Secretly I Think You Knew

Greg's Been Guessing

When Sherlock woke up, the presence of the sun streaming in through his window was like a breath of fresh air. He was safe, Mycroft dare not approach him if the sun was out, if the world was illuminated in a happy light. John was just about dry, little drops of paint dangled from the ceiling like stalactites, dried just as they were preparing to fall onto the sleeping Sherlock. Sherlock rolled out of bed with a groan, showering quickly and changing into fresh new clothes since there were some mysterious red drops on his previous outfit. Of course last night he had been too paranoid to change into his pajamas, so he'd have to wash these extra well in order to be able to wear them again. Sherlock was just about ready when he remembered there was no Mycroft to make him breakfast, so he had to save time to do that and to grab some cash from Mycroft's top drawer. His brother always kept the emergency money in his sock drawer but there still was the issue of the rest of it, hidden away somewhere where Sherlock wasn't able to get to it. He needed to buy some groceries, necessities only of course, the bare minimum to ensure that the food lasted for a while and the money lasted twice as long. So as Sherlock tucked forty dollars into his pocket he tried to scramble some eggs for himself, resulting in smoke rising from the pan, burned little unborn chickens, and a rather soggy bowl of whatever cereal they had left in the cabinet. Sherlock missed Mycroft's cooking, one of the only things his brother did well for the family. If he were still alive Sherlock wouldn't be eating cereal in a kitchen that smelled of burning eggs, he would be feasting on an omelet packed with onions and peppers and mushrooms and cheese, maybe with a side of bacon or sausage. But no, Sherlock was alone and he washed out whatever was left of his cereal down the sink, washing his bowl, grabbing his backpack, and heading out the door to the car. He made sure he had a key to the house before locking up, even though no one in their right mind would want to steal from them (because what even did they have?), Sherlock wanted to make sure he didn't lose his house along with everything else he owned. He got into his car and turned the engine on, backing out of the driveway and closing the garage door before he started his way into town, hoping that he'd see the familiar hunk of junk red car at the stoplight. But when he got there the light was green, so Sherlock didn't have time to search around the road, he just went through and parked in the parking lot, a space that had always been empty even though he didn't have an official parking pass. When Sherlock got out of the car he scanned the parking lot, looking for any signs that John was here. But no, all he saw were jocks and their girlfriends hanging around their cool, expensive cars, the farmers were revving their trucks engines and making sure their mufflers were properly disconnected, and the druggies were sitting in their cars with rap music playing, smoking whatever they could find and probably making out. Oh, how he loved high school. Sherlock shouldered his bag and walked into the school, meandering through the sophomore hallway to get to his locker. As soon as he so much as did the lock, two arms wrapped around his neck from behind and someone pressed kisses to his cheek. So, unless Greg had suddenly gotten a lot friendlier, John had found him first.
"So, how was your first night alone?" John asked, turning Sherlock around and pressing a kiss to his lips, the first one of the day.
"It was fine. Terrifying I guess, but fine." Sherlock shrugged, pretending as though he wasn't sprinting around his house because he was scared of the dark.
"Terrifying how?" John asked worriedly, leaning against Sherlock's locker so that he could watch Sherlock's face as he grabbed his books.
"Well, you know, it was dark, I was alone, there are bodies in my freezer." Sherlock shrugged.
"Ya...I'm sure there are, you're never going to convince me that you could beat me up." John laughed. Sherlock looked over at him in confusion, but saw Greg standing next to John, looking equally confused.
"Bodies in your freezer?" he asked, his eyebrow crinkling as he tried to think of a metaphor that could possibly fit. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head and shutting his locker.
"Oh ya Greg, all of my enemies, I'm like, well I don't like you, and I kill them with my bare hands." Sherlock said with a laugh. John just laughed along and Greg cracked a suspicious smile.
"Greg, I'm kidding, you don't have to look so scared." Sherlock assured.
"He could never beat me up, right?" John asked, punching Sherlock lightly in the shoulder to prove his point.
"Ow." Sherlock whined, rubbing his arm with his free hand and looking scandalized.
"Um, no, I don't think he could." Greg decided, looking between the two of them with suspicion, as if the little wheels in his brain were turning once more.
"You all don't know the sheer strength that these little noodle arms possess." Sherlock mumbled, but even as he said it he had to reposition his English book because it was seemingly too heavy.
"Ya well, alright, I'm off, you two have fun being the little love birds you are. Try not to scare too many people." Greg insisted.
"Oh you know us Greg, we just can't help ourselves." John laughed, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Sherlock's face as proof before taking his hand and steering him away. Sherlock interlocked their fingers lovingly and followed John obediently down the hall.
"Nice save there, I think." Sherlock muttered.
"We don't want Greg to get any ideas. The kid's super suspicious of you as it is. In fact, he pretty much predicted the other night. He said I would get killed just like Victor." John pointed out.
"How did he know that?" Sherlock asked worriedly, looking back down the hallway to make sure Greg wasn't following them and listening to their conversation.
"Oh I don't know, Greg is Greg I guess. Sometimes he gets lucky; it's nothing to worry about. And besides, he seems alright with you now, even friendly." John assured.
"Ya, I suppose he does." Sherlock agreed.
"Just don't mention anything and whatever you do, don't tell him anything." John insisted.
"Why would I ever tell him that? I never told you, you found out by yourself, honestly if you hadn't I wouldn't have told you anyway." Sherlock shrugged.
"Why wouldn't you tell me?" John asked, sounding a bit disappointed that Sherlock didn't trust him enough.
"Well, I would've thought you would've taken me for a freak and left me. I would've thought that you would leave me." Sherlock admitted.
"But I wouldn't leave you, not ever. I found out and I still chose you." John insisted.
"And for that I will always be grateful." Sherlock agreed.
"Besides, you should see my body count hidden in my basement. You know I've been adopted twice, all of my parents dying under suspicious circumstances?" John asked with a laugh. Sherlock just shook his head, slapping John playfully and leaning against the wall outside of the English classroom. The door wasn't open, of course, but there were a couple of students lingering around outside, so they had to keep their voices down or change the topic of conversation. Maybe a little bit of both.
"So, I have to go grocery shopping." Sherlock admitted.
"I'll come." John offered.
"That's very nice of you John, but you need to go to soccer practice." Sherlock insisted.
"Well maybe you could wait for me through soccer practice and we could go grocery shopping together?" John suggested. Sherlock sighed heavily, but nodded with a smile.
"I have nowhere to be I suppose." He agreed. John smiled widely, looking thrilled at the promise of Sherlock watching his practice.
"I don't know how to get into my bank account, and I don't know where the rest of the money is. The stuff I inherited." Sherlock admitted. John looked a bit worried, obviously thinking.
"How much do you have without the bank?" he asked.
"About two hundred, give or take." Sherlock shrugged.
"That won't be enough. I suppose when you turn eighteen you can go to the bank and explain that Mycroft left, or make up some story to get the inheritance without an official death certificate. Or you could stage his death. Either way you can't do it now, because they'll send you to an orphanage until you reach eighteen." John sighed.
"I see a lot of rationing in my future." Sherlock groaned.
"You'll be fine, maybe you could get a little job, earn enough money for gas and food." John suggested. Sherlock groaned again, he hadn't even though about gas money. This was going to be a lot more difficult than he had thought.
"Maybe we should've just tied him up in the freezer, that way he could still pay my bills and make me breakfast." Sherlock sighed.
"Oh ya, how did cooking by yourself go?" John asked with a laugh.
"Horrible, of course. I made pasta but I was too afraid to actually eat it, and I burnt eggs for breakfast and had to eat cereal." Sherlock whined.
"You were too scared to eat pasta?" John asked with a laugh.
"Well, ya, it was...dark." Sherlock muttered in shame. But thankfully John didn't laugh, in fact he looked worried, that annoying little face he made when he wanted to fix all of Sherlock's problems himself.
"I can come over tonight." He offered.
"You don't have to come over, don't be stupid." Sherlock insisted.
"I'm not being stupid, if you're scared, then you need someone to be there with you." John pointed out.
"I'm perfectly fine alone, there's nothing in my house to be scared about." Sherlock lied, thinking of how he had hallucinated some of his brother's last words, sitting in his armchair once more.
"Well call me at least, and I'll come over alright?" john asked.
"I will, but even if I do, don't come and make a big fuss. I'm really not that big of a deal." Sherlock admitted. John just rolled his eyes, standing on his tip toes and kissing Sherlock softly, shamelessly in front of their entire English class.
"You mean everything to me." he insisted, pulling away and leaning against the wall once more, not even a little bit fazed when he saw everyone staring at the two of them as if they were the next generation of freaks. The teacher finally came and opened up the door and everyone funneled in, like cattle going through a shoot. John lingered around at Sherlock's desk, for which Sherlock was thankful for, but everyone was giving them very weird looks. It was as if they had never seen two perfectly able people fall in love. As if love was strictly forbidden for two people of the same gender, that even though their souls were the perfect match, their genders made it impossible. Well then they were just wrong, and they could frolic around with their boyfriends and their girlfriends and pretend like their relationships meant more than just a person to kiss and steal sweatshirts from. While Sherlock and John had a perfectly healthy, strong relationship, they just happened to be gay, and there was nothing wrong with that.
"Alright everyone, get to your seats." The teacher insisted, beginning to take roll call.
"Bye Sherlock." John muttered, ruffling his hand through Sherlock's curls lovingly before walking back over to his desk. Sherlock pretended to be mad that his hair (which he had taken a whole of five minutes to do) had been messed up, but honestly he couldn't care less, as long as John was the one that was messing it up. Sherlock suffered through English, a completely John free class since they were reading some stupid play that had no impact on Sherlock's life or his future. Tax dollars at work, honestly. So when the class was finally over Sherlock shut his book and jumped to his feet, grabbing his backpack and walking as quickly as he could over to John's desk, where he was still stuffing his binder into his overstuffed backpack with difficulty.
"You look very eager." John decided with a little laugh.
"I'm not the biggest fan of Shakespeare." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"Obviously, well, I'm not either, but I tolerate it. Besides, I think this story is a guide for what not to do in a relationship." John decided.
"So as long as I don't fake my death and untimely make you kill yourself making me kill myself we're good?" Sherlock asked with a teasing little smile.
"Right you are, Juliet." John agreed, poking Sherlock's nose playfully before zipping up his bag and starting out the door.
"I have my next class with Greg." Sherlock sighed, not too excited about listening to his constant ramblings and stupid jokes.
"Oh, just let him be Greg, and it he's too annoying just tell him to shut up, he will eventually." John shrugged.
"How did you survive twelve years with that insufferable buffoon?" Sherlock wondered.
"You get used to it after a while." John admitted with a shrug.
"I doubt I'll know him long enough to get used to it." Sherlock decided.
"Why do you say that?" John asked, waiting for Sherlock as he switched his books out at his locker.
"Well we're only going to be in school for another year, I mean, that sounds like an awfully long time but it really isn't, I'm sure I'll hate him right up to Graduation." Sherlock guessed. John just laughed, shaking his head as if Sherlock's grudges were the cutest things.
"And when he's the best man at our wedding?" John asked.
"Well then I'll be sure to hurl the bouquet of thorny roses right into his face, or suffocate him with wedding cake." Sherlock decided.
"Are you already admitting to being the bride?" John asked. Sherlock shrugged, of course he hadn't thought about that at all.
"I don't know, as long as I don't have to wear a dress I'll be fine with it." Sherlock shrugged.
"I think you'd look good in a wedding dress." John decided, stepping back as if imagining Sherlock in a white ball gown and veil.
"Wedding talk already? It's been a day!" Greg's voice announced his arrival, as it usually did, way before either of them was able to spot him in the crowd.
"Ah yes, Greg, we were just saying how you should be the best man." John decided.
"Ooh, I am a man, and I am pretty good at it." Greg decided, pretending to adjust and invisible bow tie on his collar.
"No you're not." Sherlock decided.
"Says the gay boy that wears mascara." Greg pointed out. Sherlock wrinkled his face in confusion, a little bit taken aback at Greg's insult.
"Um, excuse me, I don't wear mascara." Sherlock snapped.
"You'd make a pretty brides maid." John decided, making Greg frown.
"Or the man who picks up all the discarded plates and cups when everyone is done eating." Sherlock suggested. Greg just laughed, as if he couldn't tell if Sherlock was being serious or not.
"Well then, on that note, we've got experiments to do and labs to preform, good day Johnathan." Greg said, stooping into a bow as if pretending to be a gentleman and leading Sherlock down the hallway.
"So that wedding talk, that was all made up right? I mean, you're not actually getting married?" Greg asked. Sherlock sighed, wishing John was here to somehow lighten the mood.
"No, we're not actually getting married; I had thought you'd be a bit more intelligent than that." Sherlock sighed.
"Someday though, right? I mean, you two are like two peas in a pod." Greg said with a teasing laugh, jabbing Sherlock rather painfully in the ribs with his elbow.
"Um...well, it's a little bit too early to decide, we are in high school." Sherlock pointed out.
"Age doesn't really matter, my grandparents got married when they were sixteen, and they're still together for like, five hundred years." Greg assured.
"Times were different back then." Sherlock pointed out.
"Ya, in the Stone Age. Now you have to be like twenty five and have a house and a steady income and a long term relationship for like ten years. Times are tough, aren't they?" Greg sighed.
"Yes, they are." Sherlock groaned, really not wanting to be around this idiot for much longer.
"At least we don't have to worry about teen pregnancy, am I right?" Greg asked, laughing again as if he thought he was simply the most hilarious person in the world.
"You really are a joy to be around." Sherlock sighed, but Greg seemed to take it as a compliment more than a sarcastic insult.
"Ya, I get that a lot." Greg agreed. Finally they reached the science classroom, and thankfully they sat on opposite sides of the room, so that Sherlock could properly burry his head in a book and ignore Greg's very existence.