Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Eighteen - A Date, Almost

John

When John woke up, he felt high as a kite. Like he was on happy drugs. Or like it was his birthday, back when his mum still lived with his dad, and they weren't poor, and Harry bought him action figures. John felt bloody brilliant.

John put on his only dress shirt, which was a size too big, but Harry said he looked dapper and to tell Rory she loved him and all that. Emma actually kissed him at the door and squished his cheeks.

"Have fun," she'd said, and John smiled bigger than he ever had. Ever. "Call a neighbor if you need me to pick you back up."

John nodded slowly, not bothering to remind her that he wanted to run away from home.

He was a little nervous, honestly - he hadn't seen his dad in more than a year. He didn't remember him calling when he was staying at the Dilane's, which was probably for the better. John never told him their number.

And Pickard had a tendency to just hate on Rory. He'd say, "Whata do-no-gooder," and whenever he said that, John took the time to excuse himself and step outside to laugh until he couldn't (John was into the simpler pleasures in life).

When John got onto the bus, the tie John was wearing cracked Sherlock up.

"How much did you pay for that?"

"Sixty goddamned pounds."

Sherlock's smile flattened, and he said, "I wasn't aware that we had to dress up."

"We don't," John said, "I'm just pretending we're going on a date."

"We are," Sherlock clarified, "Practically." John used this opportunity to take Sherlock's tie in his hands and straighten it. Sherlock grimaced. John saw, and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Someone's looking."

"So?"

"So I don't want you to get bullied because of this."

"I'm already bullied," John scoffed. "And anyway-" John leaned so close he could taste Sherlock on his tongue, "-I want them to know."

"Why?"

Why? "Because. I dunno. I like you." John said the words carefully, as if they were china dolls that would break in his mouth. "And, anyway." John changed the subject. "I've compiled a list of personal questions for you to answer. For the phone."

"Really," Sherlock said.

"Yes," John replied. "It's very long. Very personal."

"I'll try to answer them to the best of my shockingly extensive ability."

"Shut up."

When school was over, John sat on the steps, waiting for a car to come up. John wasn't really sure what to look for; maybe his dad was riding a bloody motorcycle, he didn't know.

He was starting to think he'd never show up, or maybe he did and John didn't see him, or maybe he didn't care. Not like he didn't. Just... he wasn't able to, maybe he had a mental block.

But he did show up, literally five seconds later. Speak of the devil and he will appear, John thought. He was driving a bright red stick (John's dad, not the devil), and his arm was draped out the window, lit cigarette in hand.

"Johnny!" his dad yelled. "You can ride shotgun!" John ran to the car full speed and hopped inside as if his life depended on it, not even bothering to mention that there was no one else in the car to ride shotgun.