Secretly I Think You Knew

Back Stabbing Best Friend

"Would you like some cereal?" he asked. John shook his head, getting to his feet and setting his fork over by the sink.
"Nah, I better head out." he decided.
"Why so early? What's so important that you have to leave?" Sherlock asked, getting to his feet and trapping John in a hug from behind.
"Oh come on, you know my parents, if I'm one second late she's going to call the police and start a manhunt." John insisted.
"I don't know your parents at all actually." Sherlock insisted.
"We can change that later; they still need to know the truth about the two of us, when you're ready." John decided.
"I was ready the first time; I think it's you that needs to be ready." Sherlock defended. John sighed, nodding and pulling Sherlock's arms off of him.
"I'm just afraid she'll have a heart attack or something." John insisted.
"We'll just wait it out alright, wait for this all to get calmer, for whoever was in my yard to do their damage and then we can tell her." Sherlock decided.
"You might be in prison once they've done their damage." John pointed out.
"It was self-defense." Sherlock shrugged.
"It was murder." John defended. Sherlock just laughed, nodding in agreement.
"We can play it out to be self-defense though, I mean, he did abuse me." Sherlock pointed out.
"We'll play lawyers later, but now I really have to go." John decided.
"You'll come back?" Sherlock asked hopefully.
"Of course I'll come back." John assured with a laugh, moving his way to the front door. Sherlock followed obediently, looking like a puppy who didn't want his human to go to work.
"I mean, tonight. You'll come back and stay with me?" Sherlock asked hopefully.
"I don't want to freak my parents out; won't they get a little bit suspicious?" John insisted.
"I don't mind. Besides, you told them that my brother was away for work, well, he's still away and I'm still afraid." Sherlock pointed out.
"We burned the body; he won't come near you anymore." John assured.
"What if the cops come, and this is your last night with me?" Sherlock pointed out.
"I'm going to make sure the cops don't come." John insisted, opening the door and walking out onto the front porch. It was a beautiful day, so bright, unlike the inside of the damp old house. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, a beautiful morning dew clinging to the grass and the wooden porch.
"Alright then, I guess I can't hold you against your will." Sherlock decided.
"I'll come back tonight if my parents will let me, I have your number, I'll call you." John assured, pressing a farewell kiss to Sherlock's lips and walking down off the porch.
"And if I get arrested before you come back?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.
"That's not going to happen, but if it does, I'll make you a cake with a knife in it!" John called back with a teasing smile, unlocking his car and getting inside, off to go interrogate his ex-best friend. Before he stopped at Greg's, he stopped at his own house; to ease his mother's worrying. When he stepped through the door he found the family sitting around the kitchen table, eating their breakfast and watching the news.
"John, there you are, I was worried." Mrs. Watson said with relief, abandoning what was left of her Rice Krispies to come give him a hug. John hugged her rather reluctantly, only stopping in to grab a bagel or something since Sherlock's breakfast was deemed inedible.
"Ugh, you smell terrible, like smoke and grass, what we you two doing?" she asked in disgust, pushing John away as if suddenly his hug wasn't as good as if used to be. Not that he was complaining.
"We had a camp fire, shed some light on the night I guess." John shrugged, moving into the kitchen and grabbing an apple, the only quick food he could find.
"Go shower, I don't want you stinking up my house!" Mr. Watson called, without a hello.
"I'm going right out again, got to go talk to Greg." John pointed out, pouring himself a glass of juice and downing it in one sip, just so he didn't go through the day completely dehydrated.
"Well I'm sure Greg won't want to talk to a walking campfire." Mrs. Watson insisted.
"Oh, I'm sure he won't mind. I'll be back whenever." John shrugged.
"Where are you going?" Mrs. Watson asked again, even though he had just said it a minute ago.
"I said I'm going to Greg's! Goodbye parents!" John called, heading back out the front door and biting into his apple, getting into his car and pulling out of the driveway. He went over what he could possibly say in his head, thinking about how he might be able to get the pictures off of Greg and make sure they stayed deleted. He tapped his fingers against the wheel, driving quickly down the street around seven in the morning; Greg probably wasn't even awake yet. But then again, he hadn't had a normal night either, the idiot was probably sitting up in his bedroom, trying to grasp that he was right about Sherlock all along. John pulled up on the side of the road, like he used to every morning, but this time he turned the engine off and got out of the car. Just as he was about to march across the lawn the front door opened, and as if he was waiting, Greg walked out of the door, a scowl on his face, still in the black outfit he had worn to snoop around Sherlock's backyard.
"Come to kill me as well?" Greg snapped. John growled in anger, grabbing Greg's neck and slamming him into the car, holding him there in a choke hold while Greg squirmed and fought. He was still able to breathe, John made sure of that, and that meant he could talk.
"Where are the pictures?" John snapped.
"Somewhere you can never get them." Greg muttered through John's hands, as angrily as he could possibly sound while in a choke hold.
"Give them to me." John insisted, tightening his grip on Greg's disgusting neck, feeling the urge to snap it right there.
"Never." Greg wheezed. John yelled in frustration, slamming Greg's head once more into the car door and letting him slide to the pavement.
"Why were you at Sherlock's house in the first place, what were you expecting to find?" John snapped.
"Be quiet, my parents are still asleep." Greg insisted, rubbing his neck but staying on the ground.
"I don't care Greg, I don't care! You're threatening my safety, my freedom, and Sherlock's freedom; I don't care if I wake your bloody parents!" John yelled, feeling overcome with rage, feeling the need to beat something up, to flip a table, to punch a wall. Anything to get his anger out without hurting Greg any more than he had to.
"He was burning a body John! He killed someone!" Greg yelled.
"Yes, he did, alright? You were right, I don't know how, but you right. About everything." John snapped, biting his lip and clenching his fists. Greg looked at him in shock, not even bothering to say I told you so or rub it in John's face, he looked astonished to have actually been correct.
"Wait, you mean..." he muttered. "Victor too?"
"Everything. His brother made him kill, he was going to make him kill me, but he made another call. He killed his brother and we burned the body, are you happy now?" John snapped.
"He's a murderer John, every moment you're with him you're in danger." Greg whispered.
"I told you he's not! He didn't kill me, he would never kill me, why can't you get it through your thick skull that we're in love, nothing else matters! I don't care about the soccer team, I don't care about Mike or James or Mary, I don't care about you! I want to be in love with Sherlock Holmes for the rest of my days, and whether or not he's killed one person or half the human race is irrelevant." John snapped.
"John, you're insane, how can you think this is okay? Victor Trevor got murdered by your boyfriend and you're defending him!" Greg insisted.
"Mycroft made him do it, just as he was going to make him kill me, Sherlock didn't want this, he didn't want any of it." John whispered.
"I came there looking for proof of Victor's murder, something to give the police, the grieving family." Greg whispered. "What I didn't want to find was you."
"You talked to the police?" John muttered.
"Yes I did. And I talked to Victor's parents, they're heart broken, all they want is justice for whoever took their son from them, they want to know what happened, how he died and if he's still alive." Greg insisted.
"You've been plotting against Sherlock, against me this whole time?" John growled.
"I didn't know what to do, I didn't want you to get so involved with him, I didn't expect you to fall in love, I expected you to die! The night that you went to dinner I got in contact with the police, I told them everything I thought I knew and they ignored me, saying I was making up stories. Well now I have evidence, I have proof that we're not just dealing with a killer, we're dealing with a mass murderer and possibly his accomplice." Greg snapped.
"You would turn us in to the police, send us to jail?" John whispered.
"I think you'd be better in a mental hospital to be honest, you're treating this as if there was nothing wrong, as if somehow what Sherlock is doing is fair and appropriate, as if he hasn't killed two people!" Greg exclaimed.
"I love him, and you would deny me of that love?" John whispered.
"For the sake of seven billion people on this earth, for the sake of Victor's family, of Mycroft's family, yes, I would." Greg agreed.
"Sherlock is Mycroft's only family, he's an orphan now." John insisted.
"I'm sorry John, I truly am, I hope you only get fined or something, I don't want you to go to jail." Greg decided.
"Give me those pictures Greg, give them to me!" John exclaimed, walking over to where Greg sat on the ground, wanting to kick him so badly, to show him just how he felt about his betrayal that ran so deep.
"No John, I won't. I'm sorry." Greg insisted. "If you want to run from it, then fine, but I'm going to the police and they'll do what they think is right."
"What if I kill you now, on your front yard, while your parents are sleeping?" John suggested. Greg shrugged, leaning back on John's car as if he couldn't care less.
"Then you and your boyfriend will both end up in prison together, you'll just assure your sentence." Greg decided.
"Why did I ever become friends with you, why did I ever even tell you about Sherlock?" John growled.
"Because I'm your friend, and I care about you, probably more than you realize. Even if that means condemning your unhealthy relationship." Greg decided.
"It's not unhealthy, you're impossible!" John exclaimed. How dare he insult Sherlock, how dare he mock their love?
"Open your eyes John, you're crazy, he's warping your mind, there is nothing you can do!" Greg yelled. John looked at him on the ground, seriously considering running over his head with his car, but taking a deep breath.
"You're right. There isn't anything I can do. So I'm going to go to Sherlock's house and I'm going to stay there. If you want to get rid of Sherlock, fine, but I'm going with him. Until the very end. And if I need a murder sentence to help me along, well, you better lock your doors. Keep that in mind as you call the police." John growled, pulling open his door and turning the engine on. He didn't wait to make sure that Greg was out of the way, in fact he sincerely hoped that he wasn't, but unfortunately there wasn't a promising thump. Instead he just drove away, watching as Greg got to his feet in his rearview mirror and clutching the wheel in anger. John wasn't crazy; there was no way that he could be. Sherlock was a good person; Greg was the one with the problem, not able to see in anyone else's perspective. If he had known Sherlock better, if he had known the type of person Sherlock was, the good and the bad, then he wouldn't call the police. He would try to help him the best he could without government interference. And he thought that John deserved to go to a mental hospital, criminally insane probably, because all of those years by John's side, being a friend, a teammate, and a brother, he decided that since John had found someone better than him that he was insane. How selfish could you possibly be?

Sherlock POV: Sherlock waited patiently on the couch for John to return. John hadn't said that he was coming back, but Sherlock had a sneaking suspicion that with everything that was going on, John would come back. The house was empty, he knew that, but whenever he closed his eyes or looked into a particularly shady corner, he could see Victor; he could see Mycroft, right where they said they'd be. With him, no matter what. Sherlock knew what he had to do tonight, before the cops came, he had to ensure that wherever he was sent, and whether it be a juvenile detention center, actual prison, or possibly a penitentiary, that John would never leave his side. No matter how many walls or cells or fences they tried to put up between him and John, it would never work, because like Mycroft and Victor, John would always be there the minute the sunlight faded.
"You look nervous." Victor observed, sitting down on the couch next to Sherlock, just as he did the night he came for dinner.
"I'm not nervous." Sherlock assured, keeping his eyes closed but he was able to see better than he had ever seen before. He could see Victor next to him, he could see Mycroft sitting in his arm chair, as he always did, but when he opened his eyes they were gone. So he kept them closed.
"Of course you're nervous Sherlock, everyone in your position would be nervous, but know that you have to do this, to make sure he never leaves you." Mycroft insisted, stroking the arms of his chair as if he had missed it more than anything in his life.
"What if he runs, what if he fights me?" Sherlock asked nervously.
"Then he doesn't care enough about you to stay with you forever, to give up everything he's ever had to guarantee you're never separated again." Victor insisted. "It was a choice I made easily."
"If he's under the impression that you're killing him just to kill him, explain what's going on, what has to be done, and then he will stop." Mycroft assured.
"Is that why you didn't fight me when I killed you?" Sherlock wondered.
"Trust me Sherlock, my idea of paradise it's being trapped inside of your head, but alas that is where I am. If you wouldn't listen to my advice in the real world, then I thought maybe I could get through to you in the afterlife." Mycroft sighed.
"Evidently it worked." Victor decided, lacing his fingers with Sherlock's and sitting closer. Sherlock had thought that Mycroft would start a riot, burn the house down and kill Victor again, but instead he just sighed, looking away as if he felt he were invading their privacy.
"Why don't you mind me with Victor?" Sherlock asked him. Mycroft just laughed, as if that answer should be obvious.
"Sherlock I thought you were supposed to be intelligent." He chuckled. Sherlock gasped a little bit, he could make fun of Sherlock's love and his choice of lifestyle, but certainly not his intelligence.
"I'm just as intelligent as you are Mycroft." He snapped. Victor just held Sherlock to his chest, wrapping both arms around him and sighing deeply, as if he had waited for this for a long time.
"He doesn't mind because he knows I will not leave you. Your brother isn't afraid of love, it's the aftermath, it once the love starts to fade away that scares him. I cannot leave you even if I wanted to, so he permits it." Victor assured.
"And that's why John has to join you?" Sherlock whispered.
"It's the only way you two can be together forever." Mycroft agreed. Sherlock nodded, letting himself fall into Victor, something he could never have done in real life. Maybe the world underneath his eyelids was better than the one in the daylight.
"We can love each other fine in the real world." Sherlock pointed out. "You're not here to stop us, no one is."
"Except Greg, the police, his parents, your friends, society as a whole. You can love each other all you want in private, but in public they deem you as freaks. They have no idea that love that can form between two boys." Victor pointed out.
"And like we said before, you may love each other now; you may think that you'll always love each other. That will be tested though, in say, five years, and in ten years I guarantee he will move onto other people." Mycroft insisted.
"But John isn't like that, he's a good person, he wouldn't leave me." Sherlock insisted.
"You're a good person as well Sherlock; do you trust yourself enough to resist the love of another boy?" Victor whispered.
"Of course I do, John is my everything." Sherlock insisted.
"You say as Victor holds you in his arms." Mycroft laughed.
"That doesn't count, Victor's dead." Sherlock snapped.
"Yes, but John will join me soon." Victor agreed. "The dead, the imaginary people that live in your head, we are as real as you are Sherlock." Sherlock sighed, nodding but not doing anything to untangle himself from Victor's arms.