Harry did most of the talking before dinner was finally announced, the three of them had migrated to the sitting room where there were multiple headache inducing candles burning about the room. It was a cozy gesture of course, the lamps provided a soft orange lighting and the scents were making John quite sleepy, however the ever present knowledge that Sherlock was in the room was enough to keep him awake. It wasn't like Sherlock had any sort of effect on him, except awkwardness of course; it was just that John felt somewhat guilty for the lost years in which they barely even said good morning. He felt as though Sherlock was also quite aware of the gap in their life spans, and although their seven year old selves would have been rejoicing at yet another opportunity to play and frolic together John found it rather awkward to be faced with a distant and moody teenaged Sherlock, a form in which maturity certainly was generous. John had always remembered Sherlock as a knobby kneed, scrawny kid with a huge puff of black curls askew on his head, with eyes too big for his head and a smile plastered onto his pale face. Now it would seem that Sherlock had grown into his previously disproportionate body, for he was long and thin, naturally thin and without an ounce of muscle on his small arms. He had a very different aura to himself as well, as a kid he seemed to be carefree and adventurous and now he seemed internally tougher, emotionally prepared, as though he had built up walls around himself in those years of silence that were certainly not going to be breeched after a simple hello. Harry wasn't having any problem conversing, she asked about the little things like school, Mycroft, and whether or not Sherlock still played the violin (of course she phrased it classical guitar, but they all knew what she meant). He was polite yet sheltered, as though he was worried about revealing a bit too much in one sentence, talking slowly as if filtering his words as they passed through his lips and asking more questions than he received, just to make sure Harry was doing all the talking instead of him. John sat quietly, sitting back against the couch and tapping his fingers nervously against the armrest, the only part of his body that felt the ability to move. His lungs were struggling to find air, and as he suspected it would be a bit uncalled for to gasp for breath suddenly, he stayed quiet, struggling to pull in enough oxygen through his nose in an attempt to not draw any attention to himself, even as he slowly turned blue.
"Kids, dinner!" Mrs. Watson called from the kitchen, making John sigh in relief (a much needed gasp) as he got to his feet. The three of them walked in silence into the brightly lit kitchen, where Mrs. Holmes had arranged the promised lasagna, garlic bread, and some sort of green bean and almond dish. It looked wonderful of course, and yet John really wished he was alone in his room eating some poor excuse for takeout. This was the first time he had seen Mrs. Holmes since she arrived, and to be honest John would've mistook her for someone else had he not already expected her presence. She had grown much heavier, twice the width that he had last seen her, and her hair had turned shock gray. She had aged thirty years in only eight, with watering eyes and frown lines around her wrinkled face. She looked horrible, distraught and withered from the loss of her husband and exhausted from the burden of raising two boys, she was so unlike the Mrs. Holmes John had knew growing up that he was almost ready to start a conspiracy.
"Well hello John! Good to see you again!" Mrs. Holmes smiled, displaying that she had lost a tooth or two in the process as well. John smiled nervously, looking towards his mother, whose eyes were bright in warning, as if begging John to say something nice, and not point out the obvious transformation Mrs. Holmes had undergone. Well of course he wasn't stupid.
"Hello Mrs. Holmes, wonderful to see you as well." John agreed with a smile, taking his seat next to his mother and finding that he had consequently seated himself across from Sherlock, who had slid into his own chair not a moment ago. John dropped his gaze towards the food, a reasonable place to look when first seated of course, and forced a smile. The food looked wonderful, he just didn't have that much of an appetite.
"Well don't be shy everyone, I cooked it just this morning, so I hope it should be good." Mrs. Watson said with a smile, gesturing to all the good to which everyone helped themselves, loading up on all the home cooked food that Mrs. Watson had to offer. John took only a little bit of everything, trying to spread them about his plate to make it look like he was eating more than he really was, and yet he took to only munching on the green beans, the most digestible of all the foods that were set before him.
"It's been so long since we last saw you both, anything exciting happen since we were gone?" Mr. Watson asked from where he sat, awkwardly seated at the other end of the table near Mrs. Holmes, who hadn't bothered to take polite portions. Half of that lasagna might have gone directly to her plate.
"Oh nothing much, Sherlock here's been valedictorian, Mycroft's in grad school, I'm just trying to keep it all together you know? These feisty boys, it's hard to keep up." Mrs. Holmes admitted with a laugh.
"Ah, valedictorian is nice, congratulations. Was that last year?" Mr. Watson wondered, looking at Sherlock who slunk back into his chair just a tad.
"Oh yes, well, it was all the years they've calculated that stuff. But it's not really my fault that everyone else is incompetent. No offense John." Sherlock added nervously, stuttering over his words in an attempt to spew them out as fast as he could.
"None taken." John assured, wholly concentrated on stabbing an almond with his fork while it danced around his plate.
"And Mycroft in grad school, what is he going for?" Mr. Watson asked, obviously just trying to maintain the small talk so that the awkwardness didn't become overbearing.
"Politics. Such an ambitious boy." Mrs. Holmes admitted proudly, beaming with pride at the thought of her eldest going on to solve world hunger or something like that. Unlikely, of course, but she could dream. Mr. Watson nodded, too busy eating a piece of garlic bread to answer politely. So everyone sat there in silence, focusing on their food for a little while as they pondered what on earth they could say next.
"So Sherlock, John tells me that you're...gay." Mrs. Watson muttered, dropping her fork to slap herself in the forehead as the whole table got terribly silent. John's face grew red, however not nearly as red as Sherlock's, who was starting to resemble the lasagna sauce that was smeared about his plate.
"Nice one mom." Harry laughed, seemingly completely calm about this sort of topic.
"No, I'm so sorry that is not what I meant to say, it just sort of..." Mrs. Watson stammered, suddenly becoming very pale and clammy, evidently regretting every word she had said this entire night.
"Don't worry, no it's fine." Sherlock assured, although he looked about ready to slink into the floor and melt right into the Earth's crust. John couldn't tell who was more humiliated, his mother or Sherlock, both of which looked mortified beyond the point of contemplation. Not surprisingly, the table was quiet after that. When the food was cleared off of the table it was replaced with the mound of Jell-O that Mrs. Watson had made, however she didn't seem too proud of it and she barely ate any of it, obviously she was too ashamed to even look at food. She had been hoping for the best this evening, and evidently she considered herself to have ruined it. The only positive of his mother's nervousness was John's own confidence, suddenly he had been replaced as the most awkward and so he felt his appetite slowly returning, in turn leaving him some room for the delicious Jell-O mound that his mother had gone great lengths to preserve. As desert faded away conversation turned to college talk, and of course that stressed the two boys out, who still had a year until they had to worry about final decisions and whatnot. Harry, who was a year older and in turn just about ready to leave the nest, was the topic of conversation now.
"John why don't you and Sherlock go off, surely you don't care about this." Mrs. Watson suggested in a not so discreet whisper, making sure that both boys could hear the proposition. John felt his face grow rather pale, however he looked over at Sherlock, who was staring right back at him with an equally nervous expression. He was cornered now, he couldn't insist on staying because Mrs. Watson had just accused him of not caring, and he couldn't just pretend he hadn't heard the request because it was obvious that Sherlock had, and he would take some sort of personal offense if John decided to stay and listen to Mr. Watson rave about the importance of picking the right university.
"Ya, alright." John agreed, getting to his feet as quietly as he could all while managing to attract the attention of most everyone at the table. The conversation paused while John and Sherlock go to their feet, however their absence evidently wasn't too pressing for the adults continued on as soon as they made it past the kitchen door.
"Want to go up to my room?" John suggested nervously, leaning against the banister of the staircase and wondering where could be the appropriate place for the two of them to chat. Certainly the sitting room wasn't an option, as it was just a hallway away from the dining room and in full visibility of the adults. Sherlock shrugged, obviously too polite to refuse, and so the two of them started up the staircase quickly, John leading the way. The first thing John noticed was the curtains, they were wide open, and yet it was impossible to see anything for the lights in the Holmes household were off. Another breath of relief was provided when John saw that his mother had taken the liberty to clean up his room while he was at school, putting his dirty laundry into the laundry basket under his bed and making his bed neatly. Sherlock looked around nervously, lingering near the door while John lingered near the TV, unsure of what to do now. Obviously his bedroom did provide any source of entertainment, however it did bring back memories of when the two of them would try to kidnap Mycroft and hold him for ransom, locking him in the closet and bolting the door so that none of the parents could get in. And the time that they had jumped out of John's window onto the shed below, John's foot going right through the wooden roof and Sherlock falling just short onto the grass. They had thought themselves ninjas when they were younger, evidently they were anything but.
"It's been a while since I was in here." Sherlock admitted with a sad sort of laugh, obviously reminiscing about all the memories they had shared in their conquest of the neighborhood, or whatever these two houses were technically classified as.
"Ya, quite a while." John agreed rather awkwardly.
"Not much has changed though." Sherlock decided, looking around as if he remembered the same arrangement just from different, younger eyes.
"Well, minus all the dinosaurs I guess, and the swords." John agreed with a bit of a shrug, to which Sherlock only smiled, looking about the windowsill as if wondering where all of John's action figures had gotten to.
"But we've both changed, drastically if I can say it." Sherlock decided with a sigh. John nodded in agreement, glad that one of them had finally said it. To be honest John didn't think he had become too different, he had always been into sports, friends with the popular crowd, and a bit slacking intellectually. He didn't look much different, he didn't act much different, and he certainly hadn't made any life changing or socially impacting decisions in the last eight years. The same could not be said of Sherlock Holmes.
"Yes well, things change." Sherlock agreed. John nodded glumly, grabbing at the remote in an attempt to give himself something productive to do
"You can sit down if you want. I'm afraid I'm not terribly entertaining, however it's better up here than down there with the nauseating adults." John admitted with a shrug, sitting down on the edge of his bed and turning on the sports channel.
"Nauseating, that's a pretty big word John. I'm impressed." Sherlock said with a sarcastic little snicker, and John just glared at him, feeling a smile coming on. That was the Sherlock Holmes he remembered, too smart for his own good and willing to make sure everyone knew it.
"Oh yes, I've been practicing on my multi syllable words lately." John agreed.
"Ah, and how far did you get then?" Sherlock wondered with a little laugh.
"Only about as far as procrastination." John admitted with a little smile, turning his attention away from Sherlock as he heard laughter from the corner.
"Yes, that is characteristic." Sherlock agreed, sounding a lot less awkward than he had when the conversation first began.
"Do you want to watch anything else? I've got...cable. So if you watch any channels be my guest." John shrugged, holding out the remote in offering. Sherlock just shook his head, walking slowly over and taking a seat on the other side of the end of the bed, so that they were both seated and yet as far as they could possibly be. Maybe Sherlock was trying to make this experience any less uncomfortable, and for that attempt John was truly grateful.
"I'm good with whatever this is...soccer...football? I suppose it depends on the country." Sherlock agreed nervously, nodding his little head in agreement to the little men in brightly colored uniforms that were prancing about the screen.
"Still not into sports I see?" John wondered with a smile. Sherlock shook his head minutely, as if he was ashamed to admit that he hadn't gotten anymore masculine in these eight years. When they were young he had never been one to play soccer or basketball, in fact Sherlock's idea of a good time had always been mostly of the literary nature. John had a respect for that of course, Sherlock had taken after his brother by being valedictorian for as many years as he qualified, they were both geniuses in all meaning of the word. Maybe sports were a less intellectual form of entertainment, who knows? However Sherlock had never seemed quite content with sitting and watching sweaty guys run around and kick balls, however now he may be a little bit more attentive.
"You play soccer now, don't you?" Sherlock wondered, looking over at John curiously before quickly ducking his head away before John could notice his gaze.
"Not anymore, it got to be too much with school you know?" John shrugged. Sherlock just laughed, almost as if he found John's sudden dedication to his school work to be something of a joke.
"And what now, you just come home and do homework?" Sherlock wondered with a laugh.
"Well ya, homework, studying...TV, video games..." John muttered, letting his voice trail off as if trying to emphasize just how many more options there were now that his afternoons were free.
"Well I suppose I can't scold you for that, if I could have any more free time I would." Sherlock admitted glumly.
"And what do you do all day? Read the dictionary? You're effortlessly smart Sherlock; it astounds me that you even have to study." John admitted. Sherlock hummed in agreement; as though he certainly wasn't going to put himself down to argue such a statement.
"Well not so much school, more family stuff. After Mycroft left it's kind of up to me to keep the house running, and now with Victor I feel the need to take time out of my day to spend time with him, it's all just a bit overwhelming. I don't know what will happen once I leave too." Sherlock admitted quietly, staring blankly at the desk in front of him as if imagining his mother's life once both of her sons had gone. John was quiet for a moment, not wanting to inquire more into Sherlock's personal life after his voice had grown so quiet, almost as if he was reminiscing for the worst.
"How's Victor then? I haven't seen that kid...well I guess not since he dropped out." John admitted with a shrug.
"He didn't drop out because he didn't want to go to school, it wasn't laziness. He needed to work, he needed a full time job because his...well, his father is unemployed, they needed the money." Sherlock said quickly, however he ended his sentence abruptly as he realized that he was now treading in dangerous waters. He was sharing someone else's secrets, not his own, to a boy he barely knew and probably shouldn't trust. Well his absentminded trust wasn't misplaced of course, for John would rather die than gossip about the one kid in this town that would undoubtedly hit him with his car and just keep driving.
"That's understandable of course." John agreed with a smile.
"He's nice, he's...well I know people think he's rough around the edges, but he's nice a lot. He makes funny jokes, and takes me on walks, and picks flowers out of old Mrs. Turner's garden for me and once he even tried to write me a poem for my birthday but it was really bad and it didn't rhyme but it was romantic all the same...why am I even telling you this? As if you care. As if you need to know." Sherlock grumbled, his voice dropping in shame as he suddenly quieted.
"I care, of course I care Sherlock, it's been ages since we last saw each other, it's good to catch up." John assured with a friendly enough smile.