Secrets Aren't Made Slowly

Tales Can Be Preferable To The Truth

Sherlock attempted to read, he attempted to grade, he attempted to even do some math problems to keep himself distracted. And yet no matter what he tried to do he continually found himself staring at the desk that used to hold John Watson, the desk he leaned on and the chair he sat in, and he wondered just what that boy was thinking of now. What was he imagining, what was going through his head? Was it of Sherlock and what he was going to say, or was it of Sherlock and what he had already said, what he already done? Oh there was a great multitude of what John could be thinking of right now, and the worst part was the imagination. Sherlock could only try to think of what John could come up with in that mind of his, what he could possibly think of and what he could make up! Did he see Sherlock and Victor in something more intimate, was he wondering what Sherlock did with the rest of his free time, what he did when he was high? Was he wondering about Sherlock's wife and how that had happened, was he wondering about the lengths he could make Sherlock go to protect his secret? Sherlock's world was harbored away in John's mind, and yet he was quite sure that three quarters of it was fabricated. John probably saw him in a much more negative light than he would have wanted, he probably thought Sherlock capable of doing things he had never done in his life. Sherlock led a certainly surprising life, and yet he did nothing too sinful, nor too rebellious. Yes this double life of being a respectable teacher and a complete wreck of a human being was interesting enough, and yet John probably saw Sherlock was leading a completely different life than he actually did. The situation in which he found Sherlock was condemning enough already, he could only imagine what John thought of him now, of what he could imagine he had done in the past. Soon the agonizing hour and a half was over, and yet as soon as that bell rang Sherlock may have preferred the time to reverse, for as horrible as silence and loneliness were confronting John and facing his fears was almost just as terrifying. And yet now he knew where he was going, he knew what he was doing, it was now or never. He was going to get the high ground; he needed to, to protect himself and his future. John must have waited a safe while before going back to Sherlock's classroom, for it was a good ten minutes, long after the footsteps and talking of the last couple of classrooms had faded away, that finally there was a knock at his door. Sherlock got to his feet nervously, calling for his visitor to come in before straightening his jacket and looking up to find John Watson standing at his door, closing it softly behind him and looking considerably nervous.
"We can talk from here, if you'd prefer." Sherlock assured, however John just shook his head and came closer, as if he didn't want to go through the effort of shouting.
"No, it's not as if I'm scared of you, Mr. Holmes, it's just that..."
"I understand." Sherlock assured quickly, for despite John's failure to elaborate Sherlock understood him perfectly. He knew that he was scared in the moment; he hadn't recognized Sherlock's desperate state and it scared him, he didn't want that man to come closer, and yet the one he approached now, he was much more calming, much more normal.
"I'd like to explain myself, for my being there; I know that you probably think that I'm a buyer from Victor, and well...Since I know one of your secrets I think you ought to know one of mine." John started finally, taking a deep breath and staring down at the desk, seeming tense and yet for an entirely different purpose. Now it was his time to be vulnerable.
"That was actually what I was going to question you about. He called you by your name, as if he knew you, as if..."
"I know. I know." John agreed, shaking his head so as to silence Sherlock and his accusations. They were both quiet for a short moment, until finally John took a deep, troubled breath. Sherlock honestly had no idea where this was going, and yet for the first time since the night before he felt safe. For some reason he knew that John's sharing his secret was insurance enough that his own secret would be safe, Sherlock knew now that since they both had each other's secrets then they would be assured enough to know that they would never be compromised.
"Mr. Holmes I'm not a student here...I'm um...I'm not who I said I was." John started, to which Sherlock just blinked, thoroughly unable to understand what he meant be that.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Sherlock admitted quietly, however John nodded, as if he was just beginning to elaborate.
"I was with Victor that night because I was following the drugs, I started with Irene and Jim, I moved to Victor, I'm following them to the source, I'm cleaning up this school. That's what...that's what I was hired to do." John finished finally, taking a deep breath and finally leveling his eyes to meet Sherlock's, to which the man could only blink, unable to fully process that for what it was. For a moment he was silent, staring at John as he was fully unable to process what he could mean by that.
"You mean you're some sort of inspector? A cop?" Sherlock clarified in a breath.
"An amateur cop, barely even a cop actually. I just graduated from the academy, hired by the school to just follow the drugs and let the real police handle it. I didn't intend on getting messed up in any of this, really. I didn't think that I would encounter you, that's why I went back there in the first place, I thought that maybe he was in a fight with someone. He's my only link the cartel, I can't have him jeopardized." John explained finally. Sherlock just blinked, so confused that he momentarily forgot about the awkward state he had just been in. Suddenly this whole situation seemed to be lifted off of his shoulders, as if somehow John's new identity solved the problems he had been struggling with. Now instead of being compromised by a student it was actually an adult, someone of around his age, someone who would understand. And somehow being faced by a cop was a lot more reassuring than being faced by a student. It was a tale that didn't make much sense at all, it was a tale that included no background, no proof, nothing but words most likely made up during the whole of forth block. And yet Sherlock swallowed them, he accepted them, he embraced them, those words that most likely meant nothing, they were exactly what he had needed to hear. They were the very words that would soothe his mind and soul; they were the very words he knew would save him from whatever predicament he was in. Now he knew John's secret, if it even was a secret at all.
"Why wouldn't I have been told of you before? And why tell me, you saw me down with Victor, you know now that I'm a user, why would you admit something like that to me?" Sherlock wondered apprehensively, looking to John with the most curious expression, for now he was seeing that this didn't all add up the way it should.
"The administration hired me in secret, I'm no good to them if the teachers know, and they had warned me to keep an eye on you, of course. That's why I'm in your class, that's why I know what you're teaching without your instruction, I've been taught this before, at the academy, at my old high school. And I told you to ease your mind, I don't want you worrying about me, I'm not here to ruin your life, I'm here to investigate. I have no reason to retaliate, humans are weak creatures, and we both know that we're just humans in the end." John muttered. Sherlock took a breath, staring at him and opening his mouth before closing it once again. This didn't make sense, none of it did, it was as though he had been watching a ball being thrown one way before it curved back and hit him straight in the face without warning. An undercover cop, had he really stumbled across an undercover cop?
"You won't arrest me...or anything?" Sherlock wondered nervously.
"I won't arrest you." John assured with a little smile, laughing as if he found Sherlock's nervousness to be adorable.
"My God you had me fooled. You had everyone fooled. But it makes sense, it does! Why you hang out with Irene and Jim, why you ace all your tests but don't do well in the other categories, why you would meddle in things that most certainly were none of your business..."
"Is it my business, it's what I'm here to do." John said with a little laugh.
"Are you a drug specialist then?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head in confusion.
"Enough to know when people are high, enough to know where to look, how to ask, what to do." John admitted with a humble little shrug. Sherlock nodded, looking at him curiously and for once not feeling an ounce of shame, or humiliation. It made sense, it made perfect sense, and yet then again, no it didn't. He had to ignore that little voice in his mind, at least for now, because this lie was just too convenient for him to ignore.
"How old are you?" Sherlock asked quickly.
"Twenty four." John said confidently, to which Sherlock just nodded, looking at him in a completely new light, a replenishing light, a refreshing light. Twenty four...well that meant they were only four years apart, didn't it?
"How very peculiar." Sherlock muttered, and yet John could only smile to that, as if he was thinking the exact same thing. This was very peculiar, was it not?
"Yes um, well whatever story this is keeps getting more and more twisted. God, despite my age, despite my investigation...I never intended on meddling that much into your business. I know that's weird to know a teacher to do anything outside of school, but this is just..."
"A whole new level, I know. I understand. But like you said, we're both only humans, right? Humans are capable of amazing things, disgusting things...degrading things. One day John I hope you don't become as desperate as I am." Sherlock muttered, taking a deep sigh before perching himself on the edge of his desk, staring at the floor blankly, as if trying to process just what he was doing here.
"I can help you, if you'd like me to. I mean I'm no therapist but I think I could probably help you quit. Drugs are a dangerous habit, and when you add in the dangers of getting all sorts of diseases from some guy who sits down with the dumpsters all night, quitting might be your best option." John suggested with a timid little smile. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head and bringing his eyes up to meet John's, those curious brown eyes that confused him so much. Was he really seeing John for who he was, now? Was he really looking at the real boy, and not just some mask he had put on, not some display he had made? A twenty four year old, in his own classroom! John was someone who had suddenly become so kind, someone who seemed to care, after weeks of the two of them slowly turning into enemies. Might they actually have the possibility of becoming friends?
"I think, Mr. Watson, that I'll need to find a healthier substitute before I quit all together. You wouldn't like me when I'm sober." Sherlock said with a little smile.
"What, you're not sober now?" John wondered curiously, to which Sherlock just laughed again. That was a cute question really; it was most certainly something a clean person would say.
"Oh no, no of course I'm not. That's why I can still live in my own body and force it to smile." Sherlock chuckled, leaning back and crossing his arms almost shamefully, feeling rather exposed now that John knew everything about him.
"So um, well I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, I best be off. But do remember, not a word to anyone. A secret for a secret, that's how this will go." John insisted, shaking his finger at Sherlock as if trying to remind him of the severity of their shared situation. And of course, Sherlock couldn't forget. Not when there was so much at stake, and yet now the pressure seemed to be elevated. Whatever strategy John had planned out had worked perfectly, he felt safe, he felt...secure.
"Yes of course, my lips are sealed." Sherlock assured with a small smile, looking up at John and feeling quite special for being entrusted with such a secret.
"And mine as well, Mr. Holmes. Have a nice night." John said finally, and with a farewell bow of his head he made his retreat, slinging his backpack carelessly over his shoulder and starting out the door. John looked quite confident until he walked into the hallway, where he donned once more that characteristic slouch and frown, a posture and expression that would ensure his blending in perfectly with the rest of the student body.