I Don't Want To Believe

Hypothetical Homosexuality

    John actually slept that night, which was surprising. He might say that it was the first night he felt safe enough to close his eyes. Although there was always the looming fear in the back of his head that Sherlock would appear out of nowhere and shackle him to the wall, John was quite certain that they wouldn't dare kill him before they knew the baby survived. There was always a chance, as there was with most science experiments, that this Alpha Male wouldn't survive long enough to be seen by its fathers, and they would have to make a new one. And for that, they would need their human. The terror and uncertainty that had been weighting down on him that past couple of nights had also subsided; it was home stretch now, quite literally. Despite Sherlock's whining, John knew that the moment that baby was born, or crawled out of its test tube or hatched out of its egg, whatever these aliens were doing with it, John would be allowed to go home. John almost missed school, he missed his boring classes, he missed desperately doing his homework on the bus, he missed prowling around the hallways with Greg during lunch, pulling on the underclassmen's locks to see if they could open one of them. He missed his sister, her alien rantings (which he could now disprove), he missed her action figures and Barbie's scattered around the floor, he missed her lopsided pig tails and her loose teeth. John even missed his parents, no matter if they were cooking some mysterious slop on the stove or yelling at him to clean his room, John really missed that. No one had ever told him to clean his room up here, and because of that every outfit he had received was laying on the floor, even his ceremonial cape was lying in a heap underneath his bed. No one even corrected his dining room table, which was still sitting on its side with a soccer ball inside the makeshift goal. But as far as alien abductions go, John was pretty sure he could have it a lot worse. They could be little green men, not far descendants of humans. They could all want to kill him, want to eat him and boil his bones instead of wanting him to stay and cuddle. Sherlock, he sincerely wanted what was best for John, he gave him human food, and a human prison cell, and time to walk around, but then again, John doubted he knew the whole story. Seeing as though Mycroft was in charge, John was almost certain that he was only telling Sherlock enough to keep him compliant. There was a good chance that this baby wasn't a baby at all, or John wasn't needed and they would kill him, or this wasn't an alien experiment at all, but they were actually poking around at his internal organs for a while, trying to see how a human worked. But John saw no surgery wounds, no scars, no bruises, not even pain. If Mycroft had cut him open, John was sure he would've found out eventually. John sighed, staring up at the ceiling of his room and assuming it was morning. How he missed the birds chirping outside his window on the weekend, or his alarm clock ringing before the sun rose, and the sunlight streaming through the parted curtains, being blown softly by a light spring breeze...
"John Watson." said a very deep, very close voice. John looked to his left and nearly screamed, seeing Sherlock standing right over him, looking down with an almost confused look.
"Sherlock, what in the...." John cut off his sentence, deciding that Sherlock didn't need a lesson in human profanity. "Hello Sherlock." He corrected. Sherlock's face broke into a soft smile.
"Hello John." he agreed.
"What brings you very quietly to my room at..." John looked around for a clock, but there wasn't one, "...Early?" he finished. Sherlock took a deep breath, not seeming to have blinked for the entirety of their conversation.
"I'm bringing you breakfast, I thought that maybe you deserved a, what do you humans call it, breakfast in bed?" Sherlock asked. John looked towards the door where there was a cart, the same one Molly had used presumably, with basically the same human food on trays.
"Thank you Sherlock, what's the occasion?" John asked, sitting up and watching Sherlock awkwardly try to pull the cart over with one hand. When it did no more than turn, Sherlock sighed, walking behind it and wheeling it very slowly over to John's bedside, as if worried he'll lose control and crash the whole thing.
"Well, I thought that's what human families did for each other?" he asked, handing John a plate of eggs proudly. John sighed, but nodding.
"Well, yes, human families do." He agreed.
"Are we not a human family? A partially human family?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head in confusion.
"Are you just trying to kiss up to me, to make me stay because you brought me some eggs?" John asked. Sherlock shook his head widely.
"I brought you this because I care for you, and I didn't want you to hate me." Sherlock decided.
"Sherlock, why ever would I hate you?" John asked, setting down his fork and staring up at his fellow father. Sherlock looked down at John rather awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders like a defensive kid.
"Well, you really seemed keen on leaving, and I wanted to make up for, well, abducting you." Sherlock muttered.
"It was my pleasure to be abducted by you." John assured, smiling fondly up at Sherlock to try to cheer him up a bit more. Sherlock smiled happily, his face lighting up in a beautiful way, like no one else could manage. "Come on, sit down, have you ever had chicken eggs before?" John asked, scooting over under the comforter so that Sherlock could sit next to him. Sherlock looked rather reluctant, but carefully sat on the bed next to John, keeping his distance as if not wanting to put him in an awkward position.
"I try to avoid human food, as you probably try to with alien food." Sherlock decided.
"I'm not sure I'm able to digest it, I have no idea where it comes from." John admitted, scooping up a forkful of eggs and holding it in the air. "Want some?" he asked.
"You think it's safe?" Sherlock asked apprehensively, staring at the fork as if it were poisonous.
"Of course it's safe, come on, here comes the airplane..." John insisted, waving the fork around like a mother with a child.
"What are you doing that for?" Sherlock asked. John paused for a moment, smiling guiltily.
"It's what moms do, when their kids don't want to eat something, pretend the fork is an airplane, landing in the hangar." John shrugged.
"What on earth is an airplane?" Sherlock asked.
"Just open your mouth and eat your breakfast." John snapped. Sherlock looked rather unamused, but open his mouth and let John feed him the eggs. He made a very disgusted face as John wrestled the fork back out of his lips, but forcefully swallowed the food and made a mad dive for a glass of water that was sitting on the tray.
"That is horrendous, how do you humans live on this...this poison?" he asked desperately. John just shrugged, nibbling on a piece of bacon and laughing at the disgust on Sherlock's face.
"Well, I suppose you get used to it. I'm sure I'll have the same reaction if I tried any of your alien food." John guessed.
"Well, you stick to your human food; I'll stick to my alien food." Sherlock decided.
"That's a good compromise." John agreed, nodding in Sherlock's direction. Even though John was quite busy spreading jam on his toast, he could feel Sherlock's eyes on him, as if mystified by what John and his facial appearance. This made him only a little bit self-conscious, but maybe this was a perfectly normal thing to do in the alien culture.
"John, humans, what exactly do they do when, when they love someone?" Sherlock asked. John just laughed, looking over at Sherlock to make sure he was joking. Sherlock didn't seem to see the problem in this question, but on seeing John's reaction he started to look a bit like a deer in the headlights.
"Well, it depends, who do you love?" he asked, feeling a blush set in on his cheeks. Sherlock just shrugged, looking away guiltily.
"I don't know, it's hypothetical." Sherlock decided. John took a deep breath; Sherlock really must think he was an idiot if he thought John couldn't figure out his intentions.
"Well, usually they try to hang out with that person more, talk to them, get to know them, then maybe ask them for something small, like a drink, or coffee. The whole goal is to get them to like you back." John decided.
"How can they like you back if they don't know you like them in the first place?" Sherlock asked with a confused look.
"Well, I suppose you need to hide that you like them, kind of play hard to get. Woo them with your looks and humor and try to make them start liking you." John decided. Sherlock thought for a moment, as if this were a very weird concept.
"Well, if both of the two like each other, hypothetically of course, and both of them are trying to keep it a secret, how will they ever get together?" Sherlock asked. John just groaned, shaking his head.
"Sherlock, I have no idea. Eventually one of them has to ask each other out, but I've never been in this situation before." John admitted.
"You've never had a girlfriend?" Sherlock asked, mystified.
"No, I haven't." John insisted, starting to feel a bit judged. As if Sherlock has ever had a girlfriend. John doubted he even talked to his mother. "How about here on planet weirdo, what do you do if you love someone?"
"Our marriages are arranged; with what they family thinks would best suit the community. If someone is smart, and another is athletic, they reproduce and make a smart, athletic child. It's all science, soulless really. You're not supposed to fall in love with someone other than your designated partner, it's considered, unethical." Sherlock sighed, as if this were a real tragedy.
"That sounds wrong, you're supposed to have twenty kids with someone you don't even like?" John asked with a laugh. Sherlock shrugged, looking a bit guilty as if this were all somehow his fault.
"Never thought I'd be a father, but I'm happy John, I'm happy that I am with you." He decided. John nodded, looking awkwardly down at his breakfast tray and trying to avoid the fact that Sherlock basically just declared his love. His weird, childish alien love. They sat for a little while in very awkward silence. Well, John assumed it was comfortable for Sherlock, who was watching John finish up his breakfast with a lot of interest, as if the way John sipped his orange juice was fascinating for him. Sherlock didn't seem to think there was a problem in stalking people, but it made John very uncomfortable. So finally when he finished up the last of his meal, he set his fork down on the plate and sighed deeply.
"That was really good. Almost tasted like home." John decided. Sherlock nodded, looking over at John once again.
"Does your mother cook you breakfast?" he asked.
"Yes, every morning. Unless I get up earlier than her, or later I suppose, or she's not around. Then I eat cereal." John shrugged.
"What is cereal?" Sherlock asked curiously, tilting his head so that all of his curls feel to one side. Whether or not this was intentional, John didn't know, but it certainly was...distracting.
"Well, it's like, um..." John muttered, losing his trail of thought. How does one even describe cereal? "Small balls of crunchy bread, or circles, or squares, that are flavored with sugar and then you put milk overtop." John decided.
"Sounds gross." Sherlock decided.
"Well, I suppose it would the way I described it. Maybe you'll just have to come to Earth with me and find out for yourself." John decided.
"Is that an invitation?" Sherlock asked, almost hopefully, his face lighting up like a child's on Christmas morning.
"I mean, sure, ya, but it thought you said you have to go back to your home planet." John pointed out.
"Yes, well, I know. It just makes me a bit, happy I guess, to know that you'll miss me as much as I miss you." Sherlock decided. John just smiled and nodded. He didn't know exactly how much Sherlock would miss him, but for the sake of Sherlock's happiness, he just went with it.
"Of course I will." John agreed with a smile. It took them a couple of minutes to get the breakfast trays off of the bed, getting up and putting them both on the wheeling cart. Sherlock was moving rather elegantly this morning, taking wider steps for some reason and trying to be graceful, as if he had really taken John's crush advice seriously. Was he trying to make himself seem more attractive, like, five minutes after John suggested it? What a loser.
"Well, I'd best be off, maybe I'll come get you later. Not much to do here unfortunately." Sherlock sighed.
"Maybe later we can go see the baby." John suggested. Sherlock smiled, both his hands on the cart, ready to wheel it away.
"Yes, yes I think that would be nice." He agreed with a nod.
"Brilliant, see you then." John decided. Sherlock just smiled once more, looking at John with a very hypnotized look in his eyes.
"See you." He agreed finally, and turned the cart very quickly and sped out the door. So John sat on his bed, poking the comforter for a little while before sighing, getting up and unearthing his soccer ball from in the dining room table. If he had nothing else to do, might as well go for Greg's juggling record. Juggling was the most fun someone could have with a soccer ball all by themselves, in John's opinion. It was simple; kick the ball in the air as much as you can without it hitting the ground. Some people are hopeless at it; others can go hundreds of kicks without losing control. Greg could do exactly one hundred seventy two. John's record was one hundred thirty nine, and he was out to get Greg's record. It was kind of a pride thing on the team, Mike, unfortunately, had somewhere in the two hundreds, which was totally unfair. He was probably juggling to the Doctor Who theme song on loop, or chatting with his parents about recent abductions. John wondered if Mike had already declared John abducted. After being gone for so long the day after a crop circle was discovered in his yard and seeing disappearing people, Mike was certainly going to have some theories of his own. Of course Greg would never fall for that rubbish, and the staff and coaches were not going to excuse John from any tests or homework due to alien abductions. That was not an excused absence. John sighed, starting to juggle the soccer ball between his feet, wondering once more what was going on back home. They might have their first game soon, John didn't know what day it was on earth or if time even traveled normally on this ship, but he knew that even though he wasn't the best on the team, it would struggle without him. Would Greg be worried by now? Were there missing child posters all over the town, police helicopters hovering over the cornfield, looking for his decomposing body? Have they already given up hope? What a return he was going to make, showing up at the doorstep with leather alien clothes and a baby. Then again, he wasn't going to have to raise the baby, thank god, but the adventures and stories he would have when he got back. Greg would never believe him, partially about the alien part, but mostly how someone had actually managed to develop a crush on John. Sherlock did have a crush on him, right? I mean, it was pretty obvious, his blushing, his stares, but it was just weird. Sherlock said it was unethical to have a crush on someone that you're not assigned to, but, through this alien science baby, were the two of them assigned to each other? Did Sherlock sign up for this project just so that he was to be the one to marry John? But no, just like on earth, gay marriage must be illegal, it seems like the entire alien community is obsessive over the population, if gays could marry, then they wouldn't be able to have a child without the proper science equipment, it wouldn't be logical. But then again, that didn't seem to stop people on earth; he didn't see why it would stop a particularly rebellious alien. Was he talking himself into this? Why was John trying to convince himself that Sherlock was in love with him? Wouldn't this be something he didn't want to actually happen? Just focus on soccer John. But the more he tried to focus on soccer, the more difficult it became, and finally, when he only got up to sixty something, he kicked the ball too high and it hit the ceiling, coming down and hitting the floor in defeat. John sighed, picking the ball back up from the floor and examining it, as if there were something wrong with the ball and not himself. So John settled to lying on his race car bed, throwing the soccer ball in the air and trying to catch it. This presumably simple task was actually a lot more difficult than it seemed, and John kept hitting the ball off of his hands and having it fall of the bed, so most of his time was spent trying to reach as far as he could without actually getting off the bed, because he was too lazy to actually get to his feet and retrieve the ball like a normal person. So, of course, while John was literally hanging onto the small bed with only his feet, stretching to get the ball that had rolled about six feet away, the door opened, shocking him so much that his feet slipped and he smashed to the floor, painfully hitting his chin against the ground.