Nothing Like Love and Everything Like a Phoenix

Chapter Twelve

John ended up wearing what he wore to school that day, really what he wore to school everyday. He wanted to dress up or look different in any possible way, but his current wardrobe didn't allow it.

He didn't know what he would say to Sherlock. Would he start off with telling him about the dare? Maybe Sherlock wouldn't care either way. Maybe that was the reason John should tell him, no consequences.

Maybe he should just be polite and let Sherlock lead the conversation. That might make John look reluctant to talk.

He was putting on his shoes when he heard a honk from his driveway. He looked out his window, and didn't have to see anything more than headlights before dashing downstairs, finding his sister quite dressed up and by the door.

"Leaving." She stated before slipping out the door and shutting it behind her. John frowned and looked out the peep hole, seeing an equally dressed up brunette meet Harry at the door, beaming brighter than the sun.

John wondered who she was, and what she meant to Harry, and where they were going. He sighed and sat on the couch, tugging his pants down over his ankles.

He held his head in his hands and breathed slowly, as if that would calm his nerves. Every second that went by was agonizing, and John swore God was just playing a cruel joke on him. He couldn't help but think that it might not be the best thing to go with Sherlock. He had hurt him once, he could do it again.

John instantly felt selfish for thinking that. He had hurt Sherlock too. John sighed and stood, deciding ti was better wait outside, the movement allowing him to think about something other than waiting.

The moment he closed the door behind him he felt the air press in around him. Everything felt thick and seemed to crawl down his throat with every breath. John, in a way, enjoyed this weather. He enjoyed feeling the air instead of ignoring it. It was almost symbolic of how John wanted to be, and how Sherlock acted. However, he didn't enjoy the pure heat covering every inch of his body.

He almost laughed at that. He hated the sticky heat, but enjoyed the attached humidity, just like hating everything that came with being Sherlock, except Sherlock himself.

Everything in his life just had to be a metaphor, didn't it?

He could've gone back inside, but by the time he considered it a cherry red car was in his driveway. John didn't know if he should wait for Sherlock to come to the door or meet him at the car, so he stood awkwardly between them, pulling at the fabric of his pants.

Sherlock rose out of the drivers seat with ease and strolled over to John in a black shirt and black washed jeans.

John looked up, "Hi."

"I don't expect everything to instantly go back to the way it was just because we want it to, and you should do the same." Sherlock said, his hand in his pocket and his face blank and solid.

John nodded, "But that doesn't mean it'll stay like this, will it?"