His Majesty, The Queen

Secrets For a Good Cause

"Sherlock!" Janine exclaimed, rushing up to him and pulling him by his arm so that he could stand up and receive a hug. Sherlock found himself trapped in her embrace for a moment too long, and tried his best to wiggle away. He looked over her shoulder at John, who was looking rather proud of himself.
"Janine, yes, good to see you again." he managed quickly, at last managing to unravel himself from her outstretched arms and smile in a forced reception.
"You've been awfully distant lately; you know we've had a number of parties?" Janine pointed out. "I told Mary to invite you all, but I guess the word never got out."
"Really?" John asked abruptly, stepping in on the conversation like the defensive boyfriend he was.
"We she claimed that she had invited you, but Greg said you were all depressed or something." Janine admitted with a sigh. John recoiled with a sneer, acting as if this was all new to him. As if he never realized just how pouty he had been for the last couple of weeks.
"I wasn't depressed, I was just tired." He defended with a frown. Sherlock raised his eyebrows doubtfully, though decided it was best not to input his own opinion. Surely it wasn't a good time to be arguing over his mental state in the presence of two very concerned and loud mouthed girls.
"Well either way, Greg seemed to think it was for the best." Janine admitted with a sigh. "But it's honestly been so dreadfully boring without his royal highness making our lives more interesting."
"Oh yes, well...well I'm not really much of a partier anymore." Sherlock forced quickly, managing a smile upon hearing his exaggerated title spoken with such earnest.
"No, no I can understand why." She cooed. "But that wasn't your fault darling, we all get like that sometimes."
"Yes, I'm sure." Sherlock agreed quickly, wincing now as Janine looped her arm through his as if in ownership, leaning heavily upon his side shamelessly.
"We were just at the café getting muffins; John tells us that you wanted to buy a present for your brother?" Molly asked, seeing now that no one knew exactly what to say in response to Janine's rather aggressive cooing.
"Yes! Yes just something for Christmas." Sherlock agreed, all the while hoping that it was worth his money in the end. What a terrible thing it would be, if his brother never got the chance to receive it...
"You know what, it's never too early to go Christmas shopping. That's my motto." Molly said excitedly, giving a great beam of optimism. "I've had Greg's present picked out since the summer."
"That's incredibly persistent of you. I've not given Mary anything on Christmas day for a long while. It's usually about a week before I finally get around to getting her something." John admitted with a guilty little shrug.
"How horrible! If my boyfriend got me something later I'd break up with him." Janine said flatly, turning her eyes admiringly towards Sherlock. "Good thing you're so productive, Sherlock."
"Oh! Oh..." Sherlock exclaimed, giving a little noise of surprise before looking at John with worried eyes. Perhaps she was getting the wrong idea about this relationship, perhaps she was beginning to think it existed at all?
"She's just playing around." Molly assured with a wave of her hand, before at last starting her way down the sidewalk in the more promising direction of the book shop. Sherlock had to lead Janine the whole way there, though he was able to pull his arm around of hers so as to open the door and let them all funnel inside. The store seemed to be very old, run by a cheerful little man with white hair, one who seemed to watch all of his customers with a friendly yet suspicious eye. Sherlock gave him a smile, one which was returned in no time, before proceeding to the rows and rows of books which were shoved just about everywhere throughout the store. There were so many books it was almost difficult to know what to look for, and before long he got so overwhelmed that he had to take a moment to recollect himself. The one fault Sherlock had was the inability to judge a book by its cover, and therefore he was never quite entertained unless he was a couple of chapters in. For the most part he got all of his books from his brother, who was able to scan through them and ensure that it was all worth his while. Unfortunately Sherlock was very easily unimpressed by most of the books he picked for himself, and so however attractive bookstores seemed to be he found himself rather bored just as soon as he walked into the door, staring upon unfamiliar titles that had no chance of being plucked from the shelf by his fingers. Molly, on the other hand, had already piled up two books in her hand and was searching the shelves for more, almost as if surely hoping that something else would catch her eye. John was browsing rather carelessly through the history section, while Janine had sat herself in a chair and had taken to staring rather obsessively at Sherlock while he walked the rows. After noticing her ever persistent eyes Sherlock ducked back behind one of the shelves, hoping that the mix of books was enough to keep her away for now. Just as soon as he retreated backwards, however, he found himself colliding unintentionally with John, who had been standing with his nose bent into the book of a Greek mythology.
"Sherlock, watch where you're going." He insisted, to which Sherlock gave a small whine of defeat and began to cling to his arm, so as to demonstrate his desperation in this situation. John's eyes widened, though he made no motion to shake Sherlock off.
"Why'd you let her tag along? She's staring at me, she's touching me...it's creepy!" Sherlock insisted in the quietest whisper he could manage, all the while yanking at John's arm as if to try to make him see sense.
"I didn't let her do anything; you know she's got a mind of her own." John snarled. "Besides, I thought it would be good for you."
"Good for me? John, it's not like I need some woman swooping in to save my life. It's not like I want anything to do with her!" Sherlock exclaimed in helpless defense.
"Why not? For God's sake Sherlock, you'd think that being so feminine yourself you might prefer the company of women?" John growled, pushing the book back into the shelf and allowing his eyes to fall between the rows of books. For a moment he looked, before at last pulling his head away as if his position had been compromised.
"I go to an all-boys school, John. What choice do you think I have in the matter?" Sherlock growled in response.
"I think you have plenty of choices, considering there's a beautiful girl sitting out there, waiting for you to come and scoop her into your royal arms, and you're just standing back here talking to me as if that's a bad thing!" John exclaimed.
"I don't want anything to do with love, John. It's a problem for someone else; it's not something that I want to deal with right now!" Sherlock insisted in a lone whine, shaking his head anxiously while still not letting his hand ease up on John's forearm.
"You don't want to deal with it? As if it's a burden, as if you're too good for her?" John growled.
"Yes!" Sherlock exclaimed at last. "Yes I'm too good for her, yes it would be a burden, yes I...I just don't want it. I don't feel anything for her."
"Then who do you feel something for, Sherlock? If you're so self-righteous and so alone? Surely someone like you must want someone else. Surely you do." John asked, his hazel eyes hardening into an expression much more confrontational, in such a sense that Sherlock felt he had to answer. As he was sitting in a dark room, with John's eyes being his spotlight, looking for any glimmer of hesitation in his face, looking for any signs of a lie bleeding through his lips...
"I can't tell you." Sherlock managed at last. John gave a growl in defeat, pulling his arm away as if he was exasperated with Sherlock's response. As if he couldn't stand to be touched any longer, lest he begin to get violent.
"Some sort of secret. God you are so pretentious." John spat, looking downright disgusted with Sherlock at the moment. Though the reasoning behind his dislike was a mystery, for Sherlock could not decide whether John was in love with him and was dying for a confession, or if he actually was just angry at Sherlock's idiocy. Either way Sherlock didn't know how to respond expect to grow weak, too unsure of his own situation to dare to defend it.
"What do you want me to say?" Sherlock defended weakly, his voice cracking as he doubled down within his own hesitation. He wanted to confess, he wanted to spit out his true feelings right here and now. And yet he could tell that there was a bomb sitting right between them, and confessing would just be the match that lit the fuse.
"Nothing. Nothing anymore." John admitted at last, and with that he turned his back and marched back to join Janine in the chairs, finishing with his browsing and with his arguing for the time being. For the rest of the rather silent trip John hung back with Janine, perhaps with the intentions of healing her from the wound Sherlock's indifference had caused. Sherlock walked next to Molly for the time being, and found the girl to be just as delightful as she had been before. She talked in depth about the books she had bought, speaking of them with such passion that even Sherlock was impressed. She seemed to be much smarter than anyone would give her credit for, and with a heart just as big as her brain. She was a delight; in fact Sherlock enjoyed talking with her so much that he forgot about John's anger and about Janine's persistence. Instead he merely talked of the classics, of plays, and authors, and the British culture surrounding such literature. Molly seemed genuinely interested in his background, for the sake of learning rather than the sake of picking up a royal title. She found his heritage to be fascinating, and she knew much more about the war effort than Sherlock would have expected from an American. He admitted that he had been prejudiced towards the girls, thinking them all to have personalities no farther than from their boyfriends. Though it seemed Molly was a very independent girl, and it warmed Sherlock's heart to think that she and Greg would one day get married and raise very intelligent and free minded children of their own. They meandered through a handful of shops, in which Sherlock finally picked out a nice pocket watch for his brother. It rather mimicked his own in its beautiful design, though it was golden instead of silver and it was not engraved. He figured Mycroft would understand that he simply didn't have the money, for while it was a meaningful gift it also weighted heavily on his wallet. It was worth it, Sherlock knew that for sure. Mycroft could take this wherever he went, in the army, in the business world, it would be a constant reminder to him that his brother was always there, no matter how far away. As Sherlock walked out of the shop he clutched to the bag protectively, wishing upon everything he could think of that this watch would make it into his brother's hands. He wished that Mycroft was somewhere in England, recuperating with the rest of his failed battalion. It wasn't the war effort that concerned Sherlock the most; it was his brother's health. England could fall for all he cared, so long as Mycroft was safe with him in America, safe to be a brother again, and to go back to the way things used to be.