Failing Upward

Chapter 22 (part 2): Mona Lisa

Sherlock moaned as he flopped backwards onto the bed. Harry's voice carried up to us from downstairs, "So Sherlock's spending the night in John's room?"

I slid to him on the bed face to face. His lips curled a bit. "Yes, I am, " he whispered. My hand brushed through his hair, curling a dark lock around my finger and winding it around and around. I pressed my forehead to his, letting his cool forehead and the feel of his silky hair in my fingers comfort us both. I used to twist my own hair when I was five, and I'd forgotten how safe it made me feel. Our eyes met, searching vainly for some understanding inside each other's depths.

"It's so confusing, this duality," he said. "A part of me thinks we've never made love."

The house was still. I was almost afraid to breathe. We spoke in hushed voices back and forth, as if we were afraid of disturbing time again.

"A part of us hasn't," I answered. "But I remember on the beach, we almost did, and we did kiss. God."

I slipped off my bathing suit, and Sherlock took off his. He climbed under the covers with me, resting his head on my shoulder.

"I feel so tired and beaten, like I've been awake for days and days," I said, kissing the side of his head.

"If I could only turn my brain off, I might be able to fall asleep, but I am afraid that is not possible."

"Sherlock. Can you get into it?"

"I will try again in a bit."

"You wouldn't think I could be stupider in another life, but I guess I was," I said. "There are so many words I haven't said to you in either."

"We've never needed words, John."

"Still," I said. For someone who bares it all on stage, I sure suck at it face to face.

I turned out the light by the bed.

I didn't like the John Watson in this time. Fuck. He'd come here to this house knowing how Sherlock felt. This John went down to the beach, knowing what might happen. Let's have a picnic, run in the sand and go skinny dipping. Get Sherlock hot and bothered, then leave him hard and dry. Did I even know what I wanted? I'd chickened out on the beach. I'd planned on telling him how I felt, and instead I cheated and fell back on the old excuse. Later. I was a cheat and liar to myself. A bigger liar than in my real life. Or was this the real one? Shit. I couldn't believe I was more confused in this universe or time or whatever it was than the other.

I was more of an ass now, or maybe more of a confused ass. This John spent time in the garden all hot and bothered, fantasizing about Sherlock and what I wanted him to do to me, what I'd like to do to him, but not facing it, still stuck in the "I'm not gay" mode.

I felt like my head was going to explode, but I bet I didn't feel half as bad as Sherlock. Christ, ignoring how I felt about him. As quiet as he was, I bet he was wondering why he was even with me in any time.

"I never went to your house. I never came over, even when the whole band went to your parties." I didn't wait for an answer. I figured if I was going to do True Confessions , it'd be better to just come out with it all, confessing John Watson's This is Your Lif e parts one and two.

"I didn't step inside your door because I was afraid. I'm sure you know that but it needs to be said. I figured if I went to your house or was alone with you, I'd do it. I'd tell you how I felt or show you. God. I'm so pathetic. I thought about you, what it'd be like to touch, to kiss you. But I was afraid."

"Nice to know you've lusted after me as long as I've lusted after you."

"Longer...probably. Try junior high school."