For Only You (Teenlock!/Johnlock)

Chapter 2: Breaking The Rules

John's P.O.V

Regaining my composure took a long while. The rapid beating of my heart finally reaching a calm rate after at least an hour. I rolled over to face Sherlock, his head turning to watch me as I did, a raised eyebrow indicating that he was waiting for me to talk.

"How did you know?" I whispered, knowing that Sherlock would exactly what I was talking about. I wanted to know if someone had told him all of that. If they had, college would be just as bad as school.

"Oh, John... I didn't know, I saw. I apologise for the way I said it... thinking back, it probably wasn't the best idea I have had." He looked down with guilt written across his face as he said this, audibly gulping so forcibly that I could see his Adam's apple move.

"Just... please, Sherlock. Tell me how you know. What did you 'see'?" I looked up into his silvery eyes, willing him to speak.

Sherlock slowly sat up, clasping his slender hands together under his chin. He looked as though he was about to start praying. He closed his eyes, his plump lips parting as he took in a deep breath.

"You play the piano, this is obvious from the natural positioning of your hands, every pianist has it. Clarinet- your teeth have been slightly pushed back from the way you have to hold the instrument in your mouth. You tried to learn the guitar but you didn't carry on because of your exams, callouses on your hand show that. How do I know you gave it up for exams? Obvious, you got into this school, you studied for your exams a lot. Your sister is in Year 9, this is really obvious, you have some books, but you handed most of them down to your sister because she is about to start her exams, so, Year 9. She's going through a bit of a 'phase', which, as I said, your mother doesn't like, this is evident, except its not actually a phase. Harriet believes she is gay, your mother is old fashioned, but she'll adjust eventually. She's obviously gay because you flinched when I mentioned homosexuallity- you're worried she'll be given the same treatment as you were. Your mother is kind, your typical kind of motherly figure, I mean, she's washed and ironed all of your clothes, and written your name on the labels. Your father on the other hand is fairly bitter, and he has been since he got back from Afghanistan, Captain, invalidated home. The picture on your phone makes this clear, he is in his uniform, but he is holding a cane, Afghanistan because of his tan line, which is clear because he stretched to put his arm on your shoulder. His smile doesn't reach his eyes, so bitter, not just a family row, he's fed up of his psychosomatic limp- therapy isn't going too well. Your home life is bearable, you were sad to leave, scared to be here, that's why I know your school life was awful, they didn't like you. You've obviously received homophobic abuse because you keep trying to look away from my face, worried I'll hurt you, like they did, you tense, bracing yourself for a hit that could come. I won't. I will never hurt you, I promise." He finished this quietly, but with a strength in his voice that no-one has ever used towards me.

It took a long moment to fully register what he has said, to absorb the lengthy explanation that he had given to me. "That was... brilliant," I managed to cough, undeniably amazed by his observations.

"Really?"

"Yes. That was extraordinary... quite extraordinary." He raised his eyebrows, clearly shocked at my words.

"That's not what people usually say," he chuckled, his deep baritone sending shivers down my spine. I became confused at this, what else could you say about that amazing string of words?

"What do people usually say?"

"Piss off."

We both grinned at this, which turned into laughter. In hindsight, I could see why some people may say that.