John slid into the booth, butterflies exploding in his stomach. He glanced at the menu, he wasn't hungry for food,
"You look stunning Sher." John said, as if he was floating on clouds.
"Yes, I know. What about this?" Sherlock gestured up and down to John's hole body. He obviously thought John didn't look smart.
"Well would you like me to take them off?" John smirked. He saw Sherlock's eyes widen.
"... Oh god yes." And with that Sherlock leaned in closer to John. "Are you hungry?" He purred, stroking John's inner thigh under the table.
"Only for you."
"Well, then it's only fair I give you what you want." He grabbed John's hand and walked out of Angelo's. They hailed a cab together for Sherlock's house because his parents were out tonight. John glanced at Sherlock, their eyes filled with lust.
"You know, we should get a flat together," Sherlock said, "I mean we're old enough."
John screamed internally. He couldn't believe it was actually happening. He would have to ask his parents... Oh no.
"I'll ask my parents." John sounded like a 7 year old discussing a sleepover.
"You mean manipulate them?" Sherlock grinned.
"It's easy so why not?" They sniggered in sync.
"I'll ask 'em." He called his mum.
"Hey mum you know I've been saving?"
"Yes?"
"Well can I get a flat share with my best friend?"
"I'm not your bloody mother you do what you want."
"Um, yeah you are..."
"Ugh, fine... Just keep it tidy and I'll accept, okay?"
"Ok love ya bye."
He quickly swiped 'end call' He hated calling his mother, she was so done with children after he was born. He smiled broadly at Sherlock, he couldn't believe he was going to live with the most attractive man in the world.
They got to Sherlock's house, bolted upstairs, back where it all started. Sherlock locked the doors and windows, just in case. John teased Sherlock by toying with his shirt buttons, and as he suspected, Sherlock took the bate. Sherlock licked his lips and plunged them into John's, this made John easier to unbutton, he started from the bottom, making his way upwards, running his slender fingers on John's chest. John was breathing erotically as Sherlock straddled him, peeling the clothing off John. Now it was Watson's turn. John yanked Sherlock down by his tie, harder and harder, longer and longer until he begged for mercy twice. Now they were both undressed, intertwining under the bed sheets.
"I love you so bad." John whispered, a great weight lifting off his chest, almost as if it was a confession.
"You free Sunday?" Sherlock asked, his voice vibrating on John's chest as they embraced each other.
"Um... I'll have to check but I think I can."
"Good."
The sun rose in the sky, the blotches of pinks, oranges and yellows looked as if someone spill paint all of their paint on a canvas. It was beautiful. John hailed a cab back home. 5am. He needed to creep in so his mother wouldn't notice that he was gone. Like she'd give a shit anyway. John tip toed with extra caution like he was in a mine field, every step planned to avoid the house creaking. He finally managed to get into his room and into bed. Hours passed, John dozing blissfully. It was a Sunday so his lazy side emerged, his hair ferrel and his limbs tangled with his bed sheets, he randomly decided to check his phone. 1 voicemail. The number didn't ring a bell to him. He checked the voicemail, only to find an odd message. The man who was on the phone breathed heavily and his voice gruff and scratchy.
"John. Hamish. Watson. Look at your window." That was it. But as John slowly rotated his head to the window, what he saw horrified him.
Letters were painted on his window in deep, crimson letters.
Sherlock's dead.
It was written in blood.
