Nothing Like Love and Everything Like a Phoenix

Chapter Three

For the next week, John did his best to ignore Sherlock's attempts at starting a conversation and soft wolf whistles as John walked by. He didn't let his eyes linger, even when Sherlock's burned holes through him. He made his way through the halls with his books tight to his chest, keeping his head down as best he could.

Sure, he felt like he was being pulled from the inside out, but he could deal with that. He could pretend it was something else. School stress, or home life. He could focus on the feeling rather than why it was there.

Of course, no matter how much John pretended like nothing had happened, there were still the kids who wouldn't shut up about it. Molly being one of them. John heard all the new rumors from her.

"He and Sherlock had just gone to an ice cream parlor."

"No, they went a town over."

"No, they went to Sherlock's house."

Molly said that some of them swore that they had robbed a bank together.

By the end of the week, John was barely sure what had actually happened, all he knew was that he was glad he would have a whole two days without false conclusions flying over his head.

But, the weekend was as bad, probably worse, as John couldn't even drown out what had actually happened in his head with voices of his teachers, or smother it in his books. His house was quiet, which only made more room for a mind full of leather jackets and warm flesh. When it wasn't silent enough for John to practically hear the neighbors, he could hear the crashing of dishes or the slamming of doors, from either his sister or dad. He couldn't tell which, the smell of booze came with both.

John walked into school next Monday, confident he was done with Sherlock, over it. Until Sherlock decided he wasn't done with him.

Molly was already ahead of John, skipping her way to class, when a shadow pulled him under the staircase. John already knew who it was by the stench of smoke in the air, and the feeling of rough hands on his wrist.

"Hey, Doll."

"Don't call me that." John hissed, looking around frantically at anyone passing by. No one was there. Everyone was doing the smart thing and avoiding this chaos.

"Take a chill pill, no one pays that much attention, anyway."

"You'd be surprised."

"I really wouldn't."

John huffed heavily, almost as if to push Sherlock back with his breath.

"You've been ignoring me."

"Kind of hard to, if you didn't notice."

Sherlock smirked, and there it was. The hell John couldn't push away. The pulling on his lungs, and the dryness in his throat, all of it-all of it- was right there. Damn him.

Sherlock pulled at John's collar, looking him dead in the eyes (oh, those eyes) and leaned in. John was already closing his eyes, and angling his chin for a kiss that never came. Sherlock stopped just short, and John could feel the shape of his mouth as he spoke.

"Don't think I'm letting you go, John."

John thought about pushing him to the ground. He probably could at this point. Run off with what was left of his sanity.

"There's nothing to let go of, Sherlock." He pushed him off "It was one goddamn day. A week ago, I might add."

Sherlock pushed him back against the wall, and opened his mouth to say something, but bared his teeth instead, then leaned back in and sucked a harsh mark right above John's collar.

Before John could respond Sherlock had already turned on his heel and left, leaving John slightly out of breath and late to class.

Every time he saw Sherlock in the hallways after that, he could feel the wet heat of his mouth on his skin. He could feel every fading (and not so fading) mark tingle, and flare up like faulty wiring.

More heads turned when John walked by, and more breaths floated around him when he sat at his desk.

"Real lady-killer that one."

"Must be fun."

"Thought he was too precious for that."

Whispers followed him all the way to the last bell and outside where Sherlock was nowhere to be found. John breathed a sigh of relief, and enjoyed the fresh air on his way home.

It was all fine. Sherlock had probably given up on him, and probably didn't actually want, nor mean what he said to John. Of course he didn't.

His heart stopped when he saw Sherlock, all long limbs and grey accents, sitting in his driveway.