Secrets Aren't Made Slowly

I Hope You've Learned Your Lesson

At first he didn't know what to say, Sherlock just held his feet flat on the floor and pretended not to notice as John walked up to the desks, looking around as if trying to choose the best one.
"Is there somewhere I should sit? A bad kid's chair or something?" John laughed, to which Sherlock just smiled forcefully, pulling his wheeled chair close to his desk and shrugging carelessly.
"Nothing of the sort, but then again, you're not really a bad kid." Sherlock assured.
"I know. This is all your fault." John agreed with a teasing little laugh, dumping his backpack on one of the student chair before seating himself comfortably on the desk itself, letting his short little legs dangle in the air just a couple of inches off of the ground.
"My fault?" Sherlock clarified, this time finding it almost effortless to produce a meaningful laugh.
"Yes sir, your fault indeed. It's because of you that I never make it to class, always too busy easing your mind about my tests or your habits." John taunted.
"Those are legitimate concerns, on my part, Mr. Watson." Sherlock said flatly. There was a moment of tense silence, in which they both maintained a rather aggressive eye contact, until finally Sherlock broke it by giggling.
"I bought you a coffee, I hope you like lattes." Sherlock offered finally, holding up one of the coffees he had brought along with him. John smiled thankfully, sliding off of his desk and taking it carefully.
"Well thank you Sherlock, you didn't need to do that." John said thankfully, seeming very grateful that Sherlock would have gone out of his way to treat him like that.
"Oh don't worry; I got myself one as well. I was quite sure that you'd be much too boring of a companion and so I needed a little bit of caffeine so as to keep me awake at this late hour." Sherlock giggled, to which John just smiled, taking a sip of his coffee carefully.
"So do you always get stuck with detention duty then?" John wondered, holding the warm coffee cup between his hands and watching Sherlock curiously. Already Sherlock could feel something of a tension beginning to pull them together, something of a lasso around their hearts, trying to connect them forcefully. It was a very horrible feeling, especially when Sherlock felt as though his soul was being pulled one way while his body refused to budge. He wondered if John felt the same way, or even if he felt anything at all. To be perfectly honest Sherlock found it quite agonizing, and yet John seemed to be completely calm...completely collective.
"Oh no, this is my punishment, I believe, for being out three days." Sherlock admitted with a sigh.
"It wasn't even the flu, was it?" John clarified.
"No, no it wasn't. I imagine I told you that, didn't I? Yet I can't remember when..." Sherlock muttered, staring rather blankly at his desk as he tried to imagine when he would admit his lies to John Watson.
"It was Friday, when I got the detention. You were high, so I can't imagine you would remember." John assured with a bit of a shrug. Sherlock just smiled, and along with that smile he noticed that John suddenly looked away, a good sign of course. That meant that he noticed the smile, that meant he didn't want to have to deal with it just yet.
"Oh dear, I do hope I didn't trouble you too much with my rambling. I talk much too much when I'm high." Sherlock admitted with a rather nervous glare, watching as John just sipped his coffee, shrugging innocently all the while he most certainly knew something Sherlock didn't.
"Well you told me about your sickness, or lack thereof. And you told me of Victor..." John murmured.
"Of Victor?" Sherlock clarified nervously, sitting forward on his desk and watching John anxiously. Sherlock was just praying to whatever Gods were listening that he hadn't told John all about Victor's visit, for John had been the main topic of conversation and yet a lot happened in between.
"Yes well, without repeating your exact words, you rather hinted at some um...intimacy." John admitted in a very small voice, gulping and staring at the floor while his cheeks glowed red. Sherlock's stomach lurched, and yet he had to play it off cool, and so he just set down his coffee cup and sighed heavily. He could never trust his high self, could he? He was always such a fool, blurting out things that he never intended to tell anyone.
"Oh just ignore everything I've said John, surely you can't believe anything I said when I was high." Sherlock muttered, trying to play it off as if this really was no big deal. And yet it was, the look in John's eyes said that it was, for some reason John seemed to care very much about what Sherlock did with Victor.
"I thought you hated Victor." John muttered in a small, almost shameful voice. He kept his head down towards his feet and yet Sherlock could sometimes feel his gaze on him when he wasn't looking. He knew that john was just as entranced with Sherlock as Sherlock was with him, and now this was the final proof. Jealousy was not an emotion you'd so easily find in a man who wasn't feeling obligated to the emotions of another, and now that John Watson seemed defensive in the face of Sherlock's supposed relations with another man, well now it was becoming evident that Sherlock's feelings were not unrequited.
"I do hate Victor, of course I hate Victor. And yet people do silly things, don't you think? Silly things with those that mean almost nothing to them." Sherlock admitted with a heavy sigh.
"Were you buying from him?" John wondered in a tense voice, as if he was asking questions now not for curiosity's sake, but so as to prove some sort of theory he had. Maybe he was trying to make himself feel better; maybe he was trying to ensure that he felt worse. Either way Sherlock felt as though he had no choice but to answer him, for it seemed as though John was physically pained to ask such a thing, and so he didn't want to make the man repeat it again.
"No I wasn't. It was a moment of weakness John; I promise it won't happen again." Sherlock said flatly, all while John just shook his head, smiling for a brief moment in a sad sort of way.
"Why would you make that promise to me? Why would I care? You could be hooking up with all the guys on this continent and I wouldn't care the slightest. No it's...he loves you. What do I care if you love him back?" John murmured, seemingly trying his absolute hardest to keep his face out of the frown that was slowly forming. He looked pained in his efforts, as if he was finding it nearly impossible to keep himself from scowling at the mere mention of Victor's name.
"I don't love him back; my heart doesn't belong with Victor." Sherlock assured in a stern sort of voice, as if he was trying to talk sense into this seemingly delirious man. John just shook his head, keeping his eyes off of Sherlock as if too ashamed to watch him now. The pull was stronger now, it was almost nauseating Sherlock at this point, the attachment that was sure to get its way sooner or later. Sherlock knew that from this distance nothing would become of it, he could never hope for John to just leap over this desk, and yet he was willing to try now, and he maybe thought that John was willing to as well.
"Then who does it belong to?" John asked in a horrible voice, shaking his head regretfully before glancing up at Sherlock once more. For a moment he saw Sherlock's eyes, large and saddened, almost as if he was trying to express the truth without the words John was most obligated to hear. Most confessions came without words, of course, and this one wasn't all that different. It was love that was most painful now, Sherlock could sense it in John and he could feel it in himself, pounding against his skull and insisting that it work its way out, somehow. Yet he couldn't...what sort of man would John take him to be? Just ten minutes of solitude and he was already dangerously close to spilling the entire contents of his heart! He was a fool and yet not to that extent, he was foolish to let his heart fall in love in the first place, he would not be so foolish as to admit to that love just yet. And yet it seemed...imminent.
"I'm not sure that's relevant, Mr. Watson, to why we are here tonight." Sherlock muttered calmly, to which John just nodded, clearing his throat and staring down at the coffee cup that was still clenched rather tightly in his hands, his fingernails scratching against the paper as if he was doing his absolute best not to lose control right now. And yet what was struggling to break loose, Sherlock had to wonder?
"Yes of course...Mr. Holmes of course. It's none of my business." John agreed, staring down at his swinging feet as if wondering what he was doing on top of this desk in the first place. He seemed ashamed of something and yet Sherlock wasn't daring enough to correct him. He knew, of course, that John had realized he was probing too deeply into Sherlock's personal life too quickly. And yet what John didn't know was that Sherlock really didn't mind, it was what this conversation could lead up to that was what Sherlock worried about the most. He knew, of course, that in the topic of his personal life hidden deeply in the rest of the rubbish was the one big secret, the diamond that had been molded into the surrounding rocks. His love, his only love, and yet John wasn't ready for that yet. He wasn't prepared for it.
"Do you um, is there anything I should be doing? Homework wise?" John wondered apprehensively, sliding off the desk only to sit in the chair like the responsible student he was. Sherlock felt almost bad, since he had obviously scared John into shutting down whatever conversation they had just been starting.
"Well the office workers had offered me some busy work, and yet I had rather thought we could just talk, or we could play some sort of trivia games on my laptop if you would like to. I feel rather bad, for you really shouldn't be spending your Monday nights with me. I'm sure you've got quite the uh, social life." Sherlock murmured, looking up towards John so as to make sure the man was shaking his head. He was, which came as a relief.
"Social life? Have you seen who I'm supposed to be hanging out with? Jim and Irene's idea of a night on the town is going to the back alley and doing a line of cocaine. No I couldn't hang out with anyone around here; you're the only real friend I've made so far." John admitted with a shrug.
"Friend? You consider me a friend?" Sherlock clarified with a little blink, to which of course John donned a sort of panicked expression.
"No, oh well...I mean do you mind if I dare classify you as such?" John wondered nervously.
"Of course not, Mr. Watson I am honored to be your friend. I haven't got many friends of my own." Sherlock admitted with a smile.
"I can't imagine why." John muttered to himself. And yet being as they were the only ones in the room Sherlock could hear him perfectly, and he just scowled rather accusingly.
"Are you insulting my character?" Sherlock wondered in a mockingly insulted sort of way. Of course John couldn't tell the difference, and considering the harsh note they had ended on in their last conversation he seemed a bit timid to make fun of Sherlock so openly.
"No, no. Sorry." John murmured rather shamefully, sinking down lower into his seat as if he was trying to hide from the only other pair of eyes in the room.
"Well that's a shame, John. It would've been the perfect opportunity to do so." Sherlock teased, smiling in a comforting sort of way at his companion. John smiled back at him, a little bit more timidly and yet something much more meaningful than any other expression on any other person's face in the world. The evening was well spent, or at least it was as well spent as it could be from about ten feet away. They talked most of the times, occasionally breaking into a game of eye spy before they got bored of just trying to find tiny little specks of color along the drab walls that Sherlock had never bothered to decorate. Sherlock noticed, however, that the conversation was most always directed towards him. John liked to keep him talking, maybe because John was too nervous to actually be in the spotlight, and yet whenever Sherlock began to stray off towards John's life or John's past the boy always managed to change the topic to something else. Maybe he was trying to hide something or maybe he just deemed his life too boring to discuss, and yet Sherlock found him to most fascinating, even if John didn't think himself anything special. The minutes grew shorter as their conversation continued to blossom into something they were both interested in, and soon Sherlock's heart sank when he saw that the numbers of the clock were nearing seven forty five. He had not fifteen more minutes with John and yet they were still mid conversation about the types of cars they drove. This was a subject John was pretty knowledgeable in, it would seem, and he kept going on about horsepower and wheel turnover and stupid things like that, things Sherlock only listened to because he liked the way John's face lit up when he was excited.
"So what kind of car do you drive?" John asked finally, after he noticed that Sherlock's eyes were getting a little bit glassy. Sherlock blinked, clearing his throat and looking away from the clock nervously. Maybe he was crazy for thinking that tonight would amount to anything more than just casual conversation, he was delusional by nature, and it was almost seven fifty, just ten more minutes.
"Oh, I'm not sure. Something Janine had brought with her." Sherlock admitted with a careless sort of shrug, his heart beginning to sink as the clock turned once more.
"Janine, your wife I assume?" John guessed finally, to which Sherlock nodded miserably.
"Yes, my wife. The greatest mistake of my life." Sherlock admitted in the most regretful voice, shaking his head and tapping his fingers against his desk gloomily. John nodded, looking more attentive now.
"Why was it a mistake? I mean surely you must have loved her at a time?" John guessed in a rather taut voice, as if he was forcing out the words, as if he felt like they shouldn't be said.
"I was high, at one time. At many times, including the day I put a ring on her finger. It was in the midst of some sort of madness, no I never loved her, and we both knew it. It was for the money, mostly, we wanted a joint bank account." Sherlock admitted with a sigh.
"That's a curious reason to marry someone." John decided with a little smile.
"I've heard of worse." Sherlock assured with a little chuckle, and this time John looked even more interested. This was clever, very clever, and yet Sherlock doubted that John had intended on doing it. They were talking of romance once more, the very topic they had begun with and the very topic that was too premature to be fully admitted to. And yet, with not ten minutes to go and no one picking John up...well it was the perfect opportunity was it not?
"What, you've gotten proposed to before?" John wondered with a laugh, as if asking that question purely with the intent of getting no as an answer. And yet Sherlock just nodded, taking one of the final sips of his cold coffee.
"Oh yes, many times actually. None of them had been very thought out of course, in fact they were mostly drunken proposals, or ones caught up in the midst of...delirium. The most tempting offer I've ever gotten was from Victor, who got down on one knee with a bag of cocaine and offered twenty five percent off all drugs if I married him." Sherlock admitted with a little chuckle. John laughed rather forcefully, as if he really saw nothing quite funny about the idea of Sherlock getting proposed too so abruptly and in such a crude manner. And yet Sherlock simply sat back in his chair, waiting on John to ask another question, a loaded question perhaps.
"And Victor, was he the only guy then? I mean you're married to a woman, I can only..."
"Like I said John, Janine was a huge mistake. Victor wasn't the only guy; on the contrary Janine was the only girl." Sherlock admitted with a sigh. John nodded, clearing his throat and going a little bit scarlet as he realized what that meant.
"Yes that's what I thought. Or at least that's what people told me...not that I was asking! It's just; well you're kind of a topic of conversation." John admitted in a nervous sort of voice, shuffling his feet a little bit upon the floor as if he really was regretting every word that left his mouth at this point.
"A topic of conversation, I'm sure." Sherlock agreed with a sigh.
"Everyone's in love with you." John added, before quickly silencing himself with a horrified expression, looking about ready to stuff his fist in his mouth to prevent any more stupid comments from escaping. Sherlock could only laugh, for of course he had already known that, and yet hearing it coming from John's mouth was just something entirely different.
"So I've heard. I'm quite the eligible bachelor." Sherlock agreed with a soft sigh.
"But you're not even a bachelor, so everyone should just shut up." John said firmly, catching Sherlock's eye for just a moment before turning away in shame. He was blushing; it was only too obvious at this point.
"Not a bachelor by definition, but I'm certainly available. Not to a student of course, but to well...a more entitled companion." Sherlock admitted heavily, feeling as though that was still vague and yet it was starting to get more to the point. Only three more minutes of this detention, and yet there would be no one here to collect them, no matter what that clock said they were very much alone.
"An entitled companion? Like Victor?" John guessed with a sort of nervous little voice, as if he hated to have to bring that horrible man back into conversation. Sherlock sighed heavily, sitting forward on his desk and studying John curiously, studying him with a glare that was returned only with a very guilty looking stare.
"What is your obsession with Victor?" Sherlock wondered in a breath, a breath which was returned only by another shade of scarlet.
"With Victor? No I'm not...obsessed. I just don't like him, that's all. I don't think he deserves you." John said firmly, making Sherlock chuckle a little bit. He liked it when John got defensive, for it was nice to finally realize that someone cared.
"Well I agree, of course, he doesn't deserve me at all. I don't think there are many people on this earth that deserve me. I don't think I deserve me, to be quite honest." Sherlock admitted with a sigh.
"Do you really think that badly upon yourself?" John clarified with a meaningful sort of frown, his large brown eyes growing concerned as if he was slowly transforming into Mrs. Hudson, making sure Sherlock loved himself.
"Of course I do John; I've lived with myself more than anyone else has. I'm a sinner to the worst degree, and if my actions aren't tainted enough then my thoughts..."
"Your thoughts?" John carried in a voice.
"Hmm, terrible things they are." Sherlock agreed with a heavy sigh, letting his gaze settle shamelessly on John's right now, seeing as they only had one more minute left.
"Well so long as they're just thoughts then maybe you'll be safe from them." John suggested, and yet he didn't seem too terribly excited about leaving that there. He seemed almost as if he would very much like to know all that was going on in Sherlock's head. It was almost as if he understood that he was the main focus.
"I've never been worried too much about prosecution, Mr. Watson. Thoughts can turn into action just like that, and before you know it...well there's another tally mark on the reasons you're going to Hell." Sherlock said with a laugh.
"Love is not a crime." John said flatly, his gaze settling into something all too serious for just a moment, all while Sherlock's face stretched into something of a smile.
"Mr. Watson, who said anything about love?" he wondered in a breath. While John stammered like a scared fish, Sherlock just happened to glance at the clock, his heart sinking miserably as he saw that they were already one minute over due on this detention.
"I hate to say this John, but it's time for me to release you. I do hope you've learned your lesson." Sherlock teased, getting to his feet and yet not going anywhere, not yet at least. The pulling had not ceased for the whole of the two hours they had sat here together, and yet just when it was time to leave Sherlock felt as though it was virtually undeniable. John felt it to, he must feel it, for he got up from his chair very slowly, standing with his hand on his backpack strap and yet he didn't pull it on, not just yet. He stayed quite still, with his eyes on Sherlock, with his mind on something else. Sherlock could feel the string quivering, and of course it would shake, as it was connecting their hearts and their hearts were beating so furiously.