The next day I wait at the bus stop for Sherlock. He never comes. Maybe he is sick today? I try not to think much of it and I hurry onto the bus, taking my seat. I look around to see if Sherlock is some how already on the bus. He isn't. I sit in my usual spot and look around at the usual students. They mean nothing to me compared to Sherlock. I love Sherlock. When the bus stops at school and all the kids come pouring out, I walk slowly to the school, not a word to anybody.
The first three classes go by in a blur and I don't pay attention in most. I might not get a good grade for the day. But does it really matter? Really?
Break time comes but I'm not really joyous. And what I find on the playground doesn't help.
Sherlock is sitting on the bench, his face down. He isn't in his thinking state, but is yet oblivious to everyone around him. I rush to the bench and sit down, placing a hand on his upper back.
"What's wrong?"
Sherlock shrugs my hand off and stands up, walking to the next bench, sitting down and pouts again. I feel a stab of sadness and look at him with concern. He doesn't want to be near me. I stand up and go play football with Mike and Greg. I don't do well though.
Sherlock ignores me the whole day, but I can't help thinking of him in every single class. I miss his smile and kiss, the warmth I felt near him. I wish people would leave me alone. I just want to be near Sherlock. After school I go behind the school to cool down, just get away from everyone. I don't feel like socializing. Sherlock doesn't like me anymore.
Thats when I see the shadow of a tall boy, his front facing the brick wall. A trail of smoke is lifted into the air and up into the clouds. The boy has brown curly hair. The boy is Sherlock. Sherlock is smoking.
"Oh my god." I cry, "Oh, my, GOD!"
He turns around for a moment and I can see the cigarette in his hand. I stomp towards him
"So just because the whole school thinks your in love with me you are going to kill yourself. Thats pathetic. You should just tell me to my face you don't like me not smoke!"
Sherlock turns his back to me.
"I- I don't know what to say. You are a dumbass genius. Give that to me." I snatch it out of his hands and throw it to the ground. I continue to yell and tears stream down my face.
"YOU ARE ASHAMED OF ME? IS THAT IT? YOU ARE ASHAMED OF WHAT WE HAD. THE KUSS MEANT NOTHING, WELL IT MEANT A SHIT TON TO ME!"
Sherlock just looks at me.
"Are you at a loss for words? Or are you just a fucking asshole?"
I can't handle it. I run away from him, my sobs getting louder by the minute. He doesn't care for me the way I care for him. He doesn't care.
When I get home I avoid Harriet's usual hug and go straight to my room, plopping down on my twin sized bed. I pull out my camera phone and stare down at it. After some time, I turn it on and go to my pictures, ignoring the ones of Sherlock and scrolling to the first few photos. Its a family photograph, with my father resting one hand on Harry's shoulder and the other around my mom, holding a baby boy in her hands. Me. They are smiling. The thought of them is always their faces as they are in this picture, but Harry knows. She remembers their faces as they were the night they died, screaming. They sacrificed themselves for me and Harry's well being. They burned in the flames. I thought that when I met Sherlock, maybe I could have more people close to me then just Harriet. But Sherlock doesn't have a heart so how can I share my love.
My dad wanted me to be a doctor. He said I would be the success of the family. I will not let him down.
My phone buzzes and it catches me off guard. I switch to my text messages.
"Meet me at Speedy's in 5 minutes -SH"
Sherlock Holmes? How did he get my number? The only question that doesn't pass through my mind is why he wants to talk to me.
I run downstairs and out the door, greeting the cold again. I just run to Baker Street. I want to see Sherlock's precious face again, hear his deep voice. I find myself walking through the door in what feels like less than two minutes. I sit down at a seat by the window, looking out to try and see Sherlock.
He takes longer then he should, but as he walks in I smile.
For a second.
And then frown.
Sherlock's face is bloody and dirt is splattered up his clothing. His eye is swollen shut and he staggers forward, sitting down with trouble. I try to look into his beautiful eyes but they are a colorless grey.
"Sherlock, come with me."
"No. John I-" his thought was interrupted by coughing
"Come on." I tug him out of the cafe. And into an alley, lying him down and pulling out the first aid kit I keep at all times. I need to clear all the dirt off his wounds, so I spit on the cloth and clean it off. Next I need to make sure the wounds don't get infected. I put some Neosporin on the bandages and apply the bandages to the wounds. So many wounds.
He looks at me sadly. I hug him Pulling his body to mine with care. I pace my head on his shoulder and kiss where the wound on his left cheek is softly.
"Get better." I whisper and pick him up in my arms, surprised at how light he is. I don't know where he lives, but before I can ask I look down at his face. He is sleeping. He looks adorable when he sleeps.
I guess I could take him to my house. Maybe Harry could do something. So thats what I do. Sherlock in my arms, I walk home.
Harriet looks at the body in my hands and then at me.
"Why are you bringing me one of your drunk friends?"
"Harry, please. He's not drunk he's hurt. I need to help him."
She lets me inside. I rest him on the sofa.
"So. Why is he hurt?"
"I don't know. He came to me like this and I-" My voice cracks
"Come on, John." My sister hugs me, "Now. Why have I never heard of this friend of yours?"
"He's, not just my friend. He's... My boyfriend." I stutter the last few words out.
Harry smiles, "I knew you were gay. I told you!"
"Harry! Stop! This isn't the time!" Her grin decreases in size.
"So what should we do?" She asks
"Can he stay here for the night?"
She nods, "Let me go make some mac and cheese. Maybe tea for your boyfriend?"
I glare at her, "Fine."
We eat dinner together and I take the cup of tea, slowly dripping it into his mouth. He swallows, but doesn't open his eyes. I stay with him for a couple of hours.
"John." Harry stands at the stairs, "Come on. Leave him, you will see him in the morning.
I leave him reluctantly, and go upstairs to bed.
I am woken up by a cold hand brushing my arm. I look up to see the figure of Sherlock, crawling under my covers. I smile, moving to give him more space. He lays down, but I can hear him shivering still. I pull the blankets fully around him and give him my extra. I'm cold, but it doesn't matter. Sherlock is warm.
After time, though, I start to feel my skin prickle from the cold. A blanket is thrown over me, but now Sherlock is cold again. So I wrap my arms around him, pulling him to me. He turns around to face me but I keep holding him. His lips are against mine. It's a sweet kiss, more meaningful than the last one, but he is dominant again. He leans over me and I let it happen, let him just kiss me. I feel as though, at that moment, I wasn't protecting him. I was the one being protected from the evils that hurt Sherlock. After the kiss, he holds me. I drift to sleep with ease.
