When finally the parents were gone the other kids starting showing up in droves, and of course as soon as the sun started to sink the entirety of the guest list was somewhere in the backyard. John spent most of the time rushing about and trying to make sure everything was up to par, he was stand in DJ when the music got sucky (of course it was only his Spotify playlist over the loud speakers) and he was the one who would refill the snack bowls and try to replenish the soda whenever it got low. Towards the end of the night John noticed that everyone had cups in their hands and yet the soda levels were almost untouched, and he was only able to relax when finally a cup ended up in his hands, somehow. The pool was filled with so many people that it was seeping out water over the sides; the backyard was filled with boys and girls alike, all talking, dancing, or doing things that certainly shouldn't be done in public. John and Mary shared a lounge chair, both downing cups upon cups of horrible nameless alcohol that scalded their throats, occasionally getting up to jump into the pool. Greg and Molly were swimming together, the most innocent couple to be at the party, trying to share a raft while everyone else was attempting to tip them over into the warm, illuminated water. Everyone was having a wonderful time, it was certain to be the party of the year as John didn't see one person with a frown on their face, that was until he noticed someone who certainly shouldn't be here, someone wandering in from the open gate, someone bleeding...
"John, John I need to talk to you, please...quickly?" Sherlock mumbled, holding a tissue to the jagged cut across his face, limping across the tiles and speaking quietly despite the loud music. John immediately went rigid, throwing Mary off of him quite literally (she fell onto the concrete with a yelp) and jumping to Sherlock's aid. He was dripping wet and only in swim shorts, dazed with drunkenness and rigid with exhaustion, and yet somehow Sherlock in his neat jacket and slacks still managed to look worse. It was the fear in his eyes, presumably, that distorted his usually up kept appearance, it made him almost difficult to look at.
"John, what on earth are you doing?" Mary growled, however John was already leading Sherlock inside, noticing a desperate situation when it approached him. He took Sherlock by the arm, escorting him carefully through the multitudes of drunkards on his back porch, and letting them both into the quiet, dark house. No one else was allowed inside, so it should be safe.
"What happened to you, what did he do?" John wondered nervously, taking Sherlock into the kitchen where they could have a private moment alone, taking him where there were no windows that might jeopardize them. Sherlock was at first very reluctant to talk, he shook John's arm off of him the moment they were away from the crowds, pacing back and forth as he tried to hold back his tears, the music playing just faintly from so far away.
"It's not, well...he was drunk tonight, his father was being horrible, he was angry. I don't know what I did but he lashed out, he's violent and he went after me, he cut me." Sherlock whispered, holding the tissue even tighter to his face so that John couldn't see the damage that had been done.
"Sherlock let me look, let me clean it out. My mom has some rubbing alcohol in the closet here, and some bandages." John muttered, staring for the hallway when Sherlock lunged at him, grabbing at his arm so as to prevent him from leaving.
"I don't care about this, I'm fine...he'll be coming for me." Sherlock muttered, looking around the house as if expecting Victor to be crouched in every corner, waiting in every shadow. John saw him shudder.
"I won't let him hurt you." John promised, looking Sherlock in the eyes in determination, noticing for the first time just how many colors that boy managed to fit into his irises. His eyes in every way were just...beautiful.
"He'll kill you before he lets you hide me, I don't want to ruin your party John please, just go outside, play dumb, act drunk. Lock the doors, I won't do a thing." Sherlock promised.
"Why now, why come to me now?" John wondered curiously, drawing away from Sherlock almost suspiciously as the boy's grip on his arm tightened. He looked broken beyond compare, his lips trembling as he struggled to contain his tears, shaking his head and looking virtually unable to speak for a moment. Evidently this was his first taste of rebellion, or at least of standing up for himself. He was terrified of what Victor might do.
"I'm afraid for myself, and for you." Sherlock whispered. "Please just go."
"When he leaves I'll come clean this cut out, until then just stay here, turn out all the lights, don't make a sound. We'll take care of him for you, don't worry." John promised, grasping one of Sherlock's shoulders reassuringly, however this time the boy ducked away, as if too afraid to be in John's grasp for long.
"Don't hurt him, please. I still love him." Sherlock begged, the first tear finally slipping from his eye as he staggered away from John, stumbling back into the shadows of the darkened kitchen.
"I won't hurt him so long as he doesn't hurt you again." John promised, and with that he took one last look at Sherlock, the trembling refugee, and started for the door once more, following the sound of the music.
"He'll kill you if he gets the chance." Sherlock warned finally, his voice breaking as he sunk to the floor, his feet slipping along the hardwood and his head leaning against the cabinets in defeat. John paused, looking back at him and giving the darkened figure a nod of encouragement.
"I know." John agreed, and with that he went back onto the patio, rejoining his girlfriend who still sat on the chair, waiting for him. It took longer than John had expected for Victor to finally show up, and yet he arrived not five minutes later, just in time for John to refill his cup and get Mary longing very convincingly against his chest, giggling and kissing him, seemingly forgetting all about that little interruption. Victor didn't arrive nearly as quietly as Sherlock had, in fact as soon as he stepped into the gated off patio he gave a yell of anger and threw an empty bottle of something onto the stones, letting it shatter and drawing all attention to himself. He looked beyond angry, wearing his usual leather jacket with a pair of withered jeans, and yet his hair was flopping off of his forehead and his face was heavily bruised, almost as if he had experienced his own bout of beating before he arrived. John remembered Sherlock mentioning something about Victor's father, and it would seem that the apple didn't fall far from the tree.
"Where is he?" Victor growled, spotting John immediately and marching up to where he lay.
"Don't say anything." John whispered to Mary, who nodded silently, suddenly just as paralyzed with fear as the rest of them. The entire patio had fallen silent, not a person moved but Victor, who marched right up to John and grabbed him by the throat, pulling him out of his chair and throwing him with as much force as he could to the damp pavement.
"Where is he?" Victor demanded once again, towering over John threateningly, fuming with anger and stinking of whiskey.
"Where is who?" John groaned, however he scrambled to his feet, too afraid to be caught on the floor before Victor Trevor and his steel toed work boots. That had very obviously not worked the last time. Victor knew he couldn't do too much harm here, in front of so many witnesses, and yet he looked drunk enough to try, and so John tried to keep his distance.
"Don't play dumb Watson, where else would he go? Where else could he go?" Victor growled, taking a step forward to which John took a step back, trying to avoid stepping on any of the newly broken glass with his bare feet.
"Oh, you're talking about Sherlock?" John guessed, to which Victor just growled, looking around the yard for anyone who so much as resembled his boyfriend.
"Of course I'm talking about Sherlock, he'd only ever run to you." Victor insisted.
"The whole school is here Victor, how do you think I'd notice him in this crowd? You're welcome to stay of course, maybe wait until he comes back? Have a drink, seeing as though you broke your last one." John offered. Victor lunged at him with a hateful snarl, and yet John backed up towards the pool, dodging just out of his reach.
"I'll kill you right here Watson, I'll kill you. Give him back to me, you have no right to harbor him, he's mine, no matter how much you wish he was yours." Victor insisted, his eyes alight with madness as he pointed an accusing finger at John, who still tried his best to look confused.
"Now Victor, don't go around accusing people for things you know are untrue. Sherlock is not a piece of property, and he's nowhere that I know of, at least nowhere here. Maybe he's hiding in a field somewhere, maybe you ought to go check." John suggested, laughing for a moment while Victor's face glowed even redder. That was most likely the breaking point, for John saw all cares flow from those blue eyes, he saw rage replace whatever humanity might be stored there, and instead of just walking away like a normal person Victor decided that it would be best to charge, to try to go after John and make him pay for what he had done. And yet John had been anticipating this, he had been waiting for the exact moment...Victor lunged and John did no more than sidestep, tapping Victor very lightly on the back and watching as the boy went tumbling into the pool, falling on top of numerous people before he finally went in with a sickening splash. And just like that the party continued, as soon as he resurfaced people had lost interest, suddenly splashing about and screaming in glee, the music got louder and it would seem that the only two people who were still focused on the matter at hand were John and Victor, one of which was smiling, and the other was getting splashed repeatedly by hands that couldn't aim their water. He was scowling, his hair falling in wet clumps about his head, his jacket dripping wet and his work boots flooding with water. For moment he stood there, his entire torso looming out of the murky water, scowling and staring with an expression that really should've scared John...it really should've. But it didn't.
"Come on now Victor, out of the pool. You go home now, and wait for Sherlock to come back. He can't stay away forever." John advised, beckoning Victor almost like he was a dog. As soon as Victor began to march out of the pool John rejoined Mary on the lounge chair, kissing her for good measure and watching as Victor slowly ascended from the depths of the shallow end of the pool.
"Yo, who let the fa**ot in here?" cried a boy from the other side of the pool, letting out a mock scream and filling up some sort of foam squirt gun, aiming it and shooting it at Victor's back as he made his waterlogged retreat from the pool. There was a chorus of laughter and jeers as Victor walked away, his head down, with murder in his eyes.
"I'll get you John, I'll get you." He promised, and yet whatever threat that was supposed to be wasn't very well delivered, considering some girl ran over and poured a cup of spiked punch over his head. For once it was nice to see someone get what they deserved, and John simply shrugged carelessly, holding Mary close so as to prove that he was straight, and smiling up at the horrible boy.
"Well then, I'll be here. Stop over whenever you please. Maybe I'll let you use my pool again." John promised, and with that, to a chorus of laughter, Victor finally slouched away. And so Sherlock as safe, at least for now, at least until the gleam of Victor's sopping leather jacket faded away into the darkness. John waited ten minutes, just to be sure that whatever traces of Victor had long since vanished from the premises. He didn't want Victor to be stalking about the fence, watching and waiting to see if John was hiding Sherlock in the bushes or whatnot; however he couldn't be paranoid forever. John let out a breath of relief, thankful that at least Victor hadn't murdered him in front his friends, which would be a bit embarrassing. No that had worked perfectly, not only did it make John look virtually indestructible but it also reminded the world of how much of a loser Victor was. He got what he deserved, and for that John didn't feel an ounce of guilt. As soon as John decided that it was safe he excused himself from the lounge chair, muttering something to marry about checking up on the soda before sneaking into the house once more, taking a quick glance around the patio to make sure everyone didn't notice his absence before he snuck back into the quiet kitchen. When he arrived he found Sherlock back on his feet, the poor boy nearly rushing to him in the shadows, as if surprised he was still alive.
"I heard him, he was yelling; please tell me he's alright?" Sherlock begged, looking as if he was close to tears as he ran to John in a pathetically desperate state. John just frowned, crossing his arms and pursing his lips as if he expected a little bit more recognition.
"And I'm fine too...thanks." John murmured. He walked around Sherlock and turned on the light above the sink, just a little lightbulb that was light enough to see by but not enough to give away their location. The wound that Sherlock was dabbing at still looked uncleaned and disgusting; surely something had to be done about that.
"Well I know you're fine, what about Victor?" Sherlock wondered.
"He's unharmed by my hand, although I did push him into the pool." John admitted with a smile.
"He's bruised...I know." Sherlock whispered, standing with his head bowed near the counter as if Victor's wellbeing was the first thing on his mind. To be honest yes, Victor's state of living wasn't something to just ignore, however he would make it a little bit easier on himself if he coped in some way other than arriving at people's houses just to tell them that he was going to kill them.
"And you're cut, which is the first thing on my mind." John admitted, walking closer to Sherlock so as to ease the bloodied tissue away from the wound, very carefully, so as not to frighten the poor boy. Sherlock was dazzlingly beautiful in this minimal lighting, his skin shone and his eyes gleamed with brimming tears, his black curls falling heavily over his forehead in no sort of order or up keep; however he still managed to take John's breath away. It was an unspoken truth, but a truth all the same, that they both fully understood. Maybe he had been harboring these feelings for a while, maybe they were newly resurfaced after an eight year hiatus, however looking at Sherlock now, having him in this darkness and having him so close, well he wanted to kiss him, remind his brain what those lips felt like, resync his heartbeat to match Sherlock Holmes's. Maybe he was in love...maybe he was just crazy. Whichever it was, it was interrupted, by the very girl who managed to interrupt most of the past few months.
"John, John where have you gone? Come on they're playing a great song." Mary whined, walking into the house as if she was completely entitled to, walking into the kitchen still dripping with pool water and wearing nothing but a very small bikini. John just sighed, watching as Mary's eyes widened with confusion when she saw Sherlock and her boyfriend standing so close.
"Hello." Sherlock forced out.
"He's cut; I'm just going to help him clean it up." John explained, quickly walking to the hall cabinet and retrieving all the medical supplies he thought he might need.
"Oh that was...that was all about you out there wasn't it?" Mary guessed, still swaying with intoxication. Sherlock looked very uncomfortable; however John couldn't pinpoint just what made him so nervous. Of course there was an array of choices, from Mary's choice of outfit to her presence to her mentioning Victor to her walking in on a rather intimate moment, either way Sherlock looked as if he wished she would just go away.
"Yes it was." Sherlock agreed. Mary hummed, walking around Sherlock with a little smile, almost as if she was trying to observe him from every angle, before leaning against the counter and letting her head fall back, watching John as he walked about the kitchen with his hands full of cotton balls and band aids.
"You've been with Victor a while now? Is it not going well?" Mary guessed, looking falsely upset as she pretended to care.
"It's um, well like all relationships..."
"Yes of course, rough patches." Mary agreed with a sigh, pretending that she understood something that she so obviously couldn't.
"Ya, those." Sherlock murmured, looking downright distraught as he glanced down at the floor mournfully.
"John and I haven't hit a rough patch yet, haven't we John? We're like...so close. He's my best friend and my boyfriend, it's so cute. He's both." Mary laughed proudly. John just smiled, however in the back of his mind he was laughing because of the falsity of whatever relationship there really was. Mary might be just a little bit oblivious if she was still under the impression that he loved her.
"Both well...that's good. That's very good." Sherlock muttered. John sighed heavily, dropping all the medical stuff onto the counter and beckoning Sherlock to him. Sherlock obeyed, shuffling his feet across the wooden floor with a sort of reluctance, almost as if he was happy to get out of Mary's immediate presence.
"Just stay still then." John murmured, dumping some rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball and lifting it to Sherlock's face. "Might sting." He warned quickly, and with that he pressed it onto the wound. Sherlock winced, his white hand immediately shooting for John's arm, clutching at his bicep as if that was some sort of coping mechanism for pain. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to feel John's muscles...either way John flexed. It was a very long cut, going from Sherlock's forehead to his cheek, thankfully his eye was saved.