Sigma Eta

An Empty Embrace

There was nothing Sebastian could do, no word that he could utter to prevent Sherlock's official declaration. And Sherlock only recollected himself, hardly giving Sebastian time to process his announcement before running at him with full speed and pouncing onto him like a cat. The momentum was too much for a boy who couldn't readjust himself to handle the pressure; together the two went toppling over. John was helpless to do anything, though he was sure that if Sebastian felt the same way he did now, frozen solid, well he was afraid that the poor boy might shatter with the impact! But no, the two hit the floor with the a thunk and Sherlock scrambled back to his feet, stepping hard onto Sebastian's chest and taking deep, motivated breaths. He looked ready to kill, ready to drive his foot into Sebastian's skull enough times to kill him. But it wouldn't work, it couldn't work. Because at the present moment, Sebastian was breathing, but he was already dead.
"So you see it, brothers." Sherlock announced, flattening his foot onto Sebastian with such a force that the entire room awoke. Sebastian took to thrashing with his newfound freedom, and John could only use his mobility to force himself into a chair, knowing that if he allowed his feet to be on the floor they would only run to Sebastian's aid. And he couldn't have that, he couldn't defy Sherlock. It was a moral battle, quite akin to being torn apart like a piece of paper, right down the middle.
"I take your position, Sebastian. I take your brotherhood. I take your place in this house." Sherlock insisted. "I have you at my mercy!" There must have been much more weight within Sherlock's foot than could possibly have been summoned by the whole of his body weight, for Sebastian seemed perfectly immobile. What had to be only ninety pounds of bony boy was able to keep Sebastian from conjuring enough momentum to get off the floor, and try as he might his limbs simply couldn't help in the process. His arms couldn't reach, his legs couldn't flail, all he could do was thunk his head up and down on the ground, as if trying to knock himself unconscious.
"Don't kill him!" John declared, forcing his hand in front of his mouth so quickly after the statement that the escaping breaths couldn't get through his fingers. Oh now he had done it, his mouth acting on its own accord! The attention shifted from the scene in the middle of the room, it shifted to John. And along with the eyes of the whole room, he summoned Sherlock's glance as well.
"Kill him? John, you think I intended to kill him?" Sherlock chuckled, shaking his head with a little sigh. Slowly he eased his foot off of Sebastian's chest, and while the boy was free to get to his feet he instead kept laying there, his eyes focused up onto the ceiling as if trying to block out the stimuli in the room.
"I...I don't know." John whispered. "I'm sorry for interrupting."
"I appreciate interruption from you, John. Anything from you." Sherlock assured. John smiled, though not on his own accord.
"Is this it, then? Are you our new president?" Tobias asked from the corner, now thoroughly entertained with the scene in front of him. He seemed to forget even his girlfriend, who was equally stricken.
"Not without the popular vote, of course!" Sherlock laughed, offering a hand to Sebastian, who swatted it away miserably. There was joy in Sherlock's face, mocking, distasteful, villainous joy. Though he looked happy, and for that John's heart glowed with the same pride.
"You have mine." came a voice from the corner, Clay, by the looks of it.
"And mine." Tobias agreed, grabbing hold of his girlfriend's hand and clutching it thankfully. She gave a radiant smile, as if that counted as her vote as well. In procession each boy in the room spoke up, the whole of the house declaring their votes against Sebastian and for their new, dominant President. And who could not vote for such a man, who could not support such a show of power, a tour de force? Each voice raised more agressivley; shouting out their voices for Sherlock Holmes, even Greg found it within himself to submit his approval. When all was said and done, when each voice but one had been turned, John found the attention of Sherlock Holmes focused back onto him. Sherlock had noticed, undoubtedly, that he had not voiced his opinion. And what could he do, here with Sebastian laying desperately on the floor? He cared for Sebastian, that man was a brother to him, a hero, a role model. How could he dismantle all that Sebastian had worked for, in favor of a usurper? The more powerful Sherlock became the more frightening he appeared, and now it seemed that his eyes were glowing with force. And those eyes, of course, were focused right into John's.
"John, your opinion please? Unanimous is always preferable." Sherlock whispered. He began to walk over to the desk, flicking his cigarette over towards where Sebastian lay, boring his influence down upon John with every step he took. John began to shake, his fingers clenched so tightly upon the desk that his knuckles and whole upper arms were turning white. He couldn't take it, the pressure, the fixation, the eye contact.
"You....you have my vote." John whispered, in a voice so quiet that he could hardly hear himself. Though Sherlock appeared to hear, and with those words a smile broke out upon his face. That beautiful face, broken into an authentic, breathlessly happy smile. It was a look so radiant that John melted into it, his tension eased away, he found himself leaning forward, throwing out his arms for Sherlock to catch him across the desk. And catch him he did. Sherlock took John's hands, steadying the boy as he fell and huddling as much of him as he could into his chest. John let his head fall upon Sherlock's shoulder, his entire body stretched across the wood which separated them, wrapping his arms around the boy's neck and declaring things into his skin that he didn't even know he believed. He uttered his love, his obedience, his awe, his worship. He didn't know if Sherlock could hear him, in fact he didn't care, it just felt good to unload each one of his most shameful emotions onto that boy's skin. He wished to blemish him with the force of his secrets. And when his words had faded, when there was nothing more left to admit, John hoisted himself onto the table, struggling to get his legs up and over the edge of the desk. He disregarded all the things upon the desk, the pens, the notebooks, the ashtray that fell to the floor and shattered at their feet. In the perfect view of the entire living room. He pulled Sherlock closer into him, kneeling upon the wood and drawing his lips upon Sherlock's exposed neck, lacing his tongue about the stretches of collarbone. He didn't care, it was as if all inhibitions had been lifted, it was as if his most primal instincts had been unlocked. Sherlock's love, his happiness, it was radiating forward and infecting John with passions he couldn't fully describe. And it might have been perfect, it might have been. Though as easily as Sherlock could inject passion, just as easily could he revoke it. And he chuckled, and John's eyes snapped open. And the world returned.