Let Us All Make History

There's No Lucky Lady

It was getting closer to the ball, and it would seem as though John was getting cold feet. He hadn't asked anyone yet, and now with just a week to go Sherlock was beginning to feel just as nervous as he had for the first task. The ball itself almost felt like the second task, for he had no preparation and he knew that he might end up getting killed in the middle of it, whether it be by John or by Victor, who knows? He knew that he was going to have to take initiative, for even though he talked to John on a day to day basis through their classes it would seem as though there was no actual leading on happening, no proper flirting. Sherlock was half waiting for John to ask him to have lunch by the lake as well, he as at least expecting the Yule Ball to come up in conversation during one of their classes! And yet John was silent, almost as if he was waiting for the perfect time...almost as if there wouldn't be that time at all. Of course just because Sherlock hadn't been asked by John didn't mean he wasn't asked at all. In fact Sherlock seemed to be most everyone's fantasy date, for he had been asked by close to ten girls as the ball approached. It was rather funny to see how stupid the Hogwarts kids were, for all the girls who had asked him were from that school. Just by their asking showed their lack of observation, for they all missed what he thought was the rather obvious gay signals. Then again, it would seem as everyone had missed those, since not even one boy had asked him except Victor, who started his day by asking and ended it by asking again. It was getting quite tiresome, having to say no. Sherlock politely declined all of the girls who asked him, not by giving them the obvious reason for their rejection but by simply explaining that he was planning on asking someone as the dance got closer. Well that was a lie, not a full lie but a lie all the same. He wanted John to ask him so badly it was almost starting to hurt, it was almost beginning to seem like Sherlock would have to ask him just to get things moving. Even if he said no the very idea planted in his head of Sherlock's availability would be enough to maybe get his mind turning on the possibilities. Maybe john was seeing his world through a very thick layer of heterosexuality, maybe he couldn't see that Sherlock was available just because he was still yet to be able to process it. And so Sherlock decided that he was going to take initiative. It was a week until the dance and the beginning of Christmas Break. The Hogwarts train will be taking home all the under classmen that were unable to attend the dance, whether they be too young or too ugly, however Sherlock suspected that very few people fit that description. It was too exciting a year for anyone to leave voluntarily, and he had every suspicion that John would be staying along with most all the other kids. Sherlock saw a single broom flying about the quidditch stadium from where he sat in the carriage, the window seat which he liked to lounge in when he was tired of talking to people. Although he was unable to read today, it was all just too exhausting to look at the words and actually process them and so he took to watching the lone boy on a broom zoom to and fro through the air, the boy that Sherlock was sure was John. There had been no quidditch season this year because of the tournament, however John was still zipping around in hopes that he could get better before he played for some sort of national league or something. He was so dedicated it almost brought a tear to Sherlock's eye, and yet John's dedication wasn't the only thing that really made him want to cry. It was his ignorance, and his lateness, that really drove Sherlock up the wall. And so when he saw that John was alone, knowing full well that they wouldn't see each other in classes anymore as the break had officially begun, he knew that it was his last chance to at least look beautiful and tempting. He didn't want to lose his chance, he didn't want to lose his love, and so with a firm snap of his book and a huff he got to his feet, pulled on his heavy blue cloak, and started out the carriage door. There had been snow for the past couple of days, and while it wasn't actively snowing now he still had to melt the snow in his path so that he could forge on to the quidditch pitch without soaking his socks. The sun was setting slowly, with the horizon illuminated in all sorts of pleasant, beautiful colors. The wind was blowing a chilly breeze, however Sherlock's cloak was thick enough to protect him from the chill. At Beauxbatons it never got very chilly, and so while this cold might seem mediocre for the Hogwarts students (and especially the Durmstrang students) he found it almost immobilizing. However he knew that there were more important things than heat, there was love, and there was opportunity, and more importantly there was John. And so Sherlock walked into the quidditch stadium, clutching his book in his arms so that he could give the idea that he was there to get a private place to read. He looked up to see that it was indeed John Watson streaking in his golden robes across the sky, zipping about and looking breathtaking even as a blur against the cloudy horizon. Sherlock sighed heavily, poking at his hair so as to make sure it looked stunning before walking towards the bleachers and sitting down on the cold wood, propping open his book and squinting against the low light. This really was a bad excuse; no idiot would really believe that he had trekked out here into the freezing darkness just so that he could read! Then again, John was presumably a special kind of moron. Maybe he would fall for it. It took quite a while for John to notice his presence, however Sherlock heard his voice being called from some height and he knew then that John had finally decided to look around at the previously empty stands. Sherlock looked up to see the boy approaching, wearing a large and very obnoxious smile on his face, a smile that warmed Sherlock's heart so that he no longer felt cold.
"Sherlock! What on earth are you doing out here at this time of night?" John asked with a laugh, hovering right above Sherlock so close that his dangling robes almost brushed against the pages of Sherlock's book.
"Oh, John I didn't realize that was you! I'm sorry to interrupt. I was just...reading." Sherlock muttered, almost smacking himself when he realized just how pathetic his acting was. He could barely even see the words on the pages, and he was sure that John could see straight through the lies he was spewing in order to make this confrontation seem casual.
"Reading. Bit cold for that?" John guessed, finally hovering close enough to the bleachers so that he could dismount, standing on the wood for a moment and peering into the pages of Sherlock's illegible book.
"Oh you wouldn't understand it, it's in French." Sherlock lied quickly, shutting the very English book he had checked out of the Hogwarts library just so that John didn't notice how impossible it was to read by this light.
"French, yes. I do love listening to you lot talk." John admitted with a grin. He finally sat down on the seat next to Sherlock, setting his broom on the bleachers beside him and breathing rather heavily, the quaffle settled under his arm and sweat collecting on his brow. Sherlock knew he probably should've found this disgusting; however he was completely entranced by John's rugged athletic side. He would just love for John to take him on a flight, he was terrified of heights and yet that would give him all the more reason to clutch onto his neck...
"You like to hear us talk?" Sherlock wondered. John shrugged in almost a shameful way, as if he hadn't expected to be questioned on such a thing.
"Well yes, your accents are quite nice." John admitted finally. Sherlock nodded, feeling just a bit proud to sport an accent that John deemed nice. At least that was the beginning of at least an audible attraction.
"Well then um...merci beaucoup." Sherlock said with a little grin, to which John just nodded, looking very lost.
"I think I heard thank you in there." He presumed, to which Sherlock nodded with a little laugh, setting his book aside so that he could more easily focus on the beautiful idiot that was sitting next to him.
"You don't speak French then?" he presumed.
"No, no I don't speak any foreign languages. They don't teach us them at school, and while some of the other kids had gotten taught at muggle school I had never been sent there. Mother thought I was too inclined to show off, so she homeschooled me." John admitted with a grin.
"Show off your magical powers? Are you a pure blood?" Sherlock wondered curiously.
"Not really, there was a muggle somewhere in there, or a half blood or something like that. All my parents and my extended family are wizards and witches, but I think my great great grandfather or something married a muggle, and so we're not technically pure." John admitted with a shrug.
"I'm a half blood." Sherlock admitted.
"Does it matter over in France like it matters here? Not really social status but bragging rights?" John wondered curiously, putting his knees up on the bench before him and leaning over onto his elbows, still breathing heavily from whatever workout he had just been doing.
"Oh not really, I mean sometimes the muggle borns will be teased in first year, just because the other kids had yet to realize that they had the same magical capabilities as they did." Sherlock admitted.
"Same here." John agreed. Sherlock nodded, his breath turning to fog as it escaped his lips, an additive that he was sure would make him all the more attractive. There was a sort of awkward silence, and for a moment Sherlock hoped that John was thinking about how he might begin to phrase his proposal, however he instead went to poke at the sticks on his broom, making sure they were all in place and leaving Sherlock to sit there silently.
"So you're staying back from holidays then?" Sherlock wondered casually, feeling like that was a good way to begin on the topic of the ball.
"Yes, well of course I have to stay; the Champions are the life of the party at the Yule Ball." John admitted with a smile. Sherlock nodded, pretending to be surprised to hear him mention the ball; as if that wasn't the main purpose he had come down here.
"Oh really? I didn't know that part." Sherlock admitted.
"McGonagall told me the other day, told me that we have to start the dancing and everything." John admitted.
"Together?" Sherlock asked, his heart immediately starting to race as he realized he might have a way to John's heart after all, one that wouldn't even require any asking! John, however, simply laughed casually, as if Sherlock's question had an innocent sort of humor to it. That wasn't a good sign.
"No of course not, with our dates. It's terrible really, because I don't know how to dance." John admitted miserably.
"You don't? That's kind of sad John." Sherlock admitted with a grin.
"Well of course you know how to dance, I'm sure you know how to do anything. You look like the kind of boy who knows how to dance." John decided, looking Sherlock over for a moment before shrugging in a helpless sort of way.
"What do you mean by that?" Sherlock wondered.
"Well you're proper and all that, I mean you come from Beauxbatons and just the name screams formality, I'm sure you all eat with five forks and what not...of course you'd know how to dance!" John laughed, to which Sherlock could only grin and nod in agreement.
"Yes I know how to dance; they have formal balls a lot at Beauxbatons. Of course no one dances much, it's more of an opportunity to sneak off with someone and make out in the hallways, yet I always enjoy them just the same." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"What, you enjoy making out in hallways?" John presumed, sounding troubled if not amused at Sherlock's daring.
"Well no, no of course not. I've never kissed anyone I liked, not yet." Sherlock admitted with a frown.
"And so you've kissed someone you didn't like?" John guessed with a bit of a laugh, almost as if he found that statement to be rather ironic.
"Well yes, unfortunately. There has been someone quite recently who thinks they have every right to...well you don't care about my problems. It's nothing, really." Sherlock admitted with a sigh.
"Well yes I care, I mean Sherlock if you're having trouble with anyone I'd be happy to step in. I'm sure she'll back off once she realizes that you've got a big strong man behind you." John teased.
"Well that's why I was considering going to see Sebastian..." Sherlock joked, to which John only slapped him irritably, shaking his head as if Sherlock was just being ridiculous.
"This is the first ball I've ever attended; to be honest I'm really nervous. I have no idea how to ask the person I've got my eye on, I'm rather expecting to be rejected to be honest." John admitted with a shudder. Sherlock felt his heart begin to palpitate, his stomach twisting and his legs going virtually numb...was this it? The moment he had come down here for?
"And this person...they're still available?" Sherlock wondered apprehensively.
"Well yes I assume so. I still have yet to even inquire about that, I keep telling myself I've got time and yet it just seems to be disappearing!" John admitted with a shudder.
"You better hurry up then, you never know how fast the good ones are gone." Sherlock advised, remembering how quickly and how desperately the girls had asked him out.
"Are you going with someone?" John wondered, sitting up a bit straighter as soon as Sherlock's head snapped to meet his gaze. His brown eyes were gleaming...they looked so opportunistic, was he asking for a reason, was he finally making inquiries?
"No actually...I mean I've been asked but I'm waiting for the right person..." Sherlock admitted in a nervous breath, for suddenly he felt something coming, a feeling...a need. Oh it was like the feeling he had after the tournament but this time he knew it was closer than ever, it wasn't just a need for love this time, it was a need for John. Victor could never satisfy this sort of hunger, not when John was sitting so close, so accessible! Even if he didn't want to kiss it would take him a moment to fight Sherlock off, their lips would meet if just for a moment, and oh would that be enough? Could that be enough?
"The right person? Isn't that kind of your job, to ask them yourself?" John teased with a smile, although now Sherlock couldn't smile, no he was just too nervous, he felt like he was on the verge of either being sick or bursting into tears, he needed this boy, he just wanted to blurt out the question!
"I was waiting for them to ask me. I'm much too scared to ask the question myself." Sherlock admitted with a twist in his stomach, feeling close to fainting, feeling close to pulling another Reginald and ruining all of his chances of future intimacy for one brief lip lock!
"And what question might that be?" John wondered. Sherlock just turned his head away, for right now he was sure the snow was being melted on either side of the stadium purely by the heat that was being radiated through his cheeks at this very moment. Did John know what sort of position he was putting him in? Did he know the imminent danger Sherlock was in of ruining everything for himself?
"Well...would you go to the ball with me?" Sherlock whispered under his breath, shaking his head briefly all while he heard John chuckle next to him, so unearthly oblivious!
"You'll need to phrase it better than that, Sherlock. Everyone uses that one." John advised. Sherlock just nodded, taking a deep breath and staring at the bleachers in front of him, almost having lost his sight, his hearing...
"I've loved you from afar for much too long, will you do me the honor of coming to the ball with me?" Sherlock corrected, this time not speaking to this imaginary girl anymore. He was speaking directly to John, this was a question aimed at his company now, and yet he knew that he would get no reply. Sherlock was now leaning against his knees, holding his face in his hands almost as if to still it, to make sure it made no advances he wasn't prepared for.
"That will do, that will certainly do. Ah, but Sherlock is in love, is he? Who's the lucky lady then?" John wondered with a little chuckle. And here we go; this was it, wasn't it? Yes, like waves breaking through a dam, like a tree splintering with a strike of lightning...natural forces that couldn't be controlled! Sherlock broke out of his hands, just with the very mention of a 'lucky lady'...
"C'est toi, imbécile!" Sherlock exclaimed, and with that he had no hesitation. He leaned over and took John's face in his hands, he caught the poor thing off guard just long enough to get his fingers wrapped around his face, his thumbs pressed against his cheeks in the softest yet most controlling sort of way, he leaned his face in quickly and finally...he was pushed away. John gave a yelp and literally fell from his grasp, tumbling down one row of the bleachers and knocking his arm very painfully against his broom. Sherlock got to his feet in shame, gasping in regret and staring down at the boy he had practically immobilized, and for what? For what? Oh he had just ruined this, whatever it was, and not even at the expense of a kiss! Not even a simple kiss! He had gotten nothing! John was trying to regain himself, he was trying to recuperate, however Sherlock was already turning to run, no he couldn't form any words of excuse simply because he felt a great sob starting its way up his throat...he couldn't even manage an apology! He just ran before the tears fell, he ran with the last image in his mind being John scrambling throughout the bleachers with that look of fear on his face permanently! What a fool...what a fool! Oh what has he done now, chased away the love of his life, chasing away the only boy that had ever mattered? This was worse than Reginald, this was worse than death! Oh why didn't Sherlock let that troll bludgeon him to death when he had the chance, he would at least have spared himself this humiliation! Sherlock dashed back to the carriage, breaking down on his way there but continuing through the snow all the same. He was worried that somehow John would catch up and curse him from above, flying on his broom and laughing cruelly, laughing as the poor homosexual took flight in his shame. John must think him a monster; he must think him an abomination! Oh wouldn't it just be easier to think Sherlock to be insane than to actually admit him to be in love?