There Is Nothing Wrong With Me

To Plead Innocent

    It smelled wonderful, fitting nicely to the trend that John had found with coffee, it smells better than it tastes. However some people seemed to think it tasted pretty good, because there were about twenty or thirty people sitting on high chairs or longing in squishy arm chairs, their laptops on their laps and their cups in their hands, sipping at the steaming dark coffee that was contained in the paper. John felt rather out of place in a shop like this, partially because he didn't drink coffee but mainly because he hadn't really been exposed to a place like this before. He spent most of his days in Wisteria, and on summer breaks he certainly wasn't exploring the depths of the local coffee shops. How was he supposed to fit in if he didn't even know what to order?
"You're kind of in people's way." Greg muttered as a large group of teenagers, maybe a year or two younger than them, moved around them to get in line. John nodded, moving forward so that they weren't blocking the doorway, but staying far enough away from the register so that they didn't look like they were ready to order. Greg, however, stepped right up in line, beckoning John to join him so that they could browse the menu while the four or five kids in front of them ordered. Greg always drank coffee when he could get his hands on it, his parents had some sort of fancy machine that he uses over the summer and sometimes, in the beginning of the term that is, he'll go on something of a caffeine withdrawal. So when it was finally their turn Greg ordered some super fancy drink with caramel and whipped cream and all of that, and John ordered a meager hot chocolate.
"What a nerd, coming to a coffee shop just to order hot chocolate." Greg laughed once they had paid and gotten their drinks. They had successfully fought their way back out of the shop, and were moseying on down the sidewalk while their steaming drinks started to cool. Greg had worked the top off of his cup, and steam was emitting like smoke into the air, warming John's chilly skin as it blew about his face.
"Oh don't be so critical of me Greg, I was under pressure." John defended, blowing into the little drinking hole in the cup to try to get some air movement below the cap. He knew it was futile simply because his breath was probably warm, and yet it felt better than simply waiting around for it to cool naturally. John's eyes were still scanning the sidewalks anxiously, his heart was simply pounding with anticipation, he wanted to see that boy so badly, and yet he was already starting to try to ween himself of the hope and getting ready for the disappointment. Sherlock hadn't been anywhere near the coffee shop, and John was sure he wouldn't be milling around the drug store on his leisure time.
"This is so great John, you know, a couple of friends, just getting coffee, a couple of bros..." Greg muttered, glancing over at John kind of reluctantly, as if waiting for his heterosexual confirmation.
"Ya, sure." John agreed absentmindedly.
"That is what this is right?" Greg wondered with a sort of suspicious voice.
"Nope, I tricked you into going on a date with me. Haha, and look how easily you fell for it!" John muttered sarcastically.
"You know what John; your sarcasm is sometimes hurtful." Greg muttered, sounding like a child desperate for appreciation. John wasn't listening anymore, in fact, all five of his senses were directed at a figure on the sidewalk across the street, on a figure who was making his way towards them, with his dark head bent and his gaze fixed intensely on the sidewalk in front of him, as if making sure he wouldn't step on anything before he lifted his foot. It wasn't so much the appearance that made John realize who it was, more the feeling that he gave him. It was the intense feeling of excitement; it was the anticipation, as well as the mysterious longing that came from somewhere deep inside of his heart. It was ever so obvious that John was looking upon Sherlock Holmes once more, and the mere presence of that boy gave John a feeling so ecstatic that he could almost hear that music playing in the background; he could almost feel the lighting drop and see the disco ball spinning over hear. The hot chocolate slipped from John's fingers and plummeted to the ground, the lid falling off and splashing the hot liquid all over Greg's polished shoes. But John didn't care, he was already in the middle of the street, walking swiftly and ignoring the car horns that beeped angrily at him. His attention was fixed on Sherlock determinedly, he wasn't going to let that boy slip from his sight, he wasn't going to miss this opportunity after it had so conveniently presented itself to him.
"John...JOHN! Watch the traffic for God's sake, where on earth are you...! Oh." Greg's voice traveled throughout the sidewalk and finally alerted Sherlock of their presence. However John was already gaining on him, walking as quickly as he could without breaking into a run, and he was there to watch as Sherlock's gaze lifted from the sidewalk and into John's determined eyes. Surely Sherlock shouldn't be scared, he had nothing to fear from John except interrogation, and yet suddenly his eyes lit up in horror, and his face paled dangerously, making him almost indistinguishable from the white wall to the side of him.
"No, no stay away!" Sherlock yelped in his deep yet terrified voice, turning around and breaking off into a run. John just groaned, however he had no choice but to chase after the poor thing, so he too willed his legs to go faster, to carry him over the cracking sidewalk and zoom closer and closer to the terrified boy, running like a dear in the face of a hunter. Obviously Sherlock couldn't go fast for long, however nimble he might be he had no endurance, and John was soon catching up, until he could hear the trench coat flapping in the wind, until he could hear the struggled breathing of his newfound prey. Finally John managed to grab hold of Sherlock's arm, pulling him roughly around the corner with such power that Sherlock nearly fell over. The boy struggled immensely, wiggling and shrieking as if he were getting kidnaped, and yet he could do nothing to fight against John's strength, and in turn was thrown up against the fence like a pathetic rag doll, his thin body crashing into the wood and struggling under John's elbow, fixed at his neck. They were just around the corner, private enough so that they could talk and yet open enough so that Greg could find them if he was looking hard enough. But that didn't matter now, John couldn't care less what happened to Greg now that he had his prime suspect pinned under his arm, making sure he couldn't do so much as struggle. They both breathed heavily for a moment, John could feel the deep breaths inflating Sherlock's lungs and exhaling through his mouth, gasping for air as though he weren't just tired, but also having some sort of anxiety attack. John took this moment to look at him, just for a moment, loosening his grasp just a little bit to make it easier for the poor boy to get breaths in. Sherlock was every bit as beautiful as John remembered him from that night, the sculpted face, the bright eyes; the pale skin that was almost unhealthily white. His forehead was matted with sweat and his dark curls were sticking up in all directions, messed up from their chase, and his once beautiful and inquisitive eyes were tarnished with fear, a look he was most likely used to wearing by now. There was a large wound across one of his cheeks with a bandage dangling uselessly by one end, revealing the scabbed mess of bloody skin that was carved across one of Sherlock's delicate cheeks, and John could only wonder how such a boy would acquire such a wound. It most likely had something to do with the fear in his eyes, and that expression's regularity across his beautiful features. Sherlock was looking upon John as well, and of course he recognized him, but he didn't feel safe, that was obvious. He was horrified; worried as to what John might do now that he had Sherlock helpless in his grasp.
"I don't want to hurt you." John assured in a rather rough voice, as he was still recollecting his breath from the run down the street.
"Then why am I in pain?" Sherlock growled, trying to move his neck as it was crushed under John's powerful forearm. John sighed pitifully, but he only loosened his grip a little bit more, not wanting to let Sherlock go free just yet. Who knew what he might do when John wasn't expecting it? Make a run for it, attack his attacker? The possibilities were endless, and so John didn't move his arm just yet.
"You know me?" John guessed. Sherlock took a deep breath, but shook his head slightly, his fingers gripping to the wooden fence behind him as if he were trying to keep himself upright by sticking his fingernails into the splintery wood.
"And now I know you, everything about you, Sherlock Holmes." John warned. Sherlock didn't look scared, or at least he bore no resemblance to the reaction John was expecting. In fact, he almost grinned, as if this were some sort of ironic joke.
"Then why on earth are you still willing to hold me at such close proximity?" Sherlock whispered in whatever voice he could muster while still trying to catch his breath. John hadn't considered that, and yet it didn't really scare him like it probably should've. In fact, it only gained him an extra sense of power, control over the thing that most men cowered before.
"You're helpless, what can you do?" John wondered. Sherlock just laughed, a small smile stretching over his lips before all amusement dropped from his face almost at once. John blinked for a moment, and for a second he doubted that he had even seen that smile in the first place.
"You're brave, I must admit, it's been quite a while since any boy my age has dared to even look me in the eyes." Sherlock admitted. John just shook his head, trying to think of a reasonable question to ask this boy, and even though so many questions had stirred through his head as he lay in his bed in the darkness, now that this boy was in his grasp he couldn't dare fish one out to ask.
"It doesn't matter anymore, does it? You've already had me in your grasp once." John growled. Sherlock did his best to force a smile, and John could almost sense his remembering every touch and every kiss exchanged in that familiar darkness. Sherlock's confidence started to fade, and soon he was heaving in his breaths again, his legs wobbling underneath him and John's arm getting tighter on his neck, as if he was solely responsible for making sure the poor thing didn't fall onto the concrete in a heap.
"What do you want with me, please, I don't even know who you are?" Sherlock defended in a small, helpless voice, his legs scuffing at the concrete underneath him as if trying to walk away without the rest of his body's consent.
"I don't want....well I don't want anything with you. I just wanted confirmation that you really exist." John admitted rather curiously, blinking for a moment to think of what else to say.
"And my name is John Watson." He added rather hesitantly, finally letting his arm fall away from Sherlock's throat. The poor boy gasped for a breath, messaging the spot where John's arm had dug into his windpipe, breathing thankfully yet not moving, as if waiting for permission.
"John Watson." He muttered, as if speaking the name was better than simply hearing it. Sherlock seemed to relax; finally realizing that maybe John wasn't out to hurt him, maybe there was no danger here after all. His expression slackened, and finally his face gleamed with a sort of serene beauty that John had only witnessed once or twice before, a precious face that he wanted to remember more than anything in the world. However the moment was interrupted when they heard footsteps racing past, and John caught a glimpse of Greg's retreating back, running at top speed right past their hide away.
"In here, you idiot!" John growled, just loud enough so that Greg was able to turn on his heel and slip into the little corner where they had taken refuge. Of course, when he first saw who was pinned up against the fence, Greg let out an inhumane feminine sounding shriek, making John groan in second hand embarrassment.
"John what on earth have you got him for?" Greg exclaimed, stumbling over himself trying to get as far away from Sherlock as possible. John just rolled his eyes, glancing over at Sherlock who had acquired that face of fear once more. Maybe Sherlock didn't trust Greg nearly as much as he now trusted John.
"See, that's the normal reaction." Sherlock muttered to John, who shook his head carelessly and looked over at Greg with a sort of annoyed glare. Didn't he know what kind of moment he had destroyed with his ignorant presence?
"I'm interrogating." John said plainly. Greg crept ever closer, clutching his coffee cup in his hands nervously, which was probably the reason why he had been so late. He had to put the lid onto his cup before he could do any kind of running, just to ensure the safety of the caramel coffee inside.
"I know you, don't I? Another Wisteria boy, Lestrade something." Sherlock spat, however as Greg moved closer he pressed closer and closer to the fence, as if trying to ensure the suspicious boy of his immobilization.
"Oh and I remember you perfectly, hard to forget a disgusting rapist." Greg snapped back, and John winced at the hateful word. Sherlock was silent, however, almost pitiful, and he let his dark head fall onto the fence in shame. Greg sort of smiled, as if he had succeeded in something but still hadn't figured out what it was.
"Enough, my God that's enough!" John insisted, trying to shoo Greg away with his hand, trying to clear the air of his hurtful words.
"I didn't rape anyone." Sherlock defended in a rather broken voice.
"Like h*ll you didn't!" Greg exclaimed, lunging suddenly at Sherlock as if trying to fight him to defend the truth he had come to accept. However John was just in time to jump in the way, screaming something of a warning as he held his arm up to block whatever attack Greg might try to pull. Sherlock fell so far into the fence John was impressed that it didn't shatter beneath what little weight he had managed to store on his bones, his fingers clawing at the wood once more.
"Wait, wait! Greg chill out! What do you mean Sherlock?" John wondered, turning to face their newly dormant prisoner. Sherlock was staring rather threateningly at Greg, as if tempting him to get violent while John was around to protect him. He didn't speak all at once, in fact he took his dear old time, seeing that his words were needed and his safety was certain. He therefore fixed his jacket and his hair, running his long white fingers through his tangled curls and trying to make sure he looked acceptable enough to give his own version of events. John didn't notice this, however, he was certainly not watching in envy as Sherlock's fingers got the honor of combing out his luscious curls.
"I said I didn't rape anyone, I wouldn't dare. I'm not a criminal." He assured finally. John blinked, looking at Sherlock in confusion and trying to wrap his head around the two opposing stories.
"But Victor Trevor..." Greg started in a rather dumbfounded voice.
"Is a liar! He's using the fears of humanity and the fears of a scandal to make up stories and save his own name; can't you see the faults in his tale? I assume you've met him, now just how do you think a boy like me could possible overpower a boy like him?" Sherlock wondered with a sort of poisonous curiosity. John looked over at Greg carefully, looking to him to clarify the oddities in this newfound truth. To be honest it sounded much more convincing, coming from Sherlock's timid lips rather than of Victor's powerful ones, and yet it was going to take more than just a story and a size difference to convince John of the real truth.
"You're saying that you're innocent?" John wondered carefully, not wanting to jump to conclusions before they were presented to him.
"Yes, yes of course I'm innocent! And yet no one would believe me, and I'm sure you two brainless jocks won't either." Sherlock muttered, standing up straighter as though he was starting to recollect his dignity. John blinked, not expecting Sherlock to be so quick with the name calling while he was still trying to convince them of his angelic personality.
"Are you telling me you're not even homosexual?" Greg wondered, his eyebrows knit into a sweater of confusion on his forehead. Sherlock just laughed, leaning casually against the old wooden fence and smiling with a newfound irony.
"Oh honey, I said I'm not a rapist, but that doesn't make me anymore heterosexual than I was back then." Sherlock admitted with a sort of superior smile. Greg shivered uncomfortably, looking over to John quickly, as if begging him to ask the next question before the silence thickened.
"Alright, so what then? What happened?" John wondered, turning back towards Sherlock accusingly. Sherlock simply frowned, his eyes going glassy for a moment as he recalled everything that had happened that night, good and bad.
"He used to love me, you know. We were together, romantically, and that night we had taken advantage of the solitude and well, took our love to the next level. His roommate was out in the hospital wing, and yet I suppose he had forgotten something, because he had sent the nurse up to go get it. And well, she walked in, and you can only guess the state we were in, and so he pushed me away, screamed rape, and here I am. He always was a good liar." Sherlock muttered, his hands shaking nervously until he shoved them into his pockets, out of view. John stood silent for a moment, and soon he glanced over at Greg, whose mouth was hanging askew as if in a permanent state of shock.
"So you're innocent?" John whispered, a feeling of relief washing over him like no other emotion he had ever felt. Finally he felt free, he felt like his curious attraction to this boy was once more redeemed by his innocence, finally he could go on remembering their meeting on that dance floor positively, an encounter with a beautiful boy, not a criminal.
"I said that before, didn't I?" Sherlock growled, staring down at John almost accusingly.
"I still won't believe it." Greg decided after a moment's silence. Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders, as though Greg's skepticism didn't bother him.
"Well then you just join the hordes of people in this town that doubt me as well. I tried to tell them, tried to tell them all. I suppose they just don't like the idea of siding with a freak like me." Sherlock shrugged.
"You're not a freak." John said flatly, as if on instinct, and Sherlock just blinked, as if he had never heard those words spoken so defensively before.
"And how would you know, Mr. Watson?" Sherlock wondered, turning his knowing eyes onto John as if he doubted his sincerity. John faltered a little bit in the gaze of such an internally powerful boy, and yet thankfully Greg was quick with the response, saving John from stumbling over his own words like a pathetic simpleton.
"He wouldn't, he doesn't even know you and yet he feels the need to stand up for you. You should be thankful for a guy like John, however confused he may be." Greg snapped back. Sherlock sighed heavily, looking between the two boys as if expecting something else, maybe a flash of fists, the click of a switchblade, the cock of a gun. However nothing came, John couldn't think of a single thing to do other than add to the collective silence that had settled over the three of them like a persistent rain cloud. He felt like this meeting as over and yet there must be something, something else to say. He would surely remember everything he needed to ask when he returned to Wisteria, far away from this mysterious skinny boy, and yet he stood here, speechless like the rest of them.