Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Seventeen - A Date, Practically

John

His mum wasn't going to let him babysit.

"Mum. Let me go."

She scoffed, putting her blonde hair into a bun and proceeding to cover her tender hands with flour. She was making pizza. "I'm doing what's best for you, baby. Rory... he's not..."

"What? You divorced him, Mum, I didn't."

"Do you forget what he'd done?"

John rubbed his brow and leaned into the counter. "You bring that up whenever you need a trump card."

"Because that's the trump card. You can't go," she replied, slathering tomato sauce on the pizza.

"Please."

"I-"

"He's my dad. I haven't seen him in God knows how long, Mum. And... we... we need the money."

"The money." Her tone was skeptical. Prideful. "What did you tell him, John?"

"Nothing, Mum! He just said he'd pay me twenty pounds if I babysat..." John swallowed. His mother hated hearing about Melody; she thought she was inbred hell-spawn. "If I babysat," John simply finished.

"Who?" Her voice was critical, and then she realized, and her voice fell flat. "Melody, isn't it. Does he realize he has two other children to take care of?" She huffed and violently put mozzarella cheese on the pizza. "If he has any extra money laying around he should pay his goddamned child support."

"There's... Mum. It's twenty pounds."

"But it isn't. It's your livelihood, it's your life."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

She stopped, turned to John, and stared at him. "What the hell are you complaining about anyway? He doesn't care about you, John, don't you see?"

John ran a hand through his uncut hair. That was a lie, his dad still loved him. Amy and Melody didn't matter; his new family didn't matter. "And Pickard cares?"

She then began to put sausage on the pizza, and peppers. "He tries," she lied.

John sighed, "Mum, if you think there's no reason to go, think of the money, okay, think. I can probably weasel a bit more out of him, too."

At this, John saw the gears spin in her brain. His mother was a cunning, sharp woman when she wanted to be. "Money?"

"Yeah. Twenty, maybe thirty pounds."

She nodded slowly, and John could've sworn she saw her wink. Like a cat, she grinned, and said, reluctantly, "I'll ask Pickard."

"God!" John yelled. "I mean," he coughed, "God. No, he'll say no."

His mum nodded as if to say, "obviously, that's why I want to ask him."

"You can't tell me I can't see my own dad, Mum. And neither can he."

If his mum asked, Pickard would say no. Just to feel like a man, because he was a rat. He looked like a rat, too, with a long, pointy nose and beady brown eyes, along with the added bonus of thin, curly brown hair that was untrimmed and oily. That was why Pickard was such a fucking arse - because his personality brought out his ugliness and he had to make up for it somehow.

"John..."

"Please, Mummy." Whenever he called her that, she melted. He just had to time it right; he usually didn't and then she became aware of his sweet talking, followed by a chastising but playful slap to the back of the head.