There Is Nothing Wrong With Me

Your Definition of Crazy

The next couple of days went by as if in a blur. Rugby had started up that Monday, so instead of wasting away his time thinking and dreaming of Sherlock, John had to actually work out and make an effort to be awake long enough to throw some unfortunate boys to the ground. In some ways the physical activity was refreshing, good for the heart and soul; however John was starting to feel overwhelmed, not to mention out of place. He knew, of course, that the few friends who knew about Sherlock were supportive of him, and yet after the night at the drive in it felt as if he were somehow secluded by an invisible barrier. Maybe it was just something he was creating in his mind, maybe it was his self-consciousness whispering to his brain and trying to make him believe that his friends now hated him, but John couldn't help but notice things changing around the walls of Wisteria. It wasn't like his friends were making a point to be modest around him, however it seemed that they made an effort to change while he was out, and shower while he was still struggling to find his shampoo under his bed. Not that they had anything to worry about of course, however it seemed that they were a little bit daunted in the face of his newfound sexuality. Or maybe it was just John's imagination, maybe they weren't tiptoeing around him at all and he was just making things up as he went along, who knows? It wasn't like it was a big deal; Mike and Greg were just as chaotic and good natured as they always were, however now they all had a secret. And that, if anything, was able to help their friendship float through these rough waters. After practice while they were lumbering back to their dorms they would always chat about their newest accomplishments with their girls (and boy). Greg would boast about how Molly had written to him three times this week, and Mike would say how Sarah had drawn him a picture or something lame like that. And John would be silent. More than anything he wanted to get in touch with Sherlock, however it was just too difficult with the barriers that were surrounding them, and the threats that the Wisteria professors held. He wanted to write, he wanted to call, however it seemed as though life and logic got in the way just a little bit too much. He hadn't heard from Sherlock since the drive in, since their lips locked and their hearts fused, and since then he had been aching for any sort of contact whatsoever. It was possible, of course, to sneak down on Greg's makeshift rope and sneak around town, however John didn't know where Sherlock's house was, where his window was, what his phone number was, he was hopeless! He had an address, that was all, but with his navigating skills he was quite sure that wouldn't help him very much at all. So he was stranded, hopelessly alienated from the boy he longed to be with most in this world while his friends gushed on and on about how their relationships were thriving through nothing but ink and paper.
"Have you written to Sherlock yet?" Greg wondered as they were sitting in their bunks, having just showered and changed into their pajamas even though it wasn't even time for dinner yet. They were trying to get some homework in before the dining hall opened, just so that when they returned to their dorms after they were done eating they wouldn't be swamped in education and responsibilities. John sighed, setting his pencil down on his paper and shaking his head glumly.
"Haven't been daring enough to attempt it." he admitted with a frown. Greg just hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pencil against his book, obviously not thinking about math right now.
"You're scared they'll recognize the address?" he guessed finally.
"Well ya, if they find out that Sherlock had contacts back in Wisteria they'll surely accuse him of getting back to his old ways, and maybe even try to convict me as well." John pointed out. He could only imagine the trouble the two of them could get in, should any word of this little affair reach the headmaster. John wouldn't do well in prison, he was quite sure of that.
"Ya I suppose it would all get a little bit...messy." Greg agreed with a shrug.
"You've written to Molly then? Anything interesting?" John wondered, trying to focus back on the geography questions in front of him without much luck. The words seemed to all mix together on the page, standing out to him boldly for a second before fading back into the blank whiteness.
"Nothing interesting, just small talk really. She said that she's closer with Sherlock now, and that the three of them have become something of a friend group." Greg admitted, sounding as if that didn't excite him all that much. It didn't excite John much either, in fact it only depressed him more. Here he was, sitting trapped within these horrible brick walls while Sherlock frolicked around with his new friends, probably having the time of his life! And they were probably bragging about their boyfriends as well, and Sherlock would have to stay as quiet as John was, maybe doubting John's feelings for him all together.
"Hey I've got a great idea!" Greg exclaimed finally, throwing aside his math book carelessly and hanging his feet off of the bed, his eyes alight with sudden enthusiasm. John didn't hold out hope, usually Greg's 'great ideas' ended up getting people in trouble.
"And what might that be?" John wondered miserably.
"Well what if you wrote Sherlock a letter and stuffed it in my envelope to Molly? They'd just think I wrote an extra-long letter, and they'd never know that there was smuggled communications going in and out. She could give it to Sherlock and send his response with her own, it would be secret, private, it would be perfect!" Greg exclaimed excitedly. John looked up at him with a sort of smile, nodding silently along as Greg babbled on about the simplicity and secrecy of his new plan.
"You know what, that just might work." John agreed slowly, nodding his head and already beginning to think of what he might write. Greg smiled proudly, leaning against the wall and clicking his tongue proudly, as if he thought John owed him some sort of praise for his genius idea. In fact John owed Greg a lot of praise; he was almost solely responsible for Sherlock and John's relationship as a whole, however John would never let him know that. The minute Greg knew he was in someone's debt he used that power for horrible things, and John never wanted to be in that situation again. One time Greg let John copy down his last minute trigonometry homework, back when John had first arrived and they were still awkward, rather forceful friends. Well, the week went on and John slowly forgot about the debt, but evidently Greg didn't, because one time at lunch he had found a rather moldy piece of cheese hiding in a grilled cheese sandwich, possibly a mistake from the cooks or maybe a deliberate attempt to clear out the fridge. Well, Greg used his payback that day to make John take a bite of the sandwich, to chew and swallow and everything, and of course what could John do but comply? He was sick for a week after that, maybe more, and yet every single day that John woke up moaning and groaning and puking Greg found it positively hilarious, laughing and cackling while John's skin turned from pale to green. After that John learned to never be in Greg's debt again, should he encounter another piece of rotten food that looked somewhat tempting. That night after they h ad finally finished their homework John nestled down in his blankets, leaning against the headboard of his bed while Mrs. Hudson started to make her rounds, knocking on doors and screeching at people to turn off their lights. John waited in the darkness for a little while until she passed, and when finally the sounds of her heels retreated off into the darkness he was able to click on his flashlight and nestle it on his shoulder, pressing a blank piece of paper to a text book to draft his first letter to Sherlock.
"Keep that light dim." Greg groaned, rolling over to face the opposite wall, already half asleep. John hummed in agreement, tapping his pencil thoughtfully against the paper and trying to decide how to start.
Sherlock,
I'm sorry it's taken this long to write, but the risks that come with delivering letters to your address have been able to stop me from picking up a pencil for this long. I hope you're not mad at me for not keeping in contact, you know I would if I could, but now I think this system of secrecy will work just fine for communication, at least for now. How have you been? It's been so long since the drive in that I've sort of forgotten the sort of weightlessness I feel while in your presence, I suspect we're long overdue for another date and yet with rugby starting and security being so tight, I doubt that will happen anytime soon. You should come down for a game, a home game maybe, when some of the other private schools come and play us. It's a chaotic good time, with tackling and scoring and maybe even some bloodshed, I think you'd have a marvelous time watching me get beat to a pulp. I have no idea what to say, as usual, even the mere idea of you reading this makes my brain shut off momentarily, where I can only hear the anxious beating of my heart and nothing else. I miss you, that's for sure, and I love you. I suppose those three words are better expressed in person really, so make an effort to forget I ever wrote that, so when I see you next I can make your cheeks glow and your hands fidget. I love it when you get all flustered. Anyway, I ought to get to bed, rugby tomorrow, classes tomorrow, homework tonight, I'm exhausted. You know how it is here, it's impossible to get a breath with all of the classwork and pressure put on by the professors. Even now, sitting here in the dark, my head throbs with exhaustion and my bed is becoming more and more comfortable by the second. I'll send this letter with Greg's, and Molly should deliver it to you shortly. Until then, know that my thoughts are wherever you are, and now that my heart is with yours as well.
Yours forever,
John.
John looked over the letter a couple of times, wincing at the casualness of his writing and knowing that there probably should be a little bit of romantics worked into the one way conversation. However he knew that, just in case this letter be intercepted, he should keep it to a minimum. With the amount of affection he put into this letter he could probably make it out to be a totally platonic, almost brotherly sort of love, maybe he could get away with a warning. Just in case, however, he didn't sign his last name, and while the clues in the letter were telling enough he knew that maybe, with all the Johns there were in this school, they would have trouble tracing the letter back to him. However he was quite sure that while concealed in Greg's envelope his letter would be safe and sound, on its way to Sherlock in the most discrete way possible. And so John folded the letter carefully, writing Sherlock's beautiful name in his neatest handwriting and setting it carefully on the nightstand. He clicked off the flashlight and plunged the room into momentary darkness, waiting for his eyes to get adjusted to the moonlight before pushing his pillow down onto the bed and curling up underneath his blankets. Dispute the light that had been shining Greg was already asleep, for his slow breaths and slight snores gave his unconsciousness away quite easily. And so John closed his eyes as well, his thoughts lingering away to where ever Sherlock was at this very moment, most likely in bed somewhere, curled up in a tight ball with his eyes wide open, thinking about John as well. And when John finally fell asleep his dreams were plagued with the beautiful face of Sherlock Holmes, and the beautiful presence, and the beautiful kiss of that most beloved boy. John couldn't wait to see him again; he already had a mental timer that was beginning to count down the minutes until they were in each other's arms once more. Oh it couldn't come soon enough. 

 "Do you think I'm going crazy?" John wondered out of nowhere in the middle of breakfast, pausing on attacking his toast to look up at Greg with a quizzical, maybe even worried expression. Greg looked at him with an equally astounded glance, but just shrugged off the question and continued serving himself a second helping of sausages. 

"Well I guess that depends on your definition of crazy." He decided, not really helping John's mental state by giving him yet another riddle.
"My definition of crazy is doing something that no one would think you capable of doing...for no reason at all." John mumbled, taking another bite of his toast before dropping it back to his plate in disinterest.
"So no, I don't think you're going crazy. Based on that interpretation that is." Greg decided after a moment's thought. John nodded, not overly convinced that Greg knew what he was talking about.
"So you wouldn't call my new relationship with Sherlock kind of...out of character?" John wondered in a rather soft voice. Greg glanced up at him for a split second before dropping his gaze and spearing a bit of sausage from his plate, shrugging almost forcefully as if he was making himself respond as naturally as he possibly could. All of these sudden tells, of course, made John sure that it was a very unnatural response.
"To be honest John I've never known a thing about your personal life, I mean we've only known each other for around two years, how on earth am I supposed to decode your sexuality by all that?" Greg wondered. John sighed greatly, leaning on the table with his elbows and rocking his head slowly back and forth between his fists.
"I mean, I've had girlfriends before, you know that much, but maybe, you know...maybe I'm bisexual? That's a thing, I think..." John muttered rather uneasily.
"Why do you suddenly feel the need to justify your relationship with Sherlock? Are you having second thoughts?" Greg asked rather nervously, as if he feared this wasn't his place to question. John sighed heavily, shaking his head and closing his eyes for a moment, seeing that beautiful face in the darkness behind his lids...
"No I'm not questioning the relationship, I have no doubts, no regrets really, I'm just wondering if I changed and just didn't realize it." John admitted in a breath.
"Nothing to be ashamed of mate." Greg assured quickly, as if he felt the need to play mediator between the two conflicting sides of sanity nestled in John's skull.
"I'm not ashamed." John assured.
"Then what are you complaining about?" Greg asked with a laugh. John just groaned, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head so that he looked sort of like he was having a sort of mental breakdown.
"I don't know. God, I don't know." John admitted finally, dropping his hands and staring at his breakfast plate resentfully, as if it had offended him in some way.
"Well then, when you do know, I'm here to help. I guess." Greg muttered, sounding extremely confused as he continued his meal with a soft of dumbfounded look on his face. John didn't know what he was saying, but there was that feeling again, of something that needed to be said. Maybe it was just the aftermath of all the secrets he's been forced to hide, maybe it's simply all the questions that he wanted to ask Sherlock in the drive in channeling back to him, suddenly revealing themselves in his now overwhelmed brain. Maybe it was rugby, maybe he got hit on the head too hard, or maybe it was simply the stress of juggling school, sports, and relationships all at the same time. He wasn't crazy, that he was certain of. He wasn't in love with Sherlock simply because his degrading brain was clinging to him; he was in love because his heart was calling to him! Ever since that dance John had felt as though a new portion of his very existence had been unlocked, a portion of himself that he hadn't been able to recognize until it was called into the light. Just because now he was decoding his heart doesn't mean there's anything different, anything wrong with it, it's just...new. His emotions were real and his love was real and his sanity, well, that was real as well. Maybe it would take some adjusting, maybe just a little bit of reassurance from the other party, or possibly it was nothing at all. Maybe he was just feverish, boarding on delusional. He shouldn't worry, he had absolutely no reason to worry it was just...maybe having one thing on your mind for weeks on end wasn't exactly healthy.