COLOUR - Teenlock/johnlock

Tree

After that tedious lesson, Sherlock decided to take walk around school.
This was when everyone seemed to sit down and do that lunch thing, which was far too boring for Sherlock Holmes. He decided to take a stroll around the school grounds, stopping underneath the same cherry blossom he had been gazing at just moments ago.

Once he sat down, he got his favourite book out and started reading, the warm, white sunlight peeping through the branches being a perfect reading light.

He became lost in the adventure and the thrill of the story, feeling as though he was there with the characters. He loved reading; it was an escape from the realities of life. A place where all of the colours of the rainbow were visible around every corner.

Just as Kili and Fili arrived at Bilbo's house, he looked up from his book and saw a short boy about his age walking toward him who he seemed to recognise. Where had he seen him before? Ah, yes. The boy from the bus. What was his name again?

"I'm John. John Watson."

He suddenly recalled their first meeting. How he had deduced him, and John had called him-what was it? Ah, yes. Amazing. His grandmother used to call him that.

John truly was someone he shouldn't push away, and even though he knew that, he couldn't make any promises that he wouldn't by accident. He couldn't help it; had been doing it all his life. Yet here John was, walking up the dewy, grey grass towards the cherry blossom he was sitting under.

"Hey. Sherlock Holmes, isn't it?" John asked cautiously.

"Of course" Sherlock replied bluntly, his nose buried deep in his book, safe with Bilbo.

The smaller boy looked around nervously and tapped his thigh with his fingers, which Sherlock noted in a small filing cabinet in the smallest room of his mind palace: Acquaintances. As John looked around, his eyes caught sight of the book Sherlock was reading.

"Oh! I love that book!" He exclaimed with all the excitement of a five year old on Christmas Eve. Although Sherlock didn't respond verbally, John swore he saw the corners of his lips twitch up into a smirk. John scurried over to where Sherlock sat, seating himself next to him.

After a few moments of silence, Sherlock went back to reading, and soon John was craning his neck round and itching ever closer to try and catch a glimpse of whereabouts the taller boy was immersed in the story.

They probably wouldn't have noticed how close they were, until Sherlock realised John was looking, and turned his head to look at him, accidentally making their noses touch. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through both of them, causing them to overly-British about the whole situation.

"Oh god! I'm so sorry" John almost shouted.

"Oh, don't worry about it John" Sherlock assured him in his calm, baritone voice.

"I was too close I'm sorry-" the smaller boy mumbled, but was cut of by Sherlock, his voice raised slightly.

"John! It's fine. Stop fussing"

"Oh, sorry. I'll just..." he muttered as he made himself comfortable again in between two protruding roots, leaning back on the tall trunk of the elegant tree.

They sat like that in silence in their own little bubble for a while, and Sherlock may have been seeing things, but he swore he saw a tiny blotch of pink in a nearby petal. He tried to ignore it, and went back to his book, his silence accompanied by John's gentle humming of a slow, classical song. After a while, the two slowly drifted off to sleep, John's head on the taller boy's shoulder and The Hobbit balanced on Sherlock's stomach, the only sound to be heard being John's gentle snoring.