Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Twenty Eight - Something Broke

John

John felt better the next morning. Mornings were always good. It was cool, and crisp, and his mum had given John a ham and cheese grilled sandwich that Pickard hadn't wanted.

Yesterday, when John had gotten home, Pickard issued a formal apology about waking them up at two in the morning. Which, honestly, John was contemplating running away they day before, but now the idea seemed tired, overwritten. Plus, Pickard wrote the apology on a piece of paper and signed it with a clean scribble.

John was tired of fighting.

This morning, John had woken up with Scrooge glued to his chest and Harry's arms wrapped tightly around his torso. He'd felt good; clean. He took a shower and had eaten a fresh apple, followed by a conversation with his mum.

She gave him a pin from the Goodwill that had a picture of a hamster on it, and John wasn't sure why but he enjoyed it. She pinned it to his leather jacket, and instead of wearing the training sneakers he always wore he put on his worn white high tops. He was keeping Pickard's boots under his bed, just in case his allegiances hadn't shifted after all.

Then he put some pure vanilla's extract behind his ears while talking to his mum, "Might go over to a friend's today."

"Greg?"

"Yeah." John kissed her.

"Okay, baby, have fun."

John walked out the door, and hoped Sherlock was waiting for him at his stop, like usual. John wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't.

He was. He was standing by the side of a house, looking for John. He looked like an angel with his perfect curls and his trench coat and slacks, like he'd just stepped out of the 1960's.

When Sherlock saw John, he ran all the way down the row of houses, and jumped into him. "Good morning," he said, bowling John over into the snow.

John smiled at him, and his curls brushed John's nose.

"Ten minutes until pick-up," Sherlock whispered.

"Who are you?" John laughed, rolling Sherlock off and climbing on top of him.

"Ask anyone," Sherlock said, "I'm your boyfriend." His eyes were bright against the snow.

John sat up and stared at Sherlock. His cheeks looked beautiful all flushed and hot and embarrassed. "No, my boyfriend is sad and quiet and he keeps me up all night because I worry about him."

"You worry?"

"Yeah, I bloody worry. Sometimes you act like a drug addict."

John ignored the slight twitch of Sherlock's fingers.

"I'm sorry I make you worry," Sherlock said with a sarcastic smirk, and John replied, "Oh, and, I'm coming over. Tonight. To your house."

"Oh?"

Sherlock looked really cute right then. He wore his backpack straps on both shoulders, and his coat collar was turned up against his rosy cheeks. It was enigmatic, especially with the added combination of his hair curled perfectly sideways.

"Yeah," John said, pulling on an outlying lock. "Yeah, I am."

Suddenly, Sherlock's face fell. "About yesterday, John-"

"Let's not talk about yesterday, okay. I'm fine. Now, at least."

"You are." Sherlock grimaced.

"Yeah, Sherlock." John smiled at him as they sat in the snow.