He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

The Reactionary Phase

                    When John awoke he almost felt like a new man, there was this sort of happiness bubbling in his chest that didn't want to go away. It felt like there was a balloon pressing on his heart, expanding so much that it made him want to explode. He knew that this balloon had to be love, and it kept getting filled with thoughts about Sherlock, beautiful thoughts about that beautiful man. John had woken from a sleep that had been plagued with dreams about that man, all of these things that had preciously seemed impossible, but now John realized were actually rather probable. Their first kiss, their proposal, their marriage, all of it just flipping like a slideshow in John's brain, behind his eyelids he saw his hopeful future. It was Sunday, thankfully, and John just lay in his bed under his fluffy blankets, staring up at the ceiling and smiling to himself. He really did feel like he had a new purpose in life, staring at a new ceiling and thinking about a new person in a new town with new friends and a new job. Who he was now and who he had been a year ago seemed to be two completely different people, one was miserable, under constant surveillance from a dictator wife who's only goal was to make John's life as miserable as possible. Now he felt renewed, like a flower blooming in the spring after the harshest of winters, he was able to show his true colors, able to be a completely different person with no expectations at all. And this time he might have actually found his ideal partner, his soul mate with the purest definition of the word. John eventually decided he should crawl out of bed, pulling on his bathrobe and stumbling down the stairs to the kitchen. He saw that Hamish's door was closed so he tiptoed through the house, as to not wake the sleeping beauty. The last thing John needed on a peaceful Sunday morning was a screaming child. The first thing John did when he got down stairs was check Mrs. Hudsons' driveway for any possible white trucks. Since it was only seven thirty in the morning it wasn't a surprise when the driveway was empty, but John couldn't help but feel a little bit disappointed. But what would John even say to Sherlock the morning after their date? Good morning, I'm hopelessly in love with you. See that just doesn't work. John just shook his head, letting the curtain fall back in place and going to pour himself a bowl of cereal in the kitchen. He sat on the couch and watched the news, watching the bland weekend news crew mumble on about things and crunching on Coco Puffs, hoping Hamish didn't wake up and catch him eating his cereal. He knew that even though his morning was going to be peaceful his afternoon was not. He had to fill out that application for the grocery store as fast as he could so that he could get an interview and get a job. John needed money, and he needed money now. He still hadn't checked what damage had been done to his account after that fancy sushi, but he was sure there would be an even bigger hole he had to start filling up. This job, however, puny it might end up being, was his only option at employment, until he could find some better offer someplace else. Even though John really didn't want to be a cashier he knew that if it was going to help him feed his son then he would have to take it, besides he was about done sitting around at home all day anyway.
"Good morning daddy." Hamish muttered about an hour later, groggily rubbing his eyes and walking over to the cabinets to pour himself some cereal. Thankfully John had replaced the box of Coco Puffs to its usual spot on the shelf, and had long since washed his bowl and cleared all evidence.
"Good morning Hamish, sleep good?" John wondered. Hamish shrugged, clumsily pouring milk into his cereal and drowning all of the little brown puffs in lactose.
"Ya, I guess so. I had a dream that you married Mr. Sherlock and adopted another kid, a baby girl." Hamish said with a little smile. John just laughed, but couldn't help but hope that might be the case.
"Really? What was her name?" John wondered.
"I don't know, but at night she turned into a demon and crawled around the kitchen floor with knives, it was a really weird dream." Hamish admitted. Oh, so maybe this wasn't the ideal future for them.
"Alright then, if I ever consider adoption I'll make sure I don't accidentally adopt Lucifer." John decided with a laugh. Hamish nodded in agreement, coming over to sit on the couch and switching out some news special on a 5k to cartoons. On Sunday mornings they played the old cartoons, Roadrunner and Bugs Bunny, all the good cartoons that had been otherwise overlooked by youth these days.
"Are you going to see Mr. Sherlock today?" Hamish wondered between bites.
"I hope so." John admitted. He would love to see Sherlock but he honestly didn't know if that was going to be possible, he didn't even know if Sherlock was going to show up today, did he work on Sundays? That or he was going to show up just to bait John to coming over and saying hi; maybe he was going to fill Mrs. Hudson in on what happened the night before. John didn't really mind Sherlock telling Mrs. Hudson, just as he'd hope that Sherlock didn't mind his telling Molly, but it kind of made him a bit curious to hear just what Sherlock was going to say. Would he tell her every single little detail, no matter how private it probably should be? As much as John liked Mrs. Hudson and respected her as a person, he didn't really want her knowing every little detail about his love life, especially if it wasn't him giving away all the details. John checked his window five times before he finally saw that truck parked in the driveway, it's peeling white paint gleaming in the sunlight like a beacon of hope. Good, now John could at least do another innocent walk by to try to bait someone to come out and talk to him. He waited until after lunch, deciding to ask Hamish to throw a football or something in the front yard. Of course he wasn't using his son as bait, of course not; he was just taking time out of his day to spend time with Hamish. Yes, and try to make as much noise as possible so he could possibly see Sherlock again. So they went out on the front yard and played the most pathetic game of football ever, just tossing the ball back and forth. It might have been fun if Hamish could actually throw the ball, but it would either spin out of control as soon as it left his hand or just twirl awkwardly through the air and land five feet away. Hamish was getting better at catching though, he was able to catch most of the balls John threw at him. One time, however, John threw a particularly good spiral, perhaps too good, right at Hamish's face. The poor boy tried to catch it but it slipped through his hands and ending up hitting him right in the nose. Hamish screamed dramatically and fell to the grass, clutching his face and bursting into tears. Well if that wasn't a summoning for old ladies John didn't know what was, because as soon asa single tear fell from his eye Mrs. Hudson came running out of her house, Sherlock and Redbeard not far behind.

  "Hamish are you alright?" John asked, running up to where his son lay crying on the ground. 

"Daddy that hurt!" he exclaimed through sobs. John kneeled beside him, not knowing how bad the injury might be since Hamish's hands were still clutched over his face in agony. John couldn't see any blood, so that was a good sign. At the moment though, he was less concerned with Hamish's future modeling career and more concerned with the real life male model running across the street towards him, the beautiful man John was pleased to call his boyfriend.
"Is everyone alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked, running over to the scene.
"I don't know, he won't show me." John admitted, stepping back to let Mrs. Hudson take over. Obviously she was more qualified than he was. Sherlock stood next to Mrs. Hudson as she eased Hamish's hands away from his face, where they saw a small little cut right below his lip, dripping blood down his chin. John sighed in relief, well at least he wasn't totally injured.
"Oh that's not that bad." John said automatically, and he received two equally sour glares from his companions.
"Here honey, let's go inside, get this cleaned up." Mrs. Hudson decided, helping Hamish to his feet and leading him across the street to her house, still blubbering and wiping tears from his eyes. This left just Sherlock, John, and Redbeard, who obviously wasn't going to be an adequate awkwardness shield. No, this dog wasn't going to censor their conversation at all, which might be a good thing or a bad thing, John hasn't decided yet.