The plane flew smoothly above the clouds. John had only been on a plane once before, when Harry took him to California. At that time he was only 7, and he couldn't remember the experience much at all.
"Hey," John jumped at Sherlock's sudden voice, "You alright?"
"Uh, y-yeah," John stammered, collecting himself, "Fine."
John looked out the window. He could no longer see the ocean down below, only the thick, pillowy clouds.
When the plane touched down in British Columbia, Canada, all the college students went into their assigned buses which were parked in the lot. Everything looked so similar yet so different at the same time.
"Let's go over some rules, shall we?" A teacher stood in front of the bus, holding a clipboard and pen, "The major rules are: No drugs or alcohol, no violent acts, and no sexual activity of any kind..."
John stopped really listening, remembering back to the shag carpet incident. He hoped Sherlock would play by the rules and not pull anything, and if he didn't, John hoped to God they wouldn't get caught.
He braced himself. When has Sherlock ever played by the rules?
He felt warmth creeping up his neck and he looked up to see Sherlock giving him a 'look.' He wasn't sure what the look meant, but it was seductive as hell.
"Don't," John murmured, almost inaudibly so others wouldn't hear, "Not in front of everyone. Someone might catch on."
"To what?" Sherlock adjusted his expression to one more friend-like. John sighed, "To us."
Sherlock furrowed his brow, "Us? Are we a thing?"
"Well, I'm not just your sex toy, Sherlock. Or...Am I?" John began to wonder: Did the future detective really like him, or was this all just a game?
"No, John, of course not!" Sherlock mumbled under his breath, "I just never thought I'd have a 'thing' with anyone, ever."
John parted his lips but was unable to say anything. Poor Sherlock. Still so insecure about himself, and John was determined to help him see what he sees.
"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson? Could you please cease conversation? We are reviewing important rules," the teather huffed. Whoops.
"Sorry, sir," John mumbled, "We're listening."
"I hope so," he muttered before continuing. John heard giggles and the words "queer" and "fag" being thrown around. God, can't two men have any kind of conversation without being called gay? Granted, it was a discussion about their relationship, but nobody else knew that.
John's cheeks heated up in anger. He wanted to spring up and punch whoever was spreading rumors about them. They are the reason Sherlock is so insecure. They are the reason Sherlock cut. They are the reason he jumped from the roof of the school.
The future doctor forced his temper down. The teacher was watching. Later.
Eventually, the bus rolled up to a camp which had eight cabins, two bathrooms, a mess hall, a sizeable field, a lake, forest trails, and a campfire.
"Everyone gather on the stairs," the principal announced, "And the camp leader will go over this week's activities."
Everyone gathered on the large staircase that separated the cabins on the hill and the field and lake.
Everyone sat down, the stairs seating all, and the teachers all stood around what looked to be the camp leader.
"Hello everyone!" He began when we'd all quieted down, "I am Mr. Knight, but please, call me Henry. Welcome to Camp Evans Lake!"
Sherlock looked bored at Henry's enthusiasm, so John punched him lightly on the shoulder. He looked up, and John cast him a goofy smile, "Cheer up, mate! Have a little fun, would ya? Let loose!"
The corner of Sherlock's mouth tugged upward, "Okay, John. I'll try, for you."
"No, not for me," John's goofy grin remained plastered across his features, "For you, so you can enjoy yourself."
Sherlock shook his head disbelievingly, "You're too nice, John. Sometimes I think I'm crazy, and you're just a figment of my imagination."
"Then you gave an imaginary friend a BJ," John chuckled, "You are not crazy. Now shush."
Sherlock held in a laugh and turned his attention back to Henry.
"...Week, we will be first of all, settling in. The boys' cabins are to your left, and your bathroom is the Sock Bowl. Girls, your cabins are straight ahead and up the hill with the sun dial, and your bathroom is the Rose Bowl. Now, onto activities..."
John drowned him out, letting his mind drift off to when he stayed at the Holmes Manor. The way Sherlock looked in the mornings before he showered, with his pajamas loosely hung over his skinny frame, his bedhead covering his eyes, and how he always made fish fingers and custard as a snack. He remembered how Sherlock cared for him when he'd been stabbed, and his days with Doctor Martin.
"John?" Sherlock interrupted his thoughts, "Come on, we're going to our cabins. We're in the 'Douglas Fir' cabin...AKA, Cabin 1."
John nodded and got up, following Sherlock to Cabin 1. They both took bottom bunks next to each other. As John began absentmindedly sorting out his bedding, he began imagining all the places around here where they could get frisky without being caught - behind the cabins, in the forest, by the road...He imagined Sherlock shoving him up against the cabin wall, leaves rustling around their feet while the taller man kissed him roughly, fumbling with his belt -
"John!" Sherlock grabbed John's shoulder, shaking him from the naughty thoughts. He chuckled lightly to himself - he's falling like some smitten schoolgirl, this is ridiculous.
"Yes? What?" John turned to his cabinmate.
"You're sitting still with a silly grin on your face. It's freaking me out," Sherlock muttered, wide-eyed.
"Sorry," John resumed sorting out his bed, "Just thinking."
"About what?" Sherlock pried, focusing on his own bunk.
"Stuff."
"Right, John, thanks. That really narrows it down," Sherlock huffed in annoyance.
"Sorry, but I am not obligated to tell you. It's my brain," John retorted in defense. No way he was explaining THOSE thoughts out loud.
"Yeah, but you're hard. Just wondering about that. Might want to cover it up, by the way."
John looked down and sighed heavily. Fuck. He lightly rested a hand over his slightly-obvious boner, and ran the other hand through his hair.
"Why were you looking there, anyways?" John mumbled.
Sherlock just chuckled and raised an eyebrow at him. John rolled his eyes sarcastically. Naughty boy.
"Fine," John smirked, "I'll tell you what I was thinking, IF you tell me what you were thinking."
"Thinking when?" Sherlock mused.
"When you were looking...Places," John said slyly.
"Ah, well played," Sherlock winked at John, "Fine, we'll exchange daydreams later."
John chuckled. He couldn't wait to hear about Sherlock's daydreams. How exciting.
"Okay, everyone, listen up," a man stood in front of the cabin, by the door, "My name is Carl Powers, I'll be your cabin leader. We all know the rules - No drugs, alcohol, violence, or sexual activity. Are we clear?" The man announced. Everyone nodded.
"Good," Mr. Powers continues, "You can call me whatever you please, be it 'Powers' or 'Mr. Powers' or 'Carl' or 'Counsellor,' I really don't care. Now, I'll hand out this week's activities schedules."
John waited and recieved his, and when Carl had finished, he returned to the front of the room, "Now, since it's late, we'll do a quick campfire. Remember, breakfast tomorrow is at eight, and we'll ring a bell we call 'Splang' at 7:55. Get ready for campfire, chop chop!"
***
Everyone sat on the logs places around a large bonfire by the lake, while Henry Knight stood on a stump he used as a pedestal so he could lead campfire.
"Has anyone heard of the story of the Evan's Lake Hound?"
Everyone shook their heads. Of course not, we're from all the way across the ocean!
"Well, it's not just huge, it's gigantic! It's got matted black fur, blacker than shadow, and gleaming red eyes. If you're alone at night and you tread on its turf, you'll never be heard from again..."
The hair on the back of John's neck rose, and he scanned the edges of the surrounding woodland for a pair of red eyes, which he thankfully did not find. It didn't help they were right beside dark woods, which he couldn't see three feet in to.
"Are you actually buying this?" Sherlock scoffed. John rolled his eyes, "It's all in good fun, Sherlock. Remember, enjoy yourself."
"Alright, for you John, I'll sing along to the campfire songs. Happy?"
"Don't do it for me. Do it for yourself. Be happy."
*HEYA GUYS! So 1K reads WHAT. Is this story that good? I thought it was shit. Anyway, thank you so much! I saw that and I was like "Well I HAVE to update now!"
It's been two months since the last update...Oops. No worries! We are back on! Say hello again to ASIH!
Also, to clear any confusion, I have edited it so the camp is only one week long instead of that ridiculous 5 weeks. Naahhh soonnn.
Anyways, WELCOME BACK! I WILL FINISH THIS STORY DAMNIT. Read On, My Wayward Sons!*