There Is Nothing Wrong With Me

Get Victor Out Of Your Head

    Sherlock winced, not wanting John to get hurt but more importantly not wanting to get splashed, but then again he wasn't going to say anything to stop him. Maybe if John uses all his goofball energy out on that stupid rope he would calm down enough to be romantic and flirtatious again. Sherlock liked it when John was tired and gentle, and right now, even though it was around ten o'clock, it seemed he still had the energy of a ten year old after three cans of soda. Finally John gave a great whoop of excitement and jumped onto the rope, letting it swing him right over the pool for the perfect jumping range. He let go at exactly the right time and while the rope swung back to its starting place he plunged right into the water once more, making a splash so huge that Sherlock had to cover his face to avoid getting more creek water in his mouth. John submerged a little bit later, spitting water and looking very rugged as his hair stuck up in all sorts of directions. Sherlock just clapped enthusiastically, to which John just bowed (the best he could, he was still treading water) and started his way over to where Sherlock was sitting. His face softened a little bit when he saw Sherlock was shivering, hugging his arms around himself and pulling the thin wet fabric of his shirt closer still.
"Are you alright?" John wondered softly, swimming so that he was wading just in front of Sherlock, in the perfect kicking position.
"I'm fine John, cold." Sherlock admitted with a little smile. John didn't look convinced; however he just hovered there in the water, looking worried.
"Do you want to go on the rope swing?" John wondered, sounding a little bit guilty for dragging Sherlock out of his comfort zone and into the freezing water. Aha, so maybe he did have some remorse after all!
"No of course not, I'm sure I'll fall into the stones or something." Sherlock admitted with a little smile.
"Well then, I'll sit with you then." John decided finally, swimming up to where he could sit on the rocks next to Sherlock. Even though John was much shorter he had picked a rock that was higher up on the bank, and Sherlock had to admit that it was quite weird to have him at eye level.
"Your hair is a mess." Sherlock muttered with a little smile, holding John's head steady with one hand while he patted down the little bird's nest that was collecting on top of his head. John simply swatted his hands away with a childish giggle, to which Sherlock just gave him a rather condescending smile but withdrew all the same.
"What are you, my mother?" John wondered rather accusingly.
"No I'm your boyfriend, but I still have the right to make sure you look attractive enough to hang with me." Sherlock insisted proudly, holding himself a bit taller so he could at least have a little bit of a height advantage. He liked it when he towered over people; it made him feel much more powerful than he actually was.
"Are you saying you're out of my league?" John asked in a legitimate tone of surprise.
"I'm not saying that at all. I'm just saying that with your hair all messed up you look like a child, and I could never be seen with you in public." Sherlock corrected, to which John just shrugged innocently.
"You can't be seen with me in public on my best day." John pointed out, and Sherlock simply sighed, kicking his feet in the water thoughtfully.
"That's my fault, isn't it?" he wondered in a small voice. He heard John make a noise of some sort of sympathy but obviously he couldn't say anything to contradict Sherlock in anyway. Sherlock was right of course, they couldn't be seen in public because he was a known and feared homosexual. If Sherlock had a clean record then they could have at least gone undercover as best friends, but simply because of Sherlock's accused past they had to stay hidden, they had to meet at the creek at ten o'clock because they couldn't risk their relationship being known.
"I don't care Sherlock, I honestly don't. It's more fun this way, more adventurous." John muttered rather forcefully, to which Sherlock laughed sorrowfully.
"You don't have to humor me John, but I appreciate the effort." Sherlock assured, and John sighed next to him. Whether that sigh was in relief or in annoyance Sherlock couldn't tell, however it was enough to assure him that there was more to be said.
"I don't care what other people think of us Sherlock, I really don't. If it wasn't for the risk of getting you arrested I would have paraded you around a long time ago, I want to show you off Sherlock, I want to be proud of our relationship, I want people to know." John admitted.
"You said it yourself John, it could get me arrested. Even worse it could get you subjected to the same torture I go through every night." Sherlock agreed in a small voice. John was silent for a moment, and at first Sherlock couldn't figure out why until he felt a very cold hand slide over his in the water, interlocking their fingers securely as if trying to ensure their compatibility without speaking.
"I want to help you in whatever way I can, just say the words Sherlock." John insisted softly. Sherlock smiled with an air of sadness, looking over at his faithful boyfriend with thankful eyes. However they both knew that there was nothing either of them could do to stop the never ending torture and secrecy they were forced to endure. They were just two teenagers, stuck in the middle of a town where everyone knew their names. Where could they go, how far could they run, without getting noticed, without getting caught? In their world love was a crime, one punishable by the most inhumane treatment, and what on earth could they do to protect themselves? They had to hide; they had to be quiet, and secretive. They had to hide their letters with those of their friends and sneak down to the stream in the middle of the night; it was the price they had to pay for their abstract hearts, reaching in the wrong direction. And yet they were two of the same, call them what you will, freaks, criminals, mistakes, but they had each other. They were living proof that maybe homosexuality wasn't just an error in human coding, maybe it was valid, maybe it actually could produce a relationship worth fighting for, a love worth hiding for. Two freaks were better than one, especially when they had each other.
"You're helping me more than anyone ever has, simply by being here. By making sure I'm not alone on a cold Wednesday night." Sherlock assured with a little bit of a laugh, and yet John's face remained serious, determined even.
"I don't care, Sherlock, what anyone says about us. I love you, and that's enough for me." John insisted with an almost harsh air of determination. Sherlock smiled softly at him, glancing quickly before focusing his attention on the rope swing, still swinging back and forth with the ghost of John's acrobatics.
"That's enough for me as well." Sherlock agreed in the smallest of voices. John's hand clenched around his own, and then slowly it released. At first Sherlock thought John was leaving him, or swimming back over to the rope swing at least, before he felt a cold, wet hand trailing down the side of his neck.
"The night we first met, Sherlock, was the most beautiful night I have ever had." John admitted in a small voice. His fingers continued to brush against Sherlock's skin, playing against his cheeks and his chin and trialing electricity wherever they touched. Sherlock was trying to stay calm of course, collective. He knew that this was a legitimate romantic moment, however part of him still suspected John to push him back into the water just as his hair was just about dry.
"That had been an adventure for me. I was so nervous, but when I saw you I just...I couldn't help myself. And to think here we are now." Sherlock muttered with a sort of laugh.
"Here we are." John agreed softly. Sherlock kept his gaze fixed upon the water that was streaming ever so slowly around his legs, soaking through his pants and chilling him to the bone.
"Why don't you look at me?" John wondered gently, his fingers prodding carefully at Sherlock's chin so that he could steer his head in the right direction.
"I um, I don't know. Eye contact makes me a bit uncomfortable." Sherlock admitted shyly, feeling his cheeks heat up as his eyes were forced to meet those of John Watson. And yet his eyes were so calm, so still and so supportive. They were almost beginning to mesmerize Sherlock, drawing him in without so much as an invitation and yet the power behind those brown irises, it was possessing him to move closer still.
"It's hard to kiss you when you're not looking at me." John whispered sweetly. Sherlock felt his face heat up so much that the water droplets still clinging to his face evaporated, and it was all John could do but smile.
"I'll make a point to look at you more often then." Sherlock promised in a weak voice, and yet he couldn't tell if John heard him or not. Because almost as soon as he finished his sentence John's lips were on his, kissing him ever so softly and ever so beautifully. It wasn't at all like their other kisses; those had been rushed, forceful even. They had been at the end of this night but this, this was just the beginning. And now Sherlock realized just why John had wanted to bring him down here, it wasn't for the water, or for the rope swing, but the guaranteed privacy, a place where two boys could kiss carelessly and not worry about disgusted onlookers. And suddenly Sherlock enjoyed this little pool a lot more. Sherlock wasn't an experienced kisser of course, his first and last kiss had been the ever so unworthy Victor Trevor, and even then he was quite sure he was doing a terrible job. John didn't seem to mind Sherlock's lack of experience however, he made sure to almost teach Sherlock what to do by doing it first himself. So when John put his hand on Sherlock's neck Sherlock made sure to do the same, and when he moved closer Sherlock mimicked him as well. And yet there seemed to be something else, another powerful emotion that began to burn inside of Sherlock's chest, something much more desperate than love itself. Greed perhaps would be a name for it, because suddenly this kiss simply wasn't enough. And despite John's hand on the base of his neck, tangling in his curls, and despite their proximity and their beautiful, soft kisses, Sherlock wanted more. He needed more. He could remember Victor's actions that night vividly, the beginning of the worst mistake of his life and yet it had been peaceful, it had been so beautiful. And so Sherlock's hands drifted from John's neck, with his lips still firmly interlocked with John's he began desperately unbuttoning his shirt, ripping the buttons away from the drenched fabric until he was basically tearing the material itself. Half way through he got bored with wrestling with buttons and began to grab at the bottom of John's tee shirt, as if asking permission before he pulled it over his head. And yet as soon as Sherlock's fingers brushed against John's skin the boy stopped, pulling his lips away as if suddenly he couldn't bring himself to kiss Sherlock any longer.
"No wait, just...just wait." John muttered suddenly, and Sherlock scrambled away in shame, suddenly horrified at his own actions. For a moment he didn't see John, for a moment he was sure that he saw Victor, sitting there on those rocks, that look on his face that Sherlock knew so well, that look of judgment, of pity, as if he was trying to remind Sherlock that whatever he tried to do it would be in vain.
"I'm sorry, oh God I'm so sorry." Sherlock muttered weakly, curling into a ball of shame on a rather sharp rock while John shook his head, breathing heavily and staring at the water below. For once he was the one avoiding eye contact.
"It's fine Sherlock, really..." John muttered, and yet it obviously wasn't fine. He looked startled to say the least, almost a bit worried, as if he had just remembered that he had a casserole in the oven or something. But it wasn't that, there was something more, something that made it nearly impossible for John to even look up at Sherlock again.
"I'm sorry John, I got ahead of myself, I don't know what I was doing I'm so sorry." Sherlock managed once more, stuttering and stumbling over his own words while he desperately tried to do up the buttons on his shirt. John just shook his head, wiping the water off of his brow and repositioning himself on his little rock chair.
"It's my fault Sherlock, you did nothing wrong." John assured, although Sherlock was quite sure he was just saying that so as not to hurt Sherlock's feelings. He had gone too far, that was becoming increasingly evident, and yet John was still too nice to admit such a thing.

    "What is it?" Sherlock whispered nervously, haphazardly buttoning up whatever buttons he felt on his shirt without looking down to make sure he was doing a good job. It didn't matter though, did it? In the middle of nowhere? John reluctantly glanced up at Sherlock, looking upon him pitifully, as if he was so ashamed to be making such a big deal out of nothing. Sherlock felt almost as though he was about to cry, suddenly the only boy in the world that noticed him was staying away; suddenly he couldn't even look at him without feeling a shiver of doubt. Oh what has he done?
"Nothing it's just...I just remembered something, something stupid, oh I wish I could just..." John growled in annoyance, hitting himself lightly in the head as if he could just slap whatever memories he had out of his ear and into the water. Sherlock began to get nervous; waiting for John to either go crazy or go away; however both actions would effectively break his heart.
"Victor told me something, in the hallway, and I know that he was just trying to scare me and of course he's lying and I don't even know why I'm thinking about something so stupid right now, but..." John sighed heavily and cut his own sentence off, leaving time for Sherlock to brainstorm the worst case scenarios. Of course it had to be Victor, who else could effectively ruin Sherlock's best night on earth? He had put an idea in John's head, a horrible idea that had interfered in their love as effectively as a brick wall. And now, after being so close for so long, they sat two feet apart, muttering apologies and shaking with sudden chills. And suddenly it dawned on Sherlock, suddenly he realized just what Victor would have said, what they very idea of Victor would've reminded John of, the absolute worst in Sherlock, and the absolutely worst in humanity as a whole.
"No John, no I would never...you know I never..." Sherlock whispered nervously.
"I know, I know! And yet he follows me around, I can hear him in my head he's laughing at me!" John exclaimed, sounding almost like a maniac talking about phantom voices. And yet Sherlock knew exactly what he meant, he heard that laugh too, that permanent imprint of that terrible boy; he was mocking them just for trying to forget him and his voice. Victor was an unforgettable boy with unforgettable words, it always seemed that he spoke the truth no matter how absurd the lies he told were. He was impossible to doubt because he spoke with such determination and clarity, and Sherlock was quite sure that no matter what he had said to John, it had to be scaring him to the point of tearing himself away.
"What did he tell you about me?" Sherlock wondered nervously, easing ever so closer just so that he could hear whatever whisper came out of John's mouth. John took a deep, rattling breath, repositioning himself and glancing up nervously at Sherlock.
"It's not so much about you it's just...just promise me Sherlock, right now. Promise me you didn't force him you didn't...you didn't rape him." John pleaded. Sherlock winced at John's words, this unwavering heart suddenly plagued with doubt and all because of Victor's poisonous influence. And of course that was what it was; John was worried that he would share the same fate as Victor allegedly did, simply by the simple act of grabbing at the bottom of his shirt. However Sherlock was determined, he knew that the truth had to be spoken, and he knew that John would have to believe it.
"John, I did not force him to do anything." Sherlock promised, staring John right into those brown, fearful eyes. John sighed in relief, nodding and yet not looking remotely satisfied. He looked as if he had more questions and yet Sherlock was positive he couldn't have any more doubts, could he?
"I don't even know why I'm asking you this. God you must think I'm..." John muttered, however he cut himself off as if suddenly becoming disgusted by the sound of his own voice.
"I think nothing less of you John; in fact I'm glad I got the opportunity to prove myself to you once more." Sherlock assured in the most timid of voices. He was worried that John would leave him here, he was worried that John would suddenly claim that he had to get back to Wisteria, that he would run off with doubt in his heart and ponder on it for the next week or so that they spent apart.
"I'm sorry Sherlock." John whispered once more, as if he felt the need to apologize for something Sherlock had affectively created.
"There's not need to apologize." Sherlock assured as softly as he could manage. John nodded, staying still while the soft current ran its way around him. There was a tense silence, and for a moment Sherlock had no idea what to say or what to do, and now the only sound that could be heard was the soft trickling of the water over the rocks and the chattering as John shivered violently.

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