Like a Fairytale

We Can't Handle the Truth

Sherlock didn't wait around for John at football, he was sure he knew that there actually would be tutoring, but he had brought his phone just in case there was some confusion. Sherlock had redone his hair, brushed all of the dust and cobwebs from the staircases off, and even plucked some stray red dog hairs from Redbeard's excited visit. So now he sat, on the bench, his bag dangling from one of the legs. He had checked, double checked, and triple checked that there was no wasp nest underneath the wood, someone must have told the park rangers about the accident, or they had just taken it down themselves, but there wasn't a flying demon in sight. The only thing that was in sight now was a little blonde head walking through the gap in the black iron fence. As soon as he saw John, his heart rate skyrocketed and it was a bit hard to catch his breath. They'd have to talk now, and both of them were awkward, he was almost positive there would be no kissing today, but still he was nervous about what John might say or think of him.
"Hello Sherlock." John muttered, dropping his numerous bags onto the ground and sinking into the seat opposite without any hesitation. Obviously he had forgotten about the wasp adventure, but it made sense since there was a much more exciting thing to think about.
"Hi." Sherlock mumbled, unsure about exactly what to say or do. They both just kind of sat there, picking at the wood or playing with a string attached to one of their coats.
"There are no wasps right?" John asked, his voice going up an octave higher and suddenly looking terrified, ready to spring. So no different really.
"No, I uh, I checked." Sherlock said, but his voice cracked, which was extremely humiliating. John nodded, able to see how uncomfortable Sherlock was, but he seemed to be about that level as well.
"Good." John muttered, easing back into his chair. Sherlock's eyes flashed once to his lips, something he very much regretted for he turned scarlet once again. Thankfully though, John was busying himself digging his pencil out of his bag, which was taking an awful long time. Sherlock followed his lead though, getting out his papers and his pencil as well. They both looked around awkwardly, pretending to be fascinated with the now bare trees, all of the leaves either fallen or clinging for dear life to the end of the branches.
"So, um, math?" John asked, as if just realizing what they were here for, not for looking around awkwardly. Sherlock opened the new folder, which had more current material inside, since John had almost worked his way completely through the last folder. After a quick, rushed explanation, which had more 'um's, 'like's, and stutters in it than actual words. But John went to work, somehow managing to unearth actual instructions in the sea of awkwardness. Sherlock occupied himself by burying his nose; once again, in a book, but the letters mixed together and blurred, he was only on the fifth sentence down when John finally finished, his mind racing. It was the usual things that kept him up at night, their relationship, John's relationship with Mary, and, especially, if this was genuine or just a big joke.
"Here." John croaked, sliding the paper over. Sherlock took it hastily, reading over the math the best he could. But from what he was able to interpret it was pretty accurate, most problems correct.
"Good, ya." Sherlock decided, sliding the paper roughly over the wood back to John, who nodded shyly. This was going awful, Sherlock didn't know, now that they were pretty much done, whether to leave, to talk, to interrogate, or to give him some more math problems. He was due for a test, just something to prove to Mrs. Pines that he was able to do the problems that he had been taught.
"So, um, how was your weekend?" John asked shyly, poking at a splinter sticking up in the table.
"Fine, yours?" Sherlock muttered. It was indeed fine, great actually, the best weekend he'd had in a while.
"It was pretty good I guess. I kept getting all of these," he cleared his throat, as if talking was a lot of effort, "all of these colleges contact me, I guess some of them had people watching the game."
"Are you going to accept?" Sherlock asked, suddenly interested. He didn't have his name down for a college yet, he was going to see where his future took him.
"Why would I? I've got my whole life set up for me." John defended.
"Shouldn't you go to business school or something?" Sherlock pointed out, he knew Mycroft had taken that for at least two years.
"My dad will teach me everything when I get there, I'll be CEO next." John muttered. Sherlock rolled his eyes, those three letters would be the death of them all, and he didn't even know what they stood for. Crushing Everyone's Obligations, Crying Elephants Overdrive, who even knew anymore?
"Mycroft will CEO, who knows what I'll be forced into?"
"We'll be business enemies then, huh?" John laughed.
"I suppose. It's pointless though, one of these families has to hike up their skirt and move somewhere else so we're not always bashing heads." Sherlock muttered. More like bashing lips, but one need to know that.
"That would be the obvious choice, but there's too much pride and ego in my family." John sighed.
"Would you move?" Sherlock asked, surprised how easily they talked even though a minute ago they couldn't seem to look at each other.
"I don't think I could, this is my home, has been forever." John shrugged.
"I'm getting as far away as possible." Sherlock sighed.
"How come?" John asked.
"Because I need a clean slate. Everyone knows me here, I don't want to be the youngest Holmes brother or the freak, I want to be Sherlock, I want people to know my name not because of what I've done, but what I will do." Sherlock debated.
"That was deep." John commented with the ghost of a smile.
"And I really don't want to become trapped in the eternal web of business." Sherlock sighed.
"What do you want to be?" John asked.
"I don't know, scientist, mathematician, I'd even settle for a detective, anything but wearing a suit and eating salads with a little name plate." Sherlock muttered, shuttering. Most of his childhood memories were sitting in his father's secretary's office, playing with puzzles and coloring books while he waited for his dad to be done with work. Back then Mrs. Hudson was busy with other things and couldn't baby sit, it was a lot of work to juggle two kids, and Mrs. Holmes simply refused to let some 'crummy old stranger touch her children'. So there he sat, with all the intimidating business men and women, all working to the melody of phones ringing and chairs squeaking. And from then on he knew he wasn't following that path.
"So are you going to college?" John asked.
"Dull. And I don't think my parents would buy it, they want me to fall in line and be a good little heir to the throne." Sherlock grumbled.
"Well it's not like you need more educating." John shrugged, making Sherlock smile shyly, but it was true. He was already teaching himself the college knowledge he'd need, but that doesn't look good on a job application. Suddenly a phone started ringing, and for a crazy second Sherlock thought it was his, but John pulled his phone out of his pocket and groaned.
"It's Mary; I've got to take this." He said, but for the number one couple of all time, he didn't seem to like having to talk to his plus one. John got up from the table and walked over to a distant tree, out of Sherlock's earshot, as if it were extremely important. Sherlock didn't watch him though, he didn't want to look like he was nosing in on John's business and he certainly didn't want to look like a stalker. So he watched a bird hop around, trying to drag a fallen French fry from its beak, except the fry kept falling apart and was obviously too heavy for the small little thing. This amused Sherlock for some reason; it must be how thugs like Anderson saw him though, weak, pathetic, and unable to complete even the smallest of physical tasks. The only difference was if you set that bird in front of calculus he wouldn't have a clue what to do.
"Sorry about that." John muttered, slouching back into his seat with a sigh.
"Mary?" Sherlock asked, although he knew the answer.
"Ya, she wants to get together tonight." John mumbled, not looking too happy about it.
"Well that's good isn't it?" Sherlock asked, really hoping he knew the answer. John just looked up at him as if he were trying to figure out if he were joking.
"No it's not a good thing!" John exclaimed, looking half serious and half surprised, as if it were common sense to know what was going on in the famed John Watson's head. Sherlock's heart almost had a seizure, but he tried his best not to look to hopeful.
"I thought...I thought you like her?" Sherlock pointed out.
"I used to." John muttered. And now, what now, who is it now???? If it was Sherlock he'd seriously fall over and die.
"And, and now?" Sherlock muttered. John just gave him a crooked half smile, something Sherlock found so annoyingly attractive.
"I think I'm just going to end it here." John muttered, looking sad even though he claimed not to like her. Sherlock didn't protest or continue on the subject, for fear of John rekindling his liking or going down the road of conversation that leads to the kiss. Sherlock definitely didn't want to talk about that right now.
"Oh." Sherlock muttered. His entire body was floating, what did this even mean? Was John leaving Mary for him? This was absolutely unheard of, his entire life was coming into play now, there definitely was a fairy godmother hiding out there, looking out for him. John sighed, putting his pencil back in his bag, getting to his feet once more.
"I should go; if I'm late Mary will kill me." John groaned. Sherlock wanted to tell him not to mention him in any of this break up, but John didn't wait for an answer.
"Bye." Sherlock mumbled under his breath, but he knew there was no way John had heard him. Instead it looked like John had released a trapped breath, like a thousand pounds of weight had simply been lifted from his shoulders. Sherlock simply sat there, staring at a spot in space, staring, thinking, thinking, staring. He didn't know what this meant, but it might just mean John wanted to possibly go farther, he was making himself all too available, and god knows Sherlock's never had a girlfriend, so the only ties he might have to cut were his families. Nothing too bad then. When the sun started to sink he got a bit worried about time management, his premade dinner still sitting forgotten at the bottom of his bag. He couldn't eat, not now; if his stomach was full he'd probably throw up all over John or something really embarrassing. So he trudged home, still lost deep in thought and almost head butted his way through a lamp post. But he made it home without any serious head injuries, walking through the door and announcing his arrival.
"Just in time dear!" Mrs. Holmes exclaimed. Oh well look at that, they were all just about to start eating. Sherlock started to say that he had already eaten a lie of course, but his father and Mycroft were glaring daggers at him, so he reluctantly slid into the chair. His stomach rumbled as he looked out in front of him, apparently it was Mrs. Hudson's day of Mexican; she had made beef enchiladas, rice, and black beans, all which looked absolutely splendid.
"Looks good." He muttered, loading an enchilada onto his plate and drenching it in salsa and sour cream. The Holmes family ate in comfortable silence, but Sherlock could just since his mom wanting to ask a question, most likely about his social life and who he was hanging out with. Well, he was hanging out with one person, but he couldn't say their name, so he was hoping the question didn't come up.
"So, how was your day sweetie?" Mrs. Holmes asked. At first Sherlock thought she was talking to Mycroft, so he continued on with his food silently.
"Sherlock, your mother asked you a question." Mr. Holmes said firmly, making Sherlock look up mid bite.
"How was your day?" Mrs. Holmes repeated. All of the rice that was previously on his fork had fallen from the pile, so Sherlock had to scrape it back up again.
"Fine." He muttered. Amazing, perfect, ground breaking, unbelievable, but fine covered it just as well.
"Redbeard had an accident today." Mrs. Holmes pointed out, a brilliant thing to bring up in the middle of a Mexican meal. But it worried Sherlock, more about his best friend than his appetite.
"Is he okay?" Sherlock asked nervously.
"Yes, but I'm afraid his age is catching up." Mrs. Holmes said, as if this were ground breaking news. Well yes, the dog was older than his grandma for god's sake, but who cared, he was still going strong.
"He'll be fine." Sherlock muttered.
"Well, your father is bringing him to the vet next Monday for a checkup." Mrs. Holmes said, beaming at her husband as if that were the greatest odyssey in the world. Mr. Holmes just smiled back, obviously not seeing the glamor in it all.
"Where is he now?" Sherlock asked.
"He's probably up in your room, sleeping no doubt." Mycroft chimed in, as if he were feeling excluded from the conversation. Sherlock nodded halfheartedly, but there was a pang in his heart that was nervous, Redbeard was his lifelong friend, he had always considered him invincible, but nothing was wrong with him, there couldn't be. When dinner was over Sherlock was excused from dishes, lying about some important homework he had to do. Mycroft saw right through this of course, he knew Sherlock got all his homework done always on time in school, but he didn't say anything. So Sherlock slipped out of the grasp of family time, grabbing his discarded bag and sprinting up the steps, three at a time. When he got in the room he locked the door, walking over to, as predicted, Redbeard lay. Now that he really looked the dog was really looking a bit gray, but that was just normal, his father's hair was graying and he wasn't dying was he?
"How are you feeling Redbeard?" he asked, sitting on the floor next to the dog and rubbing the top of his head. Redbeard didn't respond, he just lifted his head up minimally and put it back down, as if trying to identify just who was petting him. Sherlock sighed sadly, but he refused to accept there was anything wrong. Heck, old people had accidents all the time, which was why they have adult diapers on the shelves, they're not booking reservations to the graveyard either. But Sherlock sat with Redbeard anyway, telling him about his day, about the confusing love triangle that may or may not exist, and pretty much everything in between. Redbeard listened, or at least he thought he did, but it was a lot better than some stupid judgmental human, so he did just fine.