Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Twenty - Pills At Dinnertime

John

He never meant to say it. He regretted saying it.

Not because it wasn't true. It was definitely, obviously, irrevocably true. That was the only way to explain how John felt.

But he regretted it. He regretted saying it over the phone. He regretted saying it so early, especially after finding out what Sherlock felt about Romeo and Juliet.

How did one fuck up so badly? It was obvious Sherlock didn't feel the same, too. Obvious. Entirely.

When Rory came back, he payed John fifty, and then reassured him that he could come to visit, any time. Amy hugged him viciously, and told him to call her if he needed help, and he had kissed Melody on her soft, pale head.

"She's beautiful," John said. "Best of luck."

"Yeah. Thanks. I'll see you. I love you," Amy said, and John smiled at her, even though she was saying it to Rory. Amy waved at them before John hopped in the car with Rory, and drove off.

The entire car ride was comfortably silent.

John felt guilty about stealing five toothbrushes and a bar of Dove's. He'd stuck them into his pants when the family wasn't looking; he was pretty sure Amy saw, though. At the time, he didn't care.

When his dad dropped John off, Harry ran out to see him. She was wearing high heels and a mini-skirt. Rory's eyes seemed to bug. "Take that off," he'd said.

She replied, "The clothes, or the make-up?"

"All of it! What the hell does Emma think she's doing?" Rory had yelled.

"Her best," John whispered calmly. Rory had gotten back into the car after fixing John with a tight-lipped stare, and reached into his stuffed wallet.

"Buy a sweater," he said to Harry. "And take off all that makeup. You look perfect the way you are, lovely." He kissed her head as he handed her a hundred. His eyes were pleading. "Give Pickard my wishes."

"I will."

"And Emma."

"I will," Harry laughed. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you."

For the first time ever, John contemplated shoving Harry into the car with Rory and forcing them both to drive away, but Rory ended up driving home by himself.

After two hours, Harry still hadn't stopped talking about him, and finally, Pickard got fed up. "We're going to a movie," he said, staring directly at John. "All of us."

He jammed them all into the back of the truck, in which Harry and John huddled against each other. The wind whipped across their faces.

"Do you still hate him?" John asked.

Harry looked at him, and frowned. "I dunno."

"You don't?"

Harry nodded, and looked away.

On the way out of the neighborhood, John passed Sherlock's massive house. He almost swore he could see a figure, sitting in the dead grass, scarf wrapped round his neck, black curls against his forehead. Watching.

On the way home from the movie (Avatar), it began to snow.

Pickard drived slow, it seemed, on purpose. As if to enact revenge upon John for babysitting.

When they drove by Sherlock's house again, in the dark, no one was out - but he couldn't help but wonder which window was his.

He'd never lied to his mum. Never about anything important, anyway, but when Pickard was washing up for dinner and his mum was cooking, John said he might go study at a friend's tomorrow.