Secretly I Think You Knew

Darn the Paparazzi

John POV: John was asleep most of the night, it was chilly but peaceful, Sherlock was snuggled up in his arms, the only sound was the crackling of Mycroft's body in the flames and the soft chirping of crickets nearby. But as he slept he heard a noise, a sort of rustling in the grass, sounding like soft footsteps. John clutched to Sherlock's body, forcing himself to be quiet, forcing himself not to move. If there really was someone in the yard then they hadn't noticed the two of them curled up in the grass, they hadn't been able to see by the light of the fire. John stayed motionless, not letting his breath make too much noise as the footsteps came closer. There had been no cars on the driveway, at least none that John could hear, so the person either parked on the side of the road or had walked all the way here, which was doubtful. What did they want? Were they robbers, murderers, or did they just want to make sure the black smoke rising through the air wasn't someone's house lit on fire? Sherlock was still fast asleep in John's arms, his face contorted into a scowl, as if whatever he was dreaming about made him very angry. John raised his head cautiously, not wanting to be seen or heard but still wanting to see what he was up against. There was an axe next to the house; he had noticed it when he was getting the firewood. If this intruder really wanted to take their lives, all John had to do was get to the axe and fight them off, or at least give Sherlock time to run. As he listened to the person in the yard, John felt surprisingly calm. A normal person might be freaked out, terrified, but John felt an odd urge to fight, anger flowing through his veins at this unknown spy. But wait, if someone was creeping around in the yard, they would see the fire, they would see Mycroft's body...what if it was a cop? John poked Sherlock's side gently, covering his mouth with one of his hands and letting the boy stir, waking up very slowly, his beautiful eyes opening and lighting up with confusion. John slowly took his hand off of Sherlock's mouth, holding a finger to his lips to show that they had to be quiet before nodding ever so slightly towards the fire. Sherlock listened, turning his head ever so slightly so that he could point his ear towards the flames. The footsteps came again, and John felt Sherlock's body tense with fear, as if worried it was Mycroft prowling around the flames. John gently pulled Sherlock's head back down, there was nothing they could do right now, if the man was armed and they made a move then they would end up as dead as Mycroft. They had to stay hidden, a simple lump in the dark grass that could be anything in the eyes of an attacker. Certainly two young boys wouldn't be stupid enough to sleep outside? Suddenly though there was a flash of light and the sound of a camera phone, they were taking pictures! John sprang to his feet, seeing a very surprised figure holding up an IPhone and snapping pictures of the fire, of Mycroft's burning body.
"GET OUT OF THERE!" John yelled desperately. The man had a black ski mask on, but obviously he wasn't a burglar, he had come for information, for proof. As soon as John got up the man started to run away, but John was in hot purist, he had to get to the man before he went to the police. Sherlock and John's future rested on that phone.
"John, come back!" Sherlock yelled, running after the two figures darting across the lawn. The darkened man went running through the fields of what seemed to be soybeans, but that didn't stop John. There was a car parked on the road, which was where he was going, John had to reach him before he could get away. John's legs started to burn, but he ignored them, there were more important things than the current state of his legs. He didn't care if they couldn't go any farther, he didn't care if his lungs were burning and his stomach turning uncomfortably, that man had to be stopped. If he got away the police would come, and they would arrest Sherlock and John. John was gaining ground, they were going downhill and John's height was helping him, he was using gravity to his advantage while the other man was taller and stockier, he had to pick his way through the field and avoid falling on his own feet. Unfortunately though, just as John was making ground, his foot hit a rock and he lost his balance, falling in a heap into the dirt as the man kept running, not looking back once.
"John, John are you alright?" Sherlock was looming over him, trying to get him up, to make sure he was alright. John groaned, blinking a couple of times and coughing, as the wind had been knocked out of his lungs.
"I'm fine, is he gone?" John groaned, pulling his head up to see the man getting into the car. Except, he recognized the car, it was the same car that used to cart him around to the movie theaters and to soccer games and parties. It was Greg's mom's car, and the way it was swerving and struggling to stay on the road, John would say that it was Greg Lestrade at the wheel.
"He's gone." Sherlock whispered. John watched as the car disappeared down the road, heading back into town, but it was good, John knew exactly where it was going.
"I'll go get him." John decided, pulling himself to his feet determinedly.
"No, John, no." Sherlock insisted.
"He's got pictures of the body, the police will be here, we're caught if he gets away!" John exclaimed. Sherlock held both of John's shoulders calmingly, not letting him go anywhere.
"The police might come, but they're humans too. And humans are killable." Sherlock assured.
"We're not going to kill the police, they'll send more, we need to either get him or leave this country." John insisted.
"We're going to stay." Sherlock insisted.
"Sherlock we'll end up in prison!" John exclaimed. Sherlock looked almost mad in the moonlight, standing with a smile on his face, his hands on John's shoulders, looking almost happy the man got away.
"We're going to stay. I don't care if I go to prison, I don't care what happens. As long as we're together, forever." He whispered.
"Of course we will be, there's nothing that will stop me from loving you." John agreed. Sherlock looked at him with a very proud glare, as if he knew exactly what he was going to do for once.
"I know there's not. I know." He agreed, pulling John a bit closer and kissing his lips softly, just as a small reminder that they were together and if they were together that nothing could hurt them.
"Let's go back inside; we'll settle this in the morning." John decided. Sherlock nodded, pulling away and leading John back up to the house, through the soy bean field and the backyard, where Mycroft's fire was starting to smolder and die. John sat at the kitchen table, tapping his fingers against the wood and thinking about what he was going to do about this whole situation. So what? Greg had pictures of Mycroft's body; he wouldn't know what to do with them. He may be a horrible, hateful traitor but he still cared about John's wellbeing, he wouldn't purposely convict his ex-best friend of murder. So he would use them as some sort of ransom, as blackmail. If he was too scared to go to the police for help, he would try to solve things his own way; he would hang them over John's head and force him to leave Sherlock.
"You look troubled." Sherlock decided as he stood at the stove, heating up a kettle full of water for tea. John looked up at him with a sort of sleepy smile, rubbing the caking mud off of his hands and shaking his head.
"Of course I'm troubled Sherlock, I'm worried about us." John admitted. Sherlock leaned against the counter, looking surprisingly calm.
"It's alright John, I have an idea, something that will keep us together forever." He assured.
"What do you mean by that?" John asked curiously.
"I can't spoil the surprise can I? No, if this works, even the bars of a jail cell couldn't keep us apart." Sherlock assured.
"Well, whatever this plan is, I think I like it." John decided. "I'd do anything to stay with you for the rest of my life."
"I know. As would I." Sherlock agreed. John sighed, looking down at the table and wondering if he should tell Sherlock about Greg or not. The boy had too many troubles on his hands as it is, and besides, what could Sherlock do with that information? As much as John hated Greg right now, he had always been a good person and the only thing Sherlock would do was kill him. No, Sherlock couldn't know, this was a matter for John to deal with alone. He knew exactly what they were up against, and he was going to do all he could to stop it. The kettle screamed, making John look up in shock, but Sherlock looked as if it hadn't even startled him, as if he knew precisely when the water was going to boil and the steam come screaming out of the top. He seemed like he was living in a sort of dream. If John didn't' know Sherlock, he would say he looked high. But this was Sherlock Holmes, secluded for his entire life. John doubted Sherlock even knew what drugs were.
"Here you are John." he muttered, setting down at cup of tea and sitting at the opposite side of the table, stirring sugar into his tea thoughtfully.
"Who do you think it was?" Sherlock asked, looking up at John and watching as he took a cautious sip of the steaming tea.
"I have no idea." John lied. "I don't know anyone who would wander up here just to take pictures of your brother's body; no one would know to do that."
"Greg would." Sherlock insisted. John forced a laugh, shaking his head doubtfully.
"Like I said, Greg's making up stories; he doesn't actually know what he's saying half the time. No one believes him, and honestly I doubt he even believes himself." John assured. Sherlock nodded, stirring his tea even though he didn't add anything into it, absentmindedly I suppose.
"It'll be alright, I won't let the police take you." Sherlock assured after a moment.
"I know." John agreed.
"Besides, they can't really charge you with anything, you haven't killed anyone yet." Sherlock pointed out.
"I'm an accomplice; I haven't said or done anything to stop you." John pointed out, sipping his tea rather carelessly.
"We can work around that, say that I was forcing you to be quiet, forcing you to love me while I was alone." Sherlock decided. John looked up in sadness, if Sherlock went to prison; he most certainly wanted to come as well.
"I'm not letting you leave me. I'm coming with you. And besides, I don't want anyone to think that this love we share is forced, is made up. I love you, and everyone needs to know that." John insisted. Sherlock smiled thankfully, his eyes gleaming as if he knew things that John didn't.
"We'll be okay John, you'll see. Everything will turn out fine." Sherlock assured. John smiled because he actually believed that. If Sherlock told him everything would be fine, then it would be, and it didn't matter what happened in between. If Sherlock and John could love each other for the rest of their lives, regardless of their situation or location, everything would be alright. The sun rose not long after the two of them had finished their tea, and they resorted to lying on the couch together and trying to get some sleep. A record spun lazily in the record player, playing soft, scratchy piano music as if that were to help them along, but honestly it just kept John up, if anything. He lay on the couch with a sleeping Sherlock snuggled against him, listening to the music and thinking about what he was going to do to Greg Lestrade when he got his hands on him. Greg would want a bargain, but John wasn't going to leave Sherlock, in no way was that the solution. He would take the phone, delete the pictures and force Greg to keep his mouth shut in any way that he could, because he wasn't going to let Greg ruin their entire new lives. He would tell Sherlock he had to leave, then, since it was the weekend, he would go to Greg's house and negotiate terms, whether they ended it peacefully or violently, that was all up to how Greg behaved. John was definitely willing to make him suffer for invading their privacy, but if he cooperated and deleted the pictures, well then he might be able to slip away unharmed. So when the sun came up and Sherlock's eyes opened once more, John was ready to take off, to get his security back.
"Would you like some breakfast?" Sherlock muttered, repositioning himself so that he could kiss John sleepily before rolling off the couch to his feet.
"No, thank you Sherlock, but my mother is going to expect me home soon." John admitted.
"It's not even six o'clock, how could she expect you now?" Sherlock asked. John sighed, looking at the clock and realizing that Sherlock was right, there was no way he could be over at Greg's at this hour, not without raising too much suspicion.
"Alright then, maybe I'll stay for breakfast." John decided, laying on the couch and stretching out his legs the best he could.
"That's the spirit." Sherlock said with an appreciative laugh, going over to the kitchen and cracking some eggs into a pan. John got sleepily to his feet, rubbing his eyes and wandering over to the kitchen, watching as Sherlock turned on the stove and started to cook the eggs.
"I hope I don't burn them this time, that's certainly not a road I want to go down again." Sherlock said with a small laugh.
"Well if you need help I'm always here." John assured. "Just keep stirring them around and they won't burn."
"I don't think I'll ever get used to this whole cooking thing." Sherlock admitted as he poked the little plastic spatula around in the pan, making sure the eggs were evenly distributed throughout.
"You will, you just got to get the hang of it, get some new recipes, more ingredients." John decided.
"Can you cook?" Sherlock wondered. John seated himself at the kitchen table, picking up a small fork that Sherlock must have left there and twiddling it between his fingers.
"Oh ya, I can make a mean bowl of cereal. Other than that, not really." John admitted with a small laugh.
"Well I'd like to say I can, but I really can't. I made some pasta the other day, but other than that I'm going to need a bit of help." Sherlock decided.
"You can go to a foods course at the community college." John suggested. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head as if that were a barbaric idea.
"I'm not going to waste my money and time on something I can figure out by myself. Besides, I need to go to actual college and do actual things." Sherlock pointed out. John sighed, not really wanting to think of college and his future and all of those scary things.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" he wondered. Sherlock just laughed, spilling some milk into the pan and stirring it around.
"I think I'm already grown up by default." He insisted. "But if I were to be anything, well, I suppose I'd like to be a detective."
"A detective? That's a rather odd choice for living out here." John decided.
"Just because I grow up in the middle of nowhere doesn't mean I can't be a detective. Besides, it's an impossible dream." Sherlock shrugged.
"Why a detective, what made you want to do something like that?" John wondered. Sherlock shrugged, turning the stove off and dumping the fluffy yellow eggs into a large bowl for them to share.
"I'm not really sure; maybe it's the fact that if someone had been able to hunt down Victor Trevor's body I would've been rid of Mycroft in a much better, much more legal way a long time ago." Sherlock decided.
"Well you'd be shipped off to an orphanage, possibly adopted." John pointed out.
"I wouldn't want to be adopted, I'm sure you can choose to stay, right?" Sherlock wondered, coming over with the eggs and two forks. A gourmet meal for two apparently.
"I have no idea; thinking about orphanages just makes me sad." John admitted. "To think of someone like you in one, well, I don't want to. You're too beautiful to be locked up in an orphanage."
"Well thank you John. You'd make your family adopt me, right?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"Well that's pushing it Sherlock, you're a great boyfriend but I'm not sure I'd like you sleeping downstairs on the pullout couch for the rest of your life." John insisted.
"Why not?" Sherlock wondered, handing John a fork which he took thankfully.
"I rephrase that, I don't think you would like it. Besides, wouldn't it be rather awkward if you were my adopted brother?" John asked. Sherlock thought for a moment but nodded.
"Yes, I think it would be, although it didn't stop Victor Frankenstein." He insisted. John just laughed, shaking his head in agreement.
"No it did not." He agreed, plucking some eggs from the bowl and tasting them. He appreciated the effort, he really did, but obviously Sherlock should rethink some cooking classes because the eggs tasted strongly of milk and were extremely watery, and when John bit down he felt egg shells cracking under his teeth, making his shutter. Nevertheless he forced a smile, taking some more and pretending to enjoy Sherlock's cooking.
"Oh, they're awful." Sherlock decided after taking his first mouthful.
"I was going to pretend..." John muttered, dropping his fork in disgust and looking around for some juice to wash his mouth out with.
"If you think they taste bad just tell me, I mean, I'm going to figure it out eventually." Sherlock shrugged.