The Boy Who Watched Him Dance

Chapter Seven

John couldn't wait for school the next morning. Couldn't wait to see Sherlock. His boyfriend. He liked the way that sounded when he said it to himself in the mirror. "Boyfriend. Boyfriend." He smiled with a mouth full of toothpaste. He practically leaps out of the door, almost forgetting his backpack. He almost crashes his motorbike twice on the way to school because he gets so distracted. Sherlock is waiting for him, leaning against a wall. John jogs over to him. Sherlock spots him and stops leaning against the wall, only for John to push him back against it again. "Morning," John practically growls. "John!" Sherlock is blushing, "What are you doing?!" "I'm showing the world who my boyfriend is, and how much I love him." John nuzzled into Sherlock's neck. Sherlock couldn't stop giggling. "You mean," he started, "you don't want to keep it a secret?" John stopped attacking Sherlock's neck for a moment. Looking perplexed, he said, "No. Of course not. Why would I want to keep it a secret?" "Because I'm the freak, and you're captain of the rugby team." "Oh Lock. I don't give two fucks about what the rugby team thinks, or the teachers, or my father. I'm just so glad you're finally mine." Sherlock was grinning like an idiot, "Lock? I like it. Everyone else has always gone for Sherl." John shook his head, "Nah. Sherl doesn't fit you. Lock is much better." Sherlock gives his best shit-eating grin, before John starts ravaging him again. He tightens a strong hand in Sherlock's ragamuffin curls and snogs him silly. "Faggots!" someone calls. "Fuck off,  Anderson," John stops kissing Sherlock to abash his teammate. The bell rings. "C'mon, Lock we're gonna be late to class." John knew Sherlock probably wouldn't go to class and he would find him outside the science building later that day smoking a cigarette, but he wanted to get away from the sickening sight of Philip Anderson. Sherlock lets John lead him by the hand into the crowded hallway. And when he stops in front of his English class, he gives Sherlock one last peck on the cheek and a cheeky slap on the arse. "See you at lunch?" "Meet me at the studio," he winks and sashays down the hallway. His sonorous voice resonates in John's head until lunchtime.