Death Is A Friend

This Has Romantic Undertones

"Alright, ready?" Mycroft whined, pulling up the trapdoor as quietly as he could manage, for the Holmes parents were probably asleep and any little noise might wake them. Of course they had no idea of Mycroft's plots, for if they had they wouldn't allow it. Just because Sherlock was now allowed to spend time with Victor didn't mean he suddenly had a "get out of the attic free" card, and going out after the parents' curfew would certainly result in a brutal beating for them both. Yet the minister slept, and his wife beside him, and the church was silent as Sherlock and Mycroft made their decent to the lower levels. Sherlock followed his brother in that constant state of confusion, for his brain was still muddled with exhaustion, and his joints were stiff from standing all day. Yet Mycroft was making it seem as though this was an unmissable event, a once in a life time opportunity! So what could be waiting in the parking lot, Sherlock couldn't say. What could be so exciting...well he couldn't even guess at this point.
"Now Sherlock, I just want to remind you to be smart. Go crazy but...but be smart, ya?" Mycroft suggested as they moved now towards the back door, tiptoeing along the marble floors to the steady rhythm of the tank's rolling wheels. Sherlock couldn't be discreet anywhere he went so long as he had this stupid oxygen tank.
"You're not telling me anything! How can I be smart if I don't know what I'm doing?" Sherlock whined, all the while Mycroft shook his head with a pleased little smile.
"Give it thirty seconds." He suggested, and with that he pushed open the backdoor and led Sherlock back into the nighttime. There was nothing extraordinary about the parking lot at all, in fact Sherlock might've missed the car had Mycroft not started over to it. There was only one thing out of place, and it was that cheap red car, with peeling paint and a damaged bumper. What a hunk of junk that thing was, looking at it in comparison to Mycroft's sleek black car, Sherlock was surprised it even managed to get this far! At first Sherlock thought it was his gift, that Mycroft had bought him this terrible contraption because it would help him get to and from Victor's morgue without the overlapping awkwardness of the two age old companions interacting. At first he was setting himself up to be very disappointed. Yet then something moved, the door opened, and that changed Sherlock's entire perspective on the night. No, it would seem as though the car wasn't his present. It would seem as though the boy inside was what all this fuss was about. For a golden head emerged from the driver's seat, and that short stature emerged onto the pavement with a great big smile and a bundle of roses. It was...well no, it couldn't be?
"John Watson." Sherlock breathed, immediately trembling towards his brother for what he could only think to be protection. No, this wasn't actually happening? This couldn't actually be real? That football star, in his own parking lot...with roses?
"Now aren't you glad you changed your shirt?" Mycroft teased. Sherlock couldn't respond, all that was produced was a little squeak in the back of his throat, a hopeless little noise that did nothing to state his position at all. Yet it was the reaction Mycroft wanted, that was for sure, for he began to chuckle.
"I assume I'm in the right place?" John called out, shutting the car door and strolling casually towards where the two brothers stood. He was confident in a different way than Sherlock was used to, he didn't radiate power he just radiated popularity. There was a difference to his strut, while Victor walked with that cool collectiveness, bred off of fear and beauty, John Watson held himself high because he had people there to support him. He was beautiful, athletic, and well liked, and he walked with the firm conclusion that everyone who laid eyes on him would soon turn out to be his friend. He walked like a jock, like a prom king, he walked now in his varsity jacket with his hair combed perfectly...he walked straight towards where Sherlock was standing! Sherlock's knees gave a great tremble, and his heart did a nervous flip flop in his chest. There seemed to be nothing hiding tonight, no this darkness didn't cradle him, it left him exposed to those beautiful hazel eyes, it left his heart wide open. For John looked at him, and Sherlock could already tell that he knew everything.
"You are." Mycroft agreed with a grin, stepping away from Sherlock so as to alienate him even more, so as to leave him at the mercy of this boy! Well of course this was straight out of a dream; of course Sherlock had never actually imagined an interaction with John Watson, especially when it seemed to be veering dangerously close to a date! Yet this dream...well Sherlock had almost preferred it be in his head. For he didn't know what to do, he was more ashamed of his desires, he felt as though this congregation was all collected to put him in the most awkward position. Half of him wanted to just turn and run, to make sure that John couldn't look at him any longer, to make sure that he couldn't look at him and know that his heart was beating so quickly in his chest. Yet the other half was still delirious in interpretation, and it still couldn't contemplate the situation enough to act rationally. While half of him wanted to run, the other half wanted to stay, so that he could see what this was going to amount to.
"What's going on?" Sherlock managed finally, looking towards his brother with a very strong desire to hit him over the head with his oxygen tank. That horrible man, how dare he be so considerate!
"A blind date." John said casually, finishing his strut up to Sherlock and holding out that bundle of roses, all wrapped up in plastic and ribbon. Sherlock didn't dare look at him, he felt as though the moment their eyes met the world may very well end. That or his heart might stop, the disbelief, the pure impossibility, well it would just end his life right there! Yet he had to take the roses, didn't he? They were meant for him...
"Surely that's not actually...what on earth possessed you to...to go on a date with me?" Sherlock asked nervously, shaking his head in a doubtful sort of way, deciding finally that John's motivation must be wrong. Surely there was some bribery, was Mycroft paying him, or possibly blackmailing him? There was no way this was consensual? While Sherlock had sat up in his attic falling in love, well John never knew of his existence! He never had the chance to fall in love, or to want this at all! Why then, would he go out of his way to pick Sherlock up in the parking lot, and buy him roses?
"Well I'm always one for meeting new people. Doesn't matter in what context that is, really." John admitted, fixing his hair with a quick swipe of his fingers (even though his hair had been perfect to begin with) and waving the roses a little bit more anxiously towards Sherlock. "These are for you, by the way." He added, as if he doubted Sherlock had understood that yet.
"Well I don't know what my brother told you about me but...but I'm sure it's not true." Sherlock muttered forcefully. "Really I'm not..." Sherlock shook his head, feeling as though his throat was about to close, feeling as though his lungs were going to give out on him once more, and he was going to begin to cough. And so instead of finishing his sentence he merely grabbed the roses from John's hand, forcing them out of his grip rather agressivley and feeling rather like he was going to cry. Sherlock dearly hoped this was the end of the 'date', for he didn't think he could last another ten seconds in John's company before he spontaneously combusted. Oh there was nothing more frightening than getting exactly what you want...
"He's just nervous, don't mind his ramblings." Mycroft suggested, leaning very heavily on his umbrella with a great big grin on his face. Surely he had set this whole thing up, yet why and how still remained to be seen.
"John I mean...you do realize that this is all sort of...well don't you have a girlfriend?" Sherlock whispered nervously, wondering if John hadn't realized that they were both boys yet. Surely the football star wasn't actually gay?
"Nope." John said casually. Sherlock looked at him curiously, finding this all to be very hard to believe.
"Why not?" Sherlock asked a bit stupidly. John just laughed, shaking his head as if he was finding Sherlock's nervous, half minded ramblings to be some brand of humor. Maybe he thought Sherlock was charming, or more likely he just thought Sherlock was crazy.
"It sounds as though you don't want me to be here." John pointed out.
"No I want you here! I do I'm just...well I'm trying to process everything. Still feels like I inhaled too much formaldehyde." Sherlock admitted quietly.
"Formaldehyde? What is that, some part of your medication?" John asked, demonstrating again his public education.
"No it slows decomposition. I work in the morgue." Sherlock said quickly. John blinked, and Mycroft could only sigh heavily. Okay, so perhaps that wasn't the best lead up there had ever been, yet surely John would have asked about his employment eventually? It wasn't a secret that Sherlock worked with Victor, although perhaps the occupation for a boy of his age was a little bit strange.
"That's cool." John managed finally. Sherlock nodded, cradling the roses against his chest with one hand while the other was digging his nails into the rubber handle of his tank. He felt as though now would be a great time to say farewell, yet Mycroft decided that he would take matters into his own hands, and get things moving.
"Well, I suppose I'll leave you two boys to it. Sherlock, here's twenty pounds, do spend it wisely." Mycroft insisted in a small grumble, shoving the money into Sherlock's hand as if he was convinced he'll never see it again. Sherlock nodded, sliding the cash into his pocket and giving his brother a very pleading look. Of course he knew that Mycroft wasn't coming, yet all the same he really wished that he might stay so as to relieve the awkwardness. He could linger so as to remind John of his boundaries. Yet Sherlock didn't want boundaries, oh did he? Oh God...what was this night going to progress into if Sherlock couldn't decide what he wanted from it? Was this his one and only chance to be with another person, was this his only chance to redeem himself in the eyes of Cupid? Oh he could almost hear Victor's laughing at him, as if he found his innocence to be so refreshing.
"You're um...you're leaving?" Sherlock whispered nervously, to which Mycroft just grinned.
"Well of course I'm leaving. You'll be fine, Sherlock. John's a good kid; he'll take care of you." Mycroft assured, looking over to John in a very threatening way, as if daring him to make any wrong moves. John nodded, so as to reinforce his position, grinning in a way that was really very reassuring.
"Yes alright." Sherlock whispered quietly, taking a deep breath and nodding to himself, nodding so as to convince himself now that everything was going to be okay.
"We're going to the cinemas." John added with a grin, as if feeling as though he was excluded from this little conversation, all the while he was standing right there.
"Isn't that cool? You've never been to the cinemas before." Mycroft reminded him, as if Sherlock had forgotten that he hadn't lived a life before Victor's interference.
"No I haven't." Sherlock agreed. He took a deep breath, and looked over for John once more, as if making sure one last time that he was still real. "It should be fun."
"Good! That's the spirit. Now come on then Sherlock, we've got fifteen minutes before it starts, and I do love watching the previews." John said urgently, giving a very energetic little bounce before nodding his farewells to Mycroft and going to get the car started.
"Be good! Don't do anything that I wouldn't do." Mycroft suggested. "Well maybe just a little."
"I don't know what you'd do." Sherlock defended.
"Ignore me then, and live your best life. I'll be waiting here when you get back, I'll stay up so as to hear all the details!" Mycroft said excitedly. "But don't wait up."
"You're the worst." Sherlock whined.
"But you've got something to say, right?" Mycroft pointed out, crossing his arms in that parental fashion, as if he was missing the very phrase he had been expecting from the start. Sherlock heaved a great sigh, but he supposed there was no avoiding it now.
"Thank you." Sherlock groaned, yet he meant it sincerely. And Mycroft knew that, of course. So with that they parted ways, Sherlock dragged his feet and his tank over to the passenger seat of John's clunky little car, and Mycroft went back to the church with that little grin on his face, the one he wore when he was proud of himself and his own cunning ways. As soon as Sherlock shut the door on the outside world he realized that he was now alone with John Watson. Alone with the boy he had watched for years outside of his window, laboring under the constant misperception that he could never be with him. Yet here he was now, with John...with John...with flowers in his hands. How odd this all was, how all very frightening.
"So I imagine this is your first date?" John presumed.
"That's what it is then? I mean you...you understand that this has um, romantic undertones?" Sherlock whispered nervously. John just laughed, nodding his head as he started out of the parking lot.
"That answers my question just fine." He decided finally. His laugh seemed to be genuine, oh God, he found Sherlock to be amusing! How terrifying. "And to answer your question, yes I'm fully aware."
"I'm surprised by that." Sherlock admitted quietly.
"How come?" John wondered, focusing on the traffic ahead of them all the while stealing quick glances to the boy in his passenger seat. Sherlock's shock was beginning to wear off, and suddenly the nervousness was settling. He finally remembered that posture was everything; he remembered that he was here now with the sole purpose of looking beautiful, he remembered that he really was sitting in John's line of vision. He had to make it worthwhile, and he began to wonder if John found him attractive at all. Surely there must be some other reason, for this boy, this popular boy, really should want nothing to do with Sherlock?
"Well I mean you're so popular, and so sporty. Isn't it just written in stone that all jocks need to have girlfriends with blonde hair? Cheerleaders not...not reclusive sick boys." Sherlock pointed out. John chuckled, yet he shrugged his shoulders as if he couldn't deny that Sherlock had a point.
"I guess I'm just not the stereotype. I'm bisexual, always have been really. I've loved some cheerleaders in my day, but I've still got some room in my heart for reclusive sick boys." John admitted with a little grin, making Sherlock's cheeks flush and his body go completely rigid. What on earth was going on, oh this had to be some sort of fever dream! Surely Sherlock wasn't actually in the passenger seat of this car, he was probably lying somewhere in a hospital bed, trapped in a coma! There was no way that John Watson was alluding to love in his presence?
"You don't have to...well I don't think you're supposed to love me yet." Sherlock debated in a very slow, apprehensive voice. For he didn't want to talk John away, he didn't want to flat out deny his love if he was willing to give it. The thing was, there was no way it was genuine? There was no possible way that John could have fallen in love with him in these five minutes they knew each other!
"I'll make that decision for myself." John said with a grin, pulling into a great big parking lot that Sherlock had never seen before. They were on the other side of town, yet another corner that had gone unexplored. Sherlock had seen more of this stupid town in this month than he ever had in seventeen years! And now here was just another addition to his perception of the world, a great big lot filled with more cars than he could ever hope to count, and a building with so many little light bulbs that it almost hurt his eyes to look at it. The cinemas, then. He had imagined it to be a little bit less obnoxious.
"Won't people see us in there?" Sherlock pointed out. John just laughed, opening his door and getting to his feet, only to lean on the roof of the small car and watch as Sherlock stepped to his feet as well.
"I'm starting to get the idea that you don't want to be here." John decided with a sigh, yet he smiled all the same. Almost as if he knew he was setting Sherlock up to hear his true appreciation. Sherlock gasped, shutting the door to the car and trembling now on his own two feet. Standing was a lot more difficult in John's line of vision, in fact everything a lot more difficult.
"I'm just trying to decide if you're prepared to be here. Don't you have some sort of reputation to uphold?" Sherlock asked apprehensively.
"Yes I do, but I guarantee that strutting about with you on my arm won't soil it." John assured with a little grin. "Beautiful boy like you, you'll enhance me if anything." Sherlock gave a little whimper in response, for John had just called him beautiful...oh this really was going to be a long night, wasn't it? A beautiful night... All the transition between the parking lot and the theater itself was a bit of a blur, simply because it was impossible to process all that happened in the midst. There was so many people, more people than Sherlock had ever seen all at once, and all in such a tight space that he could hardly move, he could hardly breathe. Suddenly his oxygen tank was getting in people's way; he was tripping over his own feet and following John's familiar golden head throughout the masses in a sort of nervous panic. John stood in a couple of lines, and Sherlock stood next to him obediently, yet he was too overwhelmed to be much help. He was preoccupied with the eyes of all the people, the eyes that could be looking off the other way but still seemed to come back to him and stare him down. Sherlock felt as though he had to be ashamed to be here with John, he felt as though there was something wrong with the two of them being together. He remembered that gays were treated as minorities, well why wasn't anyone making a big fuss now? They were together, John this front page jock and Sherlock as this...this feminine mystery. Well of course people should be staring, why weren't they staring? Why weren't they making this into a big deal, the reaction that seemed to be fitting? Sherlock was almost disappointed that no one cared, for it was giving him the illusion that this had all happened before. That he wasn't the only boy John had led along through the crowds of the cinemas. That he was just one of the many singular dates John had, before the boy moved on and vanished from his life once more.