Secrets Aren't Made Slowly

The Regret Of Rushing In

Sherlock approached his desk and sat very timidly down on the chair, sighing heavily and looking at the wood that had supported him not hours before. With one blink he could feel the wood on his back, with one breath he could see John above him, looking so scared, so unsure of himself. What a beautiful man, what a nervous one at that. Sherlock couldn't help but smile, oh who cared about Molly Hooper's lecturing, who cared about her preoccupations? She thought that she knew everything about love; she thought that she was some sort of expert on other people's situations. And yet what did she know, what really? Well for starters she was an expert at making people feel terrible about themselves, and then again she really was one for promoting self-love. She was a hypocrite, most likely. She had no idea the situation Sherlock was in, and yes maybe it was a situation many gay men before himself had experienced, and yet none of them could do anything about it because it was illegal, not because they just felt bad. Millions upon millions of husbands and wives cheat on each other, and yet when Sherlock does it it's somehow wrong? He was quite sure that even pure Molly Hooper looked at another man with some interest, married Molly Hooper, there was no way she wasn't in love with Sherlock when they first met. Everyone was in love with Sherlock; in fact he was quite sure that even now she harbored some sort of infatuation. Everyone did, it was just part of the natural world, really. And so how dare she shame Sherlock, who was so depressed and so upset with his life that he would most likely choose death over any sentencing to having to live the way he did, with his wife and with Victor and with all the drugs the three of them managed to live upon? And now with John, with John it was just...well his life had meaning again! And no, this wasn't just some short term crush, it wasn't young love and it wasn't any sort of one night stand. He loved that man, genuinely, he...well how could Molly even begin to understand? The reasons he loved John, the completely valid reasons? He loved him for his beauty, for his humanity, for his sense of humor and for his very existence in general! He was something just too unimaginable for Molly, something she very well may never understand! Love was sometimes even more pure when it was forbidden. The school day went quickly right up until lunch, where finally it began to drag as it always did when he began to anticipate something he was looking forward to. Time crawled when he was beginning to want something, and as predicted he sat in Molly Hooper's room, day dreaming about when John might walk in, and the seconds hand on the clocked traveled about as slow as a snail. Sherlock was not very pleased to find that Molly's second kale salad was meant for him, which in one way was good, for he had forgotten his lunch, and in another way was tragic, because it was a kale salad. And yet he ate it because she seemed rather excited about it, she had put all sorts of vegetables inside and she had added a lovely dressing. And yet...it was still kale salad.
"So how was your day so far?" Molly wondered, as if she was honestly expecting an answer that deviated from all the other answers she received from that very same question throughout the years they had been working together.
"The same as teaching here always is." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"Hellish?" Molly guessed with a bit of an exasperated sigh.
"Hellish." Sherlock agreed with a sharp nod.
"I suppose I really can't argue with that. Today I had to send someone to the principal; they had stuck gum in another kid's hair! They're in high school and they're sticking gum...I was just exasperated. Completely taken aback." Molly admitted with a sigh.
"And what did you do about the gum then?" Sherlock asked with a little chuckle. Molly sighed heavily, as if she really wasn't proud of herself for this quick fix.
"Well the only thing you can do, really. You get scissors." Molly admitted with a little chuckle. Sherlock could only smile, for that was the destructive woman he befriended.
"That's good Molly, very good." Sherlock agreed with a smile.
"Do you really think so?" Molly clarified nervously. "I feel like the parents will get angry with me."
"Well I don't know what else they would've done? I mean gum in the hair, that's what I would've done." Sherlock admitted with a shrug. Molly sighed heavily, for she didn't seem all that convinced that what Sherlock would've done was the right move. And yet she nodded to herself, looking quite content, and finally she sat back and finished her salad with something of a troubled look on her face. When Sherlock was done with his salad he excused himself, for he knew that in the absence of food or anything else to do the conversation would undoubtedly slip to what they had been discussing this morning, about Sherlock's new love interest, about his sinning, all that stuff that he would rather just ignore. And so he bid Molly a good afternoon and set back to his classroom a little bit early, just ten minutes or so before third block. And yet he was happy with that, he felt as though he could pretend to finish up putting grades in the book in the remainder of his free time. However when Sherlock came back to his classroom he found the door open, which was curious because he always closed it and locked it when he left. However it was ajar, and when he pulled open the door he almost ran into two of the shadiest kids on the block. Jim Moriarty and his trusty sidekick, Irene Adler. Upon seeing Sherlock both of their faces contorted into a mix of surprise and fear, and yet Sherlock was too shocked to wear either of those expressions too vividly on his face.
"Mr. Moriarty...Ms. Adler, what are you doing in my classroom?" Sherlock wondered quickly, peering about to make sure nothing had been stolen. Of course he didn't think anything was stolen at all, for there really was nothing in there except paper clips and pencils. There were tests, and yet neither Jim nor Irene were in his class, and so what would they want with those?
"We um, well we were picking up John's textbook for him. He said he had homework, and since he's not here today we thought that he might need it. He texted us." Irene said quickly, pushing Jim out of the way so as to smile at Sherlock innocently. Maybe she thought that by being more in the light she offered a more tempting argument, maybe she thought that seduction might help her case at all. Well, she was wildly mistaken, for her actions only made Sherlock hate her more.
"John...Mr. Watson is not here?" Sherlock clarified in a blink. Both of his captives smiled to themselves for a split second, so quickly that Sherlock tried to convince himself that he had been imagining it, and yet they nodded simultaneously.
"Yes, he's sick or something." Jim agreed. Sherlock nodded, clearing his throat and feeling something of a weight drop into his stomach. He knew, of course, that sicknesses do not just come upon someone the night after they were undoubtedly in full health. And so it brought up the question, then, of what John was really doing? Avoiding someone...perhaps?
"How did you get in? I leave the door locked." Sherlock wondered finally, shaking away any reservations for now, since he could feel both pairs of black, soulless eyes staring back at him now.
"We um, we found it unlocked. Maybe you forgot to lock it." Irene offered quickly, to which Jim nodded in agreement. That was mysterious, very mysterious, and yet honestly Sherlock couldn't think of anything to hold them for any longer. They had a convincing story, a disturbing story at that, but one that would give them every reason to be in here all the same. How could Sherlock doubt them, even though they were probably the biggest trouble makers of the school?
"Yes alright, I would have preferred you see me before sneaking into my room, but alright." Sherlock agreed, stepping aside so as to let them both scuttle past. He noticed something, however, held under Jim's arm, something that sparked his attention.
"What's that you've got?" Sherlock wondered, nothing of an interrogation really, simply a question. They both paused, and Jim seemed to know right away that Sherlock was looking at whatever it was he carried.
"Oh, it's a tripod, holds a camera and stuff. I'm getting into photograph, recently, and I've been going about the school trying to find reasonable things to shoot. My hands shake, for um, well for obvious reasons." Jim said with a bit of a laugh, while Irene smiled and mimicked smoking something. Sherlock blinked, a little bit disgusted at how casually they would refer to withdrawal, and yet he nodded.
"Cool." He decided with a little nod, and they both smiled back like the innocent 'cherubs' they wanted him to believe they were. With that he just walked back into his classroom, taking a look around to make sure everything was in order. As promised John's book was taken from underneath his desk, and yet other than that Sherlock only spotted that the closet door in the back was just slightly open. That was probably his own fault, however, for he never forgot to properly turn the handle. And so Sherlock sat down rather uneasily, on any other day all of this would have been fine, normal even! And yet...today it felt as though there was something different. No, John's sickness, or lack thereof, was most certainly nothing related to do with actual illness. It was Sherlock's fault; oh there was no doubt in his mind! John was avoiding him, purposely, because he was nervous. That had to be it, John was just somewhat ashamed of what he had done, he was most likely rather embarrassed as well, and he was taking a day just to let everything process correctly. Maybe he was just too nervous to see Sherlock the day after, maybe he wanted to wait, maybe he wanted to hide, just for a while until maybe they both forgot about the ordeal. Maybe he wanted the classroom to be different, a day's older, than when he had last left it. There were a lot of explanations as to why John would skip and yet Sherlock knew that he alone was responsible for most of them. He wasn't feeling guilty; no it was just that he was becoming just a little bit apprehensive. Why would John skip, if not to avoid him?