Secretly I Think You Knew

Personified Version of Love

Sherlock woke as early as he could in order to prepare for this little outing with John. In order to get what he wanted, what he needed, Sherlock was going to make sure he looked extra special. So he showered, washing his hair, adding conditioner, even using some body wash that he had convinced Mycroft to buy for him an eternity ago. When he was out of the shower Sherlock picked his best clothes, black slacks, his favorite purple shirt, and a black jacket over all of it. He wiped off the mirror and took a good look at himself, his hair still dripping and sagging with the weight of the water, but other than that he looked good. Better than he might have previously imagined. But it didn't matter what he thought, it didn't matter if he thought he was runway ready, it was what John thought, what John saw when he arrived to take Sherlock away. Sherlock dried his hair as precisely as he could, making sure each curl bounced and not a drop of water was left, brushing it out and smiling in satisfaction, he looked snazzy.
"Sherlock, am I still to take you to the library?" Mycroft's voice called from outside his door.
"Yes, I'm just getting ready!" Sherlock called.
"Alright, I'll put some pancakes on the stove!" Mycroft decided.
"Okay!" Sherlock agreed, saying anything to get his brother away. If Mycroft Saw how much Sherlock was pampering himself he might just get suspicious, so Sherlock couldn't let him see. If Mycroft was suspicious then he might insist on staying, helping with the project, or maybe he'd drive around town and try to catch John on his way to the library. Or he might possibly just not let Sherlock go at all, trap him in the house once more and make him work on the project here. Of course there was no project so Sherlock needed to make sure his brother was out of the picture. If Mycroft tagged along to help and even if John didn't show at all, Sherlock would have no project to do, no rubric to follow, and no topic to research. His brother would get extremely suspicious, and Sherlock couldn't have that. So when he thought he was ready to face John Watson in person Sherlock went downstairs, making sure not to look too excited as he took his seat at the table. 
"Do I smell...flowers?" Mycroft muttered as he pushed two pancakes onto Sherlock's plate.
"Maybe you left a window open." Sherlock suggested, thinking nervously to the body wash.
"It's almost fall, all the flowers are dead." Mycroft pointed out.
"Then I can't think of what it might be. Baking flour possibly?" Sherlock muttered. A small smile flashed onto Mycroft's face and he went over to put some more batter on the stove.
"In a good mood today, are we?" he asked. Sherlock buttered his pancakes and shrugged.
"I haven't been to the library in a while; I like being surrounded by books."Sherlock admitted.
"If I hear you've been talking to anyone except the librarian I shall be very upset with you." Mycroft warned.
"I know, who would I talk to anyways? If you're worried about John, I doubt he even knows how to read." Sherlock pointed out. Mycroft chuckled a little bit at the stove, but nodded.
"Yes, I suppose he is rather brainless." Mycroft agreed. Sherlock sighed, hating to call John an idiot, but if it was what pleased his brother than it would have to do. When breakfast was over Sherlock went to get his school bag, just a prop in his little project play. He definitely wouldn't need it, but if he wanted this to look real then it was a necessity.
"I could just drive myself if you want." Sherlock insisted as Mycroft grabbed the car keys from a little hook next to the door.
"Of course not, how would I know you're actually going to the library?" Mycroft Asked.
"If you're under the impression that I'd rather go to John's house than get a good grade on a project then you're highly mistaken." Sherlock warned. Mycroftjust twirled the keys on his fingers with a smile.
"I'm driving you, brother dear." He insisted. Sherlock just shrugged, whatever, if that's what Mycroft wanted that's what Mycroft will have to have. This was part of the plan anyway. So the two of them loaded into the car, Mycroft at the wheel and Sherlock in the passenger seat, his backpack pushed underneath his feet. Mycroft pulled out of the driveway and down the road, heading into town. Sherlock couldn't help but feel an excited flame in the pit of his stomach, anticipating everything that might come from this visit. What might John do, how would he react to finally being alone with Sherlock, somewhere Mycroft Couldn't catch them? Was John feeling the same feelings Sherlock was, was John in love as well? As preposterous as that idea was, Sherlock couldn't help but hope. If John was in love with him then his life would be made, then Sherlock would finally experience what it's like to have this pure, beautiful feeling returned. No one has ever loved him; at least, no one had ever acted on that love. Victor had claimed that what he had felt was real, but his confession was in his last moments, he might have said anything that he thought might save his life. Little did he know, that was exactly what Mycroft was trying to avoid, love, and that sentence might have been the sentence that sealed his fate. When The car pulled up the library it was about nine ten, a perfect time for Sherlock to get situated before John arrived.
"Alright then, I'll see you later." Sherlock decided.
"When am I to pick you up?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock thought for a moment.
"Well, I want to get this thing done, and I'll just eat lunch out, I've got money. How about two o'clock?" Sherlock suggested.
"Two o'clock? How long is this project going to take?" Mycroft asked in horror.
"As long as necessary, if I'm done earlier I'll just loiter, read some stuff, I am in a library, I'll occupy myself just fine." Sherlock assured. Mycroft Sighed, tapping his fingers nervously on the wheel before nodding.
"Alright, I'll pick you up here, two o'clock." he decided. Sherlock smiled, clambering out of the car and grabbing his backpack.
"Oh, and John will need a ride home too." he added.
"WHAT?!" Mycroft yelled, looking about ready to jump out of the car.
"I'm kidding Mycroft, I'm kidding. I'll see you later." Sherlock decided.
"Be good Sherlock, I'm trusting you." Mycroft insisted. Sherlock just nodded, watching as his brother drove off.
"That was the worst mistake you've ever made." Sherlock muttered, smiling proudly to himself before climbing up the stairs to the library. Inside it was a vast wonderland of smart people and knowledge. Books upon books, shelves upon shelves, between each cover was a new story, new information, a little piece of each author's soul...it was beautiful. But not nearly as beautiful as the boy who was supposed to meet Sherlock at the back of the library, so he walked over to the back, through the shelves to a secluded little desk in the back. Sherlock thought this was suitable place, all John had to do was look down the shelves but Mycroft would just think Sherlock was working, it was perfect. So he dropped his backpack on the ground and plucked some sort of book on psychology off of the shelves, reading idly while he waited for John to show up. As interesting as the book had the potential to be, Sherlock wasn't paying much attention. He was waiting, listening for John to finally make an appearance, looking up every couple of sentences to look around, as if John was hiding amongst the shelves, as if to surprise him. Sherlock didn't have a clock anywhere around him, but a little voice inside his head told him that John was late. It had to have been twenty minutes since he walked in here, and John still wasn't around. There was sudden image in his head of Mycroft beating John up in an alley way, dragging him to the car to kill him later. Had Mycroft gotten to John before John could get to Sherlock? Soon Sherlock was starting to feel anxious, maybe John had left him, maybe he had decided that all of this sneaking around wasn't worth it, maybe he had picked Greg, Mike, and James over Sherlock's fragile little heart. Sherlock was now worried, but he plunged himself into the book once more, convincing himself that John had just stopped to get coffee or something, or maybe the librarians weren't letting him in because he had mud on his shoes.