Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Eighteen - A Date, Almost

When they got home, two hours later, his dad looked at him. Really looked.

"Wow, Johnny." He scratched his blonde scruff. "You've... gotten... taller."

"Yeah," John mused. "I haven't grown at all."

Rory shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "No problem," and made his way to the flat screen. "Wanna watch some BBC? Or whatever you kids watch on weekends?"

"Um, no thanks, I'll watch what you're watching," John said, just to be polite, and John plunked on the couch in front of the TV. God, this was luxury. Rory was the type of man who shopped when he was hungry. He bought beer and crackers and lemonade and cheese dip and nachos to match. Like, he was an art form.

John almost felt bad about stealing food from him - but then he looked at all the food in his kitchen and the guilt dissipated. Chances were Rory wouldn't even notice, there was so much food.

Every once in awhile, Rory would attempt to start up a meager conversation. He'd mentioned something about moving almost eight hours away, or something, and then he'd added, "I mean, you could come, at any time, John, Amy likes you." John shook his head no, or maybe he nodded his head yes; he wasn't paying attention. Soon, Rory realized that there was nothing to talk about, considering that John's life was horrendous and talking about it with his dad felt like torture. Except... John could tell him this one thing.

"I met a boy."

Rory tilted his head. "Hmm?" He almost seemed ready to turn off the TV. His hand hovered over the remote as he looked up, puffing at a cigarette.

"I said that I met a boy."

"You did?"

"Yeah," John said, "his name's Sherlock."

"Sherlock?"

"Yeah." John smiled. "Sherlock bloody Holmes."

Rory tapped his cigarette into a metal ash tray, full to the brim with gray powder. He smoked because he was a nervous wreck, John supposed, but he didn't care. "So? What about him?"

"He's nice. And he likes me."

"He likes you?" Rory's tone was asking for confirmation.

"Yeah."

"How much?"

"Enough," John responded, sidling closer to his dad.

"Enough," John's dad echoed. "Are you saying..."

"Yep," John said, slowly, experimentally. "And I need help."

Rory's eyebrows furrowed for the slightest moment, deep in thought, and then he said, "I can't help you, John, I mean... look at me. Your mother left because I wasn't... enough."

"You know that's not why," John said angrily. "And I'm not asking you to be manly. I'm asking you to be my dad."

"I... I am your dad." Rory looked away.

"What happened when you met Amy?"

"Well. Well, I mean..." his dad smiled slightly, and his dark blue eyes shined. "Amy. She was just... I think she was shopping. At Asda," Rory laughed, "and I saw her, and I just..."

"Yeah?"

"I walked over. And she asked me where the bathroom was."

"The bathroom." John's voice was disbelieving. "She asked you where to use the bathroom."

"Yeah, I actually think she was bleeding - her hand got slashed with a wine glass. Maybe she needed a band-aid, I'm not sure."

"That's how you met Amy."