I Know Your Face

It Wasn't Only Victor

John lay in his bed for another hour or so, he wasn't sleeping but he wasn't fully awake. He was submerged in his thoughts, daydreaming about Sherlock and what their future could possibly hold. He wanted to have a loving future with Sherlock even after the wig came off, marriage, adoption, they could retire together and sit on front porch swings, complaining about their aching backs. It would be wonderful. But his thoughts were interrupted, of course, by a knock at the door.
"Mom go away, I'm not hungry." John murmured, turning on his bed angrily. He had just been thinking about what they could name their daughter, he didn't have time for lunch.
"Sorry to disappoint." Said a very familiar, very hateful voice above him. John twisted his neck around to see Mary standing above, her arms crossed and her blonde hair pulled back into a messy braid. She looked angry, but John couldn't imagine why. Surely she didn't know how he spent his night, right?
"Mary, what are you doing here?" John wondered, pulling himself up to a sitting positon and looking back at his judgmental girlfriend.
"Where were you last night?" Mary wondered, her fingers tapping against her arms and her eyes flashing dangerously. John's face turned white in horror, so she did know?
"I was here, of course. I went home." John muttered, hoping that was the answer she was looking for.
"I mean right after the game, when you all were taking pictures and mingling. You vanished John, you disappeared, everyone thought you were dead!" Mary insisted loudly. John could breathe a little bit easier, but Sherlock was still caught up in this little mishap as well.
"I went off by myself; I wasn't really in a partying mood." John admitted with a shrug. It was true, of course, he hadn't wanted to mingle at all. What he chose to leave out was how he had chased after Sherlock, down the darkened sidewalk. Mary sighed heavily, but she shook her head. Obviously she wasn't in the mood for John's lies any more.
"No John, I don't want to hear that. You went after him, didn't you? Sherlock? You were guiltily because you had to leave him, and you chose him over the rest of your team. Over me." Mary snapped. Mary he would pick a solitary potato chip over you, chill out.
"Mary I just wanted to make sure he was okay, contrary to popular belief I do care about him, it's impossible not to." John insisted. Mary groaned loudly, throwing her hands up in annoyance and starting to pace around the bed.
"I am not going to be secondary to your imaginary boyfriend, John; I'm so done with this! Obviously you love him, there's no doubt in my mind. But why don't you just admit it? Why don't you just stop these lies?" Mary wondered in exasperation, glaring at John angrily.
"I'm not in love with him Mary, I'm not gay!" John insisted, knowing that the moment he admitted it was the moment suddenly everyone found out.
"But Victor is!" Mary exclaimed. John recoiled a little bit, because she knew exactly what she was talking about, about the inner workings of John's brain, the rationalization he had used to try to defend his heterosexuality, back when he was scared to change. But he knew now that it wasn't only Victor who was gay; it wasn't only Victor who was in love with Sherlock.
"He's in your head John; he's in your heart. And I'm done with it. I'm just done, with both of you." Mary decided, shooing John away carelessly and starting for the door.
"Don't hurt him anymore than you already have!" John insisted. Mary paused, but she didn't turn back around. John froze, waiting for her to lash out. But there was silence.
"You can't hurt him." John muttered, hoping that she would find some humanity deep in her satanic heart.
"I don't have to John. It'll be you that hurts him." Mary muttered, and with that she stormed out the door, leaving John sitting on his bed and preparing for the worst. If he had truly unleashed Mary's wrath, then neither he nor Sherlock was safe, not even Victor could hide. 

 John went to school onMonday with Victor Trevor hidden deep in his soccer bag, prepared to unleash the wig and glasses if school got a little bit overwhelming, if he needed a proper kiss. Lunch time became a potential oasis in the middle of a barren desert of annoying kids and useless knowledge. Just laying eyes on that boy improved his mood tenfold; Sherlock was like his drug that was legal in school hallways. He was just...magical.