Like a Fairytale

Big Brother is Watching

"So, I guess I should be leaving, mom will fuss and I still have some chores to do." John admitted.
"Chores?" Sherlock asked, he had never known that word to have meaning in his life.
"Yes, unfortunately Mom doesn't want Mrs. Turner coming anywhere near my room, so I'm responsible." John muttered.
"Poor thing." Sherlock laughed.
"Shut up." John snapped, but he was smiling. He slid off of his chair and onto the ground, crumbling up the trash in his container and throwing it into the trash can. Sherlock followed suit, throwing the partially empty chip bag out and draining his ice tea, which he recycled of course. They left the restaurant, both of them ducking around the corners and looking over their shoulders a lot to make sure no one saw them together. When Sherlock's house was in view they decided he would walk first and then John would follow since there were many windows overlooking the street, anyone in the house could happen to glance out and see them saying good bye.
"Okay, see you tomorrow then?" John asked.
"I guess so."
"Same time."
"Yep." Sherlock agreed.
"Okay, see you later." John said with a quick smile to Sherlock. Sherlock's heart did a flip in his chest, John looked so happy and innocent and bloody attractive, but he just nodded stiffly before disappearing down the street, blending into the crowd and entering his house. After making sure no one was around he jammed his eye into the peep hole in the door, seeing John's short blonde head walk through the crowd a moment later, glancing once to the house before disappearing down the sidewalk.
"Looking for someone?" said a cold voice behind him, making Sherlock whip around, his bag hitting the door and making him stumble over an umbrella stand. Smooth Sherlock, smooth. Mycroft was leaning on the railing of the steps all the way at the top, as if he were going to slide down it, but the scowl on his face said otherwise.
"Um, mailman." Sherlock lied quickly.
"Expecting something then?" Mycroft asked, descending down the stairs slowly and menacingly, like this was some stupid interrogation. Sherlock's mind raced, what would he be expecting?
"Ya, um, college applications." He stuttered.
"Ah, college, of course. Which one then?" Mycroft asked.
"Why do you care?"
"Why are you so anxious to hide it?" Mycroft shot back.
"Stop acting like I'm a baby Mycroft, I can handle myself!" Sherlock hissed.
"Obviously." Mycroft muttered, eying his face as if the basketball had given him a black eye or something. It might have, he hadn't checked.
"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked, it was unusual to see Mycroft anywhere but at meals. Usually he was at the office, not like he worked the whole time, Sherlock was convinced he picked the lock in his father's office and sat in the chair, pretending to be official and at the head of the company.
"Why are you not?"
"Why won't you answer my questions?"
"Why won't you answer mine?" Mycroft asked. This was impossible, two extraordinary minds battling off with questions neither wanted to answer, more like a sass fest.
"Because you're an idiot." Sherlock pointed out.
"And yet I'm smarter than you."
"Not for long." Sherlock muttered. Mycroft was now on the ground floor, scowling and picking up the knocked over umbrellas, taking great caution with them as if they were his own children or something. Sherlock made a low growl in his throat, pushing past him and running up the stairs before his idiot, nosey brother could ask anymore stupid questions. He shut the door quickly, seeing Redbeard laying on the bed, looking tired as usual.
"Hello Redbeard." Sherlock sighed, the thrill of a day with John crushed by Mycroft. Of course, Sherlock couldn't have anything good in this life, not even a positive feeling, it was just illegal. Sherlock threw his bag on the floor and sat on the bed, his chin resting on his elbows and staring blankly at the closet. The mystery still lives on, why was John being so nice to him? It was impossible for someone to be so horrible and then so nice after not even a few days, it wasn't normal at all. Was John just playing him, will he walk in tomorrow, expecting to be greeted with a smile and be instead greeted by Anderson, Greg, and Mike? Was it a set-up, and if so how far was John willing to go before he would once again hate him? But what if, by some impossible measure, John wasn't faking? What if he was just unfazed by the whole forced kiss thing and wanted to be friends, or even more than friends? The idea was impossible, John would never want to be more than friends, he had Mary and Sherlock had a reputation, it would simply be too much to ask for. And why would John like him, what did he even have to offer? Sure his hair was nice, in his eyes at least, but other than that he was a freak, and no one would want to date a freak. Sherlock flopped onto his bed, groaning with annoyance. Why couldn't he just stay unattached, like Mycroft, he never had crushes or anything, Sherlock was sure he'd sell his entire family for some extra press attention. He never stayed up at night wondering, he never spent his days involuntarily day dreaming, it wasn't fair. It was John's fault in the end, he had to be so impossible, he had to be so attractive, why couldn't he have been born in somewhere far away, like Antarctica, where Sherlock could never see him? Sherlock spent the rest of the day laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and imagining what could, what might, and what never should be.