Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Thirty Six - The Hairdresser

John

Sherlock's dad asked Sherlock to set the table. That was usually John's cue to leave.

He rushed down the steps before anyone could stop him... and nearly ran into his mum.

"Oh, hello, John. Leaving so soon?" She was planting bulbs in their enormous front yard.

"Yes, Mrs. Holmes, have a good night!" he yelled, rushing past her. Her fingers skimmed his arm as she reached to him.

"John, uh," she said, "wait." She put down her spade and whatever else she was holding, took off her gardening gloves, and leaned against the Mustang in the drive.

John stopped and looked at her politely, even though his stomach was bubbling and growling about it. "Yeah?"

"John, well," she said, "I'm growing tired of asking you to stay for dinner."

John shifted.

"What I'm trying to say is that I don't feel as if you need an invitation anymore, John. You're just welcome to it." John's stomach flipped. She was making him thrice as uncomfortable as he usually was around her, which was actually quite uncomfortable.

"I wouldn't tell you this if I knew you were being protected by your parents. And I also wouldn't tell you unless I thought you were mature enough to understand it," she started. John's stomach was slowly sinking. "We know your step-father from a few years ago, when Sherlock's father worked in the court system."

"Pickard?"

Violet hesitated for a moment, gathering herself. She held onto John's shoulder for a second. "Has Emma told you anything about your step-father's arrests?"

"My mum? My mum never said he served time."

Violet's brow furrowed, and for a second her chocolate eyes looked more like Sherlock's than hers.

"He didn't serve time, he was never charged."

Charged with what?

She continued, "A teenager's mother alleged he'd sexually abused her child, but the District Attorney dismissed it because there wasn't enough evidence. This is an extremely serious thing that I'm telling you. I know it doesn't make your life easier."

John felt his mouth fall open and render him speechless, and he tried to close it again but it refused. Violet began to speak, but he couldn't hear her over the sound of his thoughts, which were screaming.

No, they repeated, no no no no no no no. Now he knew Pickard's goal in all of this. Now he knew why he grew so nice so quickly. Harry, John thought. God, Harry.

John's stomach flipped right then. Flipped right over and out his mouth. He began to cough, bending over some tulips, trying not to get his saliva all over them. Violet stared wide-eyed as he did so, until her hand patted his back hard, and she whispered, "You can come here whenever you would like, my love."

John wiped his mouth. Just because no one could prove it didn't mean it wasn't true. He could be home right now, with Harry... John began to cough again. He was so scared. It scared him how scared he was. It felt as if he was dreaming. How did this even happen in real life? Weren't there rules against these things? Weren't the cops supposed to protect kids from men like this?

"He is so disgusting," John choked. "He is a dirty bastard." Violet disregarded his cussing completely, probably because she understood how simply... messed up John felt.

"I need you to be careful," Violet started, "If you need to be away from him for a while, you're welcome here." Her hand went on his still shaking shoulder. "Always."

John nodded.

"So this is the last time I'm going to ask you to stay for dinner."

John gave her a weak smile, and she smiled back, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder.

Sherlock

John on the couch, holding his hand. Asking Sherlock to help him with math at the kitchen table. Helping his mum to take in groceries, despite how heavy they were. Eating everything she made politely, and without bias...

They were relentlessly together, and it still wasn't even close to enough. Sherlock never had any time to hug him. And John never had the time to kiss him, which Sherlock was pretty sure he decidedly loved to do.

Sherlock refused to lie on his bed with John at the same time, though. He didn't want his dad to walk in and see them. Plus, if they did, Sherlock would end up kissing him, and then Mum would walk in and John would end up spazzing out onto the floor. And God, Sherlock simply couldn't imagine having sex with him. It would seem wrong. He'd never asked to, thank God.

If Violet saw that, all her good natured feelings towards John would go up in flames.

But Sherlock's mum liked him. A lot. Despite that, she still hated John's clothes. Sherlock always saw her looking John up and down and shaking her head profusely.

"Doesn't he own anything other than those Converse?" she always asked. Sherlock laughed.

"Loafers," he'd said.

John was always extremely polite to her. He even started up with small talk one Saturday evening, when she was organizing supplies on the kitchen table.

"How long've you been a beautician?"

His mum smiled up at John; she loved that word. "Oh, ever since Mycroft was maybe... nine. 1999, I think."

"Wow, Mrs. Holmes. I expect you're rather good."

"Maybe," she said, shrugging excitedly.

"I would never be able to do any of that."

"Don't you paint?"

John began to stutter. "I, uh, no, um, yes. Sort of."

"Then there is nothing to it. It isn't that hard, I guarantee you." Her eyes lit up. "Hey, I have a grand idea. Makeover. Your hair is growing much too long, and you need a good shave-"

"Oh, no, no. I'm good, I don't-"

"Yes!" Violet yelled. "Oh, when I'm done with you, you will look simply stunning."

"Mum," Sherlock said, "John doesn't need a makeover."

"Ma'am, I..."

"You'll look like a grown man," she said excitedly.