Secretly I Think You Knew

The Obscure Olive Branch

John packed his binders and folders into his backpack, almost tempted to write Sherlock another note to slip into his locker before deciding against it. Sherlock was the one that had said goodbye to him, if John couldn't let him go he'd turn into that crazy ex-whatever he was and Sherlock would have to get Mycroft involved. Besides, if Sherlock thought it was best for his own security, then john couldn't argue. He wouldn't put Sherlock's life in danger simply because he couldn't stand the thought of losing him. John drove himself to school, not picking Greg up because ever since the fight Greg had been riding the bus instead. Maybe he thought it was best they weren't alone in a confined area together, just in case they broke out in another fight. Since Sherlock was out of the picture John would have to rekindle their friendship, where would he sit at lunch, who would he hang out with during breaks? He needed Greg now that he didn't have Sherlock. John sat at the stoplight and watched eagerly for the black car to roll up, of course he had all the intentions of looking away when it did arrive, but for some reason it wasn't. Maybe Sherlock had gotten there early, or he was coming late. Or Mycroft had caught him and he wasn't coming at all. No, he was careful, John trusted him enough to sneak back into the house, especially if by doing so he was ensuring John's life. John suspected that Sherlock cared more about John's life than his own, and if Mycroft catching him would somehow put John in danger than Sherlock would make sure he wasn't caught. John pulled into the school a little bit later, taking a deep breath and trying to emotionally prepare himself for seeing Sherlock again. What would happen, would they avoid eye contact, refuse the other existed? They were in the same class; they had to interact just a little bit, whether through glances or forced words. John wanted to talk to Sherlock, of course he did, even though they had seen each other less than ten hours ago it felt wrong almost, to not hear Sherlock's voice. To know it was never coming. So John grabbed his backpack, deciding that he'll cross that bridge when he came to it and started off towards the school, where the busses were just pulling up. When he got to his locker Sherlock didn't appear to be at his, John stole a quick glance to make sure, and his locker stood lonely and untouched. John sighed, not knowing what he was hoping for, but he was starting to get a bit worried. I mean, Sherlock could be late, it's happened before, or he was already at English because he wanted to avoid all unnecessary interactions with John, which was also very possible. But he wasn't at his locker and John wouldn't be worried if Sherlock had had a normal night, if he hadn't snuck off in the middle of the night right under the nose of his abusive big brother. What might've happened if Sherlock had gotten caught, what might Mycroft do? John didn't want to think about it, he really didn't, that precious, gentle Sherlock getting beaten for falling in love, all he wanted was to be loved, accepted, and his brother just wouldn't let that happen. He made the poor boy suffer more than anyone should be allowed to suffer, not only physically but mentally, spiritually, making him live without love even though his heart was ready and determined. John didn't want to be the reason Sherlock had fallen into Mycroft's grasp. When he got to English he was very much hoping to see Sherlock sitting at his desk, reading a book, browsing on his computer, anything really, he wanted to see anything except an empty desk.
"Has Sherlock come in here yet?" he asked the teacher, who was sitting at her desk, grading papers. She looked up carelessly, casting a look to Sherlock's empty desk and shrugging.
"I haven't been paying much attention, but I don't think so." she admitted. John sighed, thanking her and walking back to his seat. He wished now that Sherlock had a phone, or even an email address, so that John could somehow get in touch with him when things like this happen. Sherlock could be grieving like John had been, he could be sick, or he could be beaten on his living room floor, unable to get to school. Either way John wanted to know, he hated not knowing that Sherlock was safe since he thought himself to be reliable for the fragile boy's protection. The class started to leak in, every student that walked through the door John would look up hopefully, thinking that it might be Sherlock, thinking that Sherlock might be tagging along behind where he couldn't see. Every time he looked up, and every time he looked back down in disappointment, starting to accept that Sherlock wasn't coming. This was bad, this was beyond bad, Mycroft had to have caught him, the poor boy might be suffering, dying even, and John was sitting in English class instead of protecting him. John sighed, but no Sherlock walked in and soon the teacher got up and closed the door, taking roll call.
"Sherlock Holmes, absent?" she asked, looking over at John as if he were the one to ask. Well, then again, he was the only one that would really notice his disappearance. John just nodded, sitting back in his desk and casting a glance to Sherlock's empty chair, wondering where on earth that boy was now. That class might have been the worst class yet, there was a ball of anxiety welling up in John's chest, every minute that passed was another minute without Sherlock, another minute of blood loss, of pain that boy might be going through right now. John was worried beyond worry, so worried in fact that he was seriously considering pretending to be sick and going to Sherlock's house to check on him. Then again, if he went to Sherlock's house not only would Mycroft be there to stop him, but Sherlock would have to get punished again for interacting and that was solely the reason Sherlock had tried to let John go. John sighed, even if Sherlock was there, he wouldn't be talking to him. The ghost of Sherlock's hand materialized on John's cheek, his tears, his cracking voice, the only one that ever loved me. Those words were like a dagger through John's heart because he knew it was true. Sherlock's parents were dead, Mycroft saw him as no more than a chew toy and he had no other friends, no other companions. Sherlock was all alone in the world and he had let go of the single person that cared at all for him. When class was over John hurried off to his locker, not knowing why he was in a hurry but knowing that he wanted to get there before anyone else did. So while he was switching out his books John debated whether or not he should pull his own Romeo move and climb into Sherlock's window when someone appeared behind him.
"Sherlock, where on earth have you..." John started, his voice alight with relief. When he turned around though, he saw Greg, who didn't look very happy.
"Sorry to disappoint." Greg muttered. John sighed, shoving his book into his locker and turning his back on Greg once more.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Well, I came to apologize, actually." Greg decided. John turned around just a little bit, looking for the smile on Greg's face. Surely he was kidding? Greg Lestrade never apologized; he waited to be apologized to. He always thought he was right, even if he wasn't, and in this case, he definitely wasn't.
"Why?" John asked.
"Well, partially because I felt bad, partially because I hate the bus, and partially because I can't stand James constantly pestering to apologize to you, so here I am. Sorry." Greg decided. John shut his locker, turning to Greg and finding, very much to his surprise, that Greg looked serious, apologetic to be honest.
"He's a good kid Greg, honestly. You don't have to worry about him." John assured.
"I know, I don't know why I was so scared, I guess I was just worried about you. In a way I think I lost you because I cared too much." Greg shrugged.
"What brought you to realize?" John asked.
"Well, I may have threatened him in the hallway." Greg shrugged. "He seemed pretty weak then so I didn't really think he could kill anyone."
"You threatened him?" John asked. The last thing Sherlock needed was someone else roughing him up.
"Ya, it was empty of course, I wouldn't beat up a little twig of a kid, I panicked, you weren't at school." Greg shrugged.
"That was yesterday?" John asked.
"Ya." Greg admitted. "I was worried, I thought he got you." John sighed, in a way, he had.
"He's not here today, I'm worried about him." John admitted, looking down the hallways once more.
"Everyone takes a sick day once in a while, I'm sure he's fine." Greg assured. John sighed, not agreeing at all but shaking his head nevertheless.
"Ya, he'll be fine. Anyway, thank you for apologizing, apology accepted." John said with a smile. Greg smiled back, a sight John kind of thought he'd never see.
"Well, I'd better be off, I'll get murdered it I'm late again." Greg decided.
"Ya, see you." John decided, watching as Greg scampered off into the crowd with a slight smile on his face. Well, that was great, at least his best friend was back to being his best friend. John sat through history rather painfully, he knew that Sherlock wasn't going to show up to this class but he was still worried, somehow he thought that Sherlock's head might roll in through the window, or Mycroft would burst through with a bloodstained axe and try to take John's head off. John didn't like his options right now, so when the bell rang, announcing they could go off to lunch, he was extremely relieved. John got up and went to his locker, happy to see Greg already standing there, going through his lunch box and pulling some pretzels from the dark depths.
"Ah, there you are. I thought you got lost." Greg admitted, munching on a couple of pretzels carelessly. Obviously it was like there had been no tension between them at all, he was all back to being good old Greg.
"Nope, I'm always this late." John assured, opening his locker and pulling out his lunch box.
"Oh no, incoming." Greg muttered.
"What?" John asked, starting to stuff his history book into his locker.
"John." said a familiar deep voice behind him. John was so startled that his book fell onto the floor, right next to Greg's foot, which he pulled back right in time. John turned and saw Sherlock standing over him, not looking harmed at all, no facial marks at least.
"Sherlock, my god, are you alright? I was worried." John asked quickly.
"I'm fine, just... here." Sherlock muttered, holding out a letter in a neat little envelope.
"What, are we going to communicate the old fashioned way?" John asked with a smile, taking the envelope and watching for a smile back. It never came. Sherlock took one last look at John and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving John to stand there and wonder why Sherlock had come in late at all.
"What's that?" Greg asked, snatching the letter out of John's hands before he could protest.
"No, don't read that!" John insisted, grasping desperately for the letter that Greg kept just out of reach.
"What is it, a love letter? His handwriting is insane." Greg decided, keeping John at arm's length as pulled the note out of the envelope.
"Just give it to me, okay?" John insisted.
"John Watson, we would be delighted if you would join us for dinner tomorrow night at our house, five o'clock. I understand that there is some tension between us, and I would like to resolve that the best I can without causing any more trouble between my brother and I. We can talk it over at dinner, but I do hope you don't see me as a villain. You and I both care deeply about Sherlock and want what is best for him, even if we don't see eye to eye about how that is to be achieved. Until then, Mycroft Holmes." Greg read.
"Mycroft?" John asked, snatching the letter back and reading it himself.
"I will not let you go to that, not at all." Greg decided.
"Why not? Sounds fair enough, Mycroft and I never got along." John decided, tucking the note back into the envelope and shoving it into his pocket. Greg sighed heavily, as if this were all a great inconvenience to him.
"John I told you before, I heard Sherlock invite Victor to dinner the day he went missing, what if they're setting you up for this as well?" Greg pointed out.
"He didn't kill Victor, and he's not going to kill me. Sherlock and I, we have a special bond I suppose, and he wouldn't kill me. He cares too much for me." John insisted.
"Are you saying you two are like..." Greg started. John stared at him in confusion. "Like a thing?" Greg finished. John sighed, but shook his head.
"We're not a thing we're friends." John insisted, but honestly he didn't know what they were anymore.
"I don't think you should go." Greg decided.
"You said it yourself, he's a twig, he couldn't kill someone if he wanted to." John insisted, starting off towards the cafeteria.
"Yes, but what about this Mycroft, who is that, his dad?" Greg asked.
"His brother, and yes, I could see Mycroft killing someone. But he said he wanted to resolve the tension between us, maybe this is an olive branch." John pointed out.
"I don't know what that means." Greg insisted, following close behind.
"I'm going, there's nothing you can do to stop me." John insisted. Greg sighed heavily, muttering something John couldn't make out. Sherlock wasn't at the cafeteria, his table was empty but at least John knew he was safe. Just because he didn't have any facial wounds doesn't mean he wasn't hurt, last time he had a horrible bruise on his stomach and he very well might have one now. But John never found out because he didn't see Sherlock the rest of the day, he went from last period to soccer practice, which was thoroughly enjoyable now that he and Greg were back on good terms. In fact the whole team seemed a lot more inviting, as if Greg's opinion was theirs as well. So from soccer he drove himself home, very tempted to leave town and go off to Sherlock's but knowing full well that it was a bad idea, so he continued home, pulling into the driveway and staring sadly at the front yard, knowing that was the place where Sherlock had delivered the news. He sighed, getting out of the car and grabbing his backpack, walking inside where the house smelled strongly like garlic and happiness.
"I'm home!" John called, fishing out the invitation from his backpack before dumping it on the counter.
"Hello John!" Mrs. Watson said from the kitchen. John wandered in, peaking at what looked like lasagna in the oven.
"Hey, Sherlock invited me over for dinner tomorrow night, am I free?" John asked.
"Well, soccer practice. What time are they expecting you?" Mrs. Watson asked.
"Five o'clock, I'll have plenty of time." John assured.
"Well, it is a school night." Mrs. Watson pointed out, mixing up some salad in a large bowl.
"Ya, I know, but I won't be out late, it's only for dinner." John shrugged.
"Well alright, as long as you think it's alright. I don't know this Sherlock, but didn't he say his parents are dead? Who's watching him?" she asked.
"Oh, his older brother, Mycroft." John shrugged.
"And this Mycroft is a good man?" she asked. John just chuckled, obviously the answer to that was no.
"Yes of course. What are you worried about?" John asked. Mrs. Watson sighed, as if she was now in danger of insulting his son's new friend.
"Well, Sherlock wasn't the nicest young man you've ever brought to the house; I just hope the rest of his family isn't as rude." She pointed out.
"He's not rude; he doesn't mean to be at least. He's had a rough couple of years; I think I'm the first person he's actually befriended." John insisted. Mrs. Watson sighed heavily, but nodded.
"Alright, just be safe John." she insisted.
"Thanks mom!" John exclaimed, giving her a very large smile before running up to his room to get showered and ready for dinner.