There Is Nothing Wrong With Me

Two Very Different Types of Awkwardness

They arrived at the cars after a very perilous trek through mud, cars, and people, and while the sun sank lower and lower they all sat in the back of Sarah's father's pickup truck, digging into their popcorn and sipping at their drinks while they waited for the movie to start. Molly and Greg were sitting very close, talking to each other in low voices, both of them bursting out into giggles momentarily while the pecked at their popcorn like chickens. Mike and Sarah were a little bit less affectionate, holding a polite conversation and laughing a little bit, and Sherlock and John merely sat there, a good foot apart on the railing, not talking and not looking at each other. John didn't really like the spotlight, knowing that both of his friends, his very heterosexual friends, were sitting there and waiting to judge him, well it was a bit awkward. He knew that they all knew it was coming, heck they planned the whole thing, but it was one thing to know about something and another to watch it happening, and to flirt with Sherlock Holmes here, in front of these four witnesses, well it seemed like blackmail for the rest of his life.
"So what movie are we even watching?" Sherlock wondered in a rather croaking voice, as if he were coughing up words just to cut through the silence that was beginning to suffocate them. John simply shrugged, looking over at the other two couples and hoping they had heard the question.
"Honestly no one tells me anything." John admitted with a careless shrug.
"Evidently." Sherlock agreed, and John laughed a little bit.
"It was a happy surprise." John assured, feeling the need to clarify his enjoyment one more time, to be sure that Sherlock didn't have any self-esteem issues while in his company.
"Like a surprise party?" Sherlock offered hopefully, and John just laughed again, nodding in agreement.
"Certainly, just a little bit more, you know, surprise." John agreed.
"I was so nervous that you'd run away, I almost didn't come, but Molly rather forced me out of the house." Sherlock admitted with a small little frown.
"I'm sorry I didn't reach out, I should've written, confirmed that I was still thinking of you." John added again, if they were making apologies then he might as well get that off his chest. To be honest he had been staring at that paper day in and day out, trying to figure out what to write, when to write, and what the consequences were. If he sent a letter out of Wisteria addressed to Sherlock Holmes, and even worse if he got a response back, surely there would be questions asked, ones he certainly didn't want to answer. And then Sherlock would be questioned and John suspected and the whole thing would turn into a huge mess, and so John didn't write, he didn't even pick up his pen.
"I have been thinking of you too." Sherlock admitted in a forceful voice, as if he felt the need to be a little bit romantic, if to sacrifice some of the hard to get attitude that was encouraged on first dates such as these.
"That's flattering." John admitted, not sure what else to say accept the truth. Because it was flattering, obviously, Sherlock had been floating around in his skull since the dance and now that he was actually here, well, it was nice to know that John wasn't the only one who had been preoccupied while they were apart. Sherlock was silent once more, obviously he had nothing else to say, or at least his brain couldn't cough up a simple statement to get a conversation rolling. John knew the feeling; in fact he was sitting in this momentary awkwardness just as speechless, grasping for any sort of word or question to ease this silence. They were both saved, however, when suddenly a great flash of light erupted from the projector, and finally some sort of soda commercials started to play on the large white screen.
"I guess it's dark enough now." Sherlock muttered, and they both craned their eyes up to the sky, just to check. It was still dusk, light enough to see around and to navigate without a flashlight, but in the shadows of the trees that stretched from behind them it was evident that darkness was creeping ever so slowly over the large crowd. Bats and bugs flew ahead in the last of the summer air, and the chattering of the crowds started to die down, everyone settling in their cars for the show. Mike and Sarah had already leapt off of the back of the truck, and so Sherlock and John waited until Greg helped Molly down (being the gentleman that he was) until they had their chance to dismount. John jumped down easily into the mud, while Sherlock sat on the truck and slid daintily off, dragging his poor trench coat across the muddy interior of the truck's bed.
"Alright then, I suppose it's starting." Molly said obviously, meandering her way to her adorable lilac car. John nodded; starting to follow Sherlock to the little black car that was parked next to Molly's when he was pulled back by a strong hand. It was Greg, of course, John knew that before he even had to turn around, and yet there was something of caution in Greg's curious grey eyes.
"Hey, you know what you're doing, right?" Greg muttered in a sort of whisper, glancing over at where Sherlock was loitering next to the driver's seat, too polite to get in and too polite to look back to see what was taking his date so long. John just pulled his arm away, looking at Greg curiously and trying to decipher what he meant by that.
"I mean, I've been on dates before, maybe not with a companion like this but ya, I mean..."
"I don't mean just average date stuff. Do you trust him, fully?" Greg wondered nervously. John took a step back, a little shocked at Greg's daring.
"He's innocent Greg; you heard it from his own mouth." John snapped, feeling a little bit offended on Sherlock's part from the suspicious question.
"Yes but Victor still claims he's guilty." Greg pointed out. "I'll let you decide who to believe." John gaped at him for a moment, trying to think of a simple word to say in response and yet he came up with nothing. To think that Greg didn't trust Sherlock, even after arranging this whole thing, and just now he was being cautious because of pathetic lies spread from an evil boy? So John just turned away, shaking his head in disbelief and marching over the muddy tire tracks to where Sherlock waited near the car, hoping that Greg was considerate enough not to come knocking on the windows in ten minute intervals. He was in no danger, that scrawny kid posed no threat except threatening the capacity of love he could fit in his heart at a time. Who cares about accusations, they were just words, and there had been no harm done, at least, that's what Sherlock claimed...