Sigma Eta

Boys Wake From Dreams

Where John was planning to go was still uncertain, though he found himself gravitating towards where he knew he might find Sherlock. It wasn't as if he was prepared to have a conversation with him, in fact he wasn't even sure he could handle a full bout of eye contact! Nevertheless, John's feet shuffled along towards the common room where he could hear a radio playing. It was the beginning of the evening, the boys were all returning from dinner and had begun to spread their homework out upon the desks and upon their laps, each one ignoring it for the time being while they talked with their friends and went on with various other acts of procrastination. In the middle of it all was the shape John was expecting to see, a solitary figure sitting cross legged in an arm chair. John could only handle staring at Sherlock through his peripheral vision, and for the meantime he decided to make it look as if he was going through the bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. He needed an excuse for walking in here, of course. Though he had no need for these books, and if he thought he was fooling anyone he was definitely wrong. Even now he noticed that slim figure getting to his feet, a shadow against the background of fading sunlight, moving steadily across the hardwood to where John was now shivering.
"Can we talk, Mr. Watson?" came Sherlock's familiar voice, the syllables dancing across the collar of John's unkempt shirt. He hesitated, looking very carefully over his shoulder and finding Sherlock's face having come incredibly close. If he had bent any farther back he would have certainly collided with the very lips he had unfortunately been fixated on for the whole of the afternoon. John turned back to the bookshelf, feeling incredibly trapped.
"It takes a lot of nerve, making the first move against me." John mumbled.
"Knowing that you wouldn't take the initiative, I decided to make it less painful for the both of us." Sherlock chuckled. John glared at a textbook on sailboats, trying to focus on the cursive writing instead of on the breath he could feel along his ear. Sherlock was close, intimately close.
"It's not painful." John snarled.
"Not yet." Sherlock agreed. "Come outside with me."
"I don't have to follow your orders." John growled, trying to keep his voice low so as to not make a scene. He felt as though a screaming match would be much more appropriate, for he had emotions balled up inside of him that would really be better released at a much more aggressive volume. Though in danger of alerting all of these docile boys to the dramatic situations that were happening right under their noses, well John decided he might as well stay civil.
"They're just suggestions, John. Nothing more." was Sherlock's whispered response. It was not until he felt what could only be a cold set of fingers wrapping around his wrist that at last John jumped, his knee hitting loudly against the bookshelf and causing an unavoidable bang. This was loud enough to alert the crowd, and before long John found himself completely free of his companion and under the observation of every fraternity brother in the room. However, as if on cue and by ways of pure magic, he was alone in this corner of the room. He couldn't feel the proximity, he no longer felt trapped. John turned, looking back in some shock at all the boys who had taken to staring at him. And one of those sets of eyes, positioned in exactly the same armchair, were the eyes of his aggressor. Sherlock hadn't moved. John blinked, staring at the boy and beginning to wonder which one of them was losing their mind. Surely that wasn't...surely that was real? Not inside of his head?
"I'm sorry." He managed at last, trying to wipe off the look of pure amazement on his face. Certainly the boys were only maintaining this eye contact because John appeared to be quite lost in the middle of his own living room. As he began to meander back towards the doorway they all lost their interest, going back to their various conversations or just beginning to put a pencil down onto their homework. Either way John lost the attention he had grabbed, which was certainly for the best. Though he was dedicated now, not only to a new string of interrogations but also to making sure he wasn't completely crazy. Instead of heading off to his room he decided to follow some of Sherlock's suggestions, and instead of turning towards that staircase he allowed himself to step out onto the back porch. If he hadn't been hallucinating then he would be met outside here, by the man who seemed to be pulling the strings from every direction. The back porch was always a place of comfort for John; in fact it was one of the only portions of the house that always seemed to be empty. Now that the sun was setting there were great shadows along the cracking pavement, though the folding chairs were still sturdy under the white awning and they provided a good safe haven for recollecting his mind. John sunk into one, staring miserably out the back driveway and through the strange arrangement of cars that were all stuck in various mud puddles. No one drove much, though almost all of the brothers had a car on campus for one reason or another. John was never allowed to have a car, his parents never thought it to be a practical use of his money. It was no matter, really. Greg had always had one and John could always get a ride to and from important places with him. Though now that Greg was on the other side of a rather treacherous ravine, well who knows what would become of John's go to transportation? Besides that, what would become of John's very best friend?
"A cigarette for your troubles?" came that familiar voice, now tucked up in the overgrown ivy on the other side of the back porch. John turned, though this time he was not nearly as frightened to have been crept up on. Sherlock seemed to like to make an entrance, as noiseless as possible. This time John had been expecting him, and so he hardly reacted to what should have been quite the scare.
"I don't smoke." John said sharply.
"I'm sure there are a lot of things you don't do." Sherlock chuckled, striding over to where John sat and wiggling an unlit cigarette between his two fingers. It was an offering, an undeniable one. John scowled, though he snatched the cigarette out of Sherlock's fingers before he could begin shoving it into his mouth.
"You're beginning to scare me, Sherlock. You're making me think I'm going crazy." John admitted.
"Well that might not be entirely my doing. We all have to go a little crazy somewhere along the line." Sherlock assured. "Put it up to your lips, I've got a lighter somewhere." He added in a quick instruction. For a moment he fumbled within his pockets, though before long and after a couple of clicks there was a quick flame bursting up in front of their eyes. John obeyed, clenching a little bit as he settled the cigarette in its rightful place. Sherlock smiled as he lit it, keeping his eyes focused on John's even if John was focused instead on the ground. He wouldn't allow Sherlock to distract him, not when he was so dedicated on keeping himself grounded, and in one place. The smoke choked him with the first inhale; though after a quick bout of coughing John began breathe in the smoke like an expert. It felt quite relaxing, actually, keeping the polluted smoke circulating through his lungs.
"I want to talk about Greg." He said at last, to which Sherlock gave a rather serious nod.
"I'm sure you want to talk about more than that." Sherlock agreed.
"Were you in there with him? With only him?" John asked at last, spinning in his chair to at last focus his complete attention onto Sherlock. The boy gave something of a guilty smile, though he seemed more proud of himself than anything else.
"Are you not familiar with the process? It would be a little bit awkward if we were entertaining guests." Sherlock pointed out. John's stomach turned, and at last his gaze dropped. So it was true. Somehow John was still holding out hope, somehow he was expecting it all to be some very humorous misunderstanding, one that could be wrapped up and dismissed with a short explanation.
"You're treating this as if it's normal, as if I'm just supposed to laugh along with you!" John exclaimed.
"Well I'm not expecting you to laugh, but there is a certain maturity that must go along with these things." Sherlock pointed out.
"I'm being as mature as I can possibly manage! But my limit is mostly reached when I find out that my best friend is sleeping with some random boy!" John exclaimed, getting up out of his chair to ensure that Sherlock didn't spend this entire conversation looking down on him.
"I'm not random." Sherlock scowled, seeming to pick out the only detail that troubled him.
"Then what are you? For God's sake Sherlock, who are you?" John growled, snatching the cigarette out of his mouth to better articulate his accusations. Sherlock drew himself up to his full height, now seeming so tall that John might as well have stayed sitting. There was a fire behind his usually docile eyes, a fire that John wasn't very enthusiastic about stirring.
"What am I? Is a human being not enough of an explanation for you?" Sherlock wondered.
"Not for you. It's come to the point where I don't believe you are one of us." John insisted.
"A brother?"
"A human."
"Rightfully so." Sherlock mumbled, a smile finally breaking out on his face as he spotted the first compliment of the evening. John wasn't entirely sure why he found this to be flattering, but at last his anger dissolved and he seemed to shrink back to his normal height. Once again he became a relatively harmless boy, skinny and smoking in the fading sunlight.
"Did he approach you, or the other way around?" John wondered at last, trying to take advantage of Sherlock's sudden complacency. The boy paused, enjoying his cigarette now more than ever as he tried to brainstorm back to the afternoon's events.
"I approached him, following our conversation from the other evening. I didn't know what he thought of me, so I thought it right to ask. Well, one thing just led to another..."
"He's gay?" John clarified.
"No."
"You're gay?" John asked again.
"Yes." was the straight forward response. John blinked. "Does that bother you, Mr. Watson?"
"That..." John hesitated, trying to formulate his response in a way that best described his actual emotions. "Well no, no it doesn't bother me. Not about you being...that...but the fact that you seduced my roommate sort of hits a nerve!"
"Oh don't bother with him, it's not as if it will happen again. Boys wake from dreams, John. They wake most abruptly." Sherlock sighed. John felt a rather complex feeling within his stomach, the feeling of two opposing forces pulling him with perfect synchrony in opposite directions. His brain insisted that he step backwards, farther away from Sherlock so that he wasn't within arm's reach. Though his heart, a rather funny organ indeed, was insisting that he step closer. It wanted to experiment, as if it saw it necessary to take advantage of what could only be an opportunity. But each one of these feelings matched each other entirely, and so all John could do was stay in one place, feeling slightly dizzy.
"I'm not sure I'm in a position to process this." John admitted at last. Sherlock chuckled, as if that was the expected response.
"At least we are approaching the same page." He muttered. "Though there is something a bit more important than clarity, and that is trust. I say with great honesty that you are one of my few confidants. It would be impossible for my secret to leak out, especially in such a community as we have here."
"Sebastian would kick you out." John guessed.
"Worse than that, I'm sure." Sherlock whispered with a sort of shiver. John nodded, making to tap his cigarette into the ash tray that sat on the back railing but accidentally dropping the entire thing into the glass. No matter, he didn't want it much longer anyway. This conversation felt as though it was reaching its natural conclusion, even though it had lasted but a few moments.
"I'll keep your secrets." John agreed. Sherlock smiled, balancing his cigarette between his forefingers and giving John something of an appreciative look. John dared not look too long, though he figured there was a newfound spark of friendship somewhere within those multicolored irises.
"And in turn I will keep yours." Sherlock promised.
"I haven't got any of those." John pointed out, his face turning into something of a concerned frown.
"Not yet." Sherlock agreed. "But I do suspect that will change."