And Together We Fell (prev. "Teenlock") - An AU Sherlock/Johnlock Fanfic

Chapter 29

The seconds on his watch dripped by, a liquid hourglass with droplets that fell tens of times slower than normal.

The dappled sun left a pattern on the oak tree that John was currently leaning on, his eyes squinting against the constantly moving sun rays as his gaze followed the lines of text spread out on his laptop screen. New students' laughter and shouting reached him, and he shoved his earphones in. This work had to be done sooner or later, and as the latter had approximately a 4 day deadline he'd rather do it sooner. Anyway, his tutor would be pissed if he emailed it at midnight, showing signs of rushing.

God, university was both the second best and second worst thing to happen to him.

No prizes guessing which was first for both.

Taking biomedical science had been pretty tough to begin with, but in his final year all John wanted to do was finish this god-forsaken undergrad course and move the hell on.

10 more minutes, he granted himself, 10 more minutes until he could stop writing this essay on Clinical Immunology and get off the campus for a couple hours, to stretch his legs, maybe meet up with a couple of friends; about 50 seconds later however, his phone buzzed in the soft grass. Picking it up with worn fingers, he swiped it open and read the short text.

"Hey, want to meet at 2?"

He glanced up at the clock ticking silently by at the top of the screen. 1:43. A second of debating led him to chuck the last 17 minutes away, something he knew he was going to regret later; after shoving the laptop unceremoniously into his bag and not bothering to reply, he stood up and started walking, passing the groups of new undergraduates laughing and just glaring tiredly at them. Tired pretty much summed up his life now.

* * *

The car tires drove smoothly on the gravel road, the little niches and bumps rolling the car along, the stark black paint glinting the reflections of closed windows of houses that lined the streets. Even though the tinted windows of the car, he could see the tightly wound curtains that held no glimpse as to the quite lives inside, not one peek. This was a quiet, private neighbourhood.

Tension was evident in the car. White knuckles gripped the seat. Bile was rising in his throat, and whilst he was fighting to keep it down he knew that sometime, soon, he'd have to let all this bound tension out. Rolling to a stop, the conspicuous car silently edged the pavement, allowing him to open the door quietly without hitting stone. Thickly swallowing and walking solemnly, he looked to the East, where the city centre teeming with business and noise and life was only a mere couple of miles away. Such a contrast.

He quickly strode to the door, the door number he knew was imprinted in his mind like ink on crisp paper, striding fast with the hopes that maybe the strides could press down the rising, risky thoughts.

He was standing in front of it a minute or two later. He knew the black car followed him, like ordered, and for once he hoped it wouldn't. Not this time. This was private.

Raising his hand, Mycroft knocked on the door.

* * *

Public buses were hell. Absolute murder. The people were unbearable, and the driver wouldn't care. At all. During the first year of uni, he'd finally understood why Sherlock hated them so much.

Hates.

Whatever.

Surprisingly, the 20 minute trip went fast. Normally, there would be students running off and on the bus, laughing or crying or God knows what; today, the journey was short-lived, and John got off the bus with a nice sense of calm. After all, today was going well. He had time off, and he was determined to spend it socialising for once, instead of moping in his room, replaying every second of the event of three years ago that was seared into every neuron and synapse and every single corner of his brain as if it was done so on purpose so he could never forget-