"Could you grab my lighter?" Victor asked as they made their way down the road. Sherlock nodded, fiddling around in the cup holder before unearthing a simple red lighter, clicking it a couple of times before a flame finally appeared and holding it carefully under Victor's cigarette. The boy gave it a puff, and suddenly the end began to smolder and smoke, and he gave a sigh of satisfaction. Sherlock opened his window, so as to get a little bit of fresh air, and sat against the cold window pane while Victor fumed and growled about the nerve of some people. It was a quiet ride to school, and whatever careless fun the two had enjoyed with the donuts was long exhausted, replaced instead with distant glares and radiating hate for the same boy that dared to interrupt their morning kiss. Sherlock didn't mind that John was looking at them, of course who could look away from such a scene? It was the fact that he kept staring that was beginning to irritate Sherlock, that he kept nosing his way into things that most certainly were none of his concern. Maybe he thought he had a right to include himself into everything his neighbor did, however Sherlock had long since decided that John was very well removed from his life and really should remain that way. Victor of course thought that John was out to replace him as Sherlock's boyfriend, as if that was even possible. It was a laughable thought really, to think of John being anything other than heterosexually, a powerful straight boy. He even had a girlfriend, he had made sure to remind Sherlock of that in last night's adventure, which of course Victor knew nothing about. If he knew that John was making visits to the Holmes' household after dark, well then fists would be flying. Sherlock kept his mouth shut, he knew that he must, and just watched as the fields went past the window, watching as the birds through the clouded morning sky, watching as his breath fogged against the glass and breathing in the fresh air that was coming exclusively from the open window. When they pulled up to the school it was as busy as ever, with parents of all sorts dropping their horrible little children off at the curb, some with nice fancy cars and others with clunkers like Victor's. Some of the girls walked in packs, some tried their best to avoid their siblings, others walked alone, with their heads bent down to the pavement so as to avoid eye contact with anyone walking the opposite direction.
"Have a good day at school Sherlock, and please, stay away from him." Victor pleaded as Sherlock reached for the handle. He just smiled reassuringly, trying to insist through his gaze that he would behave himself. Really there should be no worry, however if it was enough to ease Victor's worried mind then it must be necessary.
"He's no threat Victor, but of course I will keep my distance." Sherlock agreed. "Good luck at your job interview!" he added as he clambered out onto the sidewalk, to which Victor smiled around his cigarette, looking genuinely honored that Sherlock had remembered such an occasion.
"I love you." Victor added, just in case Sherlock had forgotten. Sherlock just smiled at him, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and gazing with a love sick glare towards his boyfriend, who sat with the engine still running.
"And of course I love you too." Sherlock agreed, and with that he shut the door, joining the crowd of students who all marched towards the same door. Victor drove away quietly, and so Sherlock slipped into the school and headed for his locker alone. It was a very mediocre day, made interesting only by the gossip that was beginning to circulate. So it would seem that the relationship between Mary and John had gotten to the public ear, and so suddenly it was the topic on everyone's tongues. Sherlock got to listen to a good many versions of how it had gone down, and he was positive that none of them were true. Most began with a conversation and ended with furious kissing, one had begun with a car crash (where they got that Sherlock had no idea) and another involved a very elaborate proposal that apparently no one happened to see. Sherlock had no idea of the real version, however a tiny voice in the back of his head reminded him that whatever sort of version it was, it had probably been very awkward indeed. He knew John enough to know that his interest in Mary was purely social, and that in no way was he actually attracted to her. It was obvious for anyone who knew him for more than a couple of years that he was trying to get rid of her in the midst of whatever conversation they were having, it was the same technique he had used with Mycroft when they were children. And the fact that he asked her out told Sherlock that whatever love he had was forced upon him by the expectations of his peers, that or it was his own denial that had led him to where he was. Maybe he was trying to keep some feelings at bay, feelings he didn't want to admit to himself and feelings he didn't quite understand. Sherlock was quite certain that was what it was, and yet he dare not to speak to anyone about his suspicions, especially Victor, who would most certainly dub those curious feelings to a love of Sherlock. It most certainly wasn't that, maybe he was just falling in love with another girl without even realizing it. Maybe he was just confused at the moment, focusing on school, on sports? Oh wait...he had quit soccer didn't he? Oh who ever cared? Calculus was quite the adventure, for Sherlock got to see firsthand the interaction between the new couple. Many eyes were on the pair as they sat alone in the back of the class, Greg having moved to where the rest of Mary's friends were, as if trying to give them their necessary privacy. Mary and John were talking in low voices, occasionally Mary would giggle and a mere smile would pass over John's face, however she seemed ultimately satisfied and just continued to talk. On only one occasion did Sherlock catch John looking at him, and to be honest he wasn't entirely sure that John wasn't just looking at the exponent rules displayed on a poster above his head. And so school continued, Sherlock sat in at lunch with Mrs. Hudson and made play that he had forgotten his lunch at home when in reality he had never packed one, he was too busy running about the house with Victor that he had forgotten to grab anything edible. This wasn't an entirely uncommon occurrence, however, and Mrs. Hudson had packed up a stash of snacks for him just in case, like the mother she was. And so Sherlock dined on an almond granola bar and a back of kettle chips while he talked to her all about her take on global warming and whether or not it was real or not. It turned into a rather heated discussion, for Mrs. Hudson was very set in her ways and had insisted that nothing was changing, and that yes there was a hole in the ozone layer but it wasn't causing such a phenomena. Sherlock, however, was the opposite, he believed strongly that humans were killing the earth and global warming was just another way to prove such a thing. In the end they decided that they would agree to disagree, making peace just in time for the bell to dismiss Sherlock to his next class. His last class was English, where Sherlock was surprised with something of a pop quiz with long, horrible essays about the book they were reading currently. Of course Sherlock had read it very intensively, and so he was prepared for whatever questions the teacher might throw at him. Of course, being the over achiever he was, Sherlock had taken a couple of sheets of notebook paper and wrote long, drawn out essays about the topics on hand, going well over the final bell to finally put his final thoughts to paper. Of course this wasn't an issue until he realized that it was, for it was much too late into his last response that he realized that five minutes ago the bus had left, and Victor was at his job interview and therefore wouldn't be able to pick him up. He was stranded. Sherlock sighed heavily, however he realized that there was really nothing he could do about it now, and so he turned his test in with a glum face and decided that he had no better choice than to walk home. When he had grabbed his coat from his locker he started towards the doors, heading out in the bright spring sunshine, the heat so pleasant that he decided he didn't even need a coat. It was quite a wonderful feeling. And so Sherlock enjoyed a nice trek home, along the quiet country roads where only a couple of cars passed in either direction, not one slowing to make sure that he was alright. People around here just didn't care all that much, especially about a nameless boy whose only claim to fame was being the only homosexual susceptible to bullying. He was actually surprised that more people didn't stop just to jeer or throw stuff at him. About half way home, however, a car did stop, a strangely and dauntingly familiar car....
"This time I'm not taking no for an answer!" called John's voice from out the open window, reaching over and flinging the door open so as to let Sherlock climb into the passenger seat. Sherlock, however, froze where he stood in the gravel, taking a stumbling step backwards as he suddenly remembered the promise he had made to Victor about staying away.
"No I'm fine, really I'm fine." Sherlock assured. "Just enjoying the spring weather."
"Ya, not on the side of the road, not on my watch. Come on Sherlock we're going the same place, it's only five minutes down the road." John insisted, turning the music down in his car so as to hear Sherlock's response.
"I really can't, I um, I don't think Victor will appreciate it." Sherlock murmured truthfully, to which John just shrugged, swatting the empty air as if to insist that these concerns meant nothing to him.
"Oh don't let him get you down; it's only a ride home. Besides, how would he see us?" John wondered with a tempting smile. Sherlock sighed heavily, looking about the empty road, the road that seemed a lot longer now that he had a better mode of transportation. He was right; of course...it was only five minutes. Sherlock sighed in defeat and swung his backpack off of his shoulder, climbing into John's car and sitting securely with his backpack on his lap, almost for protection. He closed the door timidly, and almost as soon as he got situated he regretted this decision. It had been quite a while since he was in such close quarters with John, especially now that they were alone. There was no one here to censor whatever conversation might erupt.
"There we go, see? Painless." John said finally, turning the music up more before pulling back onto the road and starting towards the houses. Sherlock sat quietly, looking out the window as he struggled to get a breath, feeling John's eyes on him even though he really should be watching the road. Sherlock was simply watching the scenery, he couldn't bear to watch the road for he knew that any reflections on the windshield might lead to some unwanted eye contact, he didn't want to talk, he didn't want to look...
"So how have you been?" John asked, almost as if he hadn't seen Sherlock in ages when in fact he had come knocking on the door not twenty four hours ago.
"Oh you know, tired thanks to you." Sherlock murmured, to which John smiled apologetically.
"Ya, sorry about that. I don't know what came over me; I just wanted to make sure you were alright." John admitted. "Victor scared me that night."
"Well I mean, he thinks you had it coming." Sherlock admitted in a timid whisper.
"I did not! I wasn't even looking at you." John declared, although even as he said it Sherlock detected a change in his voice, a weakness, almost as though he knew very well that he was lying.
"Yes you were." Sherlock muttered knowingly. John sighed heavily, looking over to Sherlock once more and unintentionally willing the car to swerve towards the left, making Sherlock cry out in protest before he finally corrected himself.
"Alright, well maybe I was, but it was only because you looked warm and I was freezing." John admitted defensively. Sherlock nodded, pretending to understand something that made absolutely no sense at all, however he just went along with it because he knew that was what he was most likely expected to do.
"So you and Mary then, how did that come to be?" Sherlock asked curiously, feeling the need to change the subject for John's sake. Surely he didn't like being cornered like this, attacked about things he knew he was doing and shouldn't be.
"Oh ya, Mary, well we've been talking for a while you know? It was kind of destined." John shrugged, seeming all together careless about his new girlfriend.
"You like her then?" Sherlock wondered. John just nodded, looking almost apprehensive as he did. It was almost like the truth was eating away at him and yet he couldn't bring himself to admit it, it had only been a day and to admit such a thing was just barbaric at this stage. He had to like her, it was mandatory.
"Ya I do." John agreed. Sherlock nodded, John nodded, and yet they both knew that this was all fabrication.
"Well that's good, I'd hate to..." Sherlock's words were cut off, however, by a crash. He felt his seatbelt dig into his shoulder as the car was lurched to the side, fishtailing and skidding with a horrible screech towards the fields that surrounded the lonely road. Sherlock wasn't quick enough to scream, for by the time the sound had escaped his lips the car had already stopped, rocking back and forth as it settled itself backwards into a ditch. And then Sherlock screamed. As did John. It was mere seconds before the driver's side door was flung open, and with a horrible scream and a ripping of fabric John was ripped from his seat, the seatbelt hanging in mere threads, and fell to the pavement in a huddle. He screamed again.
"Victor...Victor no!" Sherlock exclaimed before he even saw the boy, he knew he was there, he had to be there. Sherlock was still a little bit shocked from the spinning however he pushed his own door open, falling out into the grass and stumbling around the steaming vehicle, now with a considerable dent in the side bumper. Victor's car sat dented yet straight, parked haphazardly in the grass with the engine running.
"I told you to STAY AWAY!" Victor yelled from the other side of the car, his outburst followed by multiple cries of pain from John, who presumably lay still on the road. Sherlock struggled around the car to find Victor standing above John's trembling form, kicking him repeatedly in the ribs, grabbing at his shirt and slamming him down into the road once more, his head lolling about his neck and blood beginning to issue from his mouth. Sherlock felt the same pain, somehow, and suddenly he too had doubled over in pain, almost as though the mere sight of bloodshed made his body ache.
"Victor stop! He was just giving me a ride home, Victor please, it's my fault!" Sherlock exclaimed, rushing towards his boyfriend in a frantic scuttle and jumping onto his back in protest. Victor growled, pausing his beating of John so that he could turn and fling Sherlock off of him, sending the poor boy falling to the pavement as well, his head knocking against the road and making the world spin. Victor was yelling something that he couldn't understand, he didn't feel much pain and yet he knew that this was only the beginning. He heard John whining again, he heard him cry out in agony, and finally he heard the sound of spitting, moaning, and Sherlock felt himself get dragged by the collar of his shirt to his feet, falling into Victor's fierce form as he was dragged along the pavement, his toes skidding across the gravel as he was lugged like a dead weight to Victor's car.
"Sherlock!" John groaned, however he couldn't say much more than that before he was moaning again. He couldn't do anything to help, no matter how heroic he thought he might be, he was just as useful as his broken car as he lay there on the pavement. Sherlock dared not look back, he didn't want to see what state John had amounted to, instead he just focused on what was happening with him, getting dragged and tossed about like a rag doll. It was all a bit of a blur really, the ride home. His backpack was still in John's passenger seat, John himself still lying on the pavement with a small puddle of blood and mucus building up beside him. Sherlock lay in the trunk in the fetal position, shivering and trembling as Victor sped down the road, screaming things that Sherlock could hardly hope to understand all while he drove. It was a terrifying experience, and Sherlock still didn't know how it had come to be, how Victor had even found them? Maybe it was one of Fate's cruller acts; maybe someone was out to prove to Victor that Sherlock really was cheating on him. But he wasn't, and yet Sherlock was quite sure he would never get the chance to explain that to Victor.