The noise from the TV had simply become background noise, for neither of them was even focused on whatever might be going on in the world of sports. It was good to catch up of course; however the honest truth was that neither of them really had any right to dabble into the other's personal life. They weren't friends, and they could hardly be considered acquaintances, and Sherlock was right of course. John didn't need to know anything about Victor, he had no biases and he had no worries, Sherlock seemed to be defending their relationship for no other reason than to reassure himself of something.
"Are you...with someone?" Sherlock mumbled nervously, almost as if this question could be interpreted as him asking if John was available or not. Of course that could be manipulated into something romantic, and with Sherlock being gay he probably assumed that John was horrified to hear such a question, however John was quite calm, in fact he was expecting a question like this.
"Well, not really. But I've been talking to someone." John admitted with a little smile.
"Oh? And who is she?" Sherlock wondered, raising his eyebrow in mock excitement, for John knew he didn't care at all. John was popular, and the gossip that radiated through his social circles barely ever rippled down to Sherlock's social class, all the way at the bottom. Obviously he wouldn't have heard about this, and obviously he wouldn't care.
"Mary Morstan." John admitted with a bit of a smile. The thought of that girl brought joy to his heart, and yet it was considered throughout the school to be a more political move than anything. Of course John was attracted to her, she was one of the most beautiful girls in the school and one of the most popular as well, the very fact that she could even look at him was astounding enough! John was considered to be one of the most popular boys, in all humbleness, and for him to go out with Mary would merge the popular girls and the popular guys even more. Maybe they could begin to go on double dates, or their friends would begin to talk by association, and suddenly more and more couples were being formed and for a while the two groups would live in harmony. Of course every time something like this happens the couples as separate and turn to despising each other; however a merge such as this never happened so far at the top. For the two leaders of the two dominating social hierarchies throughout the grade, well this was unheard of, unprecedented. And yet, just as Victor's love poems didn't affect John, his own talking to Mary Morstan didn't affect Sherlock one bit, and so the boy nodded politely and tried to pretend that he knew exactly what was going on.
"She's nice...I think." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"I think she is." John agreed thoughtfully, however he really couldn't pinpoint an exact moment in which Mary had shown any sort of generosity. Most of her affection was spawned by her own receiving, flowers and chocolates and complements always brought a smile to her face, however John had never seen her actually go out of the way to help someone in need. Maybe he would have to test that, one of these days at least. For a moment they watched the TV, although neither of them was paying any explicit attention to the screen. They were thinking about what to say and still processing what ha already been said, wondering if they had really admitted such things and pondering the lasting affects their words might have on their recipients. Sherlock looked a little bit timid now, hunching his back a little bit more as if he were beginning to curl into a protective ball, away from John's gaze and from his questions. Their conversation, or whatever may have become of it at least, was interrupted by Harry's abrupt entrance, flinging open the door and barging into the room with some urgency, pushing it shut and pressing the little click lock as if trying to keep nay more meddling parents out of the room.
"I swear, if I hear one more adult tell me that I have to choose a major I'm going to throw up!" Harry exclaimed in disgust, flinging herself onto the bed right behind the two boys and making them bounce a little bit on the mattress.
"Well...you kind of do." John murmured, however Harry was too busy groaning in disgust and so she didn't hear him.
"I'm sorry for whatever my mother may have said; she's always looking for an opportunity to brag about Mycroft, it's actually quite annoying at home." Sherlock admitted with a shrug, as though he felt the need to apologize for his mother before even learning what she had done. Maybe she had a history of speaking without thinking.
"Oh as if your mother did nearly as much verbal damage as my mom! Oh I was just mortified for you Sherlock, getting outed like that!" Harry exclaimed sympathetically, making John wrinkle his eyebrows in confusion. Since when was Harry some sort of gay ally? Since when did she understand the complexity of being...outed?
"She was just trying to make conversation I'm sure, she just couldn't find the appropriate wording I suppose." Sherlock assured, waving his hand as if Mrs. Watson's humiliating statement was really no big deal. The shade of Sherlock's face in the moment, however, had proved that it had certainly been a big deal back then.
"And what exactly was John doing, talking to my mother about you and your little boyfriend?" Harry wondered with a little laugh, prodding John in the side to which the boy just jumped, growing redder as he felt Sherlock's attention focus subconsciously onto him. Surely his eyes weren't trained in his direction, for Sherlock was much too subtle for that, however he was becoming increasingly aware, that was for sure.
"She had asked who drives Sherlock home from school, what was I supposed to do? Lie?" John defended in a small voice, almost as though he was ashamed for a having such information.
"It's fine, it really is. If my sexuality was a secret don't you think I'd be keeping it a bit better?" Sherlock wondered with a little bit of a forced laugh, as though he was doing everything he could to make this conversation anymore normal. He was becoming aware, presumably, that he was openly discussing his sexuality now with two close to strangers.
"Victor was in my grade, I remember him. He was pretty cool, that leather jacket was always pretty tough looking. He scared all the younger kids though, that was funny." Harry admitted with a smile.
"Yes he's um; he's a little bit intimidating on the outside. He tries to be that way of course; he says that no one takes him seriously unless he looks tough. I think it's a masculinity thing." Sherlock admitted with a little smile.
"Ya he's like stuck in the greaser age, except instead of Sandy Dee on his arm he's got Sherly." Harry said with a laugh, this time prodding at Sherlock and making him wince.
"Yes well, don't expect me to sing a duet." Sherlock murmured, to which Harry just laughed, as though she found Sherlock's poor musical reference to be amusing.
"Oh never, I expect your singing voice is horrible." Harry decided confidently.
"Well it's not; it's not terrible I guess." Sherlock shrugged, looking a bit meek right now, unable to defend himself against a very direct accusation.
"I'm kidding Sherlock, of course I'm kidding. You're pretty musical, I'm sure you'll be fine." Harry assured with a smile, letting her head fall back off of the mattress and her neck strain to keep up the weight of whatever was in that head of hers, if there even was a brain.
"What are you doing here Harry?" John wondered, looking over at his sister with a bit of a hateful glare. She always insisted on barging in, even when they were kids Harry had tried to get in on whatever John and Sherlock were up to, at least she wanted to play as soon as she was done beating up Mycroft.
"Why John, do you find my presence to be...inconvenient?" Harry teased, laughing as she flailed about onto the bed before managing to plant a kick onto John's back.
"And stop hitting everyone!" John insisted flatly, to which Sherlock just smiled weakly, as though he was simply too scared to demand the same. Harry sighed heavily, seeing now that her presence wasn't entirely appreciated; however she was far too inconsiderate to leave. Instead she fell silent, giving way to the commentators talking over the sports game, whatever it was, that was still playing on the TV. 

 Sherlock POV: Sherlock waited in his bedroom for the boy he knew was going to arrive; it was just a matter of time before the headlights shone above the horizon. Victor hadn't known about Sherlock's dinner with the Watsons, however it was going to made quite obvious one way or the other, since Mrs. Holmes had the pleasure of taking home the rest of the Jell-O mound, that and Sherlock felt as though he was morally obligated to tell Victor anything. If all went well then there would be no problems, surely Victor could come to understand that it had been nothing more than a friendly neighborhood dinner, he had been forced into it of course, so what was he supposed to do except accept the invitation? He really had no say in the matter, and it wasn't like anything had happened, it wasn't like John had in some way compromised the relationship that Sherlock and Victor had. It had been purely platonic, just old friends reuniting for a brief moment, no it should be fine. Of course it would be fine. And so why was Sherlock so nervous? He felt like he had done something wrong all the while knowing full well that nothing had happened, John didn't do anything, Sherlock didn't do anything, they had simply chatted, dined with their parents, and watched TV. There wasn't even a spark, as Sherlock rather worried their might be. The reason he knew Victor was so concerned about the dinner was because he knew the back story between the two, or at least a good portion. He knew that Sherlock and John had been friends when they were little, they were neighbors how could they not be? He knew about their games and their antics, and maybe he suspected what had really happened, what had really driven them apart. Once Mr. Holmes had died it had become a fairly good time to break off the friendship, however as a boy Sherlock had been anticipating the last time he saw John Watson with eagerness, simply because he had noticed something had changed. It wasn't anything to do with hormones; maybe it was just a matter of realization, however he had discovered quickly that he had lost his childhood innocence. He had realized that there may be a reason for his strong attachment to John, and that reason had stretched far beyond just friendship. John had been his first crush, his first stunning realization that maybe there was something about him that made him different...something about him that made him peculiar. And so what else could he do but drift away? John wouldn't understand, he would never love him back that was for sure, not a boy who loved his football more than his math book, not for a boy who kept constantly talking about beautiful movie stars. They were drastically different on so many fronts, and it took that sudden realization of drastically different sexualities to finally bring Sherlock to decide that maybe they weren't compatible after all. And seeing John again tonight, after years of wallowing in those feelings that he remembered from his childhood, after years of considering the boy next door to be the most amazing specimen, one that was the definition of popularity, self-confidence, and athletic ability. And yet when they had been talking together tonight, when they had looked at each other, when they had sat next to each other, well Sherlock was proud to admit that he felt nothing. Maybe it was the stubbornness of his love for Victor, or the fear of the boy's retaliation should he ever find out that Sherlock harbored feelings, maybe he was protecting himself, in a way, from John's rejection. Nevertheless it felt good to overcome a crush that had been nagging at him for as long as he could remember, reminding him of its presence and trying to make him decide if that love was even still relevant. Sherlock was happy to say that it was not. And yet he was still nervous, nervous to the extent that Victor might view this new relationship, whatever that relationship might be. It was platonic, that or whatever was below platonic of course! They had chatted, it was nothing...it had become nothing. And yet why did Sherlock feel so unsatisfied, why did he feel like he had left that house without something he had so direly needed? There they were...right on time. The darkened road light up with the orange illumination of Victor's headlights, the faint sound of music was distinct throughout the once silent neighborhood. Sherlock got up from his bed before falling back onto it, deciding that Victor would let himself in. He had a key, so he would find his way up to where he knew that Sherlock would be waiting. There was conversation downstairs, evidently between Mrs. Holmes and Victor, for a couple of moments before finally the sound of his large boots on the stairs. 

"Sherlock?" Victor hummed, strolling into the bedroom and discarding his leather jacket, his face lighting up in with a smile when he saw his boyfriend after those long couple of hours of solitude.
"Victor." Sherlock agreed.
"Well come on then, don't be shy." Victor insisted, holding out his hands in beckoning. Sherlock could only giggle, for he always felt so flattered when Victor seemed anxious to hold him. It was almost like Sherlock's presence was payment enough for the miseries the day had held for the both of them. Sherlock shyly got up from the bed and wrapped his arms around Victor's neck, letting the boy's strong arms hold him to his chest, his chin pressed comfortably in his curls and his breathing begin to slow.
"There we go." Victor murmured, patting Sherlock's back softly, almost like some sort of childish reward, before pulling away for a brief moment, only to press a kiss onto Sherlock's forehead, before letting Sherlock sink back to where he had started.
"Don't act so sentimental, it's only been a couple of hours." Sherlock insisted, finally wriggling out of Victor's grasp and smiling at him before walking to his desk chair and sitting down heavily, spinning himself with his feet while Victor lit a cigarette.
"Open the window, if you wouldn't mind. You know I hate that smell." Sherlock begged, to which Victor just smiled, clenching his cigarette in his grin as he went to prop open the window. He leaned against the pane and inhaled heavily, a deep cloud of smoke billowing from his mouth not a moment later as his eyes began to droop. Sherlock knew that Victor loved these moments, when they could just sit and talk like the love sick boys they were, talking and smoking and gazing at each other from afar. It was moments like these that both enjoyed, or at least they usually did, however Sherlock was just waiting for the elephant in the room to be mentioned. Victor obviously knew about the dinner, he had to by now, and so Sherlock was just waiting for it to be mentioned.
"How was your night then?" Sherlock asked nervously, spinning slowly in the chair while tapping his fingers together thoughtfully. Victor shrugged indifferently, taking his cigarette out of his lips and exhaling slowly.
"Oh you know, nothing different really. Dad's already passed out, so it was relatively peaceful." Victor admitted. Sherlock nodded grimly, knowing that he really shouldn't be happy about Mr. Trevor's unconsciousness; however it made things much easier. Victor didn't talk about his father much, purely because his father had disowned him just as soon as he had come out. There was a great underlying homophobia in whatever was left of that broken family, and to have one of the only heirs declare themselves to be gay, well, let's just say Victor got no more Christmas money. Or recognition. Sherlock knew what it was like to be forgotten; however his mother was wallowing in grief, not in disgust. She spent her days moping around the house, mourning the loss of her husband and wishing that Mycroft were back, she really didn't care for Sherlock, despite his being the only one at her side. She liked Victor, she always had, and Sherlock was actually feeling as though he had now become the third favorite son.
"You know where I went?" Sherlock guessed finally, unable to play at small talk while there was such a topic of conversation waiting to be addressed. Victor sighed, but he nodded, staring blankly at the door as he smoked.
"Yes, your mother told me." Victor agreed, doing his best to seem completely indifferent.
"You're okay with that then?" Sherlock wondered, looking up at his boyfriend with a hopeful glance.
"Well, I'm rather hurt that you hadn't mentioned it to me. I know that you and he used to be close." Victor admitted, trying to maintain an aura of carelessness all the while his anger was evidently building right below his chest. He wasn't okay with this, this newfound acquaintanceship, and even worse he knew that he couldn't do anything to stop it. Victor didn't like feeling helpless, nor did he like to feel second best to anyone he saw as a threat. And of course there really was no question when comparing the two, despite Victor's tough guy attitude John overpowered him in most all other ways, and they both knew that, not only Sherlock with the lingering memories of his infatuation.
"I didn't want you to be nervous, I assure you nothing happened." Sherlock said flatly, adding that as if to make sure Victor was certain that nothing had come out of this dinner date that he would not agree with.
"Well of course nothing happened, you're a responsible boy, you know to whom you are promised." Victor agreed thoughtfully, looking rather distant even as he stood here, almost like his body was present but his mind was off somewhere else.
"Yes I do." Sherlock agreed with a nod. Victor hummed in agreement, smashing the remainder of his cigarette into one of the many ashtrays that decorated Sherlock's room for his convenience. He turned on Sherlock then, in all his dominating power, and his electric blue eyes glared down at him with a look of anger that Sherlock knew quite well, anger bordering on possessiveness.
"I don't want you seeing him again, Sherlock." Victor said flatly. Sherlock sighed heavily, nodding very slowly despite his lack of an appropriate answer. Truth be told he didn't know if he could make such a commitment, they were neighbors after all, and if the parents considered this a success then these little dinner arrangements will be bound to happen again. What could Sherlock do to prevent them, simply opt out?
"Victor these aren't my decisions to be made, I mean if they invite us over again what am I supposed to say?" Sherlock wondered carefully, to which the boy just rolled his eyes, looking as though this really wasn't his problem.
"Say that you're going out with me. I'll make it so. We can go to dinner or something; I know how you love to go to that Italian place." Victor shrugged.
"Victor you know my mom isn't understanding like that. As much as she likes you she'll never let me just leave a planned social event, especially one with the Watsons. She's always wanting to make such a good impression on them." Sherlock insisted. Victor took a deep breath, approaching Sherlock's chair as a very formidable presence, making Sherlock quiver back in retreat. He didn't like angry Victor, and the electricity that was sparking through those blue eyes, the sparking, the pulses, they meant that Victor was indeed a little bit disgruntled.
"Are you trying to see him again, is that it? Do you want to see him again?" Victor wondered in something of a growl, glaring down at Sherlock with something of a warning glare. He was always so protective of his boyfriend; he was always trying to make up plots in his head that might give him a reason to hunt down other boys to ensure his dominance and his control. Of course Sherlock wouldn't even give another boy a second look; however Victor didn't seem quite convinced of that.
"I don't want to see him again, I'm just saying..."
"I know what you're saying Sherlock. I know perfectly well." Victor growled, his anger bubbling up this brim, tempting him to react, tempting him to burst. Sherlock tried to back the chair up, however there was nowhere to go. There was no escaping Victor's rage.