Like a Fairytale

The Imperfect Perfect Boy

"You look scared." John decided. Sherlock looked up in surprise, what was it with John and awkward conversations?
"Should I not be?" Sherlock asked with a cautious laugh.
"You really shouldn't be, no." John decided. Sherlock knew that they could be married thirty years and he would still blush like mad in his wrinkled old cheeks every time John looked at him.
"Well, you know me I guess." Sherlock muttered, not knowing if that came across as a good or bad thing.
"Thankfully, yes." John agreed, giving Sherlock's hand a reassuring squeeze.
"Was Mary suspended?" Sherlock asked suddenly, having wondered where the fake old hag had been that day.
"Ya, just a day, I know her parents are livid." John sighed.
"That's too bad." Sherlock decided, but he knew that she deserved it. He just didn't want to look really mean in front of John.
"Ya well; I suppose that's what she gets for knocking you out. I was so worried; Anderson was placing bets on if you'd wake up or not, I had to bet in the end, just so it didn't look like I was too worried." John sighed.
"Did you win?" Sherlock asked with a small laugh.
"Amazingly no, I lost money from a bet I was forced to enter." John laughed.
"I can repay you if you need; I've got more than enough." Sherlock assured, plunging his hand into his coat pocket and pulling out a crumbled up ten dollars.
"No, of course not, I've got enough as well." John assured. "But you can buy me some ice cream if you really want to." He laughed, as if that were a joke, but Sherlock only nodded, fully prepared to buy him some cheap ice pop if they passed a cart.
"So, uh, how was practice?" Sherlock asked after a small period of silence, he didn't really know what he was supposed to say.
"It was really fun, we did some drills but we mostly played a scrimmage." John said, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
"You won I assume?" Sherlock asked with an expectant smile.
"Well, yes, but I don't always win." John defended. Sherlock just rolled his eyes, that was the biggest load of rubbish he'd ever heard.
"When's the next official game?" he asked.
"Oh, next Friday I guess, not sure who it's against." John muttered, wracking his brain to try to remember.
"Well don't worry, I'm going to see your team crush some poor school, I'm there to see you." Sherlock assured. That was a very stalker like way of saying he didn't care who they were playing, but John seemed to take it as a complement. "I mean, I don't really care about the sport, just that you're playing, I'll shut up now." Sherlock mumbled. But John only laughed, as if it were some type of hilarious joke.
"I think it's cute when you stutter like that." John admitted, making even Sherlock's toes turn tomato red. John found him cute, especially in such an awkward moment? Fascinating...
"Oh, well, thanks?" Sherlock said, not being able to fight the shy smile that was erupting on his lips. Maybe John found that attractive as well, keep it up Sherlock, he thought you were cute.
"You're welcome." John said confidently, obviously he didn't get nearly as flustered when he looked at Sherlock. He actually had to remind himself that they had kissed, twice now, but for some reason it felt like they had just met in some cheesy love novel.
"How's Redbeard?" John asked, obviously not knowing another topic of interest.
"Old. That's actually the most energetic he's been in a while, we're taking him to the vet on Monday because mom thinks he might be sick." Sherlock said, frowning slightly.
"What do you mean sick?" John asked, sounding worried.
"I don't know, I guess that's the vet's decision isn't it?" Sherlock sighed.
"He'll be alright, he seemed pretty healthy." John assured.
"I hope so. He's about the only friend I've got." Sherlock admitted with a frown.
"Well now you've got me." John assured, squeezing his hand again. It was very comforting when he did that, because it sort of showed Sherlock that he was still there or something, and that there wasn't anything awkward about their relationship. Of course the entire thing was built of awkwardness, but John didn't need to know that did he?
"I guess I do, don't I?" Sherlock agreed. But so much could go wrong when he had John; the whole world was out to get them it seemed, from their own parents to the wasps living under the picnic table. Their entire relationship was doomed from the start, star crossed, just like Romeo and Juliet, but their love was a whirlwind while it lasted, why couldn't there's be the same? But then again, everyone knows how Romeo and Juliet ends... John smiled reassuringly at him, and for a moment Sherlock thought that even committing suicide would be worth it to see that sparkle, that loving look in John's chocolate brown eye, beautiful and completely worth all the pain and loss Sherlock just might endure because of it.
"You look lost in thought." John decided, and suddenly Sherlock was ripped to the cruel reality of this world, that his eyes were glossing over as he stared into John's face. The world was turning around him, and here he was gazing at John like the creeper he was.
"Oh, god, sorry, I was just thinking, I'm sorry, really..." Sherlock stuttered, knowing what this must have looked like. John just smiled, squeezing Sherlock's hand once more and letting go, getting to his feet and collecting his bag.
"I should be off anyway, got science homework, unless you'd care to help me with that?" John asked hopefully.
"What's your grade in science?" Sherlock asked.
"83%." John said proudly.
"You'll be fine." Sherlock assured with a small laugh, getting to his feet as well and throwing the papers messily into his bag.
"Well what if I don't want you to leave yet?" John asked playfully, and Sherlock just blushed like mad.
"Then I'd say I have to leave as well, that my family is waiting for me with dinner on the table." Sherlock pointed out, starting to walk around the picnic table, feeling an odd urge to giggle like an idiot at John's request.
"Okay then, I'll walk you home then." John decided.
"But you live closer." Sherlock debated, not seeing how that would work to anyone's benefit.
"Your point?" John asked.
"I should be the one to walk you home." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well sorry to disappoint." John assured. They both walked out the park gates, John walking sort of close to Sherlock, which made the poor boy blush obviously for the whole world to see. If someone walked near them and simply glanced they could read the whole story like a book, and if someone from school saw them they'd undoubtedly start screaming that they were walking together. Sherlock kind of wanted to take the leap of taking John's hand in his own, but he knew that any old nobody walking would point that out as odd, and then if a tourist took a picture of it the entire story would be leaked. And what a catastrophe that would be, front page forbidden gay lovers, Sherlock and John's lives would be ruined the moment it was in print. They walked in comfortable silence, well, comfortable for John. It felt like Sherlock's feet were Jell-O, and that every step he could fall over and look like a total idiot. Whether a good thing or not his house came into view, but they had to say their goodbyes there, it's not like John could come in for a cup of hot chocolate before he left. They stopped awkwardly, stepping outside of the stream of people into the door way of some grocery store or something.
"Well, I guess I'll see you at school then." Sherlock muttered.
"I hope so, yes." John agreed. Sherlock smiled down shyly, not knowing what else to say. Should he kiss him quickly, as a goodbye, god no, not here, but what to do?
"Thanks, for walking me home and all." Sherlock added.
"No problem." John assured. Their moment was cut off though when the door opened, and some old lady came bustling out, her hands full with grocery bags, and almost ran into them. John was swept away, waving a farewell to Sherlock as he offered to help her with the bags. Sherlock's heart swelled as he took four in his arms, helping the little old lady, who was smiling thankfully at the youth of today. Sherlock went back into his depressing manor home, disappearing up his stairs and frowning ever so slightly at his bedroom wall.
"Why couldn't he be anyone else Redbeard?" Sherlock sighed, the door locked tight and the dog awake, rolling up onto the bed. "Why couldn't he be him, but not him? He could've been born as anyone but a Watson, which would've been perfect. Then I could introduce him to my parents, or grandparents, maybe even get their blessing, but they'd swat him out with a broom." Sherlock groaned, collapsing onto his pillows. Why did such a perfect boy have to be born to such an evil family loathing? If only Sherlock was able to tell his parents how much he truly loved John, if he was only able to tell John how much he truly loved him, but instead the only one who knew, once again, was Redbeard. And oh how he loved John Watson, from his muddy football cleats to his shining sweaty, misplaced hair.