Secretly I Think You Knew

He's Got his Back...and My Backpack

            Sherlock woke that Monday morning with a dull aching in his stomach, nerves, probably. He was anticipating having to face John once more, after such a horrible display Saturday morning. He lay in his bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and contemplating what on earth he was going to do. Obviously he had to avoid John, but John had his backpack and certainly wouldn't avoid Sherlock. Although, he might. There was a possibility that John hated Sherlock right now, for running out on him, for building him up to the point where John thought a relationship was ever remotely possible and then abandoning him mid kiss. Well, Sherlock didn't think he was being too flirtatious; most of their conversations were about how Sherlock was literally unable to love. As if that were actually true. Sherlock knew that whatever he was feeling, this was love; this wasn't some weird disease or some sort of stomach flu. There was nothing physically wrong with him, mentally and emotionally, well, that was an entirely different story.
"Sherlock are you awake?" Mycroft yelled.
"Yes, I'm...I'm just getting ready!" Sherlock called from his bed, throwing his blankets off of him and ripping open the curtains.
"Yes, I'm sure you are." Mycroft muttered doubtfully, but finally Sherlock heard his footsteps retreating from the door. Sherlock dressed himself to perfection as quickly as he could, knowing that if John were to actually see him he would want to look good, breathtaking in fact. When he came downstairs he realized that he would have to make up some excuse for his backpack, maybe just say he had accidently left it at the library or something.
"Good morning Sherlock." Mycroft muttered, dressed in his suit, sipping coffee and reading the paper in his armchair.
"No breakfast?" Sherlock asked, not smelling anything from the kitchen.
"Just cereal, I didn't feel much like cooking this morning." Mycroft admitted.
"I didn't feel much like moving this morning." Sherlock agreed, stumbling into the kitchen and pouring himself a rather depressing bowl of granola.
"I um, I guess I did leave my backpack at the library, stupid mistake really. I'll swing by and get it after school." Sherlock decided, poking around in his breakfast with his spoon, feeling like he would throw up if he ate a single bite.
"I could go there after school and get it if you'd like." Mycroft offered.
"No, I'll figure it out. Sometimes the librarians bring lost and found items to the school if they think some idiot kids left them." Sherlock lied. Mycroft looked rather confused, but nodded, sipping his coffee and skimming through the sports page before flipping to the weather. When breakfast was over Sherlock got into the car with his brother, pulling off down the driveway and onto the road.
"I hope you did that project well?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock thought of his day with John so no, that project went horrible.
"Ya, fine." Sherlock shrugged, staring out the window and wondering just where John was. Probably in his car as well, terrified of seeing Sherlock, or planning on purposely not seeing Sherlock at all.
"Remember, grades are everything. Don't let anyone get in the way of getting an A." Mycroft insisted.
"Do you have that embroidered on a pillow or something?" Sherlock laughed.
"No Sherlock, it just happened to rhyme, but you know it to be true." Mycroft insisted, pulling up to a stop light. Sherlock looked aimlessly at the cars when his attention was drawn to a very familiar red car. Sherlock gasped a little bit when he saw John at the wheel, looking like a bit of a nervous wreck, leaning on the steering wheel and staring at the light, tapping his fingers against the dash board.
"What?" Mycroft muttered. Sherlock quickly turned his attention away from John and focused on the other side.
"That guy's....mustache...is so nice." Sherlock muttered quickly. He could feel Mycroft's confusion in the air as he observed an old man in the car next to them.
"Yes, I suppose it is rather elegant, Sherlock, are you alright? Are you sick?" Mycroft asked worriedly.
"No I'm fine; you should grow a mustache like that." Sherlock muttered, watching as John's car drove safely out of sight.
"I'm not one for facial hair; I don't want to look like a barbarian." Mycroft decided.
"Look at that guy, he doesn't look like a barbarian, he looks like a respectful citizen." Sherlock muttered.
"Okay..." Mycroft sighed, hitting the gas a little bit too hard and driving as fast as he could away from the mustache man. When they pulled up to the school John's car was in the parking lot but there was no John, already in side evidently.
"Be good alright? Good luck on your project." Mycroft insisted.
"Oh, ya, thanks." Sherlock muttered, getting out of the car.
"And if you're not feeling well just have the nurse call me, I'll pick you up." Mycroft offered. Sherlock just nodded, closing the door and waving slightly as Mycroft pulled away. Sherlock sighed, left alone with the school busses, so he walked up to the school and into the doors, a path that was probably traveled not long ago by John Watson. Sherlock went to his locker nervously, not seeing John but not looking anywhere near his locker just in case he actually was there. Sherlock really didn't want to see that boy, especially if John looked so nervous in his car. Was he nervous about approaching Sherlock or nervous about carefully avoiding him? So he went up to his locker, sighing heavily and pulling the door open. Inside there was nothing, just a couple of books. Sherlock didn't really know what he was expecting to find, maybe a love note or something, maybe some poisonous gas or a graphited warning. Either way, he need not worry because it was empty. Maybe that was a good thing. It was a hard concept to grasp, really, having someone in love with you. Sherlock could live his life knowing that whatever he did wrong, whatever he did right, John Watson fell in love with him. John Watson, this beautiful wonderful perfect boy, wanted to kiss him. And Sherlock had run away, stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Hey, Sherlock." said a voice behind him. Sherlock's heart stopped for a second, his mind racing for things to say. When he turned around though, it wasn't John; it was Greg Lestrade, standing with his arms crossed, obviously trying to look intimidating. Whatever he was doing though, it was working, because Sherlock felt very nervous just looking him in the eye.
"Hi Greg." Sherlock muttered in a squeak of a voice.
"Not so brave now, are you?" Greg growled.
"To be fair, I'm never brave." Sherlock insisted, holding his English book as a sort of shield if he needed to protect himself. Greg however just smiled, not an amused smile of course, a smile that said I'm going to love beating light from your eyes.
"What did you do to John?" Greg muttered.
"Do...? I didn't do anything to John." Sherlock insisted. Greg just laughed again, Sherlock was almost tempted to smile back before in an instant Greg lunged forward and pinned Sherlock to the lockers by his neck. There was a loud bang and everyone around them stopped to look what was going on, the conversations dwindling as a small crowd gathered, hoping they would fight. Sherlock's book fell from his hands, gasping for air and trying to no extent to pull Greg's powerful arm away from his windpipe.
"You stay away from him, you hear me?" Greg growled. "I don't know what you've done, but he's terrified, he's depressed, he won't even come to school."
"I haven't...I promise." Sherlock gasped, pushing as hard as he could against Greg's arm. Finally Greg released him, letting Sherlock slide to the floor, gasping for breath as the crowd murmured to each other in excitement.
"He's not here? I saw..." Sherlock stopped mid sentence to cough violently, falling to the floor and messaging his windpipe.
"He drove me here but wouldn't come in. I assume he didn't want to have to lay eyes on a certain criminal. He told me to give you this." Greg added, kicking Sherlock's backpack to him across the floor before stalking off through the groups of kids. Sherlock sat on the floor for a moment, leaning his head against the lockers and taking deep breaths. The crowd died off, since there was no violence to watch they seemed to have lost interest, walking away to their own lockers and talking loudly. So John didn't come to school? That was odd...that was very odd. Did John think Sherlock hated him, was he too ashamed to even show his face? Sherlock didn't want him to think badly of himself, it was never his intention to destroy John's self-confidence. He needed to know, somehow, that Sherlock loved him as well, even if he couldn't express it freely. But then again, Sherlock had promised to stay away from John, from Greg and all his little friends, at least until Mycroft stopped getting suspicious. That was going to be only too easy if John was avoiding him as well. So Sherlock crawled to his feet, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and grabbing his book from the floor, heading off to English where there was no John waiting for him at the door. When he arrived he was shocked to see he wasn't the first, in fact the teacher was even there, sitting at her desk and reading. Sherlock walked inside and immediately everyone perked up, as if they were all waiting for him.
"What did you do to Greg Lestrade?" one girl asked eagerly.
"Nothing." Sherlock said truthfully.
"Was he telling you to stay away from John?" a boy asked curiously.
"No." Sherlock lied, feeling rather on the spot in the light of all these people's eyes.
"What did you do to John?" another piped in.
"Nothing, leave me alone." Sherlock snapped, sinking into his desk and opening up his laptop, his best defense against these gossip hungry morons. They never cared about him, he doubt they even knew his name but yet they were really interested in talking to him, as long as they could pass it along to their friends. Finally they could see that he wouldn't tell them anything so they went back to their own useless conversations, something about a soccer game coming up. Sherlock sighed, simply staring at his black laptop screen, his mind racing. John, what was wrong with John? He was depressed, scared, that's what Greg had said, was he really that affected about being rejected? I mean, Sherlock might have been able to put it a little bit better, maybe not run out of the room, but honestly it was quite in the moment. He couldn't think of any better reaction than running, he was scared that somehow Mycroft might be watching, somehow Mycroft would feel a disturbance...There was no way Sherlock could ever explain to John the situation, there was no way he could convince John to stay away from him without telling him the truth, the whole truth, and that was definitely not something Sherlock wanted John to know. For all that boy knew, Sherlock was simply an innocent boy with an abusive brother, forced not to love. He didn't know the extent, he didn't know the crimes committed in the Holmes household, and Sherlock definitely didn't want John to be a crime as well.
"Alright, I need to see your homework from yesterday if you could please take that out? One missing today, John?" the teacher muttered, flipping through her seating chart and marking down absentees. There was a mummer of agreement as the kids all got out their folders. Sherlock shut his laptop and tucked it back into the case, pulling out his folder and opening it to see a little note folded inside, written on a piece of notebook paper torn out of a spiral bound notebook. Sherlock looked around suspiciously, propping his binder up so make sure no one could see what he was reading. 
Sherlock,
Well, that was stupid. I'm going to start off with that because I know it's what we're both thinking, and we both know. I'm really sorry, I know that you're not allowed to love anyone and I know that you're a sociopath, and it was terrible of me to put you in a position where you thought the only acceptable escape was to run. I know things might have gotten a little bit out of hand, and I know that I pushed your boundaries a little bit too much all at one time, and for that I apologize. I hope we can still be friends or acquaintances or whatever it was we were, and I hope I didn't ruin everything for myself because you really are an amazing person. You're the best person I've ever known and I want to know you longer, even if we can't be...well, whatever it was I thought we could be. I gave your bag to Greg, who I hope didn't find this letter because I told him I was sick. He didn't seem too convinced really, but I guess that's alright. He doesn't know, so don't tell him, I'll never here the end of it. And Greg, if you're reading this note, you're a jerk, stop invading my privacy. I don't know when I'll be back in school, as you can imagine, I'm rather embarrassed. I don't know how you feel right now; you might burn this for all I know. Please don't hate me. Alright then, I guess I'll see you when I see you. I hope we can talk this out face to face, but I thought I better apologize through a note in case that doesn't happen.
Sorry again,
John

            "Do you have your homework?" the teacher's voice asked above him. Sherlock folded the note quickly, blushing in embarrassment.
"What?" he asked, having heard nothing but mumbling from above.
"Homework?" the teacher repeated, looking rather annoyed.
"Yes, it's...it's here." Sherlock agreed, going through his folder and pulling out his homework.
"Thanks." She muttered, not even checking to make sure it was done before writing something down on his clipboard. Sherlock read through the note one more time, just to make sure he actually knew what it said. John was sorry, he felt bad, he didn't hate him! Sherlock sighed in relief, folding it up and tucking it into his pocket to read later. Sherlock smiled to himself as the teacher started to lesson, John still liked him. As Sherlock went through the day he felt more and guiltier for leaving John in the dark, trying to imagine how John must feel if Sherlock felt this terrible. He couldn't imagine getting ditched like that; he was such a horrible person! And if John wasn't going to be in school for a couple of days then there was no possible way to talk to him unless they were somehow going to pass notes through Greg, who might catch on eventually. No, Sherlock would have to talk to him, face to face, somehow. This was difficult because John didn't know he was coming and Mycroft never let Sherlock go anywhere alone. School was the only Mycroft free zone and there was no cutting class to get over to John's house. That left only one option, overnight. Sherlock could sneak to the car and drive to John's house when Mycroft was asleep, cuddling his umbrella in bed, where he wouldn't notice Sherlock's absence. That would be risky, of course, because he could only guess Mycroft was a light sleeper, but the car was relatively quiet and if kept his voice down and his footprints quiet then he was sure to somehow sneak away. Yes, that it what he would do, John needed clarity and Sherlock needed a free conscious, this was the perfect way to achieve both, as long as he was home in time to be in bed for his wake up call.
"Have a nice day at school Sherlock?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock nodded, the note crinkling in his pocket as he sat down in the front seat and shut the door behind him. Mycroft pulled out of the parking lot, not knowing Sherlock's intentions, not knowing what had even happened that Saturday. It was rather exciting, finally being rebellious for once, finally having his own life.
"Did you see John?" Mycroft asked in his best attempt at a casual tone.
"No, of course not." Sherlock said truthfully. "I'm done with him." Mycroft just hummed doubtfully, as if Sherlock's word wasn't enough to convince him. Of course it really shouldn't be, all Sherlock's been doing it lying to him but to be honest Sherlock hadn't seen John that day, or at least not yet.
"That's good, finally wised up." Mycroft muttered.
"Yes I have." Sherlock agreed, trying to sound trustworthy and convincing.
"How'd the project go?" Mycroft asked.
"100% of course." Sherlock said proudly.
"No surprise there, everything you do is worth a 100%." Mycroft agreed.
"Well, I mean, I guess so." Sherlock shrugged, not wanting to sound too conceited. Grades were the only thing Sherlock ever did to make Mycroft proud of him. Mycroft wasn't satisfied unless Sherlock got straight A's, which he always did of course, but for being so strict it was rather stressful. Then again, Sherlock had nothing better to do with his time than study, so it was a win-win situation.