Like a Fairytale

Romeo oh Romeo, Please Don't Fall

    Mycroft unlocked his car, which was parked alone in the small parking lot, sleek and red and gleaming in the sun from its weakly waxing.
"Don't touch anything." Mycroft snapped as he opened the door carefully, as if scared to touch the surface and ruin its appeal. So Sherlock rubbed his fingers, still greasy from John's ham sandwich, all over the side of the car, unseen by Mycroft who was too busy trying to clean a smudge with his sleeve to notice. Sherlock sat in the back seat, not like he wasn't allowed in the front, but he didn't want to be sitting up there with professional scowling Mycroft all day. They drove in silence, and at every light Mycroft checked his hair in the little mirror hanging from the roof, as if the small amount of air coming out of the heater would've affected it some way. Thankfully Mycroft didn't ask any questions, and neither did Sherlock, he only gazed out the tinted window at the people on the streets, all of which were staring in awe at such a nice car in the sea of taxis. Sherlock sighed, tapping his fingers on the leather seats and tapping his foot with annoyance. Finally Mycroft rolled up next to the house in his designated parking spot, but he didn't turn off the engine or offer to walk Sherlock in, he just scowled at him from the mirror as if trying to communicate telepathically.
"Thanks." Sherlock muttered, semi-sarcastically, just so Mycroft didn't get the false impression that he was happy for his brother's help.
"If you get any kind of headache don't bother me with it, tell..." Mycroft's sentence was cut off by Sherlock slamming the door shut, hiking up his bag and walking into the house. Mycroft sped off into the traffic, leaving Sherlock to walk up to the door alone and knock. After a little while the door opened and Mrs. Hudson, looking very surprised to see him, opened the door.
"Sherlock! Is it three o'clock already?" she asked, looking at her watch to see if she was going blind or something. She was wearing a flour spattered apron and the house smelled strongly of baking apples, so she was probably making a pie or something.
"No, I got sent home early." Sherlock sighed, dropping his bag at the foot of the steps and going to the kitchen to search for some food. As guessed there was flour and apple peelings strewn all over the counter and the oven was on. Mrs. Hudson followed him in, looking worried.
"Why did they send you home, you're not in trouble again are you?" she asked with a stern tone in her voice.
"Of course not Mrs. Hudson, I got knocked out." Sherlock shrugged, making Mrs. Hudson gasp.
"By who!?" She exclaimed.
"Some girl wouldn't know her." Sherlock said, pouring himself a glass of water with a small sarcastic smile.
"You don't have a concussion do you?" she asked.
"No, of course not, but I've been sent home." Sherlock shrugged, picking up an unused apple and biting into it.
"That's terrible, did you walk home?"
"Mycroft drove me in his big red car." Sherlock grumbled.
"Well I didn't hear anything about this, are you okay, do you need some aspirin?" she asked, coming over and feeling his forehead for a fever. Sherlock ducked out of her reach, swatting her hand away.
"Mrs. Hudson, I'm fine, trust me." Sherlock assured, slightly annoyed by the amount of babying he got about here. Why couldn't everyone share Mycroft's views?
"Well, if you ever think you need something, I'm always here." she assured.
"You refuse to let me forget that, yes." Sherlock agreed with a small laugh, hopping off the counter in hopes of getting away.
"Well, I'm making desert now, so at least you've got some good apple pie to look forward to." Mrs. Hudson decided with a smile.
"Yes, thank god." Sherlock agreed, rolling his eyes slightly and leaving the kitchen. He ran up the steps two at a time and met Redbeard in his room. The dog was looking thinner than ever, which couldn't be a good sign. But Redbeard was going to the vet next Monday, so they'd fix him up then.
"Hello Redbeard." He said with a smile, dropping his bag on his desk and patting Redbeard's head. The dog raised his head up as if wondering why Sherlock was so early, so Sherlock recited the story, emphasizing by far the whole almost handholding ordeal. Redbeard looked happy to hear what had happened, so Sherlock read for another hour or so. He didn't have any plans on stopping of course, until a loud, annoying bell disrupted him, almost making him fall out of his bed in surprise. Sherlock dropped the book, seeing that his phone was the source of the tortuous noise, sitting innocently on the dresser as if challenging him to pick it up. So, of course, Sherlock dove off the bed like an Olympic swimmer, because there was only one person stupid enough to want to get ahold of him at this hour. It was four forty five, probably right after football practice. Hey Sherlock are you feeling okay? The message read, from the one and only John Watson. Sherlock's heart melted, of course, and his fingers clicked madly to try to open the phone and text back. I am fine, yes. The blue bubble at the top filled to let Sherlock know his message sent. Can you come down to the park? John texted, making Sherlock have to look at the wall to get his breathing to slow down. How stupid of him, a phone was making him flustered. No, Mrs. Hudson will be watching the door; she's worried I have a concussion. It was the sad, unspoken truth. If he tried to go anywhere Mrs. Hudson would be watching and asking far too many questions. Where are you now?
Camped out in my bedroom, as always.
Where is that?
Back of the house, second window up, why.... There was no response, but Sherlock looked around to make sure no one had seen such an odd text. Why would John care where he was now, and why would he want to know where exactly his room was? Thankfully no one was around, he wouldn't want to embarrass John or himself for that matter, and Redbeard, once again, was on the rug asleep. Sherlock sighed, there was n response and no sign that John was even there. Great, now Anderson could go egg his house, which was brilliant. So Sherlock sat on his bed and cracked open his book again, staring at the pages blankly, his mind soaring on different topics, like school, John, Redbeard, John, Mycroft, John, CEO, and, of course, John. A soft thudding tore him from his brilliant collage of thoughts, which he pegged as Redbeard's tail and went back to trying to focus on the book. But another thud, louder this time, made him peek over the bed and frown at the dog. But Redbeard was still asleep, his tail curled motionless under him, and yet the thud came once again. Sherlock looked around, was there a rat in the air conditioner? And then, without warning, a rock hit the window, which was almost right next to where he was standing, which made Sherlock fall over himself in shock. He steadied himself on the windowsill and looked over the small yard, which ended of course with a building on the other side of the street. But, in the smallish patch of grass and trees stood John Watson, smiling up at Sherlock, and in his hand a pile of small rocks. At first Sherlock was terrified, there was a window towards the back in the kitchen, he was in full sight of Mrs. Hudson, but then he remembered she liked to keep the curtain closed, claimed the back of a building was an ugly sight. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and opened the window, letting the nice cool breeze waft its way into the room.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock hissed, hoping his voice could indiscreetly reach John from this height. John was waving slightly, dropping the rocks and walking forward, even from here Sherlock could see the sweat on his brow from football practice.
"Any chance you've got a ladder?" John called quietly, making Sherlock's eyes widen in shock. He didn't actually want to come in did he?
"You're kidding?" Sherlock asked his voice very squeaky.
"No, I'm in your backyard because I want to talk from here." John said, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms. Sherlock looked to the large branchy tree, growing right next to his window, the one he often climbed onto to sneak to the library when he was grounded.
"You could use that." Sherlock suggested his heart racing in anticipation. This was the forbidden love story, the prince climbing the tower in Rapunzel, Romeo climbing up the balcony to see Juliet, everything was set in place. And John was about to climb up his tree, grabbing a low hanging branch and pulling himself up.
"Be careful." Sherlock begged, his legs feeling like jelly. If John fell then they'd have to get an ambulance and all, that would be kind of annoying, and his parents would wonder why an ambulance was pulling up and then they'd find out about John and start asking questions and it would all be a wreck. But John looked strong and confident, climbing with surprising stealth for someone so short, and in no time he was perched squirrel like on the branch outside of Sherlock's window. Sherlock just stared at him, in a loss for words, and John was smiling proudly at him.
"Hello." John said with a smile. Sherlock stepped away, humming in return, letting John climb into the window with a small thud.
"My parents are home; my brother is probably right down the hall..." Sherlock whispered, walking over to press the small button lock on his door handle.
"Are they home this early?" John asked.
"Four thirty usually." Sherlock muttered, standing awkwardly by the wall, not sure what to do. Should he offer John a seat, water, a massage, what did people even do with other people? But he didn't really have to figure it out, because at that moment Redbeard woke up, from what he didn't know, and jumped to his feet. Sherlock knew if he started barking everything would go wrong, and John seemed to know that too as he stepped towards the window again.
"Who is this?" John asked nervously, looking at the dog with terror.
"Redbeard, my dog." Sherlock muttered, walking over to Redbeard with unusual calmness. Apparently though, they didn't need to tiptoe around him, because Redbeard sniffed at John's legs for a moment and looked up with his curious brown eyes, they both held their breath, seeing what he would do, but then his long tail started beating against the bed happily. Redbeard jumped up on John, licking his face happily as if he were a puppy once more. John laughed, pushing Redbeard off a little bit, and Sherlock couldn't help but feel a little bit envious.
"Down Redbeard, down, come on." Sherlock whispered, pulling the dog off of John, whose face was now glistening with slobber. "I'm so sorry; he doesn't usually meet new people." Sherlock muttered, as Redbeard happily looked up at Sherlock, as if thrilled to see this legendary John Watson. But John was smiling, laughing even, as he rubbed his face off with his jacket sleeve.
"It's fine, really, I'm never really a dog's favorite, but it's like he's met me before." John laughed. Well, I have told him about you since the first day of kindergarten.
"You can, um, sit, I guess." Sherlock muttered, stealing a glance at himself in the mirror and gesturing at the desk chair. John smiled, sitting down and leaning forward on his elbows, as if fascinated with the room. Sherlock sat stiffly on the bed, his heart pounding and his legs going numb. John Watson was in his house, what on earth would he say if he was caught by his parents or anything? Sherlock would be sentenced not only to an eternal grounding but, knowing his family, Holmes prison.
"So are you feeling okay after Mary?" John asked. Sherlock suddenly became aware of how much of a mess his room was, from dog hair to laundry. He indiscreetly tried to push a dirty pair of socks under the bed, hoping John wouldn't notice.
"I'm fine, ya." Sherlock muttered.
"Well you were out sometime." John sighed.
"How'd I end up in the nurse's office?" Sherlock asked, wondering who had carried him. Half of him hoped it had been John, but the other half told him that would have given practically everything away.
"One of the teachers came out, Mr. Wilson; he pulled Mary off and carried you away." John shrugged.
"She's really mad isn't she?" Sherlock muttered.
"You could say that much, ya." John agreed.
"But she's not beating you up is she?"
"No, but who knows what's going on in a girl's mind? She seems to think I only broke up with her because I felt bad for you kissing me, she thinks I think I'm tainted and unable to be with anyone." John muttered. At the mention of anything to do with relationships, kissing, and the football game, Sherlock went a dark shade of magenta, sort of wishing they were anywhere but his room.
"Well, then I'm sorry about that." Sherlock squeaked, and John only chuckled.
"It's not your fault! I mean, it is, but it's not negative. She can believe what she likes, as long as she doesn't know the truth." John shrugged. The only sound was Sherlock's fast heart beat and Redbeard's wagging tail, all was silent but the awkwardness was tangible.
"And, what is the truth?" Sherlock asked. He knew it of course, John had sort of told him before, but the words out of his mouth would confirm.
"I left her because I wanted to be with you." John pointed out with a shy smile. Sherlock drew in a startled breath, there it was then, John was admitting his feelings.
"But why...me? You could have anyone, you don't want me..." Sherlock muttered, it was true of course. No one would want a freak as a boyfriend, especially when he could have a real princess or even charm the frog if he wanted, but no one would want the freak.
"Haven't I proved enough that I do want you? I mean, I know you're awkward, maybe not the most romantic, and we've got the worst past in the world, but I've put that beside. We can right our wrongs, and I won't stop until every ounce of pain I've caused you has been replaced with love." John assured. If he had been speechless before, Sherlock had all since gone mute. Love, John said love, was John in love with Sherlock, so quickly? Sherlock's heart was racing out of control; he wanted to, well, he didn't know what he wanted to do. Run out the window, kiss John senseless, or just roll over and die, every option seemed okay with him.
"I um, okay." Sherlock mumbled his voice cracking mid-sentence. He was sure he was glowing brighter than the sun at the moment, but he really had no choice. Surely John understood with any praise or even glance Sherlock would start blushing, it was the natural order of things apparently. John just laughed though, blushing a bit as well.
"Sorry, sort of winged that, probably shouldn't..."
"No, it's fine, you're brilliant, I mean it was brilliant, good." Sherlock stumbled, not wanting John to think that he didn't appreciate such a heart filled speech. And of course John was brilliant, he may not be smart, but he definitely did have a brain up there. "I'd like that as well, I mean I know you probably know that, and it's not like I'm holding our past against you, but I want you too." That sounded a lot better in his head.
"Then I guess we're on the same page then." John decided. Sherlock nodded, apparently they were. There was a long sea of carpet between them, but if they really wanted to they could probably kiss from where they sat without moving, they could definitely hold hands if needed. Sherlock was debating making some sort of move when there was a knock on his door, making his heart stop.
"Sherlock, dinner!" Mycroft's evil voice muffled against the wood, rattling the door handle. Thank God Sherlock had locked it previously. John and Sherlock flashed terrified glances, unsure what to do.
"I'll be down in a moment!" Sherlock called, but his voice was very pitchy and suspicious.
"Why is the door locked?" Mycroft asked, rattling it again. Sherlock gestured madly at John to get his butt out of the window.
"Because maybe I don't want you worming into my room!" Sherlock snapped. John got the message, climbing stealthily out of the window and doing his best to get onto the tree limb
"Unlock it right now." Mycroft demanded.
"I will, give me a second!" Sherlock demanded. John's foot slid out the window and Sherlock shut it with a small snap, John didn't have time to say goodbye as he scaled down the tree.
"Hurry up will you?" Mycroft growled.
"Okay, okay..." Sherlock muttered as he saw John get to the ground, sprinting with his head bent down as he ran from the yard. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief, the coast was clear.
"I'm coming!" Sherlock groaned, making sure nothing looked too suspicious before opening the door.