I Know Your Face

The Undelivered Truth

"Are you alright?" John wondered softly, wanting to be sure that Sherlock wasn't going to start crying.
"Yes, yes of course. Thank you." Sherlock muttered.
"Was that your first kiss?" John wondered, letting his fingers trail down the side of Sherlock's face gently, as a sort of parting if you will.
"Yes, well...yes." Sherlock agreed. "A very good one at that."
"Mine as well." John lied. It was his first proper kiss, certainly, but not his first overall.
"It didn't seem like it." Sherlock admitted breathlessly.
"Well that's a good thing then isn't it?" John wondered. Sherlock just laughed, a loud, unexpected laugh of relief that could only sprout a smile on John's face as well.
"Yes Victor, yes. A very good thing." Sherlock agreed.
"I had better get going; I'll get killed if I show up late again." John decided, sliding off of the stage and into the darkness. He extended a hand for Sherlock, who took it thankfully yet landed very catlike on his feet. Obviously he was just looking for another opportunity to hold John's hand.
"I guess I'll see you around then." John decided, pressing another kiss to Sherlock's lips very quickly, making the boy blush some more.
"Our next date, when...when should that be?" Sherlock wondered, clearing his throat a little bt as if he had forgotten how to speak.
"Whenever you want it to be. You plan the date, plan everything, I'll pay of course. Write to me, my love." John insisted, walking towards the door and letting Sherlock's soft hand fall out of his own. Sherlock nodded, seemingly paralyzed, as if he didn't dare move from that one spot.
"I will, bye, Victor..." Sherlock muttered, staring down at the floor in uncertainty, a rather delighted smile stretching across his face. John took one last look at the real Sherlock before ducking out of the auditorium, running as quickly as he could through the hallways to the locker room. There were people swarming everywhere, but thankfully they didn't notice a previously unseen boy dashing through their midst. When he arrived at the locker room he kicked off those pathetic loafers, sending them flying into the lockers as he ripped off the wig and bobby pins. He patted down his hair the best he could, ripping off the sweatshirt and replacing it with the one John had been wearing previously. His heart was beating out of control, he didn't know if it was because he had just been running or if he had just kissed Sherlock, probably a bit of both. Oh but this was wonderful, he was practically glowing with love, to finally have felt those soft lips against his own, this whole thing was worth it. John decided that he was finally john once more, no glasses, no wig, no stupid loafers. He transferred his lunch back into his lunch box and stuffed Victor's disguise into the plastic bag, hiding that in the dark depths of his soccer bag. And after deciding he was ready to hide under his metaphorical disguise rather than his literal one, John dashed back into the hallways, making a run for the math classroom through the empty hallways before he was marked late. When he arrived the door was open, but thankfully everyone was still talking amongst themselves, looking very calm, normal, peaceful, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened during their lunch breaks. But John, well, everything had happened during his, the most important thing the world could ever know happened, he had....John just smiled, shaking his head and falling into his seat, letting his backpack drop beside him. John had kissed Sherlock Holmes. He actually did, it wasn't a dream, it wasn't anything, it was real! He felt Sherlock's lips, his skin, his fingers, his curls, he held his body close and his soul closer, and together their love for each other leaked through their pours until finally they discovered what if felt like to be properly in love. Sherlock bloody Holmes, the most beautiful boy on the face of the earth. And he was John's. Well, Victor's, more accurately. But John noticed very quickly that Sherlock's desk was empty, that dispute the time John had wasted in the locker rooms Sherlock still wasn't present. What was he doing? Did he get caught by a janitor for being in the auditorium, had he passed out from shock? Or was he running through the hallways, throwing flower petals everywhere and declaring that he was in love? Probably not the last one, but the first two worried John enough for him to crane his neck to try to peer into the hallway.
"Sherlock Holmes, where is Sherlock Holmes? Anyone seen him?" Mr. Anderson asked, standing in front of the class with the attendance sheet.
"Ya, he's here today." John agreed. Mr. Anderson gave John a rather accusing look, as if he had been asking everyone in the class except him. God, where was that moron? How could John love him from a distance if he wasn't even here? As if on cue, the moment Anderson uncapped his pen the door flew open and Sherlock came running into the room. His backpack was swinging from one shoulder and he looked like a wreck, his front most curls dripping with water as if he had splashed water onto his face. Obviously he didn't want to walk the halls looking as if he had lost a battle with a red hot iron, but the way he had been blushing John doubted water did the trick. Sherlock smiled apologetically, sinking into his chair beside John and breathing very heavily.
"Where have you been?" John wondered. Sherlock gave him a rather peculiar look, and suddenly John really doubted putting that doubt in Sherlock's mind. Now Sherlock suspected him, Victor had insisted that John had a crush on him, that had been so stupid because it was true. Now that Sherlock had that little idea everything John did that was definitely all about getting closer to Sherlock would look even more obvious. Oh good lord, why did he have to say such stupid things? But nevertheless John's eyes flicked down to Sherlock's lips, he couldn't help it, alright? They were just so beautiful, and now that he knew exactly what it felt like to kiss them, well, he couldn't help but feel a little bit spoiled.
"I was just tutoring, it gets stressful." Sherlock admitted, once again going along with that excellent cover of his. No wonder John never suspected him of any foul play before.
"Is that why your hair is all wet?" John wondered. "And your shirt undone?" Sherlock looked down in horror, and, as promised, the top button of his shirt was unbuttoned. Now, John knew exactly why that was unbuttoned and who had unbuttoned it, but still it was rather funny to see Sherlock stammer out a proper excuse.
"I needed some air." Sherlock said quickly, and John could only laugh. But he knew that Sherlock was oblivious to the fact that it had been him who he shared that wonderful kiss with, and so he stayed quiet. There were a million things that John would love to say to Sherlock, that he needed to say, but as he didn't have that wig on he needed to be silent. Sherlock could never know that John Watson was the boy behind the glasses. Sherlock buttoned up his shirt as quickly as he could, running his fingers through his curls quickly.
"Have a rough lunch?" John wondered, and Sherlock just shook his head, looking like a deer in the headlights.
"No, course not." He muttered. John nodded, leaning back in his chair and looking away for a moment, just long enough for Sherlock to start to relax. He wanted to see him smile; he wanted to see his eyes gloss over as he daydreamed about the boy he loved. Mr. Anderson started teaching, and John felt as though he were rolling down a hill. He really didn't know what was happening, everything was going so fast yet it seemed as though he were just being pushed around, being thrown around carelessly, the world a blur. The only clear thing he could see was Sherlock, who was sitting in his desk with his head bent very low, a smile evident even in the darkness the shadows he provided. He looked thrilled, beyond thrilled, excited enough to not be listening to the teacher. That day neither John nor Sherlock took notes, they just sat there, staring at their papers and smiling about what had just happened. They were both so in love, but Sherlock would never realize why John smiled that day. John was willing to bet that Sherlock wouldn't know for quite a while, and when he did finally figure out, he would never understand. This was complicated; this was all very precise, very delicate. Sometimes John didn't even know the motive behind this whole prank, sometimes he wondered whether it was even a prank anymore, or if it were nothing but an excuse to be close to this boy. And if John didn't understand, how could Sherlock?