kissing Sherlock's neck again.

Sherlock rips his shirt off over his head. John rubs Sherlock's skin.

"God, I missed you…" John says, and it's the last thing he says before Sherlock pushes him onto his back and plunders his mouth.

Sherlock gets his jeans and pants off first, then shimmies up John's body to straddle his face and push his cock into John's mouth. John eagerly opens up, then pulls Sherlock down so he's fully engulfed in John's willing mouth. Sherlock thrusts shallowly at first, then he begins to pump his hips fast and erratically, feeling his orgasm approach quickly.

"I'm gonna…" Sherlock moans. "Oh god, John, I'm—"

John tightens his mouth and sucks hard, then he feels Sherlock's come flood the back of his throat.

Sherlock pulls out when his body sags. John reaches for his jeans and unbuckles on time for Sherlock to get his mouth down there and over John's cock.

John runs his fingers through Sherlock's hair as Sherlock sucks, his head bobbing up and down in John's lap with loud sucks and moans. John stands no chance, he comes in record time with an outward thrust of his hips and Sherlock's name spilling lustfully out of his mouth.

"Oh my…" John sighs while Sherlock's wiping his lips clean.

Sherlock falls over next to John. "Agreed."

John looks over at him. "Don't leaving me again, okay?"

Sherlock turns his head as he catches his breath. "Deal," he pants.

They don't bother showering that night. After a quick clean up, they climb under the covers and fall asleep instantly.