Secrets Aren't Made Slowly

The Truth and Its Consequences

"My apologies, Mr. Watson." Sherlock muttered, looking around the hallway a bit suspiciously before holding the door open wider for John to enter. John thanked him in a nod, looking around to see that things looked very secure in here, if not fortified. The closet door was shut tight at the back of the room with a desk pushed up against it, the curtains were drawn, and all the cabinets and drawers were shut tight. Sherlock closed the door in a paranoid sort of way, taking a deep shuttering breath as he stepped away from the window, ducking behind the cabinets as if trying to make sure there were no witnesses to whatever was going on here. John sighed in relief, dropping his backpack onto the floor and marching over to where Sherlock stood, like a man on a mission. He wanted to kiss him so badly; in fact he really saw no other alternative for starting this conversation until he got a good look at Sherlock's agonized face. He was leaning against the cabinets and holding himself up with his hands wrapped firmly around the handles, closing his eyes for a moment and looking to be in a state of deep distress. This was curious, of course, for John hadn't done anything wrong just yet. And maybe Sherlock was still apprehensive about what today held simply because of the occurrences last night, maybe he was nervous because of John's reluctance the day before.
"John I need to tell you something, quickly, before you say anything more. You might come on urgent business and yet what I have to say needs to be shared." Sherlock said instantly, letting his head fall back onto the cabinets so that his white neck was so temptingly exposed. John stepped up to him eagerly, for whatever he had to say certainly couldn't be dire enough to interrupt the temptations that were spouting from his vulnerability. Sherlock didn't notice the proximity until John touched his hand against his waist, steadying the man carefully before stepping up onto his tiptoes and ever so gently placing his lips onto his neck, kissing him preliminary just so that he could start something before the bell rang for third block. And yet, as opposed to what John had been expecting, Sherlock shook his head, pushing John away ever so lightly, just enough so that he would have to fight against his minimal strength to touch his lips to his skin again.
"Not here John, not right now, it's not safe." Sherlock insisted in a troubled sort of way, making sure to push John firmly off of him before readjusting himself against the cabinets, his lips trembling as if he was struggling to keep a frown from forming on his face.
"What do you mean?" John asked with a sort of laugh, realizing that this room right now seemed to be the most covert room in the whole school. How could it not be safe, no one could be witness to anything that happened here, could they?
"Victor came to visit my wife last night; I walked in just in time...John it's time for you to arrest him, to arrest them all. Jim, Irene, everyone in their social circles, everyone you know, they have something on us, John, they have something that could be troubling, to say the least." Sherlock muttered, closing his eyes mournfully as if he was seeing something he didn't want to know about, hearing words that were condemning him and his new lover.
"What do you mean...what do they have?" John asked immediately, a shiver running down his back as the pile of bricks was weighted even more heavily, so this was the tenseness he had felt, this was the bad news that had been hovering through the hallways like a thick fog?
"They have a video, they must have known something was going to happen Monday night, they set up a camera in the back closet, left it open just enough to get a clear shot. They captured everything, John, and they've got it on tapes. They're threatening me with it; they're saying that you're a minor when they don't know what we know." Sherlock admitted heavily, to which John could only stumble backwards, blinking rapidly as he realized just what this meant for him, for them both. Video evidence of what crime he had committed, what he had made Sherlock commit? No this was...this wasn't good. This wasn't good at all, it had been illegal, and despite Sherlock thinking he had somehow gained the upper hand it wasn't true, he was being fed a lie and he was trying to use it as some sort of invulnerability, he was trying to justify his actions with the lies that he had been told just days before hand? No this, this was impossible!
"Oh my God." John breathed, clenching his fists against his pockets and staring fixedly at the floor, realizing just what this meant for the both of them. At this exact moment, the future hung in the balance, and at the moment John's next words were standing there with a fresh pair of scissors, about ready to snap the line and let whatever opportunities he had with this man go crashing to the floor.
"John it's fine, it is! It's only Victor, he could be distracted long enough for you to get a force together, get as many of..."
"No Sherlock just stop, stop it's not..." John couldn't even go on; he clutched his hand to his mouth and turned his head away in shame, feeling tears well up in his eyes as he realized what he had to admit. This was it then, was it not? Whatever love he might have had with Sherlock...it was gone. He had to say it now, he had to admit to it before it was too late, there would be no force coming, there would be no saving grace. It was the two of them now, the two of them about to become separated into one...
"What is it John, what's the matter? What did I miss?" Sherlock whispered softly, his voice trembling ever so slightly as if he was worried now that he had made a wrong move somewhere. And he had, of course, he had made the wrong move on Monday night, he had made the wrong move when he had approached John in the first place, he had made the wrong move when he had accepted this job! He had condemned himself now; he had led himself to this exact moment, this moment that would land him nowhere farther. At this point in his life, standing now with his back against the cabinets, well even at this low point he could never get any higher. He would just keep plummeting, and all it had taken was one simply kiss and one simple roll of film to send this poor man spiraling down into the abyss. John shook his head nervously, slowly turning to face Sherlock in something of a panicked motion.
"Kiss me Sherlock; please kiss me now before I tell you." John begged, taking a step forward with tears in his eyes, knowing that now would be his last opportunity to ever feel that man's lips on his own.
"Before you tell me what? John, what's wrong?" Sherlock whispered in that hypnotizing voice, the one he knew he wouldn't hear much longer.
"Please Sherlock." John begged, taking a step forward and trying to capture Sherlock's neck in his arms, trying to imprint the memory of Sherlock's beautiful face in his mind before he forgot.
"Why?" Sherlock wondered, however he didn't slide away, he seemed to realize that John's advancements were made only in a desperate way; he realized that there was some sort of finality to them.
"Because I love you Sherlock, with all my heart I love you, and just for a moment now I want you to love me back." John admitted in the smallest of voices, feeling a tear start to slide down his cheek as he stared into the eyes that were still beyond confused. And yet Sherlock obeyed, thankfully he was a fool; he couldn't connect the dots just yet. He kissed John there, he took his head in his hands, he kissed his lips and smeared his face with the tears that were now falling more prominently from John's eyes. He tried to make it feel normal; he tried to make it feel like this was just a kiss that would be shared a million times again throughout the course of his lifetime. And yet for some reason there was a feeling in his heart, a sort of warning sign, something that told him it would be the last one. It would be the one he needed to cherish the longest, for it wouldn't be followed up by any more refreshers. Sherlock was the one who pulled away, for if John was in control right now he would have kissed Sherlock until the end of time, just to ensure he never had to deliver his fateful message. And yet Sherlock wanted to hear what he had to say, he wanted to know just what was on the tip of John's tongue. He was curious, maybe a little even hopeful, and it was tragic. The way he longed for the words that would bring about his heartbreak! John just took a deep breath, his hands still wrapped around Sherlock's thin neck, knowing that they would be shaken away quickly. He wanted to stay there so badly, he wanted to forget about the world now, while he still could, while Sherlock was still under the impression that there would still be a world to come back to after this.
"Can we go now, Sherlock? Can we just leave?" John suggested, speaking to Sherlock's lips for he wasn't brave enough to lift his eyes to meet his.
"You know I cannot just leave, John. I have..."
"What, what do you have? A wife? Friends? A dealer who cares for you? You can leave them Sherlock, please just while we can, while no one knows, while no one cares..." John begged, letting his head fall against the man's chest in agony, for he wasn't ready to say this, he wasn't ready for Sherlock to hear it. Oh it had only been four days, why must this agony come so soon after they had fallen in love? Why he had not been able to cherish this for longer, why had he not been given weeks, months even? Why now, why was the universe doing so hard to prevent John from ever falling properly in love?
"Just say what you have to say John, please. We can stop all this from happening." Sherlock whispered.
"Sherlock I'm not a cop." John murmured against the man's chest, momentarily stilling as he couldn't pull in a breath, the heartbeat that had once drummed so steadily against the chest had seemed to stop as well, if only for a moment, before droning on again in the slowest of fashions.
"You're...well John that's just, John I can't..." Sherlock didn't seem to know what to say, and yet he didn't move just yet, it was almost as if he didn't know how to. It was almost as if all of his brain power was working on interpreting that short string of words, as if he couldn't even fathom those few simple syllables! It took him a moment, that man who claimed to be a genius; it took him just a moment to fall away. It wasn't hesitation, more so just processing, and yet he finally came to his senses and pushed John away with a sudden burst of power. He fell away as efficiently as he could, sliding across the cabinets and falling to the floor in a heap, letting out a cry of agony as he lay with his hands against the tiles, seemingly refusing to get back to his feet. He began to crawl away until finally he took refuge near his desk, getting as far as he could from the apparent stranger that stood before him. John just shook his head, he felt his hand to his mouth and closed his eyes, for the sight he was seeing, the man he was forced to look at, the broken ball that lay crumbled near the desk, the desk that had held the beginning of their love and was now sheltering the end of it!
"I had to lie to you Sherlock, when I saw you in that alleyway that night, I had to protect myself! I didn't want you to know that I was a user, it was the only way I thought fit! I had to lie, I never knew that I would fall in love, I never knew that you..."
"Now don't, don't just stop! Stop explaining, John stop talking. I don't want to..." Sherlock cut himself off, for the sob that escaped his lips was enough to display the emotions that were welling up in his chest.
"I'm so sorry." John breathed, turning away shamefully while Sherlock sat sputtering on the floor, his head thunking repeatedly against the desk as if he was trying to knock himself out of whatever dream, whatever nightmare, he had found himself in. Oh, if only this was a nightmare. If only they could wake up next to each other, having imagined it all.
"So it's done then, me? I'm done? You're seventeen...it's on tape...one wrong move and it's in the worlds' hands is that right? My job, my future...prison?" Sherlock whispered.
"I'll be eighteen in just three months, Sherlock we could hide for that long, we can leave the country, we can run together, if our love is real then we can fight to protect it, Sherlock it's not over until we say it is!" John insisted in a rather broken voice, knowing that it was no use to shout optimistic things, for the sounds that were escaping Sherlock's lips were enough to remind him of the havoc he had managed to wreak in this short amount of time. Only with one simple sentence.
"Well then I say it! I say it...John I can't do this." Sherlock whispered, shaking his head furiously. John could feel his heart burning in his chest, burning so ferociously that it felt as though he had attempted to swallow a match. And it was shattering all the same, for it was over now, wasn't it? Sherlock had said it. Whatever love was there, it was gone now. All that was left were two broken men, well...one man and one boy. The bell rung shrilly, announcing now that it was time for them to go to third block. John knew that he couldn't stay here; he knew that he couldn't be found in tears while he sat alone with Sherlock Holmes. He had to leave, and yet he couldn't manage it. He heard the stamped of approaching students and yet he couldn't bring himself to join them. He wanted to be here, comforting Sherlock even though he was the sole cause of his pain. He was his downfall, wasn't he? And yet he couldn't just let him go, he couldn't let it just end like this. But it must. It had to end; he couldn't continue burning a match once the fire had gone out, and so John just gave up. With a whimper of defeat he marched towards his backpack and scooped it up from the floor, giving one last tremble as he started for the door, unable to look back at the man he had left there on the floor, paralyzed by a simple lie and a simple truth. Just a string of words that sent him to the floor, a simple string of words that left him there. And John had no choice but to leave, that what he was expected to do, was it not? Now that Sherlock would only ever be Mr. Holmes to him. The hallways were crowded enough to hide John's tears from the common observer, however he knew well enough to understand that if one person were looking for them it would be only too easy to find. His tears were still falling down his cheeks and yet he had to contain them, he knew that he had to go right back to that classroom, he knew that if he looked like he was crying everyone would begin to wonder what had happened during lunch, everyone might be able to connect some dots. And so John ducked into the nearest bathroom, seeing in relief that it was empty. He stuck his hands under the facet and splashed some water onto his face, being sure to wipe away as many tear streaks and red marks as he possibly could. And yet even as he toweled off his face with a paper towel he realized that there was no concealing his pain. Maybe he could lie to others, maybe he could convince them that he had a perfectly normal lunch, however he could never convince himself. He couldn't just wipe his tears away and tell himself not to cry anymore, with the absence of any physical traces there were still the mental wounds, the wounds that would only ever turn into scars. He had every possibility of walking into that classroom and taking one look at Mr. Holmes and losing it, breaking down into tears and apologies, well everyone would know then! And yet what choice did he have? Going to the nurse's office so as not to have to face his demons, the ones he had created entirely by himself? No, he had to face this, somehow, oh but how his heart ached! How his entire body writhed with the shame, he had destroyed the only thing he had ever wanted to preserve; he had held this love so carefully and dropped it! This was his fault, his fault entirely! If he hadn't told Sherlock such a lie he wouldn't be in this situation, maybe he would be in love and yet not to this extent, he never would have been successful enough to latch onto Sherlock like a parasite! It was almost as if he needed that man's love just to live, to function, even now as he realized he would have to leave him he was beginning to feel like an addict going through withdrawal. It was over, just as quickly and unforeseen as the beginning had come; the ending was just as quick and all the more harsh! No longer was John trying to decide if he really loved Sherlock Holmes, he knew for a fact that his heart belonged to that man whether or not he would accept it or not. No other person would ever have the same charm, the same beauty, the same gracefulness and humor as Sherlock Holmes; never would John ever meet someone who enchanted him so flawlessly! And oh, oh he was gone! Slipped from John's fingers like water he was trying to carry! What little he could only retain in his palm were the memories, those that had been scarred themselves as John realized that he had no right to such memories. All of this, it had been built on a lie, even now as he tried to recall Sherlock's face that Monday night, even now he saw that he was crying! It was always that expression, the drooping scowl and the parted lips, the tears and the horror in his closed eyes, that was the face he was wearing in all the memories simply because that was the face that was the resultant of such memories! That was the face that was begotten not because of the love he was losing, but the love he had never had. John never deserved such memories, such ideas! He never deserved the kisses and the touches and the smiles, he never deserved such a man, such a beautiful man. What had he done to himself? What had he done?