And Together We Fell (prev. "Teenlock") - An AU Sherlock/Johnlock Fanfic

Chapter 10

 

JOHN'S P.O.V

After football finished, I walked straight up to Sherlock, wading my way through the mess of students laughing across the field.

"Hey Sherlock."

"John."

"Thanks for... um... actually waiting for me." I couldn't actually believe that he had waited for me.

"What is it?" I noticed he went straight to the point. As usual.

"I need to, um, ask you something."

"What?" Dammit Sherlock.

"... Can we go to our dorm first?"

He hesitated.

"Fine."

The long walk back to the dorm was full of awkward silences-- scratch that, it was one massive awkward silence. Well, it probably wasn't for him. It sure as hell was for me. There was so much I wanted to say, but I didn't really want to say it in front of other people. It wasn't, however, as if I was about to declare my love for him.

When we reached our dorm, I went through, and sat down on my bed, whilst Sherlock took the chair.

"Sherlock, as you may have already noticed--"

"Probably."

A pause of intense annoyance. "Sherlock. As you may have already noticed--"

"Probab--"

"Sherlock, just let me finish." I just needed to get it out as soon as possible. "Sherlock, as you may already have observed, I kind of... play the piano."

"Really?" I glanced at him, making sure he wasn't being sarcastic. No, he really looked surprised. I looked at my hands.

"Yeah. I've heard that a pianist has slender fingers, strong pinkie, good posture, et cetera, and I have the exact opposite... but yeah, yes, I kind of play the piano."

"Define kind of." Sherlock was intrigued; this was good. It meant he wasn't going to walk away randomly in the middle of a conversation.

"Well... um... long story. Anyway--"

"John." Sherlock leaned forward, his wavy dark brown hair sweeping forward to accentuate his cheekbones and slender face even more. "We have 10 minutes until next lesson. Tell me."

"Uh... a-alright then." I blew out through my mouth. "I guess it started when I was about 8, maybe 9. My dad... he kind of forced me to play football. Thought it would make me more 'manlier'. I didn't really want to, but whenever I refused to play with him... he, um, blew it, to say the least." I paused, and remembered the memory from long ago. "He yelled at me, called me a fag, how I need to play football otherwise I'll dishonour the family name, you probably get the idea." I glanced over at Sherlock; he was intently watching me.

"Go on."

"Well, um, I went to school the next day, and I had music for the first lesson of the day. We all had goes at performing this little stupidly simple piece, about 5 notes long. Out of the 20 students in my class, only 5 of us managed it. He upped up the difficulty, and made it 10 notes long. I managed it, and so did one other student, this boy called Mike. He then brought out this piece, I can't remember its name... anyway, he gave it for me and Mike to learn, by coming back at break and lunch to perform it the next day in front of the class.

"So, I practised, and so did Mike, and the next day Mike came in boasting about how he had practised all night, because he had a piano at home, and how he was going to beat me. Needless to say, when we had to perform it, Mike couldn't play it, at all, and I just did it. Perfectly. My teacher praised me, and said I was a natural. I came home, I was so happy, I couldn't wait to tell my parents."

"Let me guess." Sherlock interrupted the small pause. "You went to tell your dad."

"Yeah. Yeah... I went to tell my dad as soon as I ran through the door, up the stairs and into the bathroom, where he was shaving his face with this razor. I told him everything, and how the teacher said I should play more, and how I wanted to play more, and he just... he just went ballistic. He screamed at me, told me that piano was for 'fags', and that he didn't want his son to turn gay, and everything like that. I can barely remember it, really, just that the next thing I knew his shaving razor was being flung at me and I ran backwards, fell down the stairs, and woke up in hospital."

"What happened?" I looked at Sherlock again. He was actually listening, not like pretending to, like in lessons when he's hearing stuff he already knows. His face was deadpan, but he was listening alright.

"I woke up and found out my sister, Harry, had an argument with him, -she was 15-, and ended up coming out of the closet and telling him that she was gay. Of course, my mum and I had known for ages... but anyway--"

There was a knock at the door.

"PISS OFF MYCROFT!" Sherlock yelled without warning, startling me. The door opened, and lo and behold, was Mycroft Holmes. He sighed, spoke directly to me.

"Greg forgot to tell you footballers something about the other team you're playing later. Thinks it might boost your confidence. He wants you guys to meet up in about 5 minutes outside our dorm for a minute."

"Sure. Tell him I'll come in 5." Mycroft nodded at me, glanced at Sherlock, then left.

"Continue."

"Are you-- are you actually interested in this?"

He gave a non-committed shrug, and nodded.

"Yeah... well, anyway, I went back to school a week later, and my music teacher offered to teach me, for free, at lunchtimes. He didn't tell my dad, because I think he figured out what my dad thought of music. Anyway, I got schooled by him every Tuesday lunchtime, until Year 6. My dad then paid for me to go to Ansford, where I couldn't really ask to get free lessons."

"... You tutored yourself?" I looked at him momentarily; how did he... never mind.

"Yes. Yeah, well, I booked music rooms and taught myself, until my dad got into an argument with the head teacher, about the fact of why I wasn't captain of the football team yet. He sent me here, and I haven't touched a piano since." Sherlock didn't say anything. "I told you it was a long story."

"I know. Why are you telling me all this anyway?"

"Yeah, well, there's a music concert on after the football match tomorrow, and I was wondering whether I should go for it, put my name forward and maybe play... what do you think?" He appeared to be considering it.

"What grade are you?"

I blushed.

"I'm not... did you really think my dad would've paid for exams?" It was his turn to blush.

"Of course not. Um. I think you should. Go for it. I'm doing it anyway." Sherlock scowled; I was shocked; did Sherlock play an instrument?

"You... play an instrument?"

"The violin. My dear brother Mycroft is forcing me to show my skills in the concert tomorrow. Apparently, who ever wins the competition wins a really good glass trophy." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, your father's not coming, is he?"

I shook my head. "He hasn't sent a message of any kind, so I don't think he's coming. Hopefully, he--"

At that precise moment, my phone rang.

I looked down at it, then at Sherlock. I turned it on, and saw it was from my dad. I shot a look at Sherlock, and answered it.