John's POV
Jugglers.
With knives.
And clowns.
What a situation to be in, right?
Well, as impossible as it sounds, it's happening.
There's us, Sherlock and I, standing in the arena of a circus. The seats were empty, the lights were dim, the performers across from us had a thirst for our blood.
Sherlock was standing in front of me protectively. The jugglers across from him had knives circling their faces. The clowns by the jugglers were staring with their creepy, distorted, make up covered faces.
I have a little thing against them after an incident awhile ago with damn creepy clowns.
Sherlock was staring at them intensely, his eyes focused on them and their knives.
“Put down the knives,” he said calmly. “There doesn't have to be a fight.”
“Uuuh,” the jugglers laughed. “No!”
They caught all of their knives and threw them. Not at Sherlock, but at me.
“Ah!” I squeaked, barely dodging out of the way of the spinning objects.
Sherlock seemed angered. He got me to pick up the knives, then I handed them to him.
It was a knife throwing party. They never aimed once at Sherlock. It was all me.
Why was it always me?
I even got hit a few times. I was just laying on the ground now, hurting.
Sherlock got pretty angry. He marched over to them, holding the knives.
“What the hell do you think you're doing, hitting John?” He growled.
“Making you angry!” They laughed.
I stood up weakly. I had a lot of cuts on my body, and some bruises from where the handles hit me.
It was fuzzy, bit I'm pretty sure Sherlock beat their arses.
Then, he walked back to me and sat me on the ground.
“I'm okay,” I mumbled, answering the constant looks of concern and worry the man gave from above me.
“John, you're not okay.” Sherlock ran one of his fingers down my face. He cupped my cheek. “You're bleeding everywhere.”
“Not everywhere.” I smiled at him.
“Everywhere.”
“Well, see, if you could feel under my shirt, there is no blood there.” I pushed myself into sitting. Sherlock stared at me.
“What?” I ask. “What's that look for?”
He stood up and held out his arms. “When we get home, you're going to have to take your shirt off, anyways. I'll need to bandage you up.”
“What? No, I can do it myself.” I said, putting my hands in my pockets. Sherlock wrapped an arm around my back to keep me up.
“Your face is very bloody, John.”
I scoff. “Yeah, well your face is very cute.” I look up at him. He stares at me with shock.
The only word he can say is, “W-what…?”
I pull him down and kiss him. I kiss him deeply, wrap my arms around his shoulders,and bring him close.
I did leave some blood on his face, but that's besides the point.
The point is: the knives that cut my skin.
Oh, my, I'm too funny.
No, but the REAL point is, that Sherlock was kissing me back.
So hah! I can get a boyfriend, while still being 100% straight.
Wait, that's impossible?
Oh.
Okay.