Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Thirty One - Dilemma

John

John kept on being bothered about homecoming, which was in June, from Tom. He kept on asking about Molly, and John wanted to sit him down and say, God, Molly doesn't like you.

John knew who she liked, and it gave him a guilty feeling to know that she'd never have him. Not while John was still breathing.

"Mate, maybe you could help me," Tom said.

"With what?"

"Maybe you could tell her to go to prom with me."

"Didn't you ask her?"

"No."

John rubbed his eyebrows intensely as he spoke. "You should ask her, you tit," he said, "before you ask me."

Tom grumbled. "Who you goin' to prom with?"

"Sherlock. Um. My boyfriend."

Tom's face scrunched. John stood up and walked to a different table.

Sherlock

Sherlock, just that morning, had been invited to a "dance party." He had a feeling it wasn't ballet, and he also had a feeling John would hate it, considering that Top 40 made his ears bleed.

Plus, thinking about going to a party with John was like thinking about taking your helmet off in space.

Sherlock's mum said if they were going to hang out every day after school, they needed to start doing their "studies," as she called them.

Sherlock said he didn't need to. "I pretend every day. In everything. No one has ever caught me."

"God, I wish I was the same. This is ridiculous. I find myself doing my homework at lunch, but I know - I swear, I miss every question and Mr. Lecter is catching on."

"I could help you."

"Gosh, that'd be just rich."

"Or," Sherlock said, "I could not help you, which seems to tickle your fancy as well."

John looked away and smiled. "Arse," he said.

They tried to do homework in the living room, but Mycroft was watching the news: "Those Communists don't know what they're dealing with!" he exclaimed exuberantly.

They took their work to the kitchen instead. Violet said she needed to work in the basement for a little while, and Sherlock nodded quickly. "Have fun," she said.

John pushed at Sherlock's socked feet with his naked ones once they were alone, and suddenly John was pulling off Sherlock's socks under the table. His feet were cool and soft and ridged with delicate bones. John tore a page out of his notebook and crumpled it to throw in his hair.

Now that they were alone, he felt the need to grab Sherlock's attention, despite the fact that they were studying and whatnot.

Sherlock opened John's algebra book and threw the paper ball back.

"John. Homework."

"No," John said quickly as Sherlock tugged at his book.

"We're supposed to be doing homework."

"We aren't."

"And why is that?"

"Me."

"And why is that?"

"We're alone, Sherlock, freedom. Think of the possibilities."

"What?"

Sherlock's eyes shifted to John's algebra book, where lyrics decorated the covers, little script lines melding into each other like tributaries feeding into a river. In between the lyrics of Joy Division and The Strokes and Muse, Sherlock's name was written in lowercase letters. Like it was part of the songs. Sherlock smiled.