Posh and the Tramp

Seven

John fell down next to Sherlock, panting heavily. He looked over at Sherlock and grinned, giving him a kiss before he got up from the bed. He watched Sherlock walk into the bathroom before stretching out. "What time is it?" he asked.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom with a damp cloth, tossing it onto John's stomach before reaching for his own trousers, taking his phone out of the pocket. "Quarter after four."

"Shit!" John exclaimed, getting up quickly.

"What?" Sherlock asked as he watched the boy get dressed again quickly.

"My parents. They're leaving for a business trip for my dad. Their flight leaves at six," John pulled his jumper over his head, "So they'll be up at five." he looked around for his socks, soon forgetting about them and just putting his vans on with out them. "This is not good." he muttered as he grabbed his coat, pulling it on. He gave Sherlock a quick kiss that missed his mouth. "Bye!" he said before running out of his flat.

John sprinted down the street, regretting staying for the third round. Him, Sherlock and Irene had gone out to a club, not inviting Greg because things were odd between him and Irene ever since last weekend when they hooked up. John's mother was going to kill him if he wasn't in bed by the time she came in to his room to wake him up. He was going to be dead. Not putting socks on started to become something tragic when John was about halfway home. His heels started blistering and he stopped to take off his shoes, saying fuck it, and running with out them.

By the time John got home, the lights were on in his parents bedroom and he cursed to himself, running around the house quickly and to the lattice. He put his shoes on again and projected himself up the lattice, going to his window only to see the light in his father's study turn on.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." John muttered as he tired to open his window, but it was stuck and wouldn't open. He finally got it open and tumbled inside with a loud thud and that was when his bedroom door swung open and his mother was standing there, eyes wide.

"What on God's green Earth are you doing!" she exclaimed.

John stood, scratching the back of his neck as he thought of an excuse, but there was nothing. "I was sneaking back in." John looked at his feet.

Mrs. Watson stared at her son dumbfounded. "I want you downstairs. And close that window." she said before walking off in a fit of rage.

John closed his window and took out his phone, sending a quick text to Sherlock telling him that he got caught then sending a similar text to Irene. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and toed his shoes off before walking out of his room and downstairs. He went into the dining room where his mother and father were sitting at the table, his father eating breakfast while his mother went on about how she just caught their son sneaking back into the house.

"So," John said, announcing his presence. "What's my punishment?" he asked.

His father took a swig of his coffee then set the mug down, wiping his mouth. He stood and cleared his throat, staring at his son. "Your mother will be staying home this weekend. I however, will be attending my meeting as scheduled. There will be no foolishness to come from you this weekend. You will hand in your phone and laptop and you're only allowed to leave this house with your mother. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." John sighed, glancing at his feet.

"I will see you Wednesday evening." he gave his son a kiss on the head before leaving the dining room.

John looked over at his mother who had her arms crossed over her chest. "I'll got get my laptop. Then I'll come down for breakfast." he watched his mother nod before he turned around, heading back upstairs. He took his phone out of his back pocket as he headed to his room, seeing the text from Sherlock.

I'm sorry, babe. I shouldn't have kept you when you said you needed to leave. Hopefully I'll get to see you again.

You will. I'm telling Irene to keep you updated if my mother allows me to talk with her still. My phone is being confiscated, talk to you when I get it back.

John stood in his room, staring at the small alarm system on his window his mother had installed after yesterday morning's fiasco. He still wasn't allowed to contact the outside world  so he spent his days inside, watching the telly, sleeping, or talking with his mother. That was the worst part. She never asked what John had did when he snuck out, but the topic instead was finding John a husband.

"I think Charles is a good choice." his mother said one night at dinner.

John rolled his eyes, picking at the broccoli on his plate. "I don't want to get married, mum." he looked up at her.

"And you don't want to take over your father's business and it needs to be someone in this family."

"I have cousins!"

"You know we don't speak to them."

"What about Harry?"

"Don't say her name, Johnathan."

John sighed and slouched in his chair. "She never did anything to you. Or dad. She just wanted to live her own life."

"You don't know what happened. You were only eight. Now sit up and finish your dinner."

John sat up, stabbing the broccoli with his fork, eating it. He looked at his mother who wiped her mouth then gave him a timid smile. "If I knew how toxic this family was then, I would've left too." he muttered.

Mrs. Watson dropped her silverware, straightening out as she exhaled sharply. She looked up at her son with a stone cold face. "I want you to drop this subject. Now."

"This is my life!" John said, still fighting with the subject. "I'm twenty one, almost twenty two! I have the right to do what I want!"

Mrs. Watson rose from her chair, reaching over the table and giving John a good hard smack across the cheek. "I said drop it, Johnathan."

John covered his hit cheek and stared at his mother for a second before getting up from the table and running upstairs. He shut his door then locked it, waking to his window. He stared at the alarm, breathing heavily as he grabbed a shoe off his floor an threw it at the alarm with all the force in his arm, putting a crack in his window. There was an urge to just pack up to leave. To just go somewhere else and get out. But, he couldn't do that, not to his mother or father. his heart was too big. John picked up the shoe again and chucked it again, with more force this time at a random spot on his wall, letting out an aggravated scream. He panted heavily as he stared at the hole in his wall before going into his closet and packing up a over night bag.