Amortentia

Part 35

When morning came, John opened his eyes to sunlight reflected off of the fresh snow bouncing into his window. It was so bright he had to blink a little bit to adjust, but then he crawled out into the cold air. He shivered, pulling his robe on and cursing winter air, adding some socks to the mix of clothes. The ground outside was covered in snow, a winter wonderland. The trees struggled under the weight of all of the snow, the mailbox was almost buried, and there were small footprints from were Coco managed to walk onto of the snow. John walked downstairs to find it much warmer; someone had turned on the heat, which was like a blessing from the gods. Once again, John was the last one, except for Harry, who was probably still asleep. They were having their special Christmas breakfast, eggs, bacon, and French toast, something they didn’t have much of other than on Christmas morning.
“Merry Christmas John!” Mrs. Watson said as she served Sherlock some eggs. A Santa hat covered her greying blonde hair, and Sherlock was wearing reindeer antlers, even though he didn’t look too happy about it. He was politely pecking at the food, but he wouldn’t eat half of it.
“Merry Christmas.” John replied. He sat next to Sherlock, who smiled at him, with every move of his head the bells on the antlers jingled, making John one step closer to chucking them to a parallel universe. He felt someone put another hat on his head, no doubts who, and even though he despised it, he smiled and thanked her. The breakfast was amazing, which was actually a bit of a surprise, because usually Mrs. Watson burned the eggs and undercooked the French toast.
“Hurry up dears, Grandma will be here any second.” Mrs. Watson warned.
“Is that your mom or Mr. Watson’s mom?” Sherlock asked.
“Mine.” Mr. Watson said, raising his fork halfheartedly. He didn’t seem too anxious to admit his heritage. John finished his breakfast and excused himself to go get ready. He passed Harry on the way up, her hair a sleepy mess, which he laughed at. After getting a painful punch in the arm he made his way up to his room to pick his clothes out and maybe sneak a quick shower in. He’d never admit it, but if she wanted to, Harry could beat the crap out of him, which was a bit embarrassing considering he was a football player. He showered as quickly as he could, changed into his clothes, and dried his hair the best he could with a towel, which still left a little bit of water drops in, but he doubt anyone would notice nor care. When he came out of the bathroom, he felt refreshed and warm, ready for some fake niceness and hearing a lot about God. His grandma was a strict religious saint person, which kind of scared him, but she was completely against everything from gay relationships to littering, which were two things John did, so he had to do his best to hide those facts. When he was sliding on his shoes, there was a small knock on the door, which could only be one person.
“Come in.” he said. The door opened and Sherlock walked in, the antlers missing from his head, to John’s relief.
“Hey Sherlock.” He said, tying up the last shoelace.
“Merry Christmas John.” He said with a smile.
“Merry Christmas.” He replied. Sherlock was stepping closer, as he had done in the potions room, with every word, as if he wanted to be discrete. John sat on the bed, wondering whether or not this was a very good idea now, but it had been so long since he had Sherlock’s lips on his.
“So, I missed you yesterday, it was Christmas Eve and you left early.” Sherlock said with a bit of a pout.
“I was tired, singing Christmas songs takes a lot of energy, not that you’d know, the angels do all your singing don’t they?” John asked.
“I didn’t know you sang for me.” Sherlock said with a small smile. John stood up from the bed, Sherlock was so close, he could smell the musty potions room Amortentia on him.
“That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.” John decided, but before he could say anything else, Sherlock steered him against the wall and kissed him wondrously, holding John’s sides while John wrapped his arms around his neck. The kiss was deep, something John had sincerely missed, something his heart had ached for, for a long time. It was like an addiction, it gave him the same feeling, high on love, all his problems melting away. Before he knew it, his hands were inching Sherlock’s coat off of his shoulders, with no intentions of going anywhere, but just for the fun of it. He didn’t notice anything around them, which was a shame, because the only thing that stopped them was the loudest, most horrified scream John had ever heard, and when he turned around, he saw his grandma and his mother, both white faced, but his grandma looked like she might have a heart attack, staring at the two like hell had risen. It took less than a millisecond for Sherlock to scramble away, panic stricken, his face radiating embarrassment. John wanted to hide, to disapparate away from the world, but unfortunately he wasn’t able to, he just stood there, he couldn’t move, he didn’t know what to do. The screams of his grandma brought Mr. Watson and Harry into the doorway, and it didn’t take long to figure out what had happened since Sherlock’s coat was still dangling from his arms. Harry looked shocked, absolutely shocked, but amused, as if she finally found something to ruin John’s life with. No one said anything, Sherlock stood almost in the corner, as if he was trying not to be seen, which John would’ve paid millions for. Grandma Watson started to breath loudly, as if she was having a panic attack, her mouth formed words, but John didn’t hear anything.
“John, a word?” Mrs. Watson asked politely, but her voice was tight, as if she was trying her best to keep calm, to not break down.
“John, you’re gay?!” Harry asked with amazement. That was it, Grandma Watson left the doorway, whipping out her rosary from her pocket and saying prayers faster than John could understand, as if she somehow did something to offend God. John managed to walk to the door, his legs like lead and feeling like he was going to throw up. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, he was supposed to tell them tonight, calmly, not to be caught in the act, and by his Grandma. He walked past his dad and sister, who were both looking at him without words. Sherlock followed not long after, going into his room and closing the door, a lock clicked not shortly after. John envied him, he wished he could just escape like that, but his mom led them to the office, and he heard his dad tell Harry to go comfort their Grandma.
“Sit down John.” Mrs. Watson said, but it was a demand. John sat in the wheelie chair, when he was little it had been like an amusement ride, but right now the whole room seemed to be attacking him. A Santa hat still sat in her hair, but all her Christmas spirit seemed to be gone. Mr. Watson walked in and shut the door behind him with a snap. John couldn’t look either of them in the eye, he was scared to death, he didn’t know if Sherlock would have to be sent home, or they had to split up, or if they would notify the school.
“John, when were you going to tell us?” his mom asked in a stern voice. John hesitated, if he got one word wrong on this, things could get even worse.
“Tonight, I swear, Sherlock and I decided that would be the best time, so we didn’t ruin anyone’s Christmas.” John said quietly, the first words coming out like a croak. He didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to be anywhere near humans at the moment.
“How long have you been together?” Mr. Watson asked.
“I don’t know, I forgot everything with the memory charm, but last weekend we got back together.” John said even quieter. Discussing his relationship with his family wasn’t something he was very happy about. 
“John, there’s nothing wrong, we don’t blame you, we’re not mad, but you should’ve been more careful, you knew Grandma was coming.” Mrs. Watson said, lifting an enormous weight off of John’s shoulders.
“So,” he paused, “It’s okay?” he hoped he didn’t sound desperate.
“Of course it is son, it’s a changing society.” Mr. Watson assured. John smiled, something he never would’ve thought possible a couple of seconds ago, but he was allowed to stay with Sherlock, even under these horrible conditions.
“Thank you, thank you so much.” John said quickly as he got out of the chair.
“You’re not off the hook though, you need to go down there with Sherlock and apologize to your grandma, poor thing was scared out of her mind.” Mrs. Watson said firmly. John couldn’t complain, he was let off easy, never did he expect to get off with just an apology. He nodded, walking past his parents, still without making eye contact, but was so relived he wanted to cry. When his parents went downstairs, he knocked softly on Sherlock’s door. The door cracked open, and John saw Sherlock’s green eye peeping through the tiny gap of light. When he saw who it was, he opened the door wider, letting John in. He was obviously hiding from people, and from himself, he looked like he would break any moment and start to cry. He had a ton of emotions barricaded behind a huge dam, and soon it would break.
“I’m sorry John, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to ruin things already.” Sherlock said.
“You didn’t ruin anything; they said it was okay, we just have to apologize for the bad timing to my Grandma, calmly okay?” John asked. Sherlock nodded, and smiled weakly.
“You sound like a mom.” He observed.
“Well that’s hurtful.” John laughed, opening the door for him and walking out of the room. He followed Sherlock down the stairs into the living room, where Christmas music was still playing. Mrs. Watson and Grandma Watson sat on the couch, still saying the rosary with fear in her eyes. Mrs. Watson was talking to her softly, trying to get her to calm down. Harry sat in an armchair, looking at John as if to say, you’re in big trouble this time. When Grandma Watson saw them, she looked panicked, as if they were about to start making out right in front of her. John decided to stay behind the coffee table, just in case she lashed out with knitting needles or something old ladies could use as a weapon.
“Grandma, I want to apologize, I know it was very bad timing, I wasn’t intending on scaring you.” John said the best thing he could come up with in the matter of seconds.
“I think you were intending on a lot more.” Harry muttered, making Mrs. Watson glare at her so intensely that it even scared John.
“And I would like to apologize to the entire Watson family, it was my fault, and I shouldn’t have kept secrets like that, I take full responsibility.” Sherlock said, making John want to kiss him again. Taking that much blame, especially when he obviously couldn’t handle it, he looked so proper and polite, nothing like he had been before. But Joh knew he was just playing the part of the mature man he had to be, to make them except him.
“Is there anything else that you‘d like to tell us, to clear the air?” Mrs. Watson asked. The tone in her voice was easy, like she wasn’t expecting anything major. John almost wanted to say they were getting married, just to see the look on her face. Sherlock took a deep breath.
“I’m not in seventh year, I’m an assistant professor.” He said as he exhaled. The color drained from Mrs. Watson’s face for the second time in the last five minutes. John held his breath, hoping for a calm, expectant answer.
“We will talk to both of you tonight, but for now we can enjoy Christmas.” Mr. Watson said quickly, before his wife could reply. Harry looked like she couldn’t wait for John to get beaten down, but he nodded and sat in the available armchair. Since there was no space left on the couch, and Sherlock definitely wasn’t going to squish in with the people that are probably debating their decisions to keep him in the house, he sat on the floor next to John’s armchair. John insisted several times that he should sit on the floor and Sherlock, the guest, should take the chair, but he refused every time. The entire visit was a disaster; Grandma Watson answered everything with a short, one to two word replies, and didn’t make any attempts to make conversation. She refused all snacks they offered her, and never put her rosary away. John could tell Sherlock was dying inside, knowing he’d caused this small family tragedy, and John couldn’t do anything about it. When Mrs. Watson was able to leave to cook lunch, the room was dead, awkwardly silent. Mr. Watson seemed to be thinking of things to say, but just couldn’t find them, and of course Harry wasn’t much help. John and Sherlock were too nervous to talk, as if anything they say would be a direct insult to Grandma or God. The only thing she wasn’t aware of was that John and Sherlock both weren’t normal kids, they were wizards, and the ‘boarding’ school they went to wasn’t a boarding school at all. John could almost guarantee she’d see it as witch craft, try to burn them both at the stake. John would nervously glance down at Sherlock, to make sure he was okay. He was still being polite, looking normal, but his eyes reviled his inner pain, his suffering, embarrassment. John wanted to hold him in his arms, tell him everything would be okay, that no one was going to hurt him, but the most he could do was look at him. His face was paler than usual; his eyes still red with the tear that had fallen before. He looked broken. When lunch was ready, they all walked to the dining room. Mr. Watson made sure to take the chair next to John before Sherlock did, as if they would hold hands or something visibly. Sherlock sat next to Mrs. Watson, Grandma Watson sat at the far end of the table, farthest away from the two of them, and Harry sat at the head of the table, between John and Sherlock. She kept looking to John and then to Sherlock, as if trying to comprehend what happened with them.
“Lunch is served!” Mrs. Watson said happily, as if that would vanquish the dark mood that was radiating from Grandma Watson. She wouldn’t look at John or Sherlock, she still looked scarred. The lunch was ham, potatoes, corn, and pear salad, but not much was eaten. The only one that ate more than a plate was Harry, who could eat much more than John ever could. When Mrs. Watson decided no one would want desert, they went back into the living room and sorted out presents. Everyone got one, and when John opened his, he found it was a pair of socks. Still, he smiled and thanked her, but only got a nod in return. He felt so bad, Christmas was supposed to be about family memories, and even though this was a memory, it certainly wasn’t a good one. He couldn’t imagine what Sherlock was feeling at the moment, he hid his emotions fairly well from the common folk, but John could know better if he looked at him long enough. But of course he couldn’t do that, he had to ignore Sherlock all together just so his Grandma wouldn’t get up and leave. Suddenly the snow outside didn’t look so inviting.
“Picture time!” Mrs. Watson said, but even her enthusiasm was wavering. Sherlock took a picture of the whole Watson family in front of the tree, with John farthest from Grandma, who was in the middle of the pack. She didn’t even smile. After that, she left earlier than planned, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and closing the door loudly behind her. They watched her small blue car wrestle its way through the snow, as if not even four feet could keep her from leaving. Immediately, all the smiles in the house disappeared, replaced by scowls.
“Well that was the worst Christmas I’ve ever had!” Mrs. Watson said loudly. John’s stomach twisted in his stomach.
“Everyone help clean up, then John and Sherlock go to the office, we need to talk.” Mr. Watson demanded. After a lot of drying and putting away dishes, which, for once, seemed better than the alternative, John and Sherlock were lead upstairs by two angry adults, which scared John more than Grandma. They said they weren’t mad about it, what had changed their minds?
“Sit.” Mrs. Watson said sternly. They did as they were told, sitting in wheelie chairs. Mr. Watson shut the door behind them. Even though they were a couple of feet apart, John could hear Sherlock’s chair shaking a little bit, as if he was ready to burst from emotions.
“Now, we are perfectly fine with the whole relationship thing, but I have to say I am not fine about you being a professor.” Mrs. Watson said.
“Assistant.” Sherlock said so softly that John struggled to hear him.
“In our country, that is very illegal.” Mr. Watson pointed out.
“Dad, he’s eighteen, he just graduated last year!” John pointed out.
“But how do we know that he’s not changing your grades, what class is it for?”
“Potions.” Sherlock said a little bit louder, but his voice cracked so he looked back down at the floor.
“John, that’s your worst class, and what’s your grade in it?”
“An A.” John said quietly.
“That’s not suspicious at all.” Mrs. Watson decided.
“But it’s only an A because I came in for extra potions, that’s how we met, he helped me make a potion, and after a while I got better and that’s how I’m doing good, I don’t have to cheat to get better at a class!” John defended.
“Does Professor Dumbledore know about this relationship?” Mr. Watson asked.
“We don’t know, McGonagall does, but we don’t think she told anyone, she seemed pretty okay with it, and I don’t see why you two aren’t!” John defended.
“It’s just wrong!”
“You married dad didn’t you, did people tell you that was wrong?” John asked, seeing now that he was responsible for defending them in this situation, Sherlock couldn’t get more than one word out.
“Well,” Mrs. Watson glanced at her husband for a second, “Yes.” She muttered. Mr. Watson looked surprised, looking at his wife as if wondering who was against him.
“But here you are years later, and nothing changed, because you loved him enough that it didn’t matter what anyone else thinks, and you knew he was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, no matter if the entire human race was trying to pry you apart.” John said, feeling like some kind of motivational speaker or something, but he was speaking from his heart, and every word was true. He was using the method Sherlock used with McGonagall, which turned even her to tears. Sherlock looked up at John, who looked back at him. His green eyes were leaking tears again, his dam keeping his emotions back was starting to crack. John looked at his parents expectantly, and Mrs. Watson looked moved, but Mr. Watson didn’t look convinced.
“So you’re not cheating with any of John’s grades?” Mrs. Watson asked.
“Of course not.” Sherlock said a little bit more confidently. Mrs. Watson sighed, as if regretting her decision already.
“Fine, you two are okay with us, but don’t cheat, and if we find out anything happened to get you two in trouble, we’ll make sure Dumbledore gets involved.” She decided. John didn’t dare smile this time, he wasn’t even sure if he had anything to smile about, they just got approved, but at what cost?
“Sherlock, welcome to the family.” Mr. Watson agreed. Sherlock smiled weakly, but John doubted even his parents fell for that one, they nodded, opened the door, and left, detecting Sherlock to break soon. As John predicted, the moment the door shut, Sherlock slumped over on his chair, holding his face in his hands.
“John, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, sinking lower into his chair.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” John assured, wondering what he was supposed to do.
“Yes, of course I do, I ruined everything, and now your own Grandma won’t talk to you!” Sherlock pointed out.
“She’ll get over it.”
“No she won’t.” Sherlock said. A sob escaped him, the worst, most heart breaking sound John could ever think of hearing, like angels crying.
“Sherlock, does it look like I care?” John asked.
“Well maybe you don’t, but it will affect your whole family, I ruined you family, I should never have come.” Sherlock said, burying his head deeper into his arms so he was wrapped in a tight little ball. John stood up, standing in front of Sherlock’s chair and spreading his arms out for a hug. Sherlock looked up in doubt, but got to his feet and wrapped his arms around John, his tears splashing on John’s shoulder. Sherlock’s entire body was shaking, his head but at least his tears weren’t falling as hard, he still had John there to accept him.
“I love you Sherlock.” John assured. Sherlock breathed more evenly.
“I love you too John.” He muttered.
“Please, for both our sakes, believe me when I say you only improved my Christmas by a thousand, I love you with a burning passion, and nothing in this world could bring me to believe that you bring any negative feelings.” John assured.
“I love you John.” Sherlock repeated. His tears had stopped, at least for now, but he didn’t let John go, as if his warmth was the only thing keeping Sherlock alive and well. John, of course, wasn’t complaining.
“It’ll be okay Sherlock; you don’t have to go back down there if you don’t want to.” John assured.
“I don’t.” Sherlock agreed. John nodded, he’d have to stay with Sherlock of course, make sure he was okay. When Sherlock finally removed his head from John’s shoulder, his eyes were red and puffy; he looked horrible, but beautiful at the same time. John leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his lips, just for good measure, which benefited them both. He was wrestling with himself not to kiss Sherlock again, but that was the very thing that had gotten them in this mess in the first place. Sherlock freed himself from John’s arms and went to the door, opening it and walking through the empty hallway. The door to his room closed, signifying that he didn’t want any more company. After a little bit soft violin music was playing from the room, which must calm him down or something. John walked through the hallway, but instead of secluding himself in his room, he went downstairs to the living room. Mrs. Watson was still cleaning up, Harry was on her phone, and Mr. Watson was watching football on TV. They both looked up at John, who just considered the possible tear marks on his shoulder, but sat down in an armchair and watched the game. No one spoke, which was good. John could still hear the violin from Sherlock’s room, which made him happy; it reminded him that Sherlock was right upstairs if he needed him. John hoped everyone would just forget the whole thing, but of course that was as crazy as anything John had ever thought. All of Harry’s friends probably knew already, which would be the death of him, but John really didn’t care, he never saw them much anyway. John sighed, trying to watch the game and forget everything, to forget the horrible day he’d have on the supposed to be happiest day of everyone’s lives. He wondered if Sherlock would go back to Hogwarts early.
“Is Sherlock okay dear?” Mrs. Watson asked from the kitchen doorway, drying a cup with a plaid towel.
“What? Oh, ya, he’s just, he’s fine.” John said quickly.
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“He’s fine, how would you feel if you were in his place?” John asked. Mrs. Watson decided not to push any farther with the topic, feeling John’s anger rising. She retreated back into the kitchen to continue whatever she had been doing. John wished he had quidditch to play, to escape from this reality, but unfortunately he could only ride his broom in open fields after dark, when no muggles would see anything. John sighed; he could tell this was going to be a hellish Christmas break. They didn’t have dinner that night, instead Mrs. Watson had some bread and cheese out in case anyone was still hungry, but John didn’t feel like eating. The sun had set long ago, but Sherlock was still upstairs, even though the music had stopped long ago.
“Why don’t we play a game?” Mrs. Watson suggested. John looked up from the TV, even though he wasn’t paying attention. Harry groaned immediately, she was sitting next to the wall because her phone died and needed to be plugged in, and heaven knows she couldn’t last a minute without hearing the latest gossip.
“That sounds great honey, a nice way to end Christmas, John, go get Sherlock.” Mr. Watson agreed. John got up from the couch, this was a good excuse to go check on Sherlock, he’d been awfully quiet. John climbed the dark stair case, too lazy to turn on a light, but he knew the place well enough. The door was closed, as John had predicted, but there was no noise coming from it. Asleep, probably. John knocked twice, but there was no answer. After a few impatient moments, he opened the door slightly and poked his head in, slightly worried. The lights were off, but the moonlight shone through the window, illuminating a figure sitting on the bed. Sherlock was eerily still, his back against the wall and his feet dangling off of the bed.
“Sherlock, mom wants to play a game.” John said quietly. Sherlock didn’t respond. “Sherlock, are you awake?” he added, a little more loudly. After a moment of silence, Sherlock’s head slowly turned to face John. Even from the doorway John could tell his eyes were abnormally red, not from crying, from other things.
“Who is it?” he asked in a monotone voice that made John’s skin crawl. John had only seen him like this once, right after he had tried to kiss him, when he was on drugs. Why did he have to get high now, when he needed to make a good impression, after everything that happened, what was John supposed to do?
“It’s John.” John said simply. He wondered if Sherlock would attack him again, or cuddle him like last time. Sherlock rolled his head around once and made a little ‘whoosh’ sound, like a child playing with an airplane.
“John… I like John.” He mumbled. “John is good to me, John protects me from bad peoples, and bad snakes.” He said. John looked downstairs, wondering whether or not to take Sherlock down. If he stayed up here, what was he supposed to tell his parents? He was sick? It was the truth, but then Mrs. Watson would be worried, and she’d be looking for sickness, even drugs maybe. John wanted to punch Sherlock for being so stupid, but that wasn’t Sherlock, that was high Sherlock.
“Do you want to go downstairs and play a game?” John asked, surprised to find his voice high pitched, like he was talking to a kid or a puppy. Sherlock looked at him again, not saying anything, his mouth in some sort of open smile.
“The game is on.” He said, kicking his feet against the bed excitedly. He got to his feet shakily, wobbling around a bit and using his hands to balance himself. He looked like a gymnast on the balance beam, walking one foot in front of the other.
“Come on downstairs I guess.” John said. He had no idea; he felt like such an idiot, Sherlock was going to something really stupid.
“Are you two coming?” Mr. Watson called from upstairs.
“Ya, coming.” John answered.
“Cooominggg!” Sherlock sang happily, making a popping sound with his lips. John groaned, he was going to sincerely regret this.  John led the way, walking slowly. Sherlock grabbed hold of his shoulders, like a conga line, walking slower than John was so he had to wait up for him. John swatted Sherlock’s hands away and walked down all the way by himself, so it didn’t look immediately like something was wrong. Sherlock jumped off the last step like he was doing the bunny hop and walked over, wobbling. The family sat on the floor around Monopoly, watching Sherlock’s grand entrance. John sat on the floor beside them, cursing Sherlock in his head. Sherlock looked down at them with confusion, like he didn’t know who they were or why he was there.
“John is pretty.” He said finally after a moment of silence. John wanted to bang his head on the floor until he knocked himself out, blushing furiously.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Watson asked. Sherlock smiled crookedly, walking around the board to sit next to John, so close that their shoulders were pressed against each other.
“He’s tired, that’s all.” John said quickly. Sherlock made another popping sound with his lips and hung his head over John’s shoulder, brushing his forehead against John’s cheek like a cat. Mr. and Mrs. Watson were looking at him with absolute confusion; Harry’s mouth was hanging open slightly. John pushed Sherlock’s head off him gently; smiling like it was a joke or something.
“So, Monopoly…” John muttered halfheartedly.
“Are you sure he doesn’t just want to go to bed?” Mr. Watson asked.
“You know what, that sounds perfect, Sherlock how about you go lie down?” John asked. Sherlock looked at him with confusion.
“No.” he decided. He ran his hand through John’s hair, sending a shiver down John’s spine, this was such a mistake.
“I’ll be the boot.” John decided. Mrs. Watson nodded, and set up the pieces on the board without taking her eyes off Sherlock.
“John, you have pretty hair.” Sherlock mumbled, making John blush furiously.
“Thank you.” He said quietly.
“Sherlock, what piece do you want to be?” Mr. Watson asked, his voice filled with concern.
“John, you’re so handsome, I’m so happy you’re mine.” Sherlock mumbled. Harry’s mouth now hung full open in surprise.
“Sherlock, I really think you should go upstairs.” John pleaded.
“John I love you so much.” Sherlock mumbled.
“What is wrong with him?!” Harry asked.
“He’s tired.” John lied again.
“John do you love me too?” Sherlock asked, removing his hand from John’s hair finally.
“Sherlock, pick your Monopoly piece.” John said quickly. Sherlock’s goofy smile suddenly turned into a hurt expression, like he was a cornered puppy.
“You…don’t love me?” he asked quietly. John glanced at his family, who looked like they were about to call animal services, nervous to show his affection in front of them.
“Yes Sherlock, of course I love you, but we’re trying to play a game here.” John said quickly. Sherlock smiled again.
“The game is on.” He said happily, not taking his eyes off of John though.
“John, is he sick?” Mrs. Watson asked nervously. 
“Jawwwwn.” Sherlock mumbled.
“Maybe.” John decided.
“John is such a nice person, did you know that?” Sherlock asked Harry. She looked like she wanted to laugh.
“No, I didn’t, please tell me more.” She insisted.
“Harry!” John hissed.
“He saved me from a big evil snake, and he buys me violin music, he kisses me, he says he loves me, he’d the first one to say that you know.” Sherlock said with happiness.
“How many times has he kissed you?” Harry asked, laughing. John cringed, wanting to throw some punches at his annoying sister; this was none of her business.
“A lot, John loves me.” Sherlock mumbled, snuggling against John’s shoulder.
“Sherlock, don’t you want to go to bed, it’s getting late.” John insisted.
“Have you ever looked into your eyes John, it’s like a whole new world in there, you have such beautiful eyes, I could look at them all day.” Sherlock said. Mrs. Watson got up from the floor with a huff of annoyance, coming over to Sherlock and gently touching his shoulder for him to get up. Just as she made contact, Sherlock sprung out, swatting her hand away and hissing at her, like an angry cat. Mrs. Watson jumped back with a yelp, and Sherlock went back to his innocent self, cuddling up to John, who reluctantly patted his arm.
“His eyes are bright red!” Mrs. Watson exclaimed.
“Oh my god, is he high?” Harry exclaimed.
“How dare you Harry!” Mr. Watson yelled.
“What else am I supposed to think, it’s pretty obvious if his eyes are red!” Harry pointed out.
“John, is he?” Mrs. Watson asked, hoping it wasn’t true.
“I don’t know, probably.” John said, defeated.
“Just, make him go to sleep or something, get him out of here though!” Harry pleaded.
“I don’t know what to do, he’s going crazy!” Mrs. Watson exclaimed.
“Sherlock, let’s go to sleep okay?” John asked.
“Why?”
“Because it’s late, and we’re all very tired, don’t you want to go to sleep?” John said calmly.
“Do you want to?” Sherlock asked. Harry covered her laugh with her hands, unable to control it any longer. John looked at his parents for support, and they all nodded.
“Yes, I do want to, so let’s go upstairs so we can both go to…” his sentence was cut off, just like last time he was being dragged to the floor, wrapped in Sherlock arm’s. He stretched his legs out and stood as stiff as possible, more for show. If his parents weren’t present, he would’ve hugged Sherlock right back. His face was pressed against Sherlock’s shoulder bone, so he was blinded in black jacket fabric. He could hear Harry’s uncontrolled laughter from somewhere above him, but there was nothing to do about that now.
“John will protect me from bad peoples while I sleep.” Sherlock decided, putting his head on the floor. “I am so lucky to have John, never thought I’d have anyone, but I’ve got the best person alive.” He mumbled. Even though Sherlock was higher than the Empire State building, his words still touched John’s heart. They say when someone’s under the influence they say things they’ve always wanted to say, apparently he’d always wanted to say how much he appreciated John. It was a big change to last time, in the dungeons, when he had attacked John; he seemed more like a little kid this time, helpless.
“John do you just want to stay here?” Mrs. Watson asked.
“Do I have another choice?” John asked sarcastically.
“See you in the morning then.” Mr. Watson shrugged.
“He won’t hurt you will he?” Mrs. Watson asked worriedly.
“No.” John said that much he knew to be true. There was a flash and Harry put down Mrs. Watson’s camera.
“That’s going on the Christmas card.” She decided.
“Go to bed Harry!” John hissed.
“Go away!” Sherlock said loudly.
“See, he agrees.” John pointed out.
“Ya well, have a nice night being strangled by your boyfriend.” Harry hissed, and walked up to her room, laughing.
“If you need anything, you know where to find me, I guess.” Mrs. Watson didn’t seem too fond of her choice to leave John there, but soon the stairs creaked again and the lights turned off, leaving the two and the Monopoly board on the floor. Sherlock’s breathing steadied immediately, holding John to him he fell asleep faster than John ever thought possible. Eventually though, John fell asleep too. Even though he should be scarred, he knew Sherlock would never ever hurt him, and that gave him a sense of security.