I Know Your Face

With Patient Passion

They drove all the way to the park and Mary parked alongside the road, the two of them getting out and getting situated with their hats and jackets. Mary looked very cozy in a large fuzzy jacket, while John was comfortable in his varsity jacket; it always made him feel very powerful for some reason. Together they were the power couple, a star soccer player and a beautiful girl, it was almost too perfect.
"So you just want to get something out of a food truck or something, there's that cute little salad truck that's near the pond." Mary said with a smile, swinging John's hand in her own as they walked together.
"Come on, a salad? I'm not a salad kind of guy; you know that, I need to have my meat." John said with a laugh. He was serious; of course, he could never live on rabbit food especially right after practice, but Mary seemed to ignore him and started to lead him towards the pond. Of course John knew that she had heard him, she was just playing it off as if she hadn't, and John knew better to correct her more than once, so he just let Mary drag him by the hand off towards the salad truck. In the end they both sort of got their way, Mary got this gigantic salad with raisins and apples and all of these very obscure toppings, and John was able to get chicken on his, so he got a little bit of wimpy meat after all. They walked over to find a bench that wasn't covered in goose poop, sitting at the edge of the pond and chatting a little bit about nothing. John felt kind of awkward, out of place even, on a date with Mary. It didn't make sense because he knew that she was his girlfriend and that this was what couples did, but he almost felt as if she wasn't supposed to be the one who sat next to him on this bench. He felt like it should another person, someone with darker, curlier hair, maybe someone a little bit more male.
"Are you alright John? You look kind of sick." Mary commented, looking on her boyfriend as he stared into his salad without eating it. John looked up at her in confusion, wondering just how zoned out he had looked.
"What, ya, no, I'm fine. I'm fine." John assured, spearing a forkful of salad to prove his point and shoving it into his mouth. Mary didn't look too convinced, but nevertheless she continued to eat, not seeming too worried.
"I think your first date with Sherlock should be on Friday. I think you should start to hint to him in those letters that you want to meet." She suggested. John nodded, a shiver going down his spine at the thought of that boy.
"Don't you think he'll start looking for Victor? In the hallways and such?" John wondered, looking up at Mary in confusion.
"It's possible to convince him that their paths never cross, Victor could be a junior or something. It's a big school, it's not impossible." Mary said with a shrug.
"But don't you think he'll get suspicious? What if he asks someone about Victor, what if they say that there's no such boy on record?" John wondered.
"We can just tell him that Victor goes to another school then." Mary said with a shrug.
"Then how is Victor slipping notes into his locker?" John pointed out. Mary sighed, shaking her head in wonder and leaning away from her dinner.
"I don't know John; shockingly it's my first time doing something like this. Maybe we'll just have you wear the wig around school for a couple of minutes, maybe you can meet him over lunch and spend the period in a loving embrace, if you know what I mean." Mary said with a wink. John just shook his head vigorously; trying to make sure Mary had no suspicions of the feelings that were starting to well up in his heart.
"No, there will be no embracing, nothing of the sort." John insisted.
"You've got to John, you know that. You can't make someone fall in love with you just by telling them over and over again how much you love them; connections are formed through touch, through kisses. I hate to say it John, but you just have to do it." Mary shrugged.
"Ya but that includes being, you know, being gay. For him." John muttered, looking down at his salad, unable to look into Mary's eyes. She thought that this whole thing was a joke, and in her eyes it most certainly was. But John just kept wading through all of this, these feelings and emotions, he was sending them out and receiving them for someone who didn't even exist, he was right in the middle of this gay love hurricane. But he didn't really mind, not yet at least.
"Oh John, I won't mind." Mary assured with a laugh, and John forced a smile.
"It'll be really weird though, I've never really kissed a guy before." John admitted.
"I think it'll be funny to see you try. But you're not really the point of interest in this whole thing, we don't necessarily care how you kiss, it's Sherlock that matters. My guess is that he'll be horrible at it, he's just kind of going to sit there and you're going to have to do the work. It'll be hysterical; I should try to get your first kiss on tape." Mary planned with a laugh.
"No come on, that's an invasion of privacy that's not right." John defended, and Mary sighed heavily.
"Ya, alright, but I still want details. Lots of them. That freak will have no idea what to do, it'll be so pathetic!" Mary decided, bouncing up and down in excitement. John nodded glumly, suddenly not all that hungry for a healthy dinner by the pond. The rest of the date was quiet; John was feeling rather glum as the two of them meandered down the deserted park walkways, through trees and past large open fields of grass, hand in hand. But he didn't feel right; it was the first time that his hand didn't fit perfectly with Mary's, he felt like something was breaking them apart slowly. It was obvious what that was, of course, it was Sherlock, it was this plan. She saw it all as a joke; she saw emotions as something that should be played with, taunted. But John didn't think it was all that funny, in fact the more and more he thought about this prank the more and more immoral it seemed to become. Sherlock, poor precious, defenseless Sherlock. It wasn't his fault that he was falling into a pit of love; it wasn't his fault that he had fallen prey to mysterious love letters. He was feeling, he was loving, and John and Mary were just sitting back and laughing. It was horrible. Mary drove John home about a half hour later, she seemed to be having a great time but she needed to get home to meet her curfew, which was much earlier than John's. So they sat together in her car in John's driveway, and John just stared at the dashboard in front of him and Mary looked at him with a hopeful little smile.
"Well, I guess I'll see you later then." John decided.
"Oh come on, no goodbye kiss?" Mary asked with a laugh. John looked over at her with a smile, forcing his lips to curl into an expression of some positive emotion.
"It'll be good practice for when you kiss Sherlock." She insisted. This time John's laugh was genuine, a small little chuckle and sense of impatience for some reason he would so much rather it be Sherlock sitting in the seat next to him.
"Alright then, practice." John agreed, leaning over and kissing Mary very quickly. He closed his eyes, not because he was emotionally invested in this kiss but because he didn't really want to see her, he didn't want to know just who it was he was kissing. If he closed his eyes and pretended that the lips he was kissing belonged to someone else, well, it made it a lot easier to enjoy. But eventually he pulled away, bidding Mary a goodnight and getting out of the car. She rolled out of the driveway and John waited until the red taillights of her car disappeared in to the darkness before he started his way up to his front door, unlocking the door and slipping inside. His parents didn't greet him at the door, in fact it seemed like everyone was doing their own thing. Mrs. Watson was probably in the living room, reading by lamp light, Mr. Watson was probably in his office typing away at his computer, and Harry was most likely hiding in her room with her headphones. So that left John to grab the notebook out of his folder and trek upstairs, closing and locking his bedroom door. John sighed, wiping his mouth of on his sleeve before progressing through the darkness to his bed, collapsing on top of the blankets and watching the unmoving shadows on his ceiling. It felt as though he were being torn apart from the inside, as if Sherlock and Mary were pulling at both of his arms until he ripped right in half. But Mary didn't know that this was an inner struggle and Sherlock didn't even know John's actions, his feelings. So he just sat here, this horrible, guilty rage just building up inside of him until he felt like he was just going to burst into flames. So he turned on the lamp next to his bed, letting the soft orange glow engulf a small circle of the darkness. He fished under his bed for the wig and glasses, and as soon as he placed the two accessories onto his head he felt that pain just leak away. Victor had no sort of struggle, he had no guilt. Victor didn't care about his girlfriend's feelings because he was gay, he didn't care about the immoral part of his letters because he was doing all of this for love. He was genuinely in love with Sherlock and he was going to receive that love. Victor was doing everything right; he had nothing to worry about other than his first date with his crush. But John, the boy hiding under the wig, he had much bigger problems to worry about. But nevertheless John grabbed the notebook and flipped to an empty page, clicking the pen and unfolding Sherlock's most recent note.
My Love,
I know that we need time; I know that would be the safe thing to do. You have your apprehensions and I have my insecurities, and we're both drowning in a pool of doubt. I constantly worry that I will be somehow disappointing to you, that you have this flawless expectation of me and I don't turn out to be all you had imagined. I try every day to be the man of your dreams, because you are the man of my own. I worry that you will not love me as I love you, that my words don't woo you as I want them too, and I know that I can only accomplish so much in these short letters. I know that you want time, and I'm willing to give it to you, but with my impatience, with my utter need to see you face to face, I've become a bit selfish. Would you like to meet Friday night after school? We could meet out in public, as nothing more than friends. I don't want to rush you into this, know that you can always turn me down for another time. But Sherlock, my heart has waited so long, it's been screaming your name since the day I first saw you and I only wish I could ease its suffering with the beautiful gaze of your eyes. I know you Sherlock, and I hope that one day you will come to know me. I love you Sherlock Holmes, and I hope, one day, that you could come to love me as well.
With Patient Passion,
your secret admirer. John sat back and read what he had written, having the pause momentarily to make sure his heart didn't burst. There was a feeling inside of him, something aching so badly to meet with the boy he had fallen for, he wanted to see Sherlock, he needed Sherlock to see Victor and Sherlock to fall in love with Victor as well. It wasn't just impatience, it was desperateness. It was this fiery desire that threatened to engulf him if he wasn't in the loving company of Sherlock Holmes, if he didn't hear his words and feel his touch and bask in the gaze of his luscious green eyes. It was a sickness, some sort of love disease that had infected John and was ultimately going to be the death of him if he couldn't be with Sherlock, if he couldn't love him like he needed to. John sighed, reading Sherlock's letter once more, laying under his blankets and stroking Sherlock's beautiful loopy signature. He wished he could be here as well, he wished that Sherlock could be lying beside his right now. He wanted Sherlock so badly, he needed him. Mary Morstan simply wouldn't do. 

 "John, John get up!" Mrs. Watson's voice called from behind the door, knocking ferociously against the wood. John groaned, rolling over in his bed and squinting at the clock. It wasn't too late, but still, a lot later than he usually got out of bed. John jumped to his feet, changing his clothes quickly and running to brush his hair. But instead of his usual golden rats nest he discovered that he was still wearing the wig, and the brown hair was now sticking up in very odd places. John cursed under his breath, tearing the wig off and throwing it onto his bathroom counter, brushing out his hair with a wet comb and prettying himself up for the day. He rushed downstairs, making sure to grab the notebook to put in his backpack before he left his room. 

"John you need to get going, come on, you'll be late!" Mrs. Watson exclaimed, hanging onto the banister as if this were a matter of extreme urgency.
"I'll be fine mom, I'm on time." John assured, grabbing a bagel from a bag on the counter and pulling on his coat.
"Alright, got your lunch, did all your homework?" Mrs. Watson wondered, licking her hand and pressing down John's hair to the best of her abilities. John just slapped her hand away, holding the bagel in his teeth as he grabbed his backpack and soccer bag.
"Alright, bye." John said through a mouthful of carbohydrates.
"Be good John, be nice!" she called, and John just rolled his eyes, his car keys dangling from his hands as he walked out the door to his car. He pulled into the school just on time, joining the countless others who all drove into their migration into the doors, the bell ringing just as he arrived. Perfect timing. As soon as John showed up at his locker Greg seemed to materialize next to him, talking about his night and how Molly Hooper had commented on his Instagram picture. Of course it wasn't anything accept a smiley face to some lame text post he had posted, but still, Greg seemed to think it was simply true love. If only he knew anything about true love, if only he knew anything about this painful waiting.
"That's very nice Greg." John muttered, shoving his lunch box into his locker and pulling the notebook out, making sure Greg couldn't see anything as he ripped the new note out of it for Mary to deliver.
"What's that?" Greg wondered.
"English homework." John lied, scanning the hallways for Mary. She was a little bit late, but she was probably just unpacking, or she had also overslept.
"Oh, Mary texted me to tell you that she wasn't going to be here. You don't have your phone so she didn't know how else to say it." Greg said with a shrug. He didn't seem too bothered by this, but considering she had always been the messenger John didn't really know how to deliver the note. It was simply too risky to do it while all of these people were out and about, he wasn't as sneaky as Mary, he would most certainly get caught. So he'd have to wait for English class, he would ask to leave and then just slip it in there, surely there would be no harm done. So John tucked the note into his pocket and said goodbye to Greg, heading off to English class alone. It was lonely without Mary, yet slightly refreshing. He could just sit in his seat and know with confidence that Mary wasn't watching him from behind his back. He always had that strange sense that women could read minds, especially women who know you better than most. So knew Mary was watching the back of his head he always tried to keep his thoughts on school, just in case they wandered to other places she wouldn't exactly approve of. Like Sherlock. Towards the middle of the class John asked to go to the bathroom, and so he was able to slip out of the classroom unnoticed and track down locker 221. It wasn't too hard to find, and as promised the hallway was empty. It was only too easy to slide the nicely folded paper into Sherlock's locker, hearing it flutter down on top of his text books or whatever else he had in there. John sighed with satisfaction, walking over to the bathroom and washing his hands just for the heck of it before returning to class, deicing that since Mary wasn't present he could linger by Greg's locker and watch as Sherlock opened his letter. John just loved seeing Sherlock happy, he loved to see that smile on his face, he loved everything about Sherlock. He loved Sherlock.