Like a Fairytale

May I Have This Dance?

    The school was a swarm of people, cars, and cameras, everyone rallying towards the gym where the dance was being held. Sherlock noticed a lot of people that he never would've thought were able to dress up, mostly the football players and girls that didn't seem to want to wear fabric below their knees. Idiots. Sherlock was able to duck through the crowd for a little while, but once he made it past the crowd and into the less populated hallway, which was decorated with hanging Christmas lights for a more romantic theme, people started to take notice.
"Hey, Freak!" Greg called, dragging a girl Sherlock didn't recognize along with him. Sherlock ignored him, trying to walk past, but Greg stuck out a polished shoe. Sherlock jumped it easily, and twirled around to see just what he wanted to torment him with. "I bet you're hoping John will notice you if you dress like a bloody snowman." Greg laughed. The girl beside him seemed to think otherwise, she must have been from another school because she seemed to have no problem checking Sherlock out.
"I'm surprised you managed to snare yourself a girl. Did he follow you home?" Sherlock asked the girl, who only giggled at being directly addressed.
"Oh shut up, and don't get your hopes up Molly, he's gay, just ask John." Greg laughed, pushing Sherlock against the lockers with his free arm, steering the Molly girl away, who looked sort of disappointed. Sherlock waited a little while for them to leave before he walked down to the gym on his own, feeling quite lonely as couples and groups of people pushed past, many pushing at him and calling him names. Stupid society, stupid families, companies, stupid everything that was keeping John and Sherlock from walking into this school together, arm in arm, a bracelet of flowers wrapped happily around Sherlock's wrist. He slipped into the gym easily, which was decorated with lights and balloons as well. Everything seemed to be going for a starry theme; there were white and silver balloons, Christmas lights, and streamers hanging from the walls. It was actually quite pretty, but Sherlock's mood dropped when he saw John enter the room, swarmed by football players and girls. If a nun was present and able to see what some of those girls were wearing they would've started screaming prayers at them. Sherlock's stomach twisted with hate at the sight of them, if John even talked to one of them Sherlock would start to play the role of jealous girlfriend, screaming and throwing punches and ripping out their hair. Thankfully there were tables set up around the perimeter, and Sherlock sat alone in one, tapping his foot under the table to the slow music and watching the happy couples dance around the gym. It was sickening really, stupid domestic bliss, but John seemed to have fun when the loud fast rap music came on. He was break dancing or whatever it was, all around the room, along with Anderson (who kind of just rolled around) and Greg. Everyone was clapping and having a good time and all that, they seemed to be amazed with John's dancing skills and all that. Eventually the excitement of prom kind of wore away, and some people migrated to the tables as well, so Sherlock didn't feel as lonely as he thought he would. Some couple sat down at his table, far away from him, but he glared at them so venomously they left in a hurry, the girl tripping over her high heels and the guy shielding her from Sherlock's glance. This actually made him a bit happier; at least people were properly afraid of him. Sherlock sat alone at his table, watching John out of the corner of his eye occasionally but mostly listening to the music and feeling kind of alone. He had never felt this way because he had never knew what it felt like to have company, but now that John was absent he felt like there was a hole in his heart, something that could only be filled with John himself. The music was starting get slower and everyone was starting to seem to die off, people were slow dancing around the room, and most of the large groups had seemed to claim tables as their own. Thankfully after the stupid couple no one else tried to sit at his table for fear of their lives, and that made Sherlock laugh. He could tell the guys were skirting around him, as if worried one glance would make Sherlock attack them with kisses or something, because once someone admits they were gay they had absolutely no control over themselves. Straight people were so much more presentable as they wore short skirts and tried to drag three dates across the dance floor. Sherlock saw the football gang across the room, sitting at tables and laughing. He saw Anderson, Greg, that Molly girl, Mike, and even some of the girls that had tried to flirt with John, but he didn't see John, and more importantly he didn't see Mary. Had he finally broken, were they on the dance floor or hidden together behind some corner? Sherlock's stomach twisted with hate as he scanned the floor, this couldn't do, this could never do, if he saw that stuck up piece of trash dancing with his man then things would officially get ugly.
"May I have this dance?" asked a voice, sweeter than honey and more pleasant than any angel God might have sent. Sherlock looked up to see John, tuxedo clad and all, smiling down at him and extending his hand.
"John what are you doing?" Sherlock hissed, looking around to see if anyone saw them.
"I've decided I don't care what anyone else thinks. If they've got a problem with their happiness than they can go complain to the principal." John decided.
"I don't think my dad will talk to the principal, he'll talk to the police, or try to ship you over to some country as a slave!" Sherlock hissed.
"I'm proud of us Sherlock, and I don't want to hide you anymore." John assured. His beautiful eyes were true, and something inside of Sherlock melted. All self-control was whisked down the drain, the temptation was too strong. Finally people could see them for what they really were, not enemies, not bully and victim, but boyfriends, two boys that were so in love that they simply didn't care anymore. Sherlock took his John's extended arm, letting him lead him out onto the dance floor, in the eyes of everyone. John took Sherlock's hand and waist, and Sherlock mimicked the act, he felt kind of silly, but this was dancing apparently. As soon as this happened and people took notice everyone stopped dancing. The music kept playing, but they were the only two people actually moving. Well, John was moving, Sherlock was so overcome with embarrassment at all the gawking faces that he was kind of reconsidering his decision to not care.
"John, everyone is looking at us." He hissed, blushing like a tomato at all the attention. He caught a glimpse of Anderson, who looked remarkably like a fish, bulging eyes and everything.
"Ask me if I care." John muttered, stepping even closer to Sherlock and placing his head lovingly on his chest, swaying now to the music. It seemed like the entire gym was trying to figure out if this were a joke or not, they knew of the incident at the first football game, was John just looking for a laugh? Mary was dead in her tracks, absolutely flabbergasted, which was a fun word to use at a time like this. Now some people, the ones that didn't care all that much, started up dancing once again and it only took another popular rap song to get the people back on their feet.
"This is suicide to your reputation." Sherlock muttered.
"I don't care Sherlock. It's like you don't want to dance with me." John commented.
"No, I do, I really do." Sherlock assured, swaying a bit more to show his commitment. But John stayed where he was anyway, buried in Sherlock's chest, and no one confronted them or even made a remark, they were too afraid of either John or the fact that it was all a joke. The two of them didn't sit down throughout the entire night, they swayed around the dance floor, ignoring the judging glances of all of their classmates and friends, Sherlock didn't have a reputation to kill anyway. John didn't seem to care about his reputation, friends, past girlfriends, or even teachers at the moment, to the short little football player it seemed like the two of them were the only things in the universe, alive with their own love. That was where things went wrong. It was that same arrogance, the same blind love that they had when Mrs. Hudson was watching them; it was the same thing that might have cost their relationship before. It was a sin come back to haunt them. Because Sherlock was so deeply enchanted by John's presence, and John was so concentrated on Sherlock's heart beat and breathing rate that they couldn't hear the sudden mess of people and someone's angry footsteps until it was too late to run.
"WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES!" screamed an extremely angry voice. Sherlock came to just in time to see Mycroft, greased hair, polished shoes, iron shirted Mycroft take John's shoulders and throw him off of Sherlock. There was a gasp from the crowd and Sherlock stumbled blindly away from his older brother, the rage in his face almost indescribable. Let's just say it was like when Sherlock had found Redbeard dead, plus John when Sherlock had kissed him after the football game, and Mrs. Hudson's when she had found Sherlock and John, but so much angrier.
"Mycroft, what..." Sherlock started, but Mycroft just grabbed the collar of Sherlock's shirt, starting to pull him away from the dance floor.
"Get away from him, tyrant!" John screamed, throwing himself at Mycroft in a fateful attempt to free him from his brother's grasp. Mycroft kicked John in the back of the knees and punched him square in the jaw, unfortunately Mycroft had taken self-defense classes and even the brute force of a footballer wasn't enough to keep him from protecting his little brother.
"Mycroft let go of me!" Sherlock demanded as John stepped backwards, wiping a line of blood that was flowing steadily from his nose. "Don't try anything John." Sherlock added, but his words were cut off as Mycroft started to walk away, pulling him by the collar and practically strangling him. No one stepped in to help as Sherlock was dragged away, John stood in the dance floor, his nose bleeding profusely, but he didn't show any signs of caring. He was terrified, pale as a skeleton, but determined all the same. Mycroft threw Sherlock into the hallway with such force that the boy almost crumpled.
"IN THE CAR NOW!" Mycroft screamed, pointing venomously at the car. Sherlock obeyed, running like he was a horse that had been whipped all the way to the sleek red convertible that was waiting on the curb. Mycroft was following behind; Sherlock had never known someone could look so dangerous. He opened up the door and slid inside as fast as he could, locking the door and cowering in the back, his white suit looking strangely gray in the tinted windows. Mycroft got into the front seat and slammed the door angrily, turning on the engine without a word, but locking the doors and the windows so that Sherlock had nowhere to run. He didn't say a word, but the speed he was going and the jerky movements on the steering wheel told the story its self, Mycroft was absolutely furious.
"Don't tell Dad." Sherlock was able to mutter. Mycroft didn't answer, but Sherlock saw in the rear view mirror his teeth were grinding, he was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were turning white. Sherlock's stomach felt like a gaping hole, his heart was cracked like a piece of glass and his head was seemingly splitting open with fear. Sherlock didn't know what would become of him, when his father found out there was no telling how he'd react. The only slim hope he had was Mrs. Hudson, who might be able to take his side and convince them not to send Sherlock straight downstairs the hard way.