Consequences of Flirting (Teacher x Student)

Chapter 13 - Pretty Face

a/n

This chapter will be in two parts, hence the song being split up. Okay, cool.

~

"'Cause you're such a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty face..."

As the train jolted rhythmically over the seemingly prearranged, almost patterned, bumps in the track, I held Sherlock's hand in my lap. Holmes gazed out of the already fogged up window quietly, lost deep in his thoughts, you know, casually contemplating the meaning of existence or some existential shit similar. Leaving him to it, I took to playing with his hand in content silence for no reason other than to touch him, even if in its simplest form. I trailed my thumb over a small paper cut on his index finger. Bar that, he had practically no imperfections; no blemishes, and I revelled in his God-like appearance in the daylight. I traced my finger over the constellations of barely visible freckles on his skin, counting them as I went. Once I was well into double digits, the train shook once again.

The strangers around us ignored our existence, too busy caught up in their own little worlds full of stories, drama and other ultimately unimportant thoughts. A women, clad in office attire, relaxed into her seat at the front of the carriage. She was engrossed in her phone, a firm, lipgloss coated smile etched into her pale complexion. Judging by the way her fingers raced across the keyboard, she must have got that date after all.

Beside us, an old man reached into his pocket, pulled out a flask and poured two drinks. He passed it to his partner without waiting to be asked, as if they could read each other, their relationship strong enough to form some kind of mutual mind-reading ability. She took it gratefully, kissing his cheek to show her appreciation. They snuggled closer to each other, sipping their drinks silently.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Sherlock, secretly hoping that maybe, just maybe, we'd be like that someday...

The carriage jostled violently, spilling the women's drink and causing anonymous gasps to spill from the passengers lips. A few even mumbled words of frustration under their breath, their whispers mixing with that of the wind. I sighed. Sherlock sighed with me.

When important, romance related questions are asked in films, the room is usually unnaturally silent. Time slows to a halt, as if the whole world has stopped just for two people to have their 'special moment'. Some natural source of light, usually the moon, is glinting across every surface, illuminating the room to enhance the romantic atmosphere. And then the question is asked, always confidently. Whether it be a wedding proposal or an invite to prom, you can practically hear everyone's breath catch in their throats. There's a small pause, although the answer is always the same. It always seems to be yes, as if any other response is completely out of the question.

Frankly, it was all bullshit.

In fact, I barely heard Sherlock's question, and none of it - not the setting, the atmosphere, nothing - was even remotely dramatic or life changing.

"Do you love me?" He asked so quietly I originally thought he was talking to himself. His reflection was hardly visible through the cloudy window, but from what I could see, he seemed sad. Not nervous as such, not sad enough to cry, but there was definitely something different about the way he stared at the track beneath us. He looked... guilty?

I averted my attention from Sherlock to the elderly couple.

The idea of soulmate's wasn't ever something I believed in. To me, it was just a worldwide obsession. A self-created delusion designed entirely out of the fear of being alone.