John walked a bit oddly. His pace was steady, shoulders held with the type of confidence a man of much taller stature might hold, chin held firmly up despite his warm smile. And his feet were spaced apart evenly, though he walked, making him waddled just slightly.
Sherlock found it strangely endearing.
John also had horrible fashion sense. And Sherlock was very sure to point this certain fact out to the blond barista. (That jumper? Really? That’s horrid.) He only received a snort from the shorter boy. (I find them quite comfortable. Not everyone likes expensive button downs with ridiculous coats.)
Sherlock had sneered to hide his amusement at the jab, taking longer strides just to watch John struggle to keep up.
***
John called him a genius.
-------
“Tell me about that man?” Victor whispered into his ear, hand sneaking up under the hem of his button down.
Sherlock swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “I...veteran. Bullet wound in his….left leg.” he started, shying away from the brush of fingers against the exposed skin of his waist. “Widowed for about four to six years. Lives alone…” curious fingers found his abdomen and he couldn’t help the little jerk his body made, nor the noise of surprise that escaped his lips, wanting nothing more than to continue speaking and avoid the task of ‘snogging’ for just a bit longer.
Victor gave a deep chuckle, breath warm against the shell of his ear. “You are brilliant.”
There wasn’t much talk after that.
-------
The pond’s bank is damp, just slightly, and the grass is much shorter and coarse than he remembers but he’s not paying much attention to that.
John sits much differently than he walks.
Short legs are tucked firmly against his chest, chin resting on top of his small knees, making him appear much smaller than he actually is and so much younger than Sherlock himself. His jumper engulfs him and his eyes are wide and open and trusting that Sherlock almost starts to feel guilty for thinking about this boy the way he does.
Almost.
“You are bloody brilliant! I mean, you have to know that, right?” he asked, features warm and inviting.
“You are the first to think so.” Sherlock found himself saying, words bitter against his tongue. John doesn’t need to know this.
The smile fell, blond brows furrowing and his forehead creasing and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to lean over and kiss away each wrinkle. “What? Really?”
“Yes, really.” he scowled instead, looking across the pond. “Most aren’t particularly fond of having all their secrets and such brought to the surface. Leads to a bad image apparently.”
He could feel John staring at him, the sympathy rolling off of him like waves. And he felt so vulnerable in that moment, so exposed.
Not again.
“It’s getting late.” he said sharply, standing up and dusting off stray grass strands on his trousers and coat. “Should probably head home.”
***
((A/N: Here's a sneak peek! I'm catching up on everything, trust me.))
YOU ARE READING
Meet You Again
RomanceThe 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 eve...