Just Johnlock- The Big Book of One Shots

Through The Eyes Of The Unwanted

          

I've seen it all, I've been there for the lot of it, I've witnessed the mistakes he made, and the choices that proved to be his downfall. I've been his friend, throughout this entire time, and yet he still wanders so willingly away from my grasp. We haven't known each other long, or at least, he hasn't known me for long. And yet I am so aware of his presence, I have been for the longest time, ever since I lay eyes on his sculpted cheeks, ever since I had the honor of gazing upon his radiant features. He was one of the only beautiful things this world has ever offered me, one of the only creations of God who has ever been worth my time, worth my attention. He stood with radiance; he stood with incompetence, so knowledgeable about the world yet so hopeless when it comes to the feelings of himself and others. He never noticed my gaze, purely because I never allowed him to, and now there he goes, walking away from my hand and into the arms of the boy who would never have noticed him before. I can't say I helped him through, I actually can't claim any responsibly to the whole ordeal. When Sherlock came out I heard it was quite by accident, he had been asked to dinner by a very pretty girl and he had to mumble out his excuse. And I believed him, we all did, a boy so pure as Sherlock Holmes would never lie. So when he admitted his sexuality I was pleasantly surprised, never before have I been so lucky as I was the moment I found out the boy I had been lusting for shared my peculiar heart. I should have suspected it all to be too good to be true. It was through a simple class we had together when we first connected, over a piece of gum and joke about the teacher's outfit, and soon it became more than that. Soon it became conversations, and strolls in the park on weekends, daytime television and overpriced smoothies. And I loved him, yet he never knew. I would admire him, from afar and from up close, the way the curls blew gently across his forehead, disrupting the gaze from his multicolored eyes. We would laugh together, and I would be the first to quiet, just so that I could gaze upon his features as they were contorted in joy, the smile lines wrinkling his nearly perfect skin, and then he would pause, and ask me what was wrong, why I had quieted. I would lie, of course, and keep that smile on my face as his eyes softened into a soft gaze. At first I took his incompetence for mutual attraction, when I would 'accidently' brush my hand across his, or sit a little bit too close on the park bench, he would never move. And yet he never mentioned it, he never said a thing, and so I assumed that maybe, just maybe...he liked it. I had hoped that he found my presence satisfying; I had hoped that the brush of my skin sent shivers down his spine as it did for me. And yet I quickly discovered that it didn't. I quickly discovered, to my despair, that he would much rather brush hands with the boy who was sure to make my life miserable. Sherlock first mentioned his crush to me in the hallway, not so much mentioned it so much as made it increasingly obvious. His sexuality was now the talk of the town, and despite the rumors flying around about the two of us being a thing, they were only stories. They were wonderful stories mind you, the things I've heard about us that I have no recollection of were truly stuff of a storybook, however they were just that, stories. I knew in my heart that Sherlock had no love in his heart for me, it was too packed, you see, with the love for the boy. With ever fiber in my jealous body did I hate that boy, I hated him not for his obnoxious smile and shining hair, but for the look he got from Sherlock when he passed down the hallway, always slightly distant from the pack of kids he was walking with. I had always thought it was nothing, a simple crush that could be forgotten in the face of refusal. There had always been that probable pessimism, buried deep in myself that I tried to pass onto my love, and yet it seemed as though nothing would cure his persistent love for that insufferable human being. As my luck would have it, the obvious was ignored, and fate turned her eyes from me that moment in the hallway. It was something so simple that it should be counted as nothing, and I told myself for days that it did in fact, mean nothing. Until I simply couldn't ignore the truth any longer. He walked by, that scoundrel, and smiled at Sherlock, he smiled with a look in his eyes that permanently etched itself onto my brain. It was that flirtatious look boys wore when there were girls around, it was the look you see when drunken men catcall from across the street, it wasn't love so much as lust, hidden behind a gaze to make it look soft and gentle. It was the look Sherlock had been waiting for, the look I had been much too careful to avoid giving him and the look I would never receive from those beautiful eyes. And yet that accursed boy had flaunted it about the hall, giving Sherlock the false impression that his crush was the first boy to take a notice of his perfection. It was a week later when he wasn't at our usual meeting spot, it was a week later when I stood alone next to his locker and realized that there was only one other place he could be. I didn't walk down, nor did I look, because I didn't want to know. I didn't want to accept the fact that I had been abandoned. All the love, all the companionship I had offered that ignorant boy and he runs away from me at first glance, I simply couldn't believe it. He got more and more distant as they days went on, and yet he never gave me an explanation as to why. Maybe he thought he was keeping a secret, maybe he thought I didn't care, but there was no chance that the simple fact had slipped his mind. Over and over again I caught his gazing at nothing with a smile on his lips and a lost look in his eyes, and it was no guess as to who he was thinking about. Him. Soon we began to drift, until finally I had gone an entire week without so much as a conversation from him. They'd walk through the halls together, hand in hand, chatting and laughing like we used to, and yet there was no wall between them, no barrier of unknowingness. That boy told my love everything; he had admitted his own sexuality and embraced it not as a fault but as an opportunity. And Sherlock loved him for his honesty. Maybe that was all that boy had on me, honesty, confidence. He told Sherlock of his feelings because he knew that Sherlock would accept him, he knew that he would love him. Because who wouldn't? Who wouldn't melt when an attractive boy admitted their undying love for you? Sherlock was no exception; despite how special he was to me he seemed to be even more special to that boy. Who cradled him, and cared for him, and loved him. What did that leave me with then, what could I do? I watched, I listened, I waited for him to come crawling back with tears in his magnificent eyes. He would tell me that he had made a mistake, he would gasp for my forgiveness and curse the name of that boy who had stolen and shattered his heart. The rumors were wild, no one knew what to do about a gay couple in our school, especially one so high profiled and beautiful. They would praise them for coming out, they were worship them for being brave enough to admit their love for each other and be so public about it. Yes, it was admirable, but not as admirable as coming out all alone. It was much easier to declare your sexuality with someone by your side, supporting you, that way even if you lose everyone you've held most dear you still have a companion. You only pray that you had made the right choice, and that your companion of mutual gender would stay with you through it all. If they leave you, the crowds mutter about the shame, the mistake, the phase. A homosexual who sits alone is never considered valid, never considered brave. And so what should I do, but linger by the lockers, and wait until his hand was in mine to admit my feelings to him? To everyone? What was I supposed to do except watch as his heart wandered farther and farther away from mine, mine which is too afraid to go after it? I am stuck here, stuck in my own fear, and watch as my love slips through my fingers like water, the very thing I need for life and the only thing I could never grasp. He would never know, no one would ever know, that the feelings that are nestled in my heart were only aimed at the one boy I could never have. I had my chance, and I had lost it. Simply to a glare. Simply to a wandering heart. And now I felt more alone, and more unwanted, now that Sherlock's hand was in his.