Just A Game [Teenlock]

Chatper Fifteen: Tea Makes Everything Better

Just A Game [Teenlock]

Chapter Fifteen: Tea Makes Everything Better

*

Guarded brown eyes- God, it'd been an age since Sherlock had seen those beautiful brown orbs- darted around the room, taking in everything. Well, everything minus the blonde that lay on the bed; half naked, hints of a bulge fading in the front of his boxers and panting like he'd run a marathon three times over.

John had become the poster boy for awkwardness as Jim stood there in the doorway, looking as though he hadn't just walked in on his best friend/fuck buddy on top on a boy they'd known for less than a month.

It was humiliating. Sherlock and Jim were both completely ignoring him now, which was good for his pride- sort of. As the two boys engaged themselves in an odd staring match, John muttered about tea and left the room.

Jim waited until he had heard John's footsteps descend at least five steps before he spoke.

"Well. Here I am. A week later" He opened his arms a little, as if asking what now? What the hell happens now, Sherlock? You tell me.

"Nice of you to dress for our reunion" Jim's eyes gestured to Sherlock's state of dress.

And that really pissed Sherlock off. Not only because Jim knew that he was this way (fucking people, gaining points and notches to his bedpost just because he could) but Jim was just being so.. not Jim.

He'd fenced himself in, behind a wall of sarcasm and concealed emotions. He wasn't letting Sherlock see how much pain he'd caused. Not truly.

"Don't" He warned, tone low and almost dangerous "Don't hide behind a wall of sarcasm and wit, Jim. You wanted to talk. So don't be such a twat about all this and let's talk"

Jim said nothing. The silence dragged on for almost three minutes but it felt a hell of a lot longer than that.

With an almost silent exhale, Sherlock straightens and looks to Jim. He'd had enough of this damn silence between them to last a lifetime. The taller teen takes a few steps forward so he's closer to Jim. Granted, he's not as close as he would usually stand.

That little step of extra distance between them almost killed Sherlock, on the inside. Yet he knew he couldn't go closer, he couldn't risk Jim running from him.

Jim's eyebrow rose the second Sherlock had stepped closer.

"I've missed you.." Sherlock speaks honestly, his voice barely a whisper in the silent room.

Once again, Jim says nothing. He just stares at Sherlock, as if he were a stranger who'd come up to him in the street, gotten down on one knee with heart shaped chocolates and asked to marry him.

Sherlock's own eyes, now a clouded blue, raise from Jim's shoulder to meet his eyes again. They're not as guarded as when he entered the room, but they're also no where near how open they used to be around Sherlock.

"I'm sorry" Sherlock says, despite knowing that sorry just wouldn't cut it.

And God, if those deadpan eyes didn't just speed up the rate the guilt was consuming him.

When Jim does speak, it's not what Sherlock expected at all. He had excepted Jim to ask what happens to them now, or to tell Sherlock just how bloody much all this was hurting him. Maybe, Sherlock thought, he'd just act like it didn't happen and launch into a conversation about the game.