Secretly I Think You Knew

Solitude With Sherlock Holmes

    They waited a little bit for their drinks to come out before finding a table near the window, perching on stools and watching pedestrians go by. John sipped his coffee, watching as Sherlock poured packets of sugar into his coffee and stirred it around with a little wooden stirrer. When he wasn't focused on his coffee his beautiful eyes were scanning the sidewalks and the roads, tapping his fingers nervously against his cup as the people went by.
"Are you nervous someone will see us together?" John asked, taking the cap off of his coffee and blowing lightly on the steam.
"Well, yes, I am. Mycroft in particular, but I wouldn't fancy seeing Greg or Mike here either." Sherlock decided, taking a cautious sip of his steaming coffee.
"I think it would be rather amusing to see them." John admitted. Sherlock looked up at him in surprise, as if not really understanding what he was saying.
"Why would that be?" he wondered.
"Well, this whole feud is over you, and I suppose they think they still have the upper hand. That since they're being big drama queens about the whole thing that they're still more important to me than you are." John muttered.
"They are though; they're your oldest friends. We haven't known each other for more than a week." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well, yes, but that doesn't make them better than you. In this week that I've known you, you've been more than I could've ever hoped for. You don't get all jealous when I hang out with them and you've been nothing but appreciative for my attention. And I like helping you; it makes me feel like I'm doing good in this world." John pointed out.
"So I'm basically your charity project? You pity me, and only help me because I worship you for it?" Sherlock muttered. John didn't know how to respond to that, maybe his words had been a little bit...misleading.
"No, of course not, of course not. I just...I think you're a magical human being Sherlock, a beautiful, pure, innocent boy in need of someone to lead him out of dark places." John decided.
"Lead by a figure constructed with pure white light." Sherlock muttered, looking at John in a very mesmerized way.
"I guess so." John shrugged, not really knowing how to respond to that. Sherlock sipped his coffee wordlessly, stirring in another sugar packet. John just smiled; he knew that the coffee would be too strong for him. John didn't really like sugar in his coffee, if he thought the drink had to be sweeter than he'd order tea or something. Coffee wasn't made to be diluted.
"So what time are you supposed to be back home?" John asked.
"Two o'clock he promised to pick me up. I suggest you be long gone by then." Sherlock decided.
"Alright then, but you know me. I'll make sure you're safe before I leave." John insisted.
"He doesn't hurt me unless there's something I did wrong, so if you do stay he will hurt me, and that would be very counterproductive. Or, more likely, he'll hurt you." Sherlock decided.
"How would he kill me in public? Obviously he'd have to take me home to kill me and that would trip the amber alert and get him arrested. How about I just come?" John suggested.
"No, John, please don't joke about that. Even though he's evil, he's my only family, and if he were somehow removed I'd be shipped off to the orphanage." Sherlock pointed out.
"He's honestly your only family?" John asked. Sherlock nodded solemnly, staring out the window once more.
"My parents both died in a car crash, I never knew them. Both of their parents died as well, and my only uncle was left to take care of Mycroft and I after they died. I don't know what happened to him; Mycroft just said that he had left." Sherlock admitted.
"Well you can come live with us then." John suggested. Sherlock just laughed sadly, as if wondering how that would turn out.
"I'm not sure your mother likes me very much." Sherlock decided.
"Well, she's a hard woman to please. She never really liked Greg until he matured." John shrugged.
"And when was that?" Sherlock wondered.
"Like, two weeks ago. And then it all kind of went downhill from there." John sighed.
"I don't want to be a burden John, honestly. If my being here is threatening your entire friend group I will happily leave. You seem to be losing so much for something so unrewarding." Sherlock admitted.
"You think you're unrewarding? Sherlock, you're fantastic, you're amazing, you're..." John sighed, looking at the small, amazed look on Sherlock's face, as if he didn't know how to receive a complement, "You're everything I could've ever wanted in a human being." John finished. Sherlock blushed again, that adorable little blush where he seemed to be at a loss for words, this beautiful boy, this perfect, innocent, oblivious boy.
"Well, thank you John." he muttered. "No one's ever told me that before."
"Well then you need to start handing around some new people." John insisted.
"I never hung out with anyone, which was primarily my problem." Sherlock decided with a small, nervous laugh. John just smiled, shaking his head and taking another sip of his coffee; finally cool enough for him to drink without worrying about burning the roof of his mouth off.
"Should we start heading over to my house? This coffee will certainly make the walk more enjoyable." John suggested. Sherlock nodded, sliding out of his chair and landing gently on his feet. John got to his feet as well, although not as gracefully, and started towards the door. Sherlock followed timidly but John could feel his eyes, watching the back of his head as if it were the most amazing thing he had ever seen.
"So I think Harry's home, don't wake the beast." John warned as they started down the sidewalk.
"I'm sure she's not that bad." Sherlock shrugged.
"I don't want you to find out the hard way, so let's just ignore her." John decided.
"Ya, alright." Sherlock agreed in a sort of mumble. John was watching where he was walking, occasionally watching the line of traffic for the familiar black car, but he could see out of the corner of his eye Sherlock looking at him with such a wondrous look in his eye. He seemed entranced, as if still wondering why John decided to hang out with him. John didn't know what that boy thought, he couldn't really tell what went on in Sherlock's mind, but there seemed to be something that possibly might be...forbidden. At least in the eyes of Mycroft. Sherlock spent his time insisting that the wasn't in love, possibly all of that denial had finally been swept away from his line of vision, maybe he finally saw John as something more than a friend. John honestly didn't know what he wanted Sherlock to think about him. The idea that Sherlock might like him made John's heart flutter with feelings unknown, but then he reminded himself that Sherlock's attraction to him was nearly impossible. Even if Sherlock didn't want to love, what made John so sure his heart would be swept away by another boy? Sherlock didn't seem to be straight, and Mycroft was seemingly terrified of him falling in love with John, but that was no proof. Sherlock might talk about love and how he imagines love and he might be gazing at a cure girl behind the coffee counter. There was no actual proof he was gay, other than he simply hasn't mentioned a girl or looked at a girl. And John...how could John be hoping that Sherlock was gay if he wasn't even gay himself? It wasn't possibly to be temporarily gay just to please some friend, was there? Could John be feeling these feelings just because he thinks Sherlock needs to feel them as well, as a sort of healing method? Open Sherlock's eyes to love and be the first one he sees? That sounded almost unfair, like he was forcing this poor boy's love onto himself even though he wasn't going to keep it. Sure, it might be a little bit flattering to be crushed on by this machine, and it might be a bit satisfying to have them both share their first kiss with each other, but in the end they were both guys and neither of them were very sure of their sexuality, so what where they playing at here? What was he possibly hoping for? John just sipped his coffee thoughtfully, side stepping to avoid a large pack of elders and regrouping with Sherlock on the other side. When they started to approach the house he could feel Sherlock's unease, the boy has suddenly started walking faster, he was tapping his fingers against his now empty coffee cup, obviously he wanted to make a good impression, obviously he wanted to redeem for his rude behavior from before. Or he was just uncomfortable when confronted by a happy, normal family, not having one himself.
"I think my dad's home, watching sports probably, so you can formally introduce yourself." John said with a sort of smile. Sherlock nodded a little bit, smoothing out his jacket nervously.
"You don't have to look so scared; we're only going up to my room. In fact you don't even have to talk to my parents if you don't want to." John assured.
"I want to make a good impression. I don't want your mother to have a bad impression on me, especially if we're now, friends." Sherlock muttered.
"A word I never thought would come out of your mouth." John laughed.
"Shut up." Sherlock snapped, smiling to himself all the same. John just rolled his eyes, struggling to keep up with Sherlock's long, nervous strides as they made their way to the front door. John just walked in, hearing the TV on in the living room. As promised it was some sort of sports announcer, so his father was home.
"Mom, dad, I'm home, I've brought a friend!" he yelled.
"Oh, is that Greg?" Mrs. Watson asked. John sighed; she seemed to want Greg to keep showing up, as if she didn't want to face that fact that Sherlock had officially replaced him. Then again, John still hadn't told his mother about Greg's falling out. He was worried she would get worried, fuss where there was nothing to fuss about. Her head poked out of the kitchen and her smile wavered when she saw Sherlock twirling his coffee cup very awkwardly in his hands with an uncomfortable smile on his face.
"Hello Mrs. Watson." He said, obviously trying to sound polite and confident when he looked like he was about to cry.
"Hello Sherlock." Mrs. Watson said back. Her voice was rather forbidding, as if daring Sherlock to step any deeper into her house.
"We're just going up to my room." John shrugged.
"I thought you had a history project to work on?" Mrs. Watson pointed out.
"Oh, we finished that at the library, it was really simple." John shrugged.
"Oh...okay, well you kids have fun." She decided.
"We will." John agreed. Sherlock was silent once more. John led the way to the staircase, through the living room where his father was lounging on his recliner.
"Who is that?" he asked, blinking rapidly as if sure his eyes were deceiving him.
"Oh, that's Sherlock, he's my friend." John pointed out.
"Hello sir." Sherlock muttered. Mr. Watson just laughed, as if Sherlock were being hilarious.
"No need to call me sir. Nice to meet you Sherlock, could you please step a bit to your left?" he asked. Sherlock looked behind him to see that he was blocking Mr. Watson's view of the TV and stepped out of the way. John just shook his head in slight embarrassment, continuing their journey up the stairs. Harry's door was shut, to no one's surprise, so they wouldn't have to worry about interacting with her today. So he led the way into his room, letting Sherlock enter before closing the door softly behind him.
"I think you made a good impression." John decided rather forcefully.
"Really?" Sherlock asked glumly.
"Well, I mean, my dad doesn't usually talk to people so there's that." John shrugged.
"They hate me, of course they do." Sherlock sighed.
"Of course they don't hate you, no one hates you." John assured.
"Only everyone I've ever came into contact with." Sherlock shrugged.
"I don't hate you." John pointed out.
"You don't count." Sherlock decided.
"And why is that?" John asked with a small laugh.
"Because you're very stubborn. I don't think you like me, I think you like the idea of liking me." Sherlock decided.
"That doesn't even make sense so I'm just going to shake my head and remind you how amazing you are." John decided, shaking his head as he said that. Sherlock just laughed a little bit, sitting down very gently on the bed and looking at the posters John had hung of athletes on his wall.
"So, what now?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know honestly. We don't even have a paper to write or anything." John admitted with a laugh. Sherlock wrung his fingers together rather awkwardly, obviously trying very hard to think of something to say.
"You're still playing soccer then?" he asked upon spotting a soccer ball in the corner of the room.
"Ya, I guess I am." John agreed.
"You don't sound thrilled." Sherlock observed.
"Well, you know, it's kind of a burden. I think the whole team has turned against me for some reason." John admitted.
"Why would they do that? You're an amazing player!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"How do you know that?" John asked with a laugh. Sherlock frowned for a moment, seeing an error in his sentence.
"Well, I mean, I can only take a guess." He decided.
"I think I'm pretty decent, but I guess word got out that I skipped practice and everyone's up in arms." John sighed.
"Why'd you skip practice?" Sherlock asked.
"To return your stupid lunch box after you fell out of your chair." John pointed out.
"Oh, that." Sherlock muttered, looking rather ashamed. "I'm sorry I panicked, but I guess I had the right idea considering your friends all turned out to hate me."
"I'm sorry for having dragged you into that, I know you're not very, socially confident." John shrugged.
"Yes, you're right." Sherlock agreed.
"And I shouldn't have touched you, that was a stupid mistake, I know how much you hate that." John admitted. Sherlock nodded very quickly, his fingers twitching for a moment as if grasping for something long gone.
"Yes, I do...I hate that." Sherlock agreed, as if he were saying that to himself more than to John. Of course John was just experimenting, seeing what he would say. They both remembered that time in the hallway; Sherlock didn't seem to mind then. John wondered why he still tried to insist that he didn't want to be touched when he had been the one to hold John's hand. John sighed, going over and sitting against the headboard of the bed, poking Sherlock lightly with one of his feet.