Soulmate Au but it's Johnlock! (UNDER HEAVY EDITING- 10/19/2020)

"Answer me!"

  Sherlock's day went as smith as any other. It actually went faster than expected. He had English with Jim, which was fun, because Sherlock got to sit next to Jim because Irene was sick that day. And, because the teacher was still on his honey moon with his newly-wedded bride, they got to talk while the others did their projects, because they've already done theirs. Jim was interesting, but not as interesting as John, no doubt about it. Just interesting, and fun, and flirty. Don't get him wrong, John had his flirty moments at times, but Jim was, wow. He made Sherlock's stomach very warm and his heart beat very fast. For some reason, however, when Jim drew hearts on Sherlock's wrists, it didn't feel like when John would catch Sherlock with just marked up lines in Band, or when he would poke Sherlock on the very routes of his mop of curls with the eraser of his pencil on their way back to his house, nor like the sparks when John's hand brushed against the side of Sherlock's thigh on the packed tube.

  Sherlock giggled as Jim poked him just as John would, but in the hallways. "stop it, John-," Sherlock realized what he'd said as Jim slowed his pace. "John? Who's John?" He asked. Sherlock turned. "John? I said Jim." Sherlock lied. Jim smiled as he laughed nervously, "Oh, thank goodness! I thought you said John!" Said Jim as he linked his arm around Sherlock's. "I wouldn't want you cheating on me, now." He said.

Maths was good. I mean, don't get him wrong, any class was a pleasure with Jim there, but the one without was hell. "Fag, Fag! I need a fag!" A boy in eighth grade said, wondering around the room. He then dropped a heavy hand on Sherlock's shoulder, startling Sherlock to drop his book. "Ah, Here's the fag!" The boy mused slyly. Sherlock flares over his shoulder. He was about to say something when there was a knock at the door. The teacher opened it to allow Jim into the room. He was originally there to deliver a pass, but he saw the eighth grader punching Sherlock's shoulder And he looked at Sherlock to see that his face was contorted in pain. "Hey, get off of him!" Jim shouted in his loud Irish accent. "Oh, what? Lucky charms is gonna give it to me now, eh?" The boy teased, as Jim was only a bit taller than Sherlock. "Hell yeah, I'll give it to ya', alright! Let go of my boyfriend before I smash you face into that wall so fucking hard," Jim pointed to the beige painted brick wall to his left, "they'll be pullin' beige paint chips from your serrabellum at your otopsy, you fucking kike." He said with a smile so devious, no one messed with Sherlock for the rest of the day. "You didn't have to do that, you know," Sherlock sheepishly said in the hallway. "Dear, they put bruises on you. You think I'm gonna let that stand?" He said as he gave the taller boy a hug and a quick kiss on the lips before waving Sherlock a good day as he walked back into the school for his Raiders training, leaving Sherlock bright red and waiting impatiently to see John at Band practice

Sherlock's father was there instead of the usual Mycroft. Sherlock opened the door. "You've decided to be a parent, then, father?" Sherlock said, gesturing to the empty trunk of clothes and things they've previously packed for their trip back to the Americas. "William, I'm your dad; stop calling me 'father!'" His father said, looking over to his son to realize someone wrote their number on his arm. "You've got yourself a Girlfriend, then, William?" He asked, putting he car in drive and putting a bit of pressure onto the gas. "Greg said the school called and Jazz Band is cancelled. Something about the Xylophone player moving to France or something," The man muttered. "Barely anyone was at the practice, so they didn't want the out of district kids to commute for no reason." "We have a Vibraphone player, but their parents have steady jobs." Sherlock wondered, then shrugged it off. Sherlock stayed quiet after that. It wasn't an awkward silence in his eyes, it was a comfortable silence. Sherlock appreciated those times with John. The Astronomy nights were the best! Sherlock started to smile and smirk at the fact that he actually still had a chance with John. He then, knew that John had no soulmate, he could confess and say that he had none as well. He'd have to let him down easily, though. That shouldn't be a problem.

  Sherlock walked in the house after his father and immediately want for the landline. He went upstairs to his room and dialed, assuming Jim would pick up. "Hello?" A woman's voice too familiar picked up instead of the classroom friendly Jim Moriarty. "Oh, Miss. Ortiz. Uh, is John there?" Sherlock asked. Sherlock must've not washed properly, or maybe his eyes were deceiving him. He took the phone from his ear and looked at the number he dialed. It was right. Oh. As Sherlock heard her voice answer, he quickly returned the phone to his ear. "Sherlock. John's gone," She said. Sherlock's heart dropped. "Wha-wha- Well, What do you mean, 'he's gone,'!?" Sherlock asked loudly. "He's headed for the airport now. He's they've moved him to Jersey, Sherlock." She explained. "There's still time! Please, give me his number!" Sherlock urged. After he had John's mobile phone number, he ran downstairs to pull Mycroft to the side of a conversation. "We need to go to the airport, NOW!" He urged as he shoves the number in Mycroft's face. "Willi-wha-?" Mycroft muttered out. "John's going to Jersey! I need to say goodbye!" Sherlock scrambled for his shoes and Mycroft's keys. "Why?" He asked. Sherlock was already heading out the door. Mycroft shrugged, kissed Greg, and followed his little brother's distress call.

  Sherlock was frantically dialing John's mobile number to Mycroft's mobile. It rang six agonizing rings before it went to voicemail. "Ugh, aaaah! Pick up the fucking phone, idiot!" Sherlock growled as he dialed again, earning a judgmental look from his older brother, who was driving the car. "C'mon, c'mon, c'moooooooon! Answer me, John, please!" At the fourth try, Sherlock was close to tears. He warned very confused looks from Mycroft's direction as he decided to speed up. Mycroft ran multiple early red lights, as he had siren lights in the back of the car and front to make it look like he was an undercover officer. "Hello?" Sherlock finally heard. "AAAHHHHH! Yes! I finally got you, John!" He shouted as he rubbed his eyes from the fresh tears. "Sir, please turn your mobile to airplane mode; we're about to take off." Sherlock heard in the background. "It'll be But a moment, ma'am, I assure you. Please," John whispered back. "Wha-?" Sherlock started as Mycroft began to slow down. "John, you're already aboard?" He asked. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. Can I call you back, please?" John asked. "Yes, but it's not like we can see-!" Sherlock tried, but John's phone cut before he could continue. "He's gone." Sherlock said. His tears came down from his eyes, rolling down the boy's pale cheeks with no shame. "Hes gone, Mycroft. He's going to Jersey and he she's no idea!" Sherlock's voice rose into a shout. Mycroft pulled over to let Sherlock breathe. "It's okay, William. You'll see each other again shortly." Mycroft was trying to reassure and console his younger brother as he was curled into a ball next to the tire. "I liked him, Mycroft." Sherlock said sternly. "Yes, well. You don't have a soulmate, and I'm sure that he does, somewhere." Mycroft said, sitting next to him. "Did you feel lost before you met him?" Sherlock asked, leaning his head against the young adults shoulder. "Well, yeah. I didn't know what having a soulmate felt like until I saw him, you know?" He did his best to answer. "If you know who your soulmates are when you first lay eyes on them, why bother with having signs? Does God think we're all stupid enough to overlook love?" Sherlock asked, making Mycroft look at him, surprised. He saw the tears going down his face.

  Mycroft moved in front of his younger brother. "Listen, Sherlock. Caring is obviously not an advantage for people like us. You don't have a sign because God must've trusted you to find yours on your own or something. You have a soulmate. Someone who won't put you second. And, when you find them, you'll know, because you're very smart, you hear me.? But, for right now, focus on yourself, okay?" He then hugged Sherlock. "You called me Sherlock," He said, as he slowly brought his hand up to hug him back.

  The two walked back in the house silent. Mrs. and Mr. Holmes were making dinner while Mycroft plopped onto the couch, landing his head down on Greg's lower stomach as he was lounging there reading an article on his phone. Greg only pet his soulmates hair. Sherlock sat at the kitchen table for a while, then got up and poured himself a glass of orange juice. "Woah, woah! What do you think you're doing, young man!" Sherlock's father scolded. Sherlock would never have normally disobeyed his father, but his time he continued to drink it, looking right into the old man's eyes. As he finished and put his glass on the counter, his father looked perfectly livid. Sherlock only but leisurely strolled up the staircase and to his room, where he lied on his bed, sighing as he stared up at the sky, letting himself think.

  "Sherlock, he's on the phone." Greg said, handing Sherlock an unfamiliar mobile. Sherlock sat up slowly and looked at the clock. "I was out for two hours? Why didn't anyone wake me?" Sherlock asked. "Well, pap was too livid. Mum's still calming him and Mycroft's explaining to him that I'm why you did it." Greg said. He gave Sherlock the phone. "Hello?" Sherlock said. Greg was there, smiling like a fool. "Ah, Hello, Sherlock." John's voice answered. "John,"