Secretly I Think You Knew

Coming Out To My Friends And I'm Doing Just Fine

Sherlock was sitting in the driver's seat, staring blankly at the wall as the engine hummed. John clambered into the passenger seat, watching as Sherlock gazed off into space.
"You okay?" he muttered. Sherlock blinked for a moment, nodding quickly before putting the car in reverse and starting down the driveway.
"Ya, fine." Sherlock assured, but his voice didn't sound very convincing.
"I mean, that must be some heavy stuff, I'm not sure if you're, you know, really fine." John muttered.
"I knew I was going to have to get rid of my brother, one way or another. I could never live my life like that, I assure you. If I hadn't killed him, and if I had killed you, I would've been sitting down there in that freezer right now. He had promised to punish me for warning you to run." Sherlock muttered. "So, it was the lesser of two evils, and I can't say he didn't deserve it."
"That's what you were trying to say to me in the hallway, don't come, because you're in danger. Why didn't you just tell me?" John asked.
"Mycroft made me swear that I wouldn't tell you what was happening, he said that I'd pay dearly if you didn't come. So I decided that I needed to turn you against me, make you not come without actually admitting to my past. I guess it didn't work as well as it should've, you still came." Sherlock admitted.
"I'm glad I did, if I hadn't you'd be getting beaten by your brother, and we wouldn't be able to be together." John pointed out.
"I'm glad you came as well. It feels like I have been reborn, liberated, finally free to be my own person, to love who I want without shame or secrecy." Sherlock admitted.
"And that person is me I hope?" John asked. Sherlock looked over at him the best he could without crashing the car, a smile on his beautiful lips.
"Yes of course. Last night...it was more than I could've ever dreamed of. It was perfect." Sherlock assured.
"Even if we were swimming in your brother's blood?" John asked with a laugh.
"I think it could be a metaphor or something, but I can't really think of it now. Something about how he was the one keeping us apart, and over his dead body we united." Sherlock sighed, drumming his fingers against the wheel. There was a sort of silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. They were far past being uncomfortable with each other; they had gone through so much together in only one night.
"What are you going to do now?" John asked. Sherlock sighed, shrugging and staring at the road once more. He didn't seem too worried about his future, more about his past.
"Oh, I don't know, bide my time the best I can. I'll survive, I survived with Mycroft, now I'll just have to do everything myself." Sherlock shrugged.
"I'll help you, I'm here for you. We got into this together; we'll get through it together." John decided.
"What did I ever do to deserve you?" Sherlock asked with a smile.
"Everything Sherlock. You suffered to deserve me, and finally your suffering is over, and you deserve so much more than me." John decided.
"Don't think you're not everything I've ever wanted and more. Ever since I met you John, I knew that you were special. That somehow, we were made for each other. I would want no one else." Sherlock insisted. John just smiled to himself, rolling up his shirt sleeves and watching as the fields of corn went by, feeling happier than he had been in a while. Finally he could have Sherlock, finally they could be together, carelessly, shamelessly, whatever cloud that had hovered over the two of them had now been lifted and finally they could be in love. When they pulled into the school the busses were already unloading, they weren't terribly late, which was a relief. So much can happen in one night and they still had to get up and go to school. John got out first, feeling empty without a heavy backpack to sling over his shoulder, and Sherlock made sure the car was in park and the engine was off before getting out as well.
"Will Greg have questions?" he asked curiously.
"Well yes, I assume I'm going to be getting a lot of questions. Speaking of which..." John dug his phone out of his pocket, showing it to Sherlock as if it were some great treasure. "Got to call my parents."
"Good idea. I'm sure they were expecting you?" Sherlock asked.
"No later than ten or something like that. I guess if I get home before ten tonight that might be acceptable." John shrugged.
"Your car is still in my driveway, but you don't have to stay." Sherlock assured. John hummed in agreement, not really listening as he tried to walk and dial his parents' number at the same time. It only rung once before it was picked up, and even without speaking John could tell his mother was panicking.
"John...JOHN!" she yelled, so loud that John had to hold his phone away from his ear, in fear of sudden deafness.
"Mom, I'm fine, I'm sorry it took me so long to call." John muttered.
"John Watson we told you to be at home by ten o'clock, where have you been? We've been calling you all day, we were so worried, HONEY HE'S ALIVE!" Mrs. Watson screamed to her husband, who must have been in the background.
"There's no cell reception up at Sherlock's, and my phone was still in my jacket." John shrugged. That sounded like a pretty reasonable excuse. Of course he couldn't tell his parents the truth; no one could know the truth. Sherlock kept in pace with John, walking obviously slower to match John's short little strides, all while getting yelled at by his mother. A couple of people gave them weird looks, mostly because they could hear Mrs. Watson's frantic screeching on the other end of the phone, or maybe because John and Sherlock really looked like a power couple in their matching button down shirts.
"Where were you, why didn't you come home?" she asked. John sighed, using the short time to quickly think of an excuse.
"Oh, we were watching a movie and it went later than I expected and we all sort of fell asleep on the couch." John shrugged. That sounded reasonable, a lot more reasonable than the truth.
"That's why you need adult supervision, how old is that brother of his?" Mrs. Watson squawked. Sherlock obviously caught some of that because he looked at John in confusion. Well, John dint know how old Mycroft was but he certainly wasn't getting any older.
"I don't know, seven years older I think, mom I've got to go, I'm in school, Sherlock just gave me a ride to school so we need to swing back to his house and get my car but I'll come home right away." John assured.
"What about soccer practice?" she asked. John groaned, that's another backpack he had forgotten.
"I don't have my stuff, I'll tell Greg to tell coach I can't make it, say I'm sick or something, I don't know, listen I've got to go, I'm safe, I'll see you tonight." John insisted. Mrs. Watson sighed heavily.
"Alright dear, be careful. I'm glad to hear your home safe." She decided.
"Bye." John muttered, hanging up the phone before his mother could figure out another topic to whine about.
"Everything good?" Sherlock asked rather apologetically, as if it were all his fault their dinner date ran over.
"Ya, fine, she's probably just relieved to know I'm alive." John shrugged.
"At least she's not Mycroft. If I had stayed over, at a friend's house that is, he would've..." Sherlock cut off his sentence, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. "But that's all behind us now. He's gone, I'm not going to get hurt, not again."
"That's right; I will treat you with nothing but respect." John assured.
"I know John, I know." Sherlock assured. "I need to stop at my locker, I'll come by yours to go to English."
"Alright, see you then." John agreed, wanting to exchange some sort of farewell but Sherlock was gone before he could suggest anything. So John walked on, not really sure why he needed to go to his locker if he had nothing to put away. Unfortunately though, he was met with something a bit worse than a homework slip.
"You're alive!" Greg exclaimed immediately , running over to John and trapping him in a hug.
"Yes, Greg...can't...breathe..." John gasped.
"Oh, sorry." Greg muttered, releasing John and letting him take deep breaths of air.
"You're going to be the one to kill me." John groaned, walking over to his locker and unlocking it anyway, to get his English book.
"How was it, were they creepy, did they try to kill you, eat you, he does look like a cannibal doesn't..." Greg's sentence cut off, as if he had a sudden revelation. "What are you wearing?" he asked. John sighed, pulling his arm away from Greg who felt the need to feel the material.
"Nothing, it's..." John started.
"Sherlock's?" Greg finished. "You're wearing Sherlock's shirt?"
"Ya, long story, not really my problem right now." John sighed, definitely not in the mood for telling Greg anything, or making up any more stories.
"Where's your backpack?" Greg asked. John groaned, wanting to take Greg on a nice walk down to Sherlock's freezer at the moment.
"Stop with the questions, it's been a very eventful night." John snapped.
"Eventful in a good way? Did you run away, did the cops show up?" Greg asked with a smile.
"I'm fine, alive; we're good, no running, no cops." John snapped, grabbing his English book and slamming his locker moodily.
"Oh, hey..." Greg muttered reluctantly as John was busy trying to snap the lock back on. He spun around with a smile, seeing Sherlock walking over.
"Hello Sherlock, it's been a while." John muttered with a little smile, his heart staring to beat faster at the presence of this beautiful boy. His beautiful boy.
"Much too long." Sherlock agreed.
"So, that's a bit of a...OH MY GOD!" Greg yelled, stumbling back a good five feet as Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and kissed him. John wasn't complaining, of course, maybe it was a bit sudden for Greg, and a little bit public, but at the moment John really didn't mind. John was proud to have Sherlock as his boyfriend, and no one else's opinion mattered to him. Besides, they had about a month's worth of kisses to make up, after all of that lost time being threatened by Mycroft. Sherlock pulled away slowly, a smile evident on his lips, as if this were the most wonderful thing he could ever imagine.
"I didn't expect something like that out of you." John muttered, stepping away slightly.
"I'm just getting used to it myself." Sherlock admitted, blushing a little bit.
"Oh...my...God, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, this is just..." Greg sighed, obviously not one for giving privacy.
"Amazing, perfect, destiny?" John offered, trying to fit a word into Greg's unfinished sentence.
"Weird." Greg decided, nodding at his own brilliance.
"What's weird about it?" Sherlock asked, stepping a bit closer and making Greg step back. Obviously he didn't feel so tough standing next to this six foot tall murderer/cannibal, in his mind at least.
"I never thought John would be the gay type, that's all." Greg muttered, getting a bit pale.
"And is there anything wrong with being 'the gay type'?" Sherlock asked, taking John's hand proudly. John interlocked their fingers, kind of sorry for letting Sherlock do the intimidating, but then again, Greg wasn't scared of him. In time, Greg would accept them; even he couldn't find a reason for them not to be together.
"No, no, nada, fine with me." Greg assured, holding his hands up in defense.
"Alright then, in that case we've got an English class to attend." Sherlock decided, smiling triumphantly and starting to lead John down the hall.
"Bye Greg." John muttered, trying to wave the best he could while carrying his English book under his arm. Greg waved back, looking a bit flabbergasted, his face stuck in a permanent expression of astonishment.
"Well, he took that well." Sherlock muttered, swinging John's arm lovingly as they walked.
"He'll get used to it, I mean, I kind of think he saw it coming." John admitted.
"Did he? You talked so highly of me then?" Sherlock asked with a smile.
"Oh stop, you know what I mean." John insisted.
"Honestly, I don't." Sherlock admitted.
"I mean that he kind of questioned me, about our relationship and stuff, and I never denied it." John admitted. Sherlock took a deep breath, as if trying to absorb this moment to remember it forever.
"You never denied it." Sherlock muttered, clarifying to himself that John could actually love him.
"And now we never have to again." John agreed. Sherlock nodded, smiling down at John with the softest look on his face, treasuring the boy he had holding his hand. Some people, well, most people actually, gave them very odd looks. The kids that noticed their interlocked fingers looked very confused, some looked rather happy, as if the sight of John and Sherlock not being ashamed of who they were made them proud, but most looked away quickly, disgusted. John knew Sherlock didn't have any friends to break the news to, in fact he only really talked to two people, and one of them was dead and one of them was his news. So honestly, he didn't have to go through the awkward new boyfriend/coming out party. John on the other hand had a lot of friends, a lot of sort of friends, and a lot of people he wanted to make a good impression on. Greg, Mike, James, they were the easy part, but once John was expected to admit to the soccer team and to his relatives that he had a boyfriend, that was going to be a bit harder. Heck, Sherlock didn't even have to break the news to his parents; he really did have it easy. Then again, John shouldn't be too jealous, Sherlock didn't have to break the news because he had no parents, and honestly one little sentence seemed a lot better than a life time of silence. Maybe John should be a bit thankful that he had people to judge him. 

Sherlock POV: Sherlock literally thought he was living in a dream. As he sat in English class he couldn't even pay attention, he kept looking over to wear John sat, looking positively radiant in Sherlock's shirt, and usually staring right back. Sherlock had to blink a couple of times just to make sure he didn't start to cry with happiness, how could someone so perfect, so beautiful, so...John...be his? How could John Watson possibly love Sherlock? Sherlock had to admit, when he woke up, he thought he was dead, or dreaming, or possibly both. The night with Victor, when he had lay on the freezer floor and finally shared his first kiss with his first love, that had felt so real, so when Sherlock woke up on John's chest, he had thought it had all been a dream. He thought that possibly John wouldn't be moving either. But no, John was alive, Sherlock was alive, the only person that wasn't alive was Mycroft, and Sherlock was alright with that. Okay, maybe he was a little bit sad over the loss of a brother, but Mycroft wasn't really a brother. He was a horrible, cruel person, and maybe Sherlock was just upset over the loss of a potential brother, the Mycroft that had made him breakfast and picked him up from school and bought his clothes. Sherlock would miss that Mycroft, the occasional smile and the rare joke; he would never miss Mycroft as he normally was. He wouldn't miss living in fear of the monster down the hall; he wouldn't miss Mycroft's cruel punishments, his drinking, his beating, his shielding Sherlock from the world. Mycroft may have been a cruel person, but he might have been able to change. Maybe there was some version of this story where Mycroft could've lived, but then again, Sherlock might not be sitting in English class, feeling John's beautiful chocolate colored eyes fixed on the side of his head. He was still trying to figure out what to do with this freedom, driving himself to school, making himself his own meals, being able to fall in love as many times as he wanted with as many people as he wanted. Except of course there was only one person he loved, and would ever love to be honest, and that was John Watson. Sherlock could live his life with John; he could marry him, adopt children with him, grow old together and get buried next to each other in a pretty little graveyard, next to Sherlock's parents. Mycroft wouldn't get buried, he didn't deserve that luxury, but Victor, he needed to be honored, he didn't deserve to be frozen on the floor of a freezer, lying in a pool of his own blood for decades. No, Sherlock would have to do something to him, possibly cremate him and leave the ashes on his parent's front porch. Was that weird? It didn't matter; really, there was no one to stop him. He was free of all restraints, and he would frolic and he would live his life the way it was supposed to be lived, not the way Mycroft wanted it to be.