His Majesty, The Queen

Nothing More Romantic Than Biographies

Sherlock's first stop was the post office, though he didn't expect anything to have come through. Mycroft's happy birthday card was received a couple of days before, and Sherlock's reply had just gone out yesterday. The very presence of a happy birthday card was enough to take a great many pounds off of his already aching shoulders, as it meant that Mycroft was alive and well, despite having been part of retreating soldiers. Now their job was to defend England, which was probably a much safer job than wading into the now German occupied areas. Sherlock had some peace of mind now, knowing that somewhere his brother was presumably alive and well, writing out birthday cards to be delivered weeks later. And so Sherlock trudged over to the football bleachers empty handed, deciding that he ought to just sit and stare at the clouds some more in an effort to entertain himself in what remained of the wintertime sunshine. Now that December had come upon them the wind was becoming very cold and it was hard to stay outside very long at all. How those football boys managed to keep practicing even throughout the cold weather was beyond him, as they were still in those silly little jerseys they had worn all season. They could not possibly be warm enough, however no one seemed to be complaining on the infield. They all seemed very focused today, everyone seemed to have one goal in mind. It was almost the eve of battle, in which they charged at the Sandringham Serpents for the last time, hoping to bring glory to their school. Well Sherlock didn't mind either way, or rather he wouldn't mind if John wasn't so touchy. God forbid they lost, and John slunk into his old depressive habits. Though the night of Sherlock's birthday he had admitted to something, as if he was grumpy not because of the game, but because he realized he had feelings for Sherlock. Well that could be interpreted a great many ways, though Sherlock liked to imagine that he was just upset because he was pining. Perhaps he had suffered through those weeks under the idea that Sherlock could never love him, and that he would be forced to retain all his lust to die with. Well Sherlock was half inclined to take that as a compliment, though on further thought it really was no way to treat pent up emotions. If John really had been upset over his seemingly impossible romantic inclinations, well that was a terribly childish way to go about it. All the same, well it was all water under the bridge now. Sherlock leaned back upon the bleachers, resting his feet on the empty row in front of him and his elbows behind, stretching out to his full length and allowing a smile onto his face as he watched the figure that must be John running around and looking over enthusiastic. That boy wasn't necessarily his, though he did have him hooked in a sense. Sherlock may not be able to keep him, he may not be able to declare his love or hear a confession in return, though he could have John now whenever he felt the need. The most beautiful boy in this school was at his disposal, all he had to do was ask. The boys had noticed Sherlock in the bleachers, and so they headed up as soon as practice was over to fetch him for dinner. They were extra stinky now that their sweat had basically frozen onto their skin, though they made fine enough company to at least keep the conversation over the table interesting. The whole night, however, Sherlock felt John's eyes lingering upon him. They sat across the table from each other, and just as soon as their eyes met Sherlock remembered their conversation in art class. How it had been far too long, as if they were going to need to reunite sometime soon. John's eyes were very anxious, and no matter how beautiful they were Sherlock was still starting to feel just a little bit uncomfortable. He knew that look, that hunger, though he was worried that someone else might notice. When John's gaze didn't shift for the duration of dinner you'd have to suspect that something was up, and when at last his legs began to graze Sherlock's from under the table the boy felt the need to at least start up a conversation, so as to keep people engaged in something else rather than why the bench had begun to move underneath them.
"Where are you boys playing Saturday?" Sherlock wondered.
"It's not far; it's a public school about thirty minutes down the road." Greg said instantly, as if he had just been waiting for the subject of football to pop up. Sherlock nodded, poking at his meatloaf without much enthusiasm and imagining himself trapped inside of a car with those three girls for a whole thirty minutes. Well on second thought, it may not actually be so bad. If he could sit next to Molly in the backseat there would be no issue at all, as their brains seemed to be hardwired much the same. Now if Janine came, well that would be a whole different matter entirely. Sherlock may have to jump out the window ten minutes in, just to retain whatever sanity he had left.
"I'm excited to watch it." Sherlock admitted.
"I'm excited to play it!" Greg agreed with all the enthusiasm in the world, pounding his fist hard onto the table and making all the silverware rattle. By then John's foot had rubbed up against Sherlock's thigh, and was beginning to get a little bit too friendly. He felt the need to slap it away, though he didn't know the best way to do that without looking like a complete freak. In the end he merely sat back farther on his chair, giving John something of a scolding look before continuing on with his conversation.
"You think you can win this time?" Sherlock wondered.
"I know it." John said determinedly, his eyes looking dead set as at last his feet fell away. Sherlock nodded in encouragement, for he rather felt the same.
"I think you all have enough anger from the last game to carry you through. I'm not sure that Sandringham has a chance, especially when there's a trophy involved." Sherlock agreed with something of a smirk.
"I'm not usually one for harboring pent up anger, that's true. But man...I'm so excited to bash some skulls." Mike admitted with something of a sadistic laugh, stabbing into his meatloaf very agressivley to which all of the boys stared in surprise. No one had ever heard anything violent come from his mouth before, that was for sure.
"We've got homework to do, for now." Greg reminded them all, checking his watch and giving a sigh of defeat before pushing his plate aside and staring longingly at a stack of brownies that had been piled next to them on a great big platter. Presumably they were all minding their eating habits before the big game, though why a brownie a couple of days before mattered all that much was certainly an enigma. Were they not supposed to be as big and bulky as they could be, so as to push their way through the opposing linemen? Sherlock felt it better not to judge the boy's habits, and he certainly wasn't going to comment on them, though he did grab a brownie for himself on the way out. They all headed to the showers first, in which John seemed to want to parade around without his shirt on for much longer than usual. Well of course Sherlock couldn't complain, though he knew that John was only acting like one of those birds looking for a late, flaunting his feathers so as to attract them in more effectively. Oh and the annoying part was that it was working, that little rascal. When Sherlock emerged from his bathroom stall, all dressed with his towel hanging from his shoulder, John knew to be there at the sink. His shirt was still missing, and his muscular back was bent over the sink as he spat out his toothpaste. Sherlock watched for a short moment, remembering what those crevices felt like, remembering the times when he traced his fingers along John's spine and held to his waist like a child, clinging for life... There was no one else on this side of the bathroom, thankfully, and so Sherlock took his place at the sink next to John and made it seem like he was merely fixing his hair. He knew that there should be at least an exchange of words between them, as he could tell that John would not be able to sleep if his lips had sat alone for the entire evening. No, he was anxious for a lover, that was for sure. How utterly childish he was, though how utterly entranced Sherlock found himself. He was such a sucker for a muscular and available shirtless boy.
"Where do you want to go tonight?" Sherlock asked in something of a whisper, so as to make sure his words didn't carry over to the louder side of the steaming bathroom. Thankfully there was a constant roar of conversation from the showering side, and so he wasn't worried that anyone would intentionally overhear.
"We'll see where our schedule takes us." John muttered, pulling out a long length of floss and beginning to pull it through his teeth one at a time.
"We need to go to the library, for our research papers." Sherlock pointed out.
"Too public." John debated with a disappointed sigh, filling in the small silence by the popping of his floss between his teeth.
"Lots of rows." Sherlock offered again. John paused his flossing, giving Sherlock something of a smirk through the mirror as if he was impressed with how bold the boy had become.
"Are you anxious to get caught, or just play out your fantasies?" John teased, his face breaking into a great big grin all the while Sherlock hesitated, shuffling a bit in his shoes and giving a sigh of surrender.
"I never had any fantasies, surely." He insisted truthfully. In fact he had never even considered himself in a relationship, much less taking time to fantasize about what that relationship might consist of.
"No? Not the library after hours...making love in an aisle filled with classics?" John teased in a quiet little voice, jabbing at Sherlock playfully with his elbow as he at last threw his floss towards the trash can. It didn't quite make it, though he didn't seem bothered as he packed up his things and gave Sherlock a teasing little glance.
"I've never..." Sherlock hesitated, for even as he went to defend himself he found that there was no use. In all honesty, well that did sound exciting to say the least.
"Come on then boys, John get your shirt on! Down to the library with you!" Mike exclaimed, jumping around the corner just in time to prevent anything more intimate from going on between them. It was a good thing he interrupted when he did, as half of Sherlock wanted to lean in and kiss John right there. That would take a lot of awkward excuses if anyone had walked in to witness such a scene. Oh what lies they would have to come up with, lies consisting of breath checks or something of the sort.
"Yes sir." John growled, going to slap Mike with his tube of toothpaste before throwing on a t-shirt and following the rest of the gang out the door. Before long the boys had captured themselves a table in the back corner, one that was sat right up against one of the stained glass windows and wedged rather tightly between the rows of books. Sherlock was not very determined to finish his essay tonight, as he knew there were more things on his agenda than just education. John was antsy as well, flipping through his books without seeming to comprehend a word of it and constantly looking up towards Sherlock, as if asking him urgently when their time was going to come. Well Sherlock had a goal to at least finish a page, and when at last his pen had written the last necessary sentence for his little quota he sat back and gave a great sigh, looking about the rows of books and deciding he ought to go wandering to find one. He did have a legitimate book in mind, though if he never made it to that specific book it might not be an issue. If he was stopped half way in the middle of his search he would not find the strength to complain.
"I need to go and get a book." Sherlock said at last, rising to his feet and giving a somewhat encouraging glance to John.
"Can you get me one too; I'm looking for one on Robert E. Lee." Mike muttered, patting at Sherlock's arm rather absentmindedly as he smacked his paper with his pen a couple of times, lost in thought as to what to say next.
"Well alright. Anyone else?" Sherlock muttered, looking towards Greg without much hope in the matter. Greg was drawing doodles, and didn't seem to be using any books in the process of it.
"I'll get my own books." John assured, though he didn't get to his feet just yet. Sherlock nodded his head, shuffling off towards the biography section to pick out Mike's book with the hope that John would know to follow. The rows of books were much more crowded than he would have liked, in fact there seemed to be a spectator in every row, as if they had all been planted so as to make sure John and Sherlock's moment of intimacy was not so easily executed. For a long moment Sherlock scanned the biography section, looking about the spines of books and looking for the Confederate's name. Every time he heard a set of footprints he looked about anxiously, hoping that John might have gotten the hint and followed him out. It did take a long while, admittedly, before he was at last able to find the book he was looking for. It was on one of the topmost shelves, and so required him to reach up rather far to get it. When at last he had dropped the book into his arms John arrived, sulking about the rows of books as if to try to look inconspicuous as he searched for where Sherlock might be hiding. The biography section was unoccupied as of now, though Sherlock knew that someone could round the corner at any moment and provide them both with a rather rough outing.
"Nowhere more romantic than the biography section." John said in a teasing little voice, catching Sherlock into his arms from behind and resting his head rather domestically onto his shoulder. Sherlock gave a soft little smile, pushing Mike's book request onto one of the shelves before holding John's hands to him, as if to make sure he wasn't going to let go anytime soon.
"Have any better suggestions?" Sherlock wondered in a soft voice, trying not to let his romantic talk leak through the gaps in the books and reach his other friends' ears.
"Oh well, nothing gets me going quite like a dictionary. We should go to the encyclopedia section." John suggested with a teasing laugh, spinning Sherlock about in his arms before throwing him rather violently up against one of the bookshelves. The ancient structure gave a threatening wobble under his weight, coupled then with the soft thud of a couple of books falling out of their place on the shelves. This didn't seem to bother anyone immediately, and it certainly didn't bother John. He merely took Sherlock's waist in his hands, steering him closer and pressing a passionate kiss upon his lips. Sherlock giggled into John's kiss, as this was proving to be the most rebellious thing he had ever attempted. With so much at stake, and in such a public spot...oh how exhilarating it was. He couldn't help but fall right into John's embrace, hooking his arms around John's neck and allowing the bookshelf to support all of his weight, even kicking one of his legs up so as to wrap around John's waist in the meantime. It was passionate and oh so scandalous, how lovely it was to be pressed up against a book on Napoleon while getting peppered with the most romantic kisses, delivered by one of the most handsome boys. And yet it couldn't go on forever, in fact it could hardly go on for two minutes before at last Sherlock began to open his eyes, looking about at all of the shadows that were moving forbiddingly between the rows, all with the off chance of coming around looking for a helpful biography and instead being met with what must be considered a crime scene. It was enough for Sherlock to stop, pushing John's lips away from his neck yet keeping their weight together, holding himself up against John's torso and rearranging his leg up and around the boy's hip. No one had come around, not yet at least.
"This is too public, John." he whispered nervously, breathing heavily and feeling their lungs colliding with every mutual breath they took, every breath which seemed to couple as a gasp.
"I thought that's what you wanted?" John teased, dragging his lips along Sherlock's jawbone with a cheeky little smile.
"I do, God I do. But I'll...well I'll not run the risk of getting caught." Sherlock whispered, leaning his head against the bookshelf once more as John's lips found his neck again, and oh what a sweet spot that was. All of his nerves were on fire, and his heart was beginning to beat a mile a minute. John knew how to work him, didn't he? He knew how to get him excited.
"What happens if we get caught? A quick slap on the knuckles, community service?" John chuckled. Sherlock blinked, this time pulling away for good as he realized that John did not fully understand the consequences of their actions.
"Surely you know about the hormonal treatment?" Sherlock presumed in some shock, lessening his grip upon the boy and staring into his eyes with utmost concern. And so John did not realize what might happen to them, even though he was here risking everything?
"The what now?" John wondered, shimmying away from Sherlock now and untangling their limbs from one another.
"They give you this...well I don't know what it is. But it's hormones, and it's supposed to change you. I heard it was like poison, it makes you sick." Sherlock whispered anxiously. "And they banish you."
"I don't want to know where you got that from." John muttered, though he still did not let his hands fall from Sherlock's hips. They were still dangerously close, pressed close enough together to raise some eyebrows from the more distinguished folks. All the same this could be talked away pretty easily; with some quick thinking they could avoid any consequences all together. And so Sherlock's guard fell, just for a moment, as he watched the fear in John's eyes begin to multiply.
"You're saying we might get...well they might try to kill you?" he whispered nervously. Sherlock's heart stopped for a quick moment, realizing that he may have accidentally talked John out of their relationship all together. Perhaps he wasn't willing to risk it, and in turn had begun to fear what might happen if the two of them were ever caught? Perhaps he didn't think it was worth it, hormonal treatment for years in exchange for a foolish time in the library? Then again Sherlock knew that the true consequences had to be understood, as it was something of a deceit if John thought they'd only get a stern talking to. He needed to know the forces that were opposing him before he went into battle, that was for sure.
"I don't think it kills you." Sherlock assured. "But there may be times you wished you were dead."
"That's horrible." John whispered nervously, running his fingers a bit more anxiously across Sherlock's collarbone, as if contemplating whether each brush was worth it in the end. "I guess we'll have to be more careful then." He decided at last, to which Sherlock could only take a sigh of relief.
"I suppose we will be." He agreed with a smirk, going in for a quick peck before pushing John away from him just in time for a second year to wander around the corner, still too short to get a proper look on the top most row. John gave a sigh of defeat, frowning at Sherlock as if he thought that was all very coordinated.
"Come along then, John. Got to give Mike his book." Sherlock sang, waving the thing around in his hands before ducking out of the row before anyone saw them both leaving at once, walked casually back to the boy's shared table as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all.