Secrets Aren't Made Slowly

The School's Most Eligible Bachelor

"What on earth was he on tonight?" Janine wondered miserably, leaning back in her chair and poking her used chopsticks through her hair, as if trying to somehow do those cool looking bun with eating utensils. She was, well she wasn't exactly sober, that was for sure.
"Oh who knows with him?" Sherlock grumbled, leaning against the door for a moment still with the feeling that Victor was lingering on the other side. And yet that didn't bother him, his thoughts were far away from Victor at this point, his thoughts were with wherever John Watson lay, his thoughts were on what Victor had just told him, confirming the suspicions he didn't know he had. And so it was true, John loved him; John found him distracting and beautiful and everything between! John wanted to be with him, John wanted him in all aspects of the connotation, he wanted him in body and in soul, and could Sherlock...could he ever provide? Now of course Victor could have been lying, for he was a cunning one when it came to delving into people's secrets without going through too much trouble to sift through the facts and the lies. And yet Sherlock wanted to believe it, just as John's secret had been so easily absorbed, so was this. Why was he so acceptant, why was he so careless as to whether or not it was the truth or not? Well there was something to be said about creating your own utopia, regardless of whether or not it was practical or not. Sherlock would love to live in a world where John Watson was twenty four, and most importantly he wanted to live in a world where John Watson was in love with him. Rationalization might be a good word, not so much stupidity but nervousness. He was now being controlled by that little voice in the back of his head, or at least he was being controlled by the act of gagging it and silencing it for good. It was quite alright to fall in love with someone who was only four years younger than you; it was quite alright to fall in love with someone who would return that love almost immediately. It was quite alright now, from Sherlock's fabricated perspective, to maybe his heart take over for his brain, at least for now. Maybe he should listen to love instead of logic, and maybe he should lay back on his bed of lies and hope that maybe John would join him in the near future. 

  John POV: It was the darkness that was most daunting for John, especially when he knew that with no light came no distractions from the things that preyed inside of his head. One thing, in particular, was a frequent flyer in the back of his head, occupying his thoughts when he turned off all censoring, when he decided to just stare at the world the way he thought it should work. And to be honest John loved it when he allowed himself to stop caring, he loved it when he could just lay in the darkness and stare into the shadows and convince himself he saw someone staring back. He loved it when he somehow convinced himself that he could roll over and not be alone any longer, that he could be tangled up in those long, thin limbs, surrounded in pale skin and engulfed in the feeling that he was most trying to avoid. Love was curious, it was inconvenient, and so John was still trying to stay awake so as to remind himself of the reality that he was living in. This world was not from his head, it was not some fairyland that would allow him to be with whoever he wanted and to do whatever he pleased. This was life, his life to be particular, his high school life. No matter what delusions he had fed Mr. Holmes he knew that it wasn't true. As much as he would love to be a twenty four year old undercover and chasing after drugs he wasn't that. He was seventeen, he was underage, he wasn't even an adult yet. And Mr. Holmes, he was almost thirty, he was married, he was an addict...oh but he was beautiful, wasn't he? He was temping in all aspects, he was flawless and smooth, he was elegant and his voice was so soft, it was so romantic... John didn't want to let himself think of the words that might be said using that very voice, and yet still he could hear his name being spoken very quietly, the very words that rocked him to sleep most nights, like waves on the ocean he heard that voice, lapping quietly at his brain. Mr. Watson. Mr. Watson...Mr. Holmes. But no! Love wasn't something you could just chase away; it was a pesky fly, something that irritated you, something that constantly reminded you of its presence with its agonizing buzzing and with its bumping against your ear. And yet the more you swatted at it the more it lingered, the more you gave it the attention it was seeking the more it just wanted to be there, annoying you, bothering you... Flies, just like love, didn't care who it was they were bothering. They were careless as to gender, age, position, just as love undoubtedly was. It wasn't John's fault who he fell in love with; he was probably one in hundreds in that school who would gaze at Mr. Holmes just a little bit too long. Even Jim had admitted that he loved him; even Irene had admitted that he was beautiful! So why was John any different? Why was John so guilty as to fall asleep with that man's eyes on his mind, why was he terrified to admit to himself that maybe there was something more, something he wasn't allowing himself to think about? Well it was the reality factor of course. Everyone else could stare, but they could never actually be with him. It was all just fantasy for them; unrequited love with no chance of going anywhere, Mr. Holmes probably didn't even know their names, much less consider them as a romantic partner! It was delirium; it really was, for all the rest of the students to yearn after Mr. Holmes just as John did, since John was burdened with the fact that if he decided on it Mr. Holmes could in fact be his. It was becoming obvious that Mr. Holmes felt something, and now that he was under the impression that John was older, a legal and ethical partner, well then nothing was stopping him, was it? One word, one impression, and John could be with that man with a snap of his fingers. That was why it was difficult to decide if he even wanted that privilege, just because he knew he didn't really deserve it. Their relationship would be one built on lies, was that really what John was striving for here? Should he allow himself to fall in love would he really be willing to sacrifice his good nature for a man? For someone he shouldn't have, and yet somehow he needed all the same? Oh what an enigma, what a moral battle! Like the fly buzzing in his ear John couldn't decide, he couldn't settle! And yet he couldn't swat it away! As John lay in bed, cradled in the blankets that could be Mr. Holmes's arms if he concentrated hard enough, he understood it was impossible to keep that man out of his mind. John knew that once he let his dreams take over he would have only one other person there, he knew that the moment his subconsciousness took over all logic would be forgotten. What a world he could live in, this dream world of his, what an opportunity, what a life, what a love! And John knew, of course, that the only thing separating his reality from his dream world was his own sense of ethical obligation. One move and he could be dreaming forever, and this time he wouldn't be dreaming alone.