•Teenlock•Parentlock• If All Else Fails

1• A knowledge of Beauty

It was getting dark. Having stayed out late the previous night, John decided he'd leave His friends to drink the night away while he went home to his sister, Harry. Harry wasn't exactly 'fun' company, and she still classified as a teenager in Baskerville terms. She was twenty one, but never went out, it was stressful for everyone involved. She'd either spend five hours getting dressed and then cry for a few hours due to her Body Dysmorphia or go out and get way to drunk and have to be carried home to avoid being left on the streets. But John loved his sister, and she was interesting. She had more stories, more experience than everyone else, but admittedly, she wasn't as fun as his friends.
"Harry! I'm home." John yelled, stepping through the door and putting his keys on the chest of drawers to his right.
"I'm upstairs. I'll be down in a second." Harry answered. Her voice sounding thick and nasal. She'd been crying again. John sighed and went into the living room and grabbed his laptop. "Hey John." Harry said with a weak smile on her face.
"Hey Harry." John smiled, looking back to his laptop. He looked at his email and grimaced. Fourteen new messages from that damn university, and another twelve from sixth form. John didn't want any reminder about universities. It almost literally ripped his heart out when he realised Molly and Sherlock got into the best university in the whole of England- Windsor, a few miles away. He cursed them for being so smart. John and the rest of his friends had barely scraped by, getting into Baskerville University. He was almost jealous, no, he was jealous of Molly, getting to spend what Harry called 'the best years of your life' with his best friend. But at the same time, Sherlock offered to come to Baskerville Uni with John, but John declined. He didn't want his friend to miss out on his proper education for him.
John opened the emails. They were all about damn books and boring things. Harry's saw the frustrated look on John's face. "What's wrong?" She asked with a little, kind smile.
"So much. All this! I mean, I don't even want to go to university, but i'll never get a job otherwise." John said, taking his eyes off his laptop to look pleadingly at his sister.
"You could do a gap year. I don't know who'd go with you but I'm sure someone would." Harry suggested. "And I heard Australia's nice. And mom and dad always wanted to go there." She said sadly.
"No." John said. "I was thinking more long term. Use the money for something... Meaningful." He pondered in his head for a few minuets before shakily bringing up Army Jobs.
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Sherlock, on the other hand, decided not to go home. He wanted to spend as much time as possible away from his delicate home life before he got to university. He didn't want to see his pathetic parents and useless brother. He didn't want to sit in his room, texting John, close to tears because of the screaming downstairs, not telling John he was close to crying. He didn't want that, for him or for his John. He sighed, a can of beer in his right hand. His John. The words just sounded so right, they clicked. John didn't like him like that, Sherlock didn't like John like that. Just a phase. Sherlock thought. Happens to everyone.
Irene sat next to Sherlock, on the old tree that sat peacefully by the lake, which was bursting with colour from the lights that Molly had decorated the tree with. Pinks, greens, blues, reds, they all merged together in the lake. Beautiful. Sherlock smiled to himself. "What are you thinking Sherlock?" Irene asked, resting her head on Sherlocks shoulder, a plastic glass of cheap wine in her hands.
"Beauty." Sherlock answered, truthfully. "Beauty is a pathetic image forced upon us in childhood, but when you see things like this, the lake, reflecting all the colours, you can hardly call it ugly."
"Hmm." Irene hummed in agreement. "You know what else is beautiful Sherlock Holmes?"
"What?"
"You." She breathed. She proceeded to pick up her white leather bag and stumble home with a slurred 'come on Molly.' Molly shakily waved at Sherlock and followed her cousin, skipping a little. Mary and Greg had long gone, so it was only Sherlock left. He thought about his earlier speech, about beauty.
Beauty, he decided, does not come from the eyes alone. It comes from the ears, the nose, and all other senses too. Beauty is not a figment of anyone's imagination, nor is it not there at all. Beauty came in kindness, honesty, humour, optimism in the darkest times. Beauty, Sherlock realised, was John Hamish Watson.

A/N
HEY! I hope you enjoy this fic, and if you haven't already, check out my other one, 'Because It Matters.'
Sorry for the short chapter. I'm a short person and I can't deal with all this. ;)
Sherlockian Love-
~Izzy~