Secretly I Think You Knew

Giving it All Up for Love

John POV: John sat in his chair in history, watching as the red numbers changed ever so slowly on the clock, so slowly that John wanted to get out of his chair and rip the clock off of the wall. Of course that wouldn't accomplish anything, in fact he would probably get a detention and then he couldn't go to soccer practice with Sherlock and grocery shopping with Sherlock, which sounded like a lot of fun. As long as he could put Sherlock in the cart and push him down the aisles, tonight was sure to be a success. As long as Greg didn't give Sherlock any trouble. Honestly, John worried a little bit about how much Greg actually did know, because he got everything spot on, as if he had been snooping around Sherlock's house long before John had ever gotten there. Then again, it could just be a lucky guess, even the most brainless of people get some things right. But what if Greg continues digging around, what if he was determined to find out the mysteries surrounding Sherlock Holmes, mysteries John wasn't even sure he knew. There might be more to Victor than Sherlock had told him. In fact, Sherlock hadn't told him anything. What was there between those two, how did Victor end up in his freezer, how exactly did he die? Was Mycroft so against love because of Victor's attachment to Sherlock or was Victor the first one to suffer the consequences of Mycroft's war against emotion? John doubted that Sherlock would ever tell him these things, since his past and his life before John seemed to be kept under lock and key. The only thing that John knew was what Sherlock had let him know, about his brother, his parents, his uncle, and John wasn't even sure if what he knew was true. When the bell finally rang, John shouldered his backpack and dashed out the door, heading straight to Sherlock's locker. Thankfully he was there; unlocking it and pulling it open with a very bored expression on his face, as if waiting for John to appear by his side.
"Hello beautiful." John said with a smile, leaning against the lockers and smiling up at Sherlock.
"Oh, John, thank god." Sherlock muttered.
"What's wrong?" John asked. Sherlock just groaned, looking around the hallway as if afraid someone would show up.
"Could you please get Greg off of my back? He won't stop talking to me; he's under the delusion that we're friends!" Sherlock insisted.
"Ya, alright, we can sit at your table for lunch today." John sighed. Sherlock thanked him over and over again, slamming his locker shut and displaying his lunch box proudly.
"I made myself lunch." He pointed out, an adorable little smile on his face, resembling a little kid that had made themselves breakfast and in turn destroyed the entire kitchen.
"I see that, good for you." John agreed. "Did Mycroft make your lunches?"
"Well, ya, he did everything around the house. All I did was complain and break all of his rules." Sherlock shrugged, his voice dropping in regret. Was he suddenly having second thoughts about having to murder his brother? Was he beginning to regret the decision of taking Mycroft's life over John's?
"Sherlock, you did the right thing, you know that right?" John asked, putting a comforting hand on Sherlock's arm to make sure he understood that he had basically saved John's life.
"I know, I wasn't thinking about that." Sherlock insisted, but he turned away rather quickly. They walked into the lunch room together, but john could only wave at his friends as he followed Sherlock over to the empty little secluded table in the back, sitting down and opening his lunch box triumphantly to see what his mother had packed him. Meanwhile Sherlock was looking very proud of himself as he opened a little sandwich container containing a very messy looking peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"I made it myself." He muttered, suddenly not looking too proud of himself as he held it up and all the jelly leaked out of the bottom of the bread.
"You Sherlock, are a master chef." John said with a little laugh, eating the ham and cheese sandwich his mother had made for him.
"Well, I'll get better. I want some actual lunch meat when we go to the store, and some chips. Mycroft never let me have chips, not the salty good ones at least; he said they'd give me high blood pressure or something." Sherlock shrugged.
"Well he's not here, and I'll let you buy whatever you want." John assured. Sherlock smiled childishly, starting on his sad looking soggy sandwich.
"We need to have you for dinner one day Sherlock, my family, to make up for the dinner your brother made for me." John decided.
"I'd hardly call that something you need to make up." Sherlock decided with a small laugh.
"No, nothing like that, I mean your brother's cooking was really good, and I know that even though it ended rather, violently, I still want to have you over to save you from eating noodles the rest of your life." John decided.
"I'll get to be a better cook. I'm sure Mycroft wasn't too great when he started." Sherlock guessed.
"How old was he?" John asked. Sherlock sighed, looking down at his food sadly.
"He was nine." Sherlock muttered. "And he had to take care of me, I was only two years old, I could barely walk." John sighed, noting Sherlock's sadness and taking his hand gently, no matter how sticky it was, covered in jelly.
"That Mycroft is gone Sherlock, he died along with your uncle. You grew up with a monster, a cruel man that never wanted to let you be free, never wanted to let you out of the cage. You did what you had to Sherlock, because if Mycroft didn't die, I would've. And you would be sitting here, all alone, contemplating how you would possibly survive another beating when you got home." John insisted.
"I know. I know what Mycroft did, and I know that I did what I had to, but I still regret it, I mean, I'm the last Holmes in the world now." Sherlock muttered.
"Well, you can always continue the family name." John assured. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head in disgust.
"God no. I'd much rather be a Watson." Sherlock assured, that beautiful smile reappearing on his lips and slightly blush materializing in his cheeks. The rest of lunch was filled with meaningless conversation, but it was decided that Sherlock would sit in the stands during soccer practice and watch them as they practiced, and in turn John would accompany him to the grocery store. Of course John made it sound like there were so many other cool things he could be doing other than going shopping with Sherlock when in reality there was literally nothing he would want to do more. In fact the only reason John was going to soccer practice was because Sherlock was coming, otherwise he would skip out on the team once more and frolic down the soup aisle with Sherlock in the shopping cart. As John got more and more attached to Sherlock, his love for soccer dwindled more and more, and soon the league championship didn't sound as glamourous as it had before. In fact, John could really care less about their team and their coaches and their awards, the longer the soccer season progressed the more John would have to be torn away from the only thing that really mattered in his life. School dragged on as it always did, more meaningless classes about nothing in particular, not teaching them any important things like taxes and bank accounts and changing tires. Nope, but John learned all about ancient Egyptian monarchies and how to solve for X in long, complicated math problems that no one would ever find themselves doing in real life. When finally the final bell rang, John met Sherlock and Greg by his locker (they always seemed to be ready before him, he had no idea how) and they all headed down to the locker rooms together. Sherlock seemed to be a little bit nervous for some reason, as if he didn't really like the idea of sitting in on a soccer game.
"Are you sure this is...normal?" he muttered nervously, slowing down so that Greg couldn't hear their muttering.
"Normal? Of course it's normal! People do it all the time." John assured, but as he thought about it he realized that no, not many people ever witness the practices. Oh well, that's something that would have to change. Sherlock nodded doubtfully but continued on, his hands in his pockets. When they got to the locker room, John noticed that everyone sort of backed away from them. Suddenly the section in which John usually changed thinned out as all of the boys scrambled away.
"Why is everyone in such a hurry today?" John wondered, looking around at his fellow soccer teammates who avoided eye contact and quickly ran to the water fountains to fill up their water bottles. Greg sighed, looking at Mike and James as if he wanted some sort of backup.
"They're all freaked out because you, well, came out." Greg admitted. John looked at Sherlock in confusion, but he just shrugged in agreement.
"And they think now I'll want to watch them change?" John asked in disgust.
"Well...ya, that's pretty much it." Greg agreed, and Mike and James nodded in agreement.
"What idiots, can't they see they're nothing to the visual masterpiece I've already got?" John asked with a laugh. Sherlock blushed rather awkwardly, obviously feeling uncomfortable and out of place in the locker rooms before sports. He was, after all, not very sporty at all. Add all of these athletic shirtless guys and you've got the perfect mixture for making a scrawny little gay boy uncomfortable.
"Sherlock if you want to wait outside for me, you can. I don't want to drag you in here against your will." John muttered. Sherlock nodded only too enthusiastically, thanking John very silently and practically running for the exit.
"Isn't he adorable?" John asked with a loving sigh, turning back to his friends, who looked unimpressed.
"John, I know that you two just got together, and I like him, I really do, but don't you think your relationship is a little bit... what's the word?" Greg muttered, going through his very short mental vocabulary list.
"Unhealthy." James suggested.
"Yes, that's the word. Unhealthy." Greg agreed.
"Obsessive." Mike added.
"Clingy." Greg muttered. John looked at his friends in shock; here they go again, ganging up on him and his beautiful new boyfriend.
"I thought you of all people would understand that we're more than just freaks." John snapped. "I thought you all would understand that we're together not because we want to be different and rebellious, but because we're actually in love."
"You were talking about marriage John; it's not even been two days!" Greg insisted.
"Greg we were joking around! We weren't actually considering it!" John pointed out.
"He's dangerous, Greg's got a point, I remember Sherlock and Victor Trevor, they used to talk, they used to be together a lot, just like you and he are right now." Mike pointed out.
"Victor Trevor is dead, and it's no mystery who killed him." Greg added. John stood very still, trying to control his anger, trying not to start throwing punches, not to scream.
"Greg we went over this before, I thought we decided that there was no way Sherlock could kill anyone." John growled.
"No, you decided that, and then you went parading over to his house and ever since that night you've been together. I don't know what happened and frankly, I don't want to, but something changed you that night, something changed the both of you. You act as if he's the only one that understands you, and that you're his savior, as if he somehow owes you his life. You talk about bodies in his freezer, he talks about how he's going to have to somehow survive by himself, he drives himself to school now, what happened to his brother John? He had a brother, and now he's nowhere to be seen. Something happened that night John, and I don't think it ends with you and Sherlock locking lips for the first time." Greg insisted.
"You're saying that after all of this, that after befriending Sherlock and walking to science together that you're still convinced he's a murderer? He didn't kill anyone Greg, I didn't kill anyone either! His brother is on vacation, alright, he went away and we don't know when he's coming back." John insisted. It was a very poor lie, because none of his friends looked convinced. John didn't even think he looked convinced himself.
"We care about you John; we don't want you to get hurt." James insisted, trying to make up for all the yelling and betrayal going on here.
"I'm not going to get hurt, we're in love, and if you people can't see it, then what does it matter? I thought I said goodbye once, but it seems I'm going to have to do it again. And this time, I'm not coming back. I've got Sherlock; I've got all I possibly need. Don't ever come close to the two of us again, because if you want to put someone down for your own selfish needs, then you're not really my friends at all. Tell coach goodbye for me, because I suppose I won't be seeing him again either." John decided, grabbing his backpack and soccer bag.
"You know what John? Fine. Quit the team, leave your friends, go running to the only person you feel you can fully control. Go running back to Sherlock. I won't be surprised when I see your missing poster stapled onto a telephone pole. In fact, I rather hope I do, then I can come and tell I told you so to the empty coffin they put in the ground." Greg growled.
"Just because you hate him doesn't make him a murderer Greg." John snapped.
"I bet Victor Trevor said that to his friends as well." Greg snapped. John sighed, forcing a hateful smile at the people he once called his friends, fully prepared to walk out on them again.
"Goodbye Greg, goodbye Mike, goodbye James. Have fun losing the league qualifying games." John snapped, and with that he walked out of the locker room for the final time. Sherlock was sitting against the wall next to the door, looking very adorable with a book propped open on his legs. He looked up at John in confusion; obviously he could tell that there was something wrong.

"John, why aren't you dressed?" he wondered. 

"Change of plans Sherlock, we're going to the grocery store now." John decided, grabbing Sherlock's hand and pulling him to his feet.
"Wait, John, what happened?" Sherlock asked desperately.
"Oh many things, but don't worry, I solved two problems at once. First of all, I don't have to go back to soccer practice, and second of all, Greg won't be bothering the two of us ever again." John decided as he made his way out the door.
"John, you didn't..." Sherlock looked around suspiciously, but the kids that were still lingering around definitely weren't paying attention to their conversation. "You didn't kill him, right?"
"Oh course I didn't kill him, but he made his opinion about our relationship very clear, and I don't need him or the rest of them. It's just you and me Sherlock, forever." John assured, pulling Sherlock's head down and pressing a kiss onto his lips, right in the middle of the sidewalk. John sighed deeply, pulling away and smiling up at Sherlock, who still looked very confused but satisfied.

"I really needed that." John decided, and with that he started his way back to his car.