His Majesty, The Queen

Number Twenty Two

"Come on then Sherlock. I'll give you a dry shirt" John called from somewhere in the locker rooms. Sherlock hesitated, though the idea of being dry was tempting enough to come when called. And so he sloshed over, each step he took squirting more water out from over the top of his leather shoes. Oh this entire night was a nightmare, wasn't it? When he reached John's locker he found the boy to be only half dressed, standing there in a pair of sweatpants while toweling off his hair. He didn't look happy yet he was at least taking the appropriate steps to move on, perhaps in a couple of days he'll get over himself and realize that there was more to life than just moping over one bad game and one regretful evening. Sherlock lingered near the bench, not nearly brave enough to approach yet, as there was an off chance that John had some more creative torture methods up his sleeve. Though no, from his locker he produced what looked like an old practice jersey, one sporting his number and name on the back. He threw it towards Sherlock, who caught it rather reluctantly, wondering if it really was intended for him. Well Sherlock didn't know a lot about romance at all, though he did know through certain media outlets that it was a sign of a committed relationship to wear the other person's jersey. It was almost like a claiming method, or so the movie depicted. Sherlock didn't know what to say, nor how to proceed, though he set the jersey down onto the bench and very reluctantly began to unbutton his soaking wet shirt.
"You know you really don't have to be modest around me." John reminded him.
"I'm not...I'm not being modest." Sherlock insisted, though his fingers were already trembling as he fought his way down towards the halfway point. He didn't like to reveal his chest just yet, especially not while John was staring so unapologetically. Of course the boy was standing shirtless as well, though Sherlock simply could not force himself to join in. He knew that John would judge him, and he knew of course that he would not like what he saw. Oh this relationship was just a mad dream...any hope that Sherlock soaked up from his surroundings was merely falsified, taken from John's merely being a caring friend and over exaggerated into something more romantic than it needed to be.
"Yes you are." John growled. "And it's stupid."
"I'm not trying to be." Sherlock defended, though John turned sharply and swatted the boy's hands away from where he was still holding the buttons on his shirt, without any real intention of unbuttoning them. And so John took it upon himself, in what very well may have been the most exhilarating moment of Sherlock's young life. For this wasn't a moment forced upon them by a mystical bottle, this was sincere, this was intimacy initiated voluntarily by a boy Sherlock thought had never even noticed him before. And perhaps it meant nothing...though for the moment Sherlock would hope it meant everything. John unbuttoned his shirt in silence, his fingers moving slowly as if with the intention of savoring the moment. Or perhaps he was merely tired, and could not will himself to work so fast.
"Just because you're skinny doesn't mean you have anything to hide." John muttered, though with an edge of hostility in his voice. At last he got the last button undone on Sherlock's shirt, and therefore proceeded to lift his hands to Sherlock's shoulders and edge the fabric off of his arms. It was a slow process, one which could only be too slow...as if John was savoring the moment more than he should be. He was staring, Sherlock was staring right back and the boy...he wasn't blinking. He was most certainly savoring the moment, he was taking it all in, the feeling of Sherlock's cold and wet skin, the way his shirt bundled slowly along the curves of his shaking arms, the way his chest began to pulse as his breath began to fall out of his control. His heart was beating so quickly, so loudly... that surely John could hear it. It had begun to fall into a rhythm, one which was just begging for attention no matter how hard Sherlock tried to silence it. Perhaps in this moment John saw right through him, straight into his heart and at its desires. Perhaps tonight was the night he realized that Sherlock had never truly forgotten about that kiss, and had been cherishing the memory ever since. Perhaps tonight might have been the night John allowed memory to turn back into reality. It might have happened, had Sherlock not given an almost violent shiver, his teeth beginning to chatter involuntarily. It was a rather embarrassing interruption to whatever intimate moment they were having, and just as soon as Sherlock's wet shirt fell to the ground John shoved the jersey into his arms, as if to remind him to put it on as quickly as he could manage. Sherlock obeyed, disappointed now that John turned away, and pulled the shirt over his shoulders to cover up his exposed chest once more. It was amazingly warm, as the fabric must have heated up in the locker for a long while. It was very soft, and had that ever so familiar smell of John Watson woven between its fibers.
"We better get going then, I'm sure they're waiting." John grumbled, throwing his things into his bag and looking quite apprehensive about facing the crowd after all this time of moping.
"If you're not ready, we can..."
"I'm ready." John assured, cutting Sherlock off as if he was actually angry now, angry about the fact that he had to be dragged out into the public eye. Sherlock paused, taking something of a breath before beginning to follow John towards the door. Though before the boy could get there, Sherlock had to spit out that final thought that was on his mind, the last minute realization that had to be shared before the moment was lost to that opening door.
"John, this is the first time we've ever been alone together." Sherlock spat out, hesitating near the lockers in this silly oversized jersey, clutching his wet shirt to the number twenty two that was written across his chest. John paused, looking over at Sherlock and forcing a little smile. He really didn't seem to know what to say to that, which might have been a good thing as Sherlock didn't know what to say either. He thought that the milestone was at least noteworthy, though he realized now that perhaps calling it out wasn't making the night any less awkward.
"Congratulations." John mumbled, and with that he pushed open the door and made his final exit. Sherlock stood there in the locker room, now finding himself rather stupidly alone, and decided that it was best just to forge his way up to the school as well. A warm shower and a change of clothes were calling his name, and he was sure that no one would miss him for a little while anyway. No, his disappearance would not be noticed now that everyone was matched accordingly, and would be too busy nuzzling their sweetheart to notice that Sherlock was drifting along through the dark on his own.