Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Twenty One - Soup

Sherlock

Would he look different?

Now that he knew that he loved him? (Or at least he had, on Friday. Enough to say so aloud.) Would John look different?

Would he look away?

He did look different, actually; more beautiful than ever.

When Sherlock saw him get on, he sat up in his seat, to look at him better. It was the best thing he'd seen all weekend. The redeeming factor. His redemption.

John's smile. His eyes. Alight, in the snow surrounding. His fingers were wrapped around his backpack as he made his way down the aisle, and when he sat down, Sherlock moved towards the outside so John could have the window seat.

Sherlock brought a gift. He could feel it against his leg as he breathed in and out. A tape; he'd recorded so many symphonies and he planned to give them all to John, one by one.

John turned left, his eyes gray in the darkness, and whispered, "Longest weekend of my life."

Sherlock smiled and leaned into him, their thighs overlapping.

"Are you over me yet?" John asked.

"Completely."

"Yeah?" John laughed. "Me, too."

"No. I'm actually even in deeper, if that was possible to begin with."

Sherlock took the tape out of his trench coat and stuck it into John's jacket pocket. John caught his hand as it was coming out, and held it to his chest. "What did you just put inside my jacket?"

"A song."

"By who?"

"Me."

"God, Sherlock." John held Sherlock's hand to his chest. "You spoil me."

John breathed in. Sherlock breathed out.

"I just want to..."

"What?"

"Say that I..."

"Yes?" Sherlock guessed he was about to apologize to him for loving him, or something, but all he did was squeeze Sherlock's hand.

"Thanks." He thumbed the CD. "I'm sure it will sound lovely. I'm sure it'll be lovely. Like you."

"It's... it's fine, John. Really." Sherlock felt the heat travel up into his cheeks, and then he looked away, embarrassed.

John's brow furrowed as he lay his head atop Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock felt John's pulse slow as he fell asleep. He looked exhausted. The sky was still gray with clouds, and the snow was still falling hard, making no discernible noise. He wished that John slept on his shoulder all the time. Maybe he'd fall asleep, too.

Sherlock waited until English to tell him the other thing. "I told my mum you were coming over today." He kept on thrumming his fingers into John's open palm as he spoke.

"You did?"

"Yes." Sherlock nodded. "Come over. Today."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm entirely sure, John. Please."

"Really."

"Yes. A thousand times yes. It's so boring when you aren't speaking to me constantly."

"Will your mother care?"

"No. I asked her, weren't you listening? Honestly, John." Sherlock grinned. "You're awful at this."