Like a Fairytale

Road Trip! Road Trip!

    The days past without much incident, but there wasn't a second were Sherlock was bored. His bond with John was growing every day, with every lingering glance, peck on the cheek or even kiss their love grew, and the doubts that had planted themselves in his mind were slowly fading one by one. Sherlock came back to talking to his family just because John was able to convince him, rather roughly, that Redbeard was in a better place. In the end it was only Sherlock's stubbornness that prevented him from saying a word to his stupid family in the first place. Thankfully there were no suspicions from parents, peers, or staff members, and Mrs. Hudson was true to her word, she hadn't told anyone about the top secret information she was aware of. The football games came and went, John being the hero in nearly all of them, and many colleges sent surveyors to come watch him. Sherlock sat in the shadows, his voice always drowned out by the yoga prune's loud cow bells, but he was always there for John and always waiting for him after the game for a congratulatory kiss under the bleachers. The two fell deeper and deeper into the hole they were digging, and they were so far in love that neither could see the sun anymore. The only thing Sherlock feared anymore was that someone would pull them up and apart. As the months passed the days got shorter and shorter, John's math grade was now a B and the football games faded away. Now there was a new buzz going around the senior class, the one word some most anticipated but, for others, it was the word they wanted to hear least. Prom. Now the girls doused themselves in makeup and so much perfume Sherlock was choked by it at the other end of the classroom, and they all hoped to somehow snatch a date. It wasn't only the girls who were going all out, Sherlock noticed that they boys had greased up their hair all fancy and were wearing much nicer clothes, kind of like he had been when he was trying to impress John.
"HEY FREAK!" Anderson called as they were in the middle of their math worksheets. John and Sherlock were sitting once again very close to each other, and John had playfully stolen Sherlock's pencil, so he was trying to get it back in any way he could through fits of flirtatious giggling. But Sherlock was hit by a well-aimed paper ball, which bounced off his curls and landed on the desk in front of him. Mrs. Pines hardly looked up, Sherlock was sure she was going deaf or she just didn't care anymore. It was the end of the year after all. Sherlock looked up at Anderson with annoyance, and John threw him his pencil before anyone could notice the theft.
"Yes Anderson? I'd be delighted to hear what intelligent conversation you'd like to start today." Sherlock sighed, getting some nervous chuckles from the silent class.
"I wanted to ask just how you plan to spend your prom night? Are you going to bring your brother?" Anderson laughed. Now the class erupted into laughter and Sherlock almost puked thinking about Mycroft having to dance with him. It was actually quite comical, the two of them scowling at each other as Mycroft tried to maneuver all of the cake he had eaten across the dance floor.
"And who have you cursed to go with you?" Sherlock asked. "Your mom?" Mrs. Pines picked up the phone to report shots fired.
"At least she's a bloody female!" Anderson hissed, but he was glowing ever so slightly. The bell finally rang, ending the argument and letting them go to their last class until the weekend finally came around. John left with his friends and Sherlock was left alone, walking sulkily down the hallway a little ways behind. John hadn't asked him yet to the prom, and he had noticed that Mary had been bouncing around him once more, probably in hopes of getting asked by him once more. Sherlock knew that this couldn't possibly their night to shine considering that no one could possibly know about their relationship. He knew that John might even sink to Mary's level, because just because you've got a forbidden gay relationship doesn't mean you don't deserve to skip prom. Sherlock sat down in his seat next to Anderson, who was laughing at something Greg had said. John was chuckling halfheartedly, so Sherlock knew the joke must be about him.
"We could always pull a Cathy, when Freak comes in we can dump blood all over him." Anderson suggested.
"You mean Carrie?" Sherlock sighed.
"Oh, that, ya. I think you'll look good covered in blood, but then again you never look good." Anderson growled.
"Be careful Anderson, he might start kissing you!" Greg warned. Anderson pretended to fall backwards, shielding his face with his stupid hands while Sherlock just sat there, unimpressed.
"Yes, terrifying." Sherlock sighed, tuning into the lesson the teacher had just started. Anderson acted this way the whole class, drawing very descriptive pictures of Sherlock waltzing with everyone from Mycroft to some cardboard cutout of John. When that class finally let out they were home free for another two days, something Sherlock was surely anxious for. While he walked down the hall he saw some guys stupid attempt to get a girl to prom, he had all these shirtless guys lined up with PROM written on their chests, all spelled out and stuff. The girl ended up saying yes and she and the guy started kissing in the hallways, and Sherlock looked grumpily away. If only John could do that, ask him to prom so publicly and all. Of course Sherlock would settle for John helping out some other bloke as well, just so he could take off his shirt and paint a big letter P. Sherlock walked down to his house a bit moodily, kicking a discarded fancy soda can all the way down the street until he turned into his yard. The house seemed dead inside, empty and forbidding when there wasn't a little red dog head poking anxiously out the window waiting for him. Sherlock sat in his room, bouncing one of Redbeard's old dog balls against the closet and all. It was open, so every time he missed he had to get up and rescue the smelly ball from the piles of freshly folded clothes. The closet was still plastered with his usual shrine, but now there were actual photographs of the two of them and their adventures. John had stumbled across the creepy shrine when he had snuck up the tree once again, he had been looking for a jacket or something to possibly use as a parachute (long story, but they were trying to think of ways to escape from their stupid houses) and instead was greeted by drawings and grainy photographs of himself. Now there were photos of the two of them at the park, the selfies John had attempted with Sherlock, but in half of them Sherlock was looking away or looking with confusion at the camera. There was one of John, who had fallen in mud during practice and trekked all the way over to the park. He had tried to clean himself off in the cold pond water only to get attacked by a goose, and was covered in mud, mysterious pond weeds, and goose feathers. There was also a picture of Sherlock and a snowman he had built in the park, their attempt on a walk in the snow had turned into a vicious snowball fight, but Sherlock had built a makeshift snow man out of poorly rolled snow balls and had carved a rather disturbing face into it with a sharp stick. John had insisted of getting a picture and he had taped it to the closet door, not Sherlock. Sherlock looked at his closet door and smiled, thinking about just how much he loved John when a knock on the window shook him from his little daydreams. The real John Watson was perched catlike on the tree branch, which had now become more heavily traveled than the highway leading into the city. Sherlock smiled even wider, so happy to see his brilliant boyfriend in the flesh, and opened the window. John was obviously just back from practice, and since the weather was warming up once again he was beaded in sweat and smelled like mowed grass.
"Hello there beautiful." John said with a small laugh. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but planted a small, kick kiss on John's lips before stepping aside and letting him in. Even though their kisses probably couldn't be counted they still lit up his entire heart, because a year ago the very thought of being in a steady loving relationship with John was just a sad dream.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked.
"Are you complaining?" John asked, stealthily falling off of the window sill into a heap on the floor.
"God no."
"I see you've been admiring our scrapbooking huh?" John asked.
"Is that creepy?" Sherlock asked.
"We've already established that it was, yes." John agreed.
"Oh well, that's a shame." Sherlock shrugged, but he didn't care all that much. "What brings you to my window huh?"
"I've decided I'm taking you on a little ride." John decided.
"In a cab?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.
"I've got a car you know?" John asked.
"Um, no, this is new information." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well, I do, and I formally invite you to come with me and drive in it." John decided, holding out his arm like a prince leading a princess out to the ball. Sherlock blinked a couple of times in surprise, but of course he would do anything to join him.
"What the heck am I going to tell my parents, how far are we going?" Sherlock asked.
"Just out of this bloody city air, tell them you need your space and that you're going to go stay at one of your friends' houses or something."
"Oh come on John, they know I don't have friends." Sherlock pointed out.
"Then tell Mrs. Hudson to make a cover for you." John suggested. Sherlock shrugged, this just might work considering she was completely for their relationship. One times she had even baked the two of them chocolate covered scones. The two had never properly met face to face, but they both knew very well of the other's existence.
"I can't just tell her to cover for me..." Sherlock sighed. Actually, he probably could do that, she'd make a better story up and his parents trust her a lot more than they did Sherlock, who made a habit of running away before. "Just give me a minute, hide in the bathroom in case Mycroft wants to come snoop around." Sherlock decided, dropping his voice down to a whisper when he remembered someone else might be in the house right now. John nodded and as Sherlock left the room he heard the shower curtains moving around. Well good job John for the stupidest and most obvious hiding place ever. Sherlock descended down the steps and walked swiftly into the kitchen, making sure no one else was around. The living room and dining room were empty, and the kitchen's only occupant was Mrs. Hudson, who seemed hard at work with a bowl of batter.
"Oh hello dear." She said with a smile. She had become, if possible, even friendlier since she found out Sherlock was actually capable of love.
"Mrs. Hudson, I need to talk to you." Sherlock started, making her turn off the blender in anticipation.
"Okay." She agreed. Sherlock took a deep breath.
"John wants to drive out to the country, he's got his own car, I don't necessarily know how long we'll be, could be gone all night really, but would you do us the honor of making a convincing cover story?" Sherlock asked hopefully, making it sound like it was such a big deal. Mrs. Hudson sighed, looking a bit worried.
"What am I supposed to tell your parents?" she asked.
"No idea, that's kind of what I was hoping you'd think of." Sherlock said.
"When will John be coming?" she asked.
"He's in my room right now." Sherlock shrugged.
"Oh." Mrs. Hudson said, looking now very nervous. "Alright then, I'll think of something, be very, very careful, and if he starts to make you feel uncomfortable it's..."
"Wow, look at the time, I should be off, thanks a million!" Sherlock exclaimed, ever so happy to cut her off there. Mrs. Hudson just rolled her eyes, but he thought he saw a small little smile on her face. She could try to hide it, but they both knew that she was thrilled he had finally found someone to call his own. Sherlock rushed back up the stairs, a lot happier now that he was able to go. When he got to his room John was still hiding in the bathroom, so Sherlock fumbled around with a small duffle bag, stuffing some extra clothes just in case it rained or something and necessary precautions like deodorant and some breath mints.
"I'm taking that as a yes." John guessed.
"She'll make something up, yep." Sherlock agreed. They both shared a lingering smile, but there was nothing awkward anymore about their relationship, they were so in love it didn't really matter anymore.
"Brilliant. My car's a couple of blocks down; I made sure to get it used so it's this big hunk of junk." John said, but for two rich people a hunk of junk car was the best thing they could hope for.
"Awesome." Sherlock agreed. The two of them grabbed their things and, John leading, climbed out the tree. Sherlock left the window cracked for their return, but after a quick check of the surroundings they both climbed monkey like down the branches and onto the soft grass. As they were dashing off he saw that the curtains in the window above the sink had been pulled back ever so slightly to allow for an old eye to peer out at them. He smiled and Mrs. Hudson quickly pulled the curtain shut, as if she were guilty for eavesdropping or spying or whatever it was called. Sherlock and John made it safely to the sidewalk, watching who else was in the street but also not caring one bit. They walked for a little while until Sherlock saw, as John had promised, the most beat up peeling red car he had ever seen. But John looked extremely proud, and Sherlock could admit the only cars he's ever driven in were cabs and Mycroft's stupid red sports car. John got in the driver's seat and Sherlock got in the passenger, closing the door with a loud, rusty squeal.
"Are you sure this thing can make it down the street?" Sherlock asked doubtfully, but John just smiled, starting the loud, creaking engine and pulling away from the curb. John was a very jerky driver, none of the turns he made were smooth and they had Sherlock gripping to the handlebar above the window with fright, tightening his seatbelt as much as he could.
"Don't be so scared Sherlock, we'll be off the main road in a little while." John assured.
"Still doesn't mean you won't get hit here." Sherlock pointed out.
"If you must know I passed my driving test, I'm perfectly able to be on the roads." John pointed out, digging a worn looking license from the glove box and throwing it at Sherlock to see. No one used licenses anymore in the city, Sherlock was aware of that, and John's picture was so funny that he had to laugh. They drove for a little while until John finally pulled off the highway onto a little back road. There were a couple of cars, but as they drove farther and as the sun sank lower it was only them. Sherlock didn't complain though, there were plenty of things to look at in the country. There were rolling fields of crops just coming up for spring, there were grazing animals like cows and stuff, and the occasional farmhouse with cheery light coming from inside. All of the houses here looked so warm and cozy, as if they all smelled like cinnamon or something. But compared to the almost skyscraper of a home he had, a little wooden farmhouse would definitely be the way to go.