The Mad House

Maybe It's Love, Maybe It's Destiny

The piles of papers on his desk were almost enough to make John despise the knock on his door. A couple of days out of the office seemed to have some terrible repercussions, assignments to grade, tests to give, and students to help through their confusion. It would seem as though everything he had ever pushed off now appeared on his desk in front of him, and these moments between classes were essential for getting anything done. However it seemed as though everyone else had their own agendas, of asking him questions and bothering him, well he might have left his door closed had he not been expecting someone vitally important. And it was that slight knock on the door that brought life back to his heart, for right at three o'clock, as promised, Sherlock Holmes appeared.
"Sherlock, come in." John insisted, getting his feet rather eagerly and dropping his pen down on the stack of midterms he had just gotten around to looking at. Sherlock moved quietly into the room, his trench coat billowing around his feet. He looked undeniably stressed, for obviously his own workload had caught up to him after such a long vacation. All the same, he seemed to have the time to visit John, presumably because he had other things on his mind, besides his classwork.
"I went home last night." He announced quietly. John nodded, walking over to the door, looking around the hallway so as to make sure no one was waiting for his attention, and closed it quietly. He didn't want this conversation (and whatever might amount from it) being witnessed.
"Is it not your office hours?" Sherlock reminded him in a rather accusing way. They both knew the rules, that the door must be open in welcome during this time, yet surely Sherlock understood that sometimes conversations delved deeper than just biology, and anyone waiting in the hallway might not want to hear such things. Talk of love, and romance, and reincarnation.
"It's a private conversation, is it not?" John reminded him, leaning up against the door and raising his eyebrow in accusation. Sherlock looked just a little bit uncomfortable, but nodded his head in the end.
"Yes, I suppose it is. If Reginald ever heard a word that's going to come out of my mouth, I'm done for." Sherlock groaned, falling into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk and shaking his head in exasperation.
"You said you went home, then?" John clarified, deciding that it might be best to keep his own visit a secret. Well of course Victor might bring it up, but what Sherlock didn't know for now wouldn't kill him.
"Yes, yes...and I feel like such a coward!" Sherlock exclaimed. "He had poured me a glass of wine, we were sitting by the fire, he leaned over to kiss me and I just...I froze. And then I lunged away, I was terrified, I wasn't trying to deny him, I wanted to kiss him I really did! There was just something inside of me, telling me that I wasn't good enough for him. I didn't want to embarrass myself." Sherlock draped his arms down to the floor, letting his head roll back on his neck in humiliation. And yet however miserable Sherlock felt, well John was beginning to feel quite the opposite. And so there was doubt in Sherlock's mind, there was a voice telling him that something was wrong.
"I understand, that's just stage fright." John assured.
"But people get over that, don't they? I ran, I was so afraid that I just...I ran." Sherlock admitted with a shudder. John nodded, leaning up against the desk so that he could face Sherlock, that cowering young thing. He was so fragile; it looked as if a simple gust of wind could shatter him into a million pieces. Yet it also looked as if one gentle touch might repair him, it looked as if a small kiss might give life to his motionless body, and remind him that he didn't need to be perfect for anyone. That he was perfect, even if he was completely clueless when it came to romance.
"Well maybe you're just not ready for him." John suggested. "I mean, what do you feel for him? Is it actual love, or is it something more along the lines of obligation? Do you feel the need to love him, just because your past self did?"
"Oh God, John. It's too early for this sort of psychological stuff." Sherlock groaned.
"It's three o'clock in the afternoon." John reminded him with something of a chuckle.
"Well then it's too late!" Sherlock exclaimed. "I don't want to think about that, I don't want to disregard any of my own feelings just because...because I might be scared of them!"
"It's a simple question, really it is. Do you love him, or not?" John asked finally.
"Yes!" Sherlock exclaimed, putting about as much emphasis into that one word as anyone might be able to. John sighed, for he knew of course that was the answer he was expecting. This conversation was doing nothing more than raising his hopes and then squashing them down once more.
"Then give it time." John suggested. "You don't have to rush into things if you're afraid to. He'll understand if you want to wait."
"Wait for what? That's my problem; I see no valid reason to slow anything down! We've been in love for centuries; it's not that I'm waiting to see if he's the right person! And it doesn't matter how long I wait in this life, I'll still be a virgin. I'll still have no experience; I'll still not know what to do whether it be tonight, or tomorrow night, or a year from now!" Sherlock exclaimed in frustration, bringing his hands to his face and messaging his temples urgently. John was quiet for a moment, for he knew that Sherlock had just presented him with the perfect opportunity. However to say something too abruptly, without any consideration...it might turn out very creepy. All the same, he wasn't sure if loving Sherlock just to prepare him for Victor would be at all counted as Sherlock's loving John back. Unless he was gentle enough that Sherlock discovered in the midst of it all that John was what he had wanted all along.
"I suppose that...well in all of these lifetimes this is the first where you haven't been with someone. Certainly instinct will just kick in?" John suggested, wanting to bite his tongue after offering such good advice. No, that's not what he wanted to say! He didn't want Sherlock to go marching back to Victor with instinct in his brain, and follow down the same path he had for all of these centuries!
"Maybe...maybe you're right." Sherlock grumbled. John was just about to curse himself... "Maybe I am just confused." But instead he released a sigh of relief.
"Most of us are." John agreed with a little shrug, his heart beginning to beat so incredibly quickly in his chest as he stared at that boy once more. That vulnerable boy, sitting there and groaning about his problems all the while he didn't realize the solution was sitting right before him. He didn't realize that it would only take a simple step forward to ease his pain. Sherlock sighed heavily, leaning forward in his chair and looking up at John with large, confused eyes. And yet there was a spark of determination behind them, almost as if he was planning to do something he might ultimately regret.
"John, what I said in the bathroom that night, I..." Sherlock was interrupted by a knock on the door, in fact it seemed like the entire world had just stopped spinning just as soon as his words stopped flowing. There were three sharp knocks, followed by a rhythmic little chorus. Well of course such distinctive knocking could only belong to one man. John's heart had ceased to beat, and so it was interesting that he had enough life still in him to get to his feet and go towards the door. He cast a look towards Sherlock, whose face was heating up in humiliation, as if he was embarrassed of what he could've said. John just gave him something of a nod, as if to ease his pain, and opened the door to reveal Greg Lestrade. Oh why he couldn't have just waited another ten minutes John didn't know. Maybe he was arranged to arrive at John's door, maybe Victor had sent him there to interrupt.
"Greg, what?" John groaned, keeping the door cracked just enough to hide Sherlock from Greg's direct line of vision. All the same, he heard the telltale rustling behind him. He knew enough to hear that Sherlock was leaving.
"Well you couldn't have expected me not to say hello? All during your little vacation I was so lonely, stuck with the old prunes." Greg complained, leaning against the doorframe with an over exaggerated pouty face.
"Terribly sorry for neglecting you, Greg. Next time I'll take you as a carry on." John promised. He heard Sherlock get to his feet, little footsteps towards the door. No, this was his opportunity, Sherlock was about to confess! He knew that it was now or never, he knew if he let that boy escape he would have set his entire future into place. He would allow Victor to steal him, and they would be cursed for another round.
"Professor I'll leave you to it. Thanks for your help." Sherlock muttered, tapping him on the shoulder as if asking his way through the door.
"Oh I'm sorry; I hadn't realized I was interrupting anything." Greg mumbled, looking past John's shoulder and flashing Sherlock one of his trademark smiles. He wasn't just interrupting something, he was interrupting everything. Surely he had to realize this? No, John was not going to give up so easily. He was not going to give up just like that, not when an ill-timed visit was all that was keeping them apart!
"Actually Greg, we were just finishing up. Mr. Holmes, wait right there. If you could give us a moment then?" John asked, trying to emphasize the urgency in his eyes. Greg finally gave up, shrugging his shoulders as if he was getting exasperated, yet he obviously realized he had no choice in the matter.
"Ya, whatever." He agreed finally. "But see me before you leave!"
"Ya of course, alright bye Greg." John muttered, waving the man away before slamming the door in his face. And there wasn't even a moment of hesitation, not on John's side at least. From the moment that door was closed he flung his hands to Sherlock's waist, dragging him a couple of steps and throwing him up against the door with an almost telltale thud. Sherlock let out a little whimper of surprise, yet he didn't fight back. He didn't hesitate. For just a split second John stared him in the eyes, pressing him into the door with his body weight, and finding no hesitations within those complicated eyes. Of all the emotions flowing inside of that boy's brain, fear was not one. And in the time it took Sherlock to take a gasp of air, John found his lips on his, he pressed them closer, he took Sherlock's head in his hands, and he kissed him as he was meant to. He kissed him with all the power of a thousand lifetimes, with all of the passion that had been built up throughout all of his reincarnations. The only thing different was that Sherlock didn't fight back, he didn't protest. He trembled, that was for sure, he was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane yet he didn't push away, he didn't speak a word of complaint. All he did was copy, he tried to do exactly as John was doing, he tried to be romantic, he tried to be passionate. And it wasn't as if his kiss was bad, in fact it might have been the best kiss John had ever had, owing purely to who it was with! Yet he was obviously unexperienced, so much so that he hardly even opened his mouth. And yet he grabbed hold of John's waist, he dug his fingers into his skin and he held him there, he held him tight, almost as if he wasn't sure how long John was willing to stay. Almost as if he expected John to just step away.
"We shouldn't be doing this." Sherlock breathed, tearing his lips away just long enough to get those words out. He was panting, and yet John didn't want to give him a break. He felt the boy's heart beating, their chests were so close together that it was like a drum, slamming against both of their rib cages.
"But we are." John reminded him, kissing him once more to which Sherlock gladly received. "So what does it matter?"
"You're married." Sherlock pointed out.
"Not rightly." John corrected. "Now wrap your legs around my waist."
"What?" Sherlock asked, looking almost terrified at the thought as he pulled his head away, pressing it up against the door so as to look and see if John was joking or not.
"Jump up, and wrap your legs around my waist. You wanted to learn, didn't you?" John reminded him, ducking down now and kissing at his neck, kissing that soft skin, kissing it so gently yet so ferociously. His heart was beating out of control; his heart was beating so quickly it might very well give out. He wanted nothing more than to live in this moment forever, for now was the moment where he finally was able to kiss this skin, to taste this skin, that had been playing upon his mind ever since he first saw it. He was able to finally work his lips into the jutting bone structure, to tear away at the buttons on Sherlock's shirt with his teeth...Finally Sherlock obeyed, jumping up in a very unskilled manner with a terrified little yelp, hooking his ankles together and clutching onto John almost frantically. John held him easily, using the door for support now as he kissed more furiously at Sherlock's neck. The boy let out a sigh, leaning into John ever so slightly, as if he was trying to be closer than ever.
"Is it too soon, for us?" John whispered finally. Sherlock let his lips find John, considering his height the only thing he could properly kiss was his forehead, and yet he peppered that with cute little kisses before finally responding.
"If anything, it's overdue." He whispered finally. John almost let out a tear of relief, he was prepared to just sit down and bawl like a baby, had he not been so invested in the moment. Had he not been so enthralled with the answer he had been longing to hear.
"Then help me unbutton your shirt, and let me drag you to the ground." John instructed finally, kissing at Sherlock's lips once more before he pulled the both of them away from the door, falling down to the carpet with an almost painful thud. Surprisingly, neither one of them cared about the impact. It almost seemed as there was something else on their mind, something much more urgent. Perhaps it was love, or maybe it was just destiny.