Secretly I Think You Knew

The Aftermath of the Argument

    The halls were empty, as he expected them to be. The students were in the cafeteria, the teachers in the staff room, so john just walked to his locker, a fire burning in his stomach, rage bubbling up, the very thought that Greg would accuse Sherlock of such horrible things, that Sherlock was a murderer... John got to his locker and twirled the lock around and around, so violently that he had to redo the combination here times before he actually got it right. John tore open the locker and threw his lunch box as hard as he could at the back of it, the containers hitting off the metal and making a loud clanging noise. Not that he cared.
"John, what are you doing here?" a voice asked timidly behind him. John turned in fury, ready to punch someone's lights out before he was met with the face of Sherlock Holmes, who was already starting to cower away. John immediately softened, just the presence of Sherlock made him calmer.
"I think I just lost my friends, and my team for that matter." He decided, slamming his locker shut and facing Sherlock once more. "I don't care, it doesn't matter anyway." John muttered.
"What happened?" Sherlock muttered softly, trying to be the best help he could be at the moment.
"You happened Sherlock." John decided. Sherlock looked even more confused, if not guilty.
"I'm sorry to have...happened." Sherlock muttered.
"I stood up for you, they were...they were accusing you of horrible things, saying that you were a murderer or something like that, saying that I was obsessed..." John growled a little bit in his throat, clenching his fists and leaning against the lockers. There was a very unrecognizable look on Sherlock's face, his eyes were open wide, his lips tight, but he didn't seem to show emotion anywhere else.
"I'm not a murderer." He muttered firmly.
"Sherlock, tell me, prove to me that you're the victim here. Prove to me that you're not baiting me with a sob story, that I'm protecting you from your brother and not just falling deeper and deeper into your web." John insisted.
"You think I'm lying about this John?" Sherlock asked quietly, his voice trembling for some reason.
"I don't know what to think Sherlock, I'm hearing so many stories, I don't know!" John insisted. Sherlock took a deep breath, looking around to check that the hallway was empty before starting to unbutton the bottom of his shirt. John could only stare at the terrified expression on Sherlock's face, not knowing where the boy wanted him to look. Finally Sherlock stopped, opening his shirt to reveal a horrible bruise across his stomach, black and blue tinted with a nasty shade of purple, as if he had been struck with a long pole or something.
"Sherlock...what happened?" John whispered. Sherlock looked as if he were holding back tears, as if he were slowly realizing what a horrible idea this had been. But it wasn't a horrible idea, this was the proof John needed, this was Sherlock opening up his true self, his true life to someone who needed to know.
"My brother's umbrella, he hit me with it while I was cowering on the floor, all because I let you talk to me on the porch. All because he thinks...because he thinks I love you." Sherlock muttered. John stared at him, finally tearing his eyes away from the horrible bruise on his stomach to his beautiful, broken eyes.
"I'm the only thing you have right now, and I will protect you. I will not let him do this to you ever again." John promised. Sherlock nodded quickly, looking down in defeat, or at least that's what John thought until he felt the softest of touches on his hand, he felt smooth fingers wrapping around his hand. He looked down to see Sherlock slowly leading John's hand to his bruise, as if his touch would somehow heal it, as if he would be saved.
"I don't like people John, but I think...I think you might be the exception." Sherlock muttered. He let go of John's hand, John, who could do nothing but stare, letting his fingers brush softly against the discolored skin, the marks of a tortured boy, made out to be a villain, rumored to be a murderer. John could feel Sherlock's breaths, quick and terrified; a boy who winched at every touch, where most hands hit him and hurt him, to have a healing touch, a gentle touch, John couldn't imagine what he might be thinking right now. He wanted this boy to feel safe and protected, someone so innocent and pure having such a horrible upbringing; no one deserved it less than Sherlock.
"You'll be alright." John whispered, so softly that he could barely hear himself.
"Thank you...John. Thank you." Sherlock muttered, taking a step back and quickly buttoning up his shirt once more. John stared at him for a moment, wanting to take his hand again, but Sherlock was looking very uncomfortable, blushing madly and staring at seemingly anything except John.
"You don't have to look so scared." John muttered with a forced laugh.
"I'm not scared, I'm...processing." Sherlock decided.
"Processing. Is it good or bad?" John asked.
"Good." Sherlock cleared his throat hastily. "Very good." John smiled, Sherlock's eyes finally meeting his.
"Good." John agreed. Sherlock smiled as well, still one of the most beautiful sights John had ever seen.
"You're going to have to see a lot more of me I'm afraid." John decided.
"How come?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, I think I just quit soccer, and I most certainly don't want to talk to Greg or Mike anytime soon." John decided.
"You said they accused me of...what was it, murder?" Sherlock asked with an easy laugh. Good, he seemed to think the idea was preposterous.
"You're not a murderer, are you?" John asked.
"Of course I'm not a murderer, John have you met me? I can barely look someone in the eye much less take their life." Sherlock insisted.
"I mean, as a sociopath, I don't know, you might be immune to the guilt." John guessed.
"I've never tried. "Sherlock admitted. John just watched him, half expecting Sherlock to say something along the lines of, I'm not a sociopath. Because he wasn't, sociopaths didn't cry, or blush, or feel emotion. John didn't know what emotion Sherlock was feeling, but he was most certainly feeling a lot. He wasn't a sociopath, he was told to be one. The hallway started to fill up again, people from the cafeteria heading back to their classes.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." John decided.
"What time?" Sherlock asked.
"Nine thirty." John said with a small laugh.
"Yes, nine thirty, don't you dare try to be early. And if my brother decides he wants to run errands or something, well, don't come at all." Sherlock decided.
"How am I going to know if your brother is going to run errands?" John laughed, stepping aside to let someone get into their locker.
"I'll make sure he doesn't, I don't know. Just, tomorrow, be there, but don't make it look like you're there for me." Sherlock decided.
"And if I get caught, let me guess, we're both going to die?" John guessed.
"Something like that I suppose." Sherlock agreed. John smiled, as if that were some sort of preposterous suggestion, but Sherlock seemed pretty serious, as if death was likely.
"Alright then, I'll be sneaky." John decided. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head in shame.
"I better get to my locker, I'll see you tomorrow." He decided.
"I'll see you." John agreed, watching as Sherlock walked off to his locker, parting the students as he walked through as if he were infected with some sort of disease. John sighed as soon as Sherlock was out of sight, doing the combination on his locker and pulling out his book for his next class, smiling a little bit to himself. He had lost a lot of things in a short period of time, his best friend, his back up best friend, and his favorite sport. But he had to admit, it was worth it. He now saw Sherlock as a human being, a tortured one, a lonely one, but as a human being. He knew how soft his skin was, he knew that he could feel, and he suspected that Sherlock might be feeling a little something for him. But was he returning those feelings? Did John feel something for Sherlock as well? John just shook his head slightly; there was nothing he was feeling towards Sherlock. Of course there wasn't. So he stalked off to his next class, knowing that he had James in it. Math, disgusting numbers and letter all mixed up in a horrible pot of torture, and it will be even worse because he didn't know how James felt about this whole thing, were they on speaking terms? If anyone of his friends that might understand him, it would be James. He never judged anyone by their cover, he never spread rumors, he really was a perfect kid. So maybe he'll give John a break, going out of his way to aid a friend in need, he really didn't do anything wrong. Just because he had forgotten to go back to soccer practice, he had a good excuse for that as well; he had been pushed off a porch into a rock! Then again, he couldn't tell James that because he'll wonder what happened, and then John would have to tell him about Sherlock's relationship with his brother. When he got to the classroom James was already there, sitting at his desk, reading a book. John walked over to his own desk, dropping his backpack on his desk and quietly walking over to James, who seemed to notice he had entered but wasn't talking to him.
"Hey James." John muttered nervously.
"Greg is furious at you." James decided, idly flipping one of his pages and still not looking at John.
"I could've guessed that much." John sighed. "Are you mad at me?"
"I don't really know. It depends if you're really quitting soccer." He decided.
"Well, I mean, I kind of said I was." John muttered.
"For what reason? To prove a point? Greg isn't the only one relying on you John, you have your teammates, you have your coaches, you school, you town, they're all relying on us to bring their team to victory this year. It's our biggest chance of winning the championship and you're planning on quitting." James muttered. John groaned in defeat, of course James was right, he was always right and it was really annoying.
"What am I supposed to do, just not talk to Greg?" John muttered.
"Or you could apologize, like a normal person." James suggested.
"But I did nothing wrong, he's the one that's overreacting." John groaned.
"I think he's got a point as well. I don't know what's so captivating about this Sherlock fellow, but whatever it is, snap out of it. He seems to be the only thing on your mind John, if I didn't know you I'd say you were in love." James decided. John just laughed, trying to hide the nervousness.
"I'm not in love, James, he's a guy. I'm not gay." John insisted.
"That's why I said if I knew you. Which I do. And I know you're not gay." James agreed.
"You're right, I'm not." John agreed. "He might be, I don't know, I don't really care, it doesn't change anything, but I'm not."
"Yes, I believe you." James sighed. John nodded, watching as James flipped another page, somehow managing to have a conversation and read a book at the same time.
"So, I guess I'll see you at practice tonight." John decided.
"I certainly hope so, if not you'll be in a lot of trouble." James decided. John sighed, giving him a rather final nod before walking over to his seat. So Greg was still mad, that was typical. Greg was always mad, he held grudges, but this was honestly the first time he's ever been mad at John. There seemed to be a sort of pact with them, they always got over whatever little squabble they were having in about ten minutes, they'd see the error in their ways or whatever. Usually they were like an old married couple, one of them would get mad, the other would promise food or something, and all was well, even if there was never any food in the end. The two of them always decided that their friendship was worth too much to be mad at each other, they had always been close. But now this was Greg's fault, he was being selfish, he couldn't except that John had other friends, that he saw goodness and worth in anyone else, and Greg was jealous. He was being a childish baby and John would stand for it. Sherlock was more than a person, he wasn't a murderer or a weirdo or even just a human, he was perfect. Sherlock Holmes offered everything in a person that John loved, from his shy little laugh, from the blush in his cheeks when he thought John was watching him, just his presence in general was something Greg would never have. And to accuse someone of a murder, to try to set their only friends against them just because they felt excluded, well it was just wrong. And Greg wasn't going to get away with it, if he wanted to be territorial then John would just have to leave for good. Because Greg had a loving family, a supportive team, and other friends, Sherlock had no one. He had Mycroft, a brother that was supposed to protect him and help him through life, someone who ended up being the villain in Sherlock's life. So that's why Sherlock came first, always came first, even if Greg couldn't accept it. The day passed extremely quickly now that John was dreading soccer practice. Usually the day crawled along, soccer was the light at the end of the tunnel, but with the promise of confronting Greg and Mike, well, John would rather avoid it. Before he knew it he was throwing his things into his backpack and heading off to the locker room. He didn't see Sherlock in the hall as he went past, so either the boy left his locker or didn't stop there at all. The thought of him leaving, getting into a car with Mycroft, John didn't even want to think about it. So he walked quietly into the locker room, all of the sports all changing into their practice clothes, lacing up their shoes, putting shin guards on and filling their water bottles. John sighed, going over to his little corer where he and all his friends, well, his used to be friends, changed together. Greg wasn't there but James and Mike were. Mike gave John a rather nasty look and James busied himself with his socks, trying not to notice the instant tension.