Meet You Again

Chapter Three

The boy was like the kind of song you couldn’t get out of your head.

         Not that he minded much, no. Actually, he could listen to him all day if he wanted to. Just lie in bed and close his eyes and forget about everything else. Play over every word and every breath.

      Was that weird?

He asked his friend about it once and the look he received was a cross between sympathy and smugness. “You’ve got it bad, Holmes.”

***

  Routine.

It took him a month and a half to realize this (I’m getting off my game. John is becoming a distraction.) and by then, it seemed too late to reverse.

Walk into coffee shop. Sit down at the table on the far end of the store. Receive an Earl Grey that was on the house. Talk. And talk. And never stop, because he never wanted it to end, never. And John would call him amazing and brilliant and smile that warm smile and the whole world just seemed to vanish around them. But then John would get called and the trance would break, the world sliding back into place. John would smile at him and shake his hand, saying he hoped to see him again and Sherlock would leave right after, having only taken a few tentative sips from his mug during the whole ordeal, flexing the hand John had shook and trying to swallow back that warm feeling spreading through his chest like a wildfire.

You’ve got it bad.

***

“Could you take me one day?”

The question caught him off guard, whatever he was going to say catching in his throat.

Rewind. Replay.

“W-What?” he had to be sure he heard right.

John, bright smile now shy and a bit shaky, leaned forward. “Your cases...could you take me one day?”

“Yes,” he said, too quickly, too eager and he had to bite back his blush, had to breathe out and try to regain his composure. “Yes.” he repeated, slower this time, voice calm. “I could use an assistant. Anderson is a complete moron. And you seem to have at least half a brain.” and Jesus-that came out wrong.

But John, being who he was, only smiled wider, blue eyes alight with some new form of life. “Thank you. That would be amazing, seeing you in action. Hell, it’s amazing seeing you do it here.”

Amazing. His heart fluttered at the word and his mind drifted briefly to a warm grassy bank, and a boy who murmured amazing as if it were some sort of prayer and kissing him again and again.

He imagined the boy to be John. He imagined his lips against his and how he wouldn’t have to pretend this time.

God, he wanted to kiss John.

“Sherlock?” he blinked, realizing he had been staring for far too long than was socially acceptable.

“Sorry. I...lost my train of thought.” he said, blinking slowly. “You were saying?”

John held out his hand (no, it can’t be time. Not yet. He still wanted to talk to him.) “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

Sherlock took his hand, warm and so much smaller than his own, skin rough and soft, and shook once. “Yes. Of course.”

John glowed again, then pulled away, slipping on his apron and taking his round behind the counter.

***

Sherlock slept for two hours that night, dreaming of a blond hair boy with a glowing smile and blue eyes like the see,  kissing him lightly and warmly until it felt like he would melt from the touch alone, murmuring over and over, (Amazing, brilliant, fantastic) until Sherlock felt like his heart might explode from it all and his head was spinning and spinning.

***

“A string of lovers. Typically men that are younger than himself. Wife is suspicious….” Sherlock trailed off, growing bored with the man and looking back to John. “Most of these people have repeating stories. It tends to grow boring after awhile, don’t you think?”

John stares at him with a wide eyed expression close to that of a Golden Retriever, then blinks it away just as quickly. “We could go out.”

Go out? Go out? Like...please be-

“Don’t you have a job?” he inquired, ignoring the tingling in his fingertips. Yes, let’s go out. Please, let’s.

“My shift ends early today.” John explains, flushing lightly. “We could..you know, hang out, if you’d like?”

“I-” his voice cracks and his mouth shuts, because he can’t exactly speak so he nods once as indication and John grins, standing.

“Sweet. Give it twenty minutes, okay? Just twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. “Fine. Alright. Only twenty, though. Go on then.”

“Right. Okay. Twenty minutes.” John was slipping on his apron and Sherlock watched him carefully, trying for the life of him not to stare.

-------

 “Sherlock, I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help, Mycroft. I’m not some child anymore. I am capable of making my own decisions and such. You do not get to interfere, not this time.” Sherlock hissed across the table, eyes narrowed.

The man leaned back, a look of exasperation crossing his features. “How long have you known him?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Sherlock, just answer the question.”

The boy sneered. “Exactly six weeks tomorrow.”

“Just six weeks and you’ve already grown this attached to him. Sherlock…” he knew that tone, he knew it all too well and it caused a knot to twist in his stomach.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m not attached, he’s just amusing to have around.” he said defensively, arms folded across his chest.

“You know why it does. You remember the whole Victor-incident-”

Sherlock slammed his hands down on the table abruptly, eyes narrowed dangerously. “John Watson is nothing like Victor Trevor, brother. That needs to be made clear. You will leave him alone and you will leave me alone.”

Mycroft gave him a pained look. “As you wish.”

***

((A/N: Here's another chapter! Enjoy!))