What do you want to be when you grow up? I don't want to be alone.

8

"Sherlock?" Sherlock looked up as I plopped my schoolbag on the ground by the couch he was on, which was about as much recognition I would get. After living with Sherlock for three years I grown accustomed to him. I think at first he was trying his best to make me feel comfortable, and because of that he felt awkward, but after a while we both relaxed into it. "Do you mind if a friend comes over to eat and hang out?" As long as I had been here I had never invited anyone over before.

He raised an eyebrow but shook his head. "No, of course not."

"Great," I said smiling. I turned around to go to my room.

"John?" I looked back over at Sherlock. "Do you want me to call for take-out or...?"

I considered it for a moment. I really didn’t want to get takeout, but Sherlock cooking? "I'll... make something." Sherlock’s eyebrow inched further up but he said nothing.

Some time later there was a knock at the door. I jumped at the sound and before I could stand up Sherlock was at the door opening it.

"Uh hey..." Marcus said looking up at Sherlock. "Are you John’s dad?"

"No. This is Sherlock. My..." I trailed off, unsure of what I wanted to tell Marcus. I mean, yes I had known him for years, but telling him would mean talking about my father, and that was still a sensitive subject.

"Uncle." Sherlock supplied, sensing my discomfort. I looked up at him thankfully.

"Right. Sherlock, this is my friend Marcus." I saw Sherlock eye him curiously, no doubt figuring out his entire life from that glance.

"You hungry?" Marcus nodded. I opened the cabinet and reached to grab two plates. Which just happened to be on the top of a tall stack, on the top shelf, of an upper cabinet. And I was short. "Sherlock, little help?" I called, reaching up on my toes but unable to grab quite grab the plates.

"Here, let me," I heard Marcus's soft voice right next to me as he reached up to grab the plates. I felt heat fill my face as I took a plate from him. I spooned out some food from the pot on the stove and Marcus did the same. We sat down at the table. "Isn’t he going to eat?" I looked over at Sherlock who was lounging upside down on the couch.

"Todays... Friday, yes?" Marcus nodded. "He doesn’t eat on Fridays." Marcus looked confused and a bit disturbed at this news.

"How’s the leg Marcus?" It was as if by talking about him we had pulled his attention to us. Marcus turned to look at Sherlock while I just hung my head.

"What was that?"

Sherlock flipped himself over so he was sitting upright and looked at my friend. "Your leg. Is it still bothering you?"

"Must you show off?" I muttered but Sherlock ignored me.

"I do hope it isn’t bothering you too much. You were planning on trying out for the football team. Your brother was on and he’s pushing you to join, though you probably would’ve done it either way. I hope it’s not bothering you too much, otherwise you won’t be able to try out, but from the way you were standing earlier, I’d say it was."

Marcus looked between Sherlock and me with wide eyes. I stared down at my plate. "Yeah, he does that. Please don’t ask him how he knows. It just encourages him."

Marcus turned his attention back to me. "Well he’s right. I was planning on trying out."

"You should. I’ve played with you before. You’re quite good."

He shrugged as if he wasn’t so sure about this himself. "What about you? Aren’t you trying out?"

I shook my head. "Nah. Sports... don’t exactly like me."

"Really? Because if I remember right every time we played at my house you would beat me."

"After I hurt myself a couple times," I pointed out. "Not to mention there’s that time I missed the goal and gave you a concussion."

"Fair point."

We continued eating, chatting every once in while about this and that. When we were done the plates went in the sink to be washed later and we sat down to watch telly. About halfway through some movie (I wasn’t really watching, I was sketching on a scrap of paper), Marcus looked up at me and noticed I wasn’t paying attention.

"What’s that?" he asked. I pulled the piece of paper out of his view.

"Nothing."

"Come on, let me see." I hid the paper behind my back. Marcus reached for it and I pulled it out of his grasp. He wrestled it from me, pulling it from my grasp. Marcus unfolded the now crumpled paper and looked at it. "Is this me?" I felt heat fill my cheeks as I nodded. "It’s uh, it’s quite good. I didn’t know you liked to draw."

I shrugged, my cheeks getting redder. "It’s just a hobby."

"Yeah, well, you’re good at it."

We sat in an awkward silence the rest of the movie. After the movie Marcus left.

"When are you going to tell him?" I spun at the voice. Sherlock had been so quiet I forgot he was here.

"Sorry?"

"Marcus. When are you going to tell him you have feelings for him?"

"We’re just friends, that’s all."

"Really? Because I haven’t seen that much terrible flirting since..." He trailed off, thinking of some distant memory. I started to go to my room, not wanting to be questioned anymore. "John?" I turned to look at him. "Just... be careful." I nodded and turned back, but a thought occurred to me.

"Sherlock, have you ever had a girl you like?"

He closed his eyes and moved to what I had deemed his thinking position. "Not my area."

"A guy then, whatever."

"John, you know I don’t do emotions."

"And you didn’t answer my question." For just a second I could’ve sworn I saw Sherlock blush, but I quickly dismissed it.

"Yes." He closed his eyes and steepled his fingers. I waited but he didn’t continue.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren’t you going to tell me about it?"

"There’s nothing to tell. I never told him how I felt. He ‘wasn’t gay.’”

"Oh," I said in a small voice. I almost regretted bringing it up. "Well then... 'Night Sherlock?"

"Goodnight John," he whispered quietly as I closed the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Young version of John talking to Sherlock about Sherlock loving John. Because THAT'S not awkward or confusing at all...

This was sorta just a filler, but oh well.