Sherlock POV: It was beyond confusion, that state that Sherlock was left in as he stood against the door in his darkened house, listening to hear John Watson's footsteps fade away into the night. He stood shivering in the house, his bare feet standing on the wooden floor and his neck exposed to the draft that was still emitted from the cracks between the old door and the frame. There had been no point to that visit, it was late, he should be asleep, they should both be asleep, why on earth would John be on his front porch at this time of night? Had he been sitting awake, thinking, wondering, asking himself the questions that he could never answer without a journey across the street? Oh but more importantly why did he care? How could he just wander over to Sherlock's house and ask such stupid questions, questions that led to problems he could never solve? Did he know that he was the catalyst for Victor's violence; didn't he know that by his meddling about in Sherlock's business he was the one causing Victor to get defensive? Oh what an ignorant boy, raised to think that he could solve any problem he put his mind to, expecting that everyone would just open their arms to him in welcome, ask him to worm his way into their lives and into their business, as if no privacy was too private for his knowledge. What a painful person John had grown up to be. His misplaced care was wandering ever so slowly to the dark side of humanity, he was wallowing deeper and deeper into problems he could never understand, desperation and abuse, money running thin and parents who turned a blind eye. Why did he think that it was his job to stop Victor's flying fist, why did he think it was his responsibility to see that Sherlock lived unharmed and undaunted in his journey to nowhere? Did John really think that it made a difference whether or not Victor was abusive, seeing that Victor was the only person Sherlock had ever met that legitimately cared about him? Couldn't John understand that even though Victor had a temper he also had money, the only person Sherlock knew that actually had something of a future, a career path! Couldn't John notice that maybe there was a reason Sherlock needed Victor, besides a purely romantic connection? He was becoming more of Sherlock than he may have ultimately permitted, however as family members disappeared, as they withered, Victor was becoming the only person that Sherlock could rely on. He was his ride everywhere, he was the one that bought him dinner when the fridge was empty, he was the one who made sure he did all his homework and got to school on time and packed a reasonable lunch. He was the one that was going to take Sherlock in after high school, they'll have an apartment, he'll work laborious jobs until he can put his degree in car maintenance to work, he'll help pay for Sherlock's college, he'll help pay for electricity and food and water and housing... Did John think that Victor could be so easily amputated from Sherlock's life after these two years? What did John know about necessities, that boy took everything for granted, as if money and food just popped up out of nowhere, him and his close family and his up to date house and his college sweatshirts and his used car. John Watson and his friends, and his sports, and his meager grades. John Watson and his life. What did he think he was doing, meandering into Sherlock's tragedy when he could very easily just sit aside on his side of the road, enjoying his middle class lifestyle without much of a care in the world? Why couldn't he just appreciate the serenity he was born into? Sherlock dashed up the stairs to his bedroom in a bit of a fit, closing the door quietly and falling into his bed, deciding that now it would be impossible to do any homework, now that his mind was racing. He turned off the lights and buried himself under the covers, staring through the darkness and almost feeling as though a figure lay next to him in the clump of blankets. Maybe that person wasn't physical, and yet there was an ever present feeling of Victor in his bed, almost as if there was a space reserved just for him. Sherlock could almost smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke and worn fake leather against the sheets, he could almost feel the breaths being sighed from Victor's muscular chest, he could almost feel those calloused hands caressing him. Sherlock couldn't just chose to push Victor out of his life, it would take much more than a simple breakup, it would take a surgical removal, it would take an amputation. There would be no real reason to separate them in the first place, for just because John Watson decided that maybe their relationship wasn't all together healthy it didn't mean that there weren't parts that were meaningful. John certainly didn't understand the times Sherlock and Victor spent together in happiness, the gentle side of Victor that wasn't displayed publically and the soft side of Sherlock that was only unlocked by Victor's kisses. There was virtually no violence in their relationship, save for heated arguments, most of it was just cuddling, talking, and caring for one another. How dare someone try to intervene, someone who didn't know a single thing about what was going on in this room? It was obnoxious, John's pestering, and yet Sherlock didn't know how to stop it. He didn't know how to stop any of this; he didn't know how to make it better. For a moment he felt a feeling of intense hopelessness, as if a pit had formed around him and sunken him deep into its depths. Suddenly Sherlock felt as though his life was out of his hands once again, as if he had no control over what was going to happen from this point forward. His life wasn't in his own hands anymore, it was in Victor's, entirely dependent on the boy that was starting to become a problem, and yet what could he do except tolerate it? Sherlock would live on, he's made it this far without anyone holding his hand, he was independent enough to know when enough was enough. He had not surpassed that point, in fact he hadn't even gotten near that point, and so he would grit his teeth and wait for the breaking point. Then he would get John Watson, that is if the boy even cared anymore. 

 Victor showed up to Sherlock's house in the early morning, a little bit before Sherlock even woke up which was quite surprising. Sherlock wasn't entirely convinced Victor even knew how to get up when it was still dark out, and yet here he was, letting himself into the house with his key and making his way up the stairs. Sherlock was woken by the smell of coffee, and despite Victor's not wanting to wake him it was a smell that was well worth the consciousness. Victor was wearing his usual jacket with a puff ball hat on, to fend off the cold that was still lingering through the spring morning, and he was just attempting to put down what looked like a large box of donuts onto the dresser. Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise, or maybe he just wanted to put it down before he went to wake Sherlock. However he wasn't the best at surprises, because as soon as he looked over to where he thought Sherlock was sleeping he was met with curious green eyes, staring at him from across the room. 

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked with a laugh, watching as Victor tried to balance two cups of coffee in one hand as he was setting down the donuts.
"I didn't think you'd be up yet." Victor admitted with a little smile, taking the two Styrofoam cups of coffee and bringing them carefully over to where Sherlock lay. He was very reluctant to sit up, as his body heat throughout the night had made the blankets warm and cozy. However Victor sat down next to him, letting his feet dangle off of the bed as he had his work boots on, and he handed Sherlock one of the cups.
"You brought me coffee?" Sherlock asked with an appreciative smile, sitting up and trying to pull some of his loose blankets with him, his bare chest shivering even as he sipped at the warm coffee, slowly warming himself from the inside out.
"Yes I did, I thought it would be a nice surprise." Victor said proudly, holding himself up a little bit taller as he sipped at his coffee and smiled at Sherlock over the lid.
"Well it's certainly nice, and it's certainly a surprise. You achieved both aspects Victor." Sherlock admitted with something of a teasing smile; however Victor smiled once more, as though Sherlock's praise made it worth whatever money and hassle he had to go through.
"Well I thought you deserved it, we hadn't seen each other in a while." Victor admitted with a frown.
"It's only been since yesterday." Sherlock laughed.
"Yes but I had to leave, I barely got the chance to talk to you. I love talking to you." Victor admitted with a frown. Sherlock smiled at him softly, blowing the steam from his cup before taking another cautious sip.
"I love talking to you as well, but you didn't have to go out of your way to get here so early, we could've talked after school." Sherlock insisted.
"I've got that interview, remember? With that auto body shop down the road?" Victor pointed out. Sherlock nodded, remembering now that Victor had mentioned some sort of possible employment the other day. He hadn't thought much about it at the time, however now that he remembered he was overcome with a glum feeling. So there would be another evening just wasted away, a Victorless wasteland of loneliness.
"Well that's fine, that's fine. You don't have to pick me up then, if you want to go right down." Sherlock assured quickly, rather suspecting that Victor would want to be prompt to this one. He had interviewed a couple of times with other, smaller stores; however he seemed pretty eager about this one. The pay was good, according to him, and the hours weren't long. He was still in school and yet he could get hired now to get some practical experience, there really was no drawbacks except the lack of free time in which they could've spent together.
"I'm sorry Sherlock, you know I'd really like to take you it's just that..."
"Victor it's fine, you don't have to apologize!" Sherlock assured with a smile. "I'll just take the bus, it's really no effort."
"But you hate the bus." Victor murmured, sounding as though he felt like this was all his fault, as if somehow couldn't fulfil his proper duties as the perfect boyfriend.
"I'll be fine Victor; you know I'll be fine." Sherlock assured.
"If any of them so much as cast you a nasty look, take their name." Victor warned, looking dead serious for a moment before sipping at his coffee in a much more hostile way.
"There are other ways to solve problems Victor." Sherlock reminded him, to which Victor pouted and nodded rather reluctantly.
"None of which get the message across quite as efficiently." Victor agreed with a shrug.
"Yes but they're a bit more socially acceptable." Sherlock warned.
"Oh who cares about being socially acceptable, everyone's against us already." Victor sighed, nestling towards Sherlock a bit more with a large sigh.
"They're really not." Sherlock murmured. It was true of course, there wasn't very much homophobia in his life anymore, people had either grown tolerant or they had simply forgotten, other than the school hallways he didn't get much hate. Victor of course, may not share the same views, for his father wasn't quite as open minded as Sherlock's mother, that and he went to a different, more hostile school.
"That's because I shut them up quickly, before you have the chance to notice." Victor said with a laugh, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's forehead before bounding out of bed towards the box of donuts. They were cheap of course, from the donut shop down the road, however he had done his best to get some varieties of chocolate (which Victor liked) and jelly filled powdered ones (which Sherlock liked). Together they sat under the blankets and chatted for a little bit, catching up on the other's world while they dined on donuts and sipped at whatever remained of their coffee. Victor seemed especially distraught about not seeing Sherlock again tonight; however he insisted that the interview might take a while and he wanted to take some time to prepare and all that. He wanted it to go perfectly; he wanted to make a good impression so as to ensure a good job, and then maybe he could finalize a better life for the two of them. That sounded wonderful in theory, almost simple actually, however Sherlock knew that there were just so many obstacles for the two of them to cross before they got to that happily ever after phase, and of course the most present and daunting of those tasks was getting out of bed to get ready for school. Sherlock just wanted to sit there forever, leaning against Victor's leather clad shoulder and eating donuts, giggling about things that weren't even funny and whining about things that really didn't make an impact in their lives. Victor was characteristically overdramatic, and it was always amusing to listen to him blow things out of proportion just to find yet another thing to complain about. It was peaceful, in a way, to learn about just how potentially miserable his life was amounting to be even though Sherlock was quite certain it would turn out to be a perfectly mediocre day. Sherlock reminded Victor of all the wonderful things in life, the approaching spring, the green grass poking through the decaying leaves, the sun shining for longer, the birds beginning to chirp. The end of the school year was approaching slowly but surely, and yet they were both stuck where they were. Victor had a year or two left of his technical school and Sherlock still had another year of school to suffer through. It wasn't bad; however, it was only a year. When Sherlock finally pulled himself out of bed he changed very quickly, laughing at Victor as he lolled over the warm blankets and tried to eat a donut upside down, in turn getting icing on the tip of his nose. Victor watched Sherlock with soft eyes, watching as he brushed his curls to make them look somewhat presentable, watching as his mouth frothed with toothpaste and observing as he swished and gurgled some mouthwash before spitting into the sink and going to take another unfortunate sip of coffee. Sherlock was quite sure that Victor's idea of an ideal night would just be watching Sherlock as he went about his life, Victor found beauty in the simplest of tasks and he would often rave about how beautiful Sherlock looked as he just sat doing homework or read a book. Victor said that he was the most naturally beautiful person he had ever come across, to which Sherlock would question about his use of mirrors. They tried to one up each other with complements; however there had never been a clear cut winner as most all of their kindness duels ended with a passionate bout of kissing.
"You need a ride then?" Victor guessed, rolling off of the bed and shutting the last of the donuts into the box. He set them down on the bed, presumably for Sherlock to enjoy when he returned back from his long and perilous trip to and from school.
"Unless you have somewhere to be." Sherlock murmured, to which Victor just laughed, shaking his head and checking his reflection in the mirror, just to make sure he looked threatening yet beautiful.
"Nowhere more important." He assured. Sherlock just shook his head in exasperation, as Victor always did like to make dramatic and romantic statements out of basically nothing. It was flattering of course, yet somewhat tiring after a while.
"You're such a flirt." Sherlock sighed miserably, to which Victor smiled proudly, standing with his hands in his pockets near the mirror, as if waiting for Sherlock to approach him.
"Is it working?" Victor wondered with a smile. Sherlock shrugged from where he stood; trying to play it off as though Victor wasn't all that interesting.
"It's worked for two years now; I can't see why it would stop." Sherlock admitted. Victor nodded, raising his eyebrows beckoningly, evidently waiting for his goodbye kiss. Sherlock, however, simply donned his trench coat and backpack, glancing almost teasingly at Victor before dashing down the stairs with a cry of excitement.
"Oh come back here!" Victor exclaimed in protest, following Sherlock in loud clomps as his work boots crashed down upon the stairs. Sherlock ran out the door in something of a panic, a smile spread wide along his face as his backpack waddled upon his back, knowing that Victor was close behind. He only made it to the car when Victor pulled at the back of his backpack, sliding it effortlessly off of his back and letting it fall carelessly to the ground. Sherlock squealed in mock terror, making his way around the old car while Victor laughed in exasperation, and for a moment the two of them raced around the car like two little kids playing tag. Finally Sherlock was beaten, for Victor had jumped across the hood of the car like he was in some sort of action movie and trapped Sherlock in his arms, the two of them laughing and breathing heavily as they fell against the passenger side door, Victor holding Sherlock to him as he peppered his face in teasing little kisses.
"Playing hard to get?" Victor murmured between breaths, to which Sherlock nodded playfully, making Victor finally press a real kiss to his lips, a kiss that concealed so many emotions and transferred those feelings he could never put into words. His kiss warmed Sherlock's heart more than anything in this chilly morning, and yet of course it had to end. It ended when Victor finally looked across the street, tensing up as his fingers clenched more tightly around Sherlock's wrists, almost as if he was trying to keep him at bay.
"We're being watched." Victor muttered, making Sherlock quickly crane his neck to see that John had obviously just looked away, nervously unlocking his car door while Harry just walked out on the porch.
"It's alright." Sherlock assured in a nervous whisper, trying to calm Victor down just a little bit as he felt the boy's breathing increase, his heart begin to beat, his teeth begin to grind...
"It's not alright, he's a stalker, he thinks that by watching us he may someday take my place." Victor growled, getting increasingly more defensive.
"No he's not, he's just observing. How could anyone not glance over when faced with a scene like this?" Sherlock wondered in a snap. As if on cue Harry Watson had just noticed them, and with courage much beyond her brother she dared to wave cheerfully, as if it was just neighborly to say hello to the two boys pressed up against a car, giving death glares to her brother that was now climbing into the passenger seat. Sherlock shook Victor off quick enough to wave back; however Victor gave a growl of discontent and stepped away, grabbing the pack of cigarettes from his wide pocket and sticking one into his mouth. Maybe he wanted to look threatening, so as to scare John away, or maybe he just intended on looking cooler than him, for who wasn't intimidating when they had a cigarette clenched in their teeth? Either way John didn't even notice, and it was only until they were safely in the car, with Sherlock sitting rather squashed under his heavy backpack, that Victor began taping the steering wheel irritably.