Save Me
(A/N: this is an American AU. Both Sherlock and John are teens as seen asked for in the prompt HERE.
I was originally chocolatesyc but I changed accounts. Please don't comment that I stole the fic.)
Sherlock couldn't take it here anymore. His family didn't understand him at all. For some reason they always compared him to Mycroft. He was never perfect like Mycroft was. Mycroft could talk to people without making them cry. His parents had called him out at dinner, asking him why he couldn't be more like Mycroft. His brother had just sat there, absolutely still and carefully not looking at Sherlock. He had stormed out when his father angrily yelled "You are no son of mine!"
Sherlock threw another pair of jeans into the bag he was packing, digging his cellphone out of his pants pocket as he did so. He held down the 3 button on his speed dial. Angrily, he used the back of his hand to wipe the tears gathering at the edge of his vision.
On the other side of town, John Watson's phone was vibrating against his leg in the movie theater. Lestrade looked over at him, eyebrow arched as he stood to leave. Sarah disentangled herself from John's right side with a sigh. For some reason John always had to leave in the middle of everything. She crossed her arms, ignoring John's apologetic look.
John got to the doors and flipped his phone open. "Hello?" he pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the door leading to the parking lot. He sighed, shifting from foot to foot. A mother with three kids gave him a nasty look, and wrenched the door next to him open, flipping him off and complaining about lazy people blocking entry ways under her breath. Bitch, John thought, it wasn't like I was doing anything wrong...
"Could you come pick me up?" Sherlock's voice came over the little speaker, but it sounded off, like he had a bad head cold.
"Sherlock, I'm with my friends. I told you we were going to be seeing "Inception"." John massaged his temple, a new head ache starting right behind his eyes. This always happened. Usually it was because John was the only one of them to have a car. Even though Sherlock was seventeen and perfectly capable to drive by himself, his parents never got him a car for the soul reason that they were scared he was going to run away with it if they got him one.
This time though, John was going to spend the night with his girlfriend instead of the world's only consulting detective. And possibly get laid, if he was lucky.
That plan went right out the window when he heard the faint and broken sounding, "Please, John? I have to get out of here."
Biting his lip, John sighed. "I'll come get you. Where you at?"
After Sherlock told him, he hung up and ran back to the seats. He grabbed his coat, not bothering to stop. He had to when Sarah grabbed his arm, glaring. He shook her off gently, prying her fingers away from his elbow. She flipped him off and moved into John's old seat, snuggling against Lestrade. He looked vaguely surprised, but let her snuggle up against him, smirking at John as if to say, 'sorry buddy but I guess she's mine now.'
John just rolled his eyes at the two of them, throwing his coat on. He had bigger problems to attend to. He rushed down the stairs and out into the night air.
---
John hadn't expected the huge house at the top of the hill to be the one he was looking for. He shrugged, slowly driving his old Cadillac up the drive. It circled around a fountains like the drives of the fancy houses in movies. It was paved with gravel and it felt like he was doing something wrong with the way it crunched under the wheels of his car. He pulled around and parked in front the impressive steps. He had to fight the transmission to get it to shut off.
The front door threw itself open before John could get halfway up the steps. John paused, looking up at the doors. Sherlock came flying out of the house, backpack bouncing against his leg as he ran down the steps. His hair was a mess and his face was pale. Shouts followed after him. John stopped, opening his mouth to say something. But Sherlock shot right past John, throwing his bag into the car then sitting in there himself. John hurried back to his Cadillac before he was the one that was being yelled at.
He started it up without a fight and sped off just as Mr. Holmes arrived at the front door. John looked over to Sherlock, who was staring into his lap. The car ride was quiet, only broken by the ticking of John's turning signal. Every once in a while, John would glance over to Sherlock. He started to worry about the dark-haired teen next to him and the speedometer slowly started to climb.
"Do you wanna..." John started, but trailed off when Sherlock shook his head quickly. "Alright."
After about a half an hour, they pulled up to John's house, the porch light on and the air smelling like the grill that his father was operating. John's dad waved from the back porch.
His parents didn't care that Sherlock was over. Sherlock stayed over enough that Mrs. Watson was getting used to setting the table for five instead of four and pestering John about the black haired teen when he didn't come over. But today Sherlock didn't even stop to say hello when he got inside. Instead he made a beeline straight to the steps up to John's room.
He flopped down on the bed, but not before he shoved all of John's comics and textbooks to the floor. John sat down next to him, his senses heightened because he'd never seen Sherlock act like this before. Sherlock took a deep breath and spilled the story out to John's pillows. John had to lean over him to hear what he was saying.
When Sherlock was done, John pulled Sherlock up from the bed and hugged him. Sherlock froze, not knowing what to do. John pulled away from Sherlock slowly, arms still around Sherlock loosely. He looked up at John, then arched a bit, and kissed him.
A short thought of Sarah hit John, but it was gone once he closed his eyes, sitting down in Sherlock's lap. The kiss was slow and heated, partly comforting and partly desperate. Sherlock was the one who pushed it further placing his hands on John's hips and pulling him close. John put his hands on either side of Sherlock's face, holding him still, then opened his mouth.
A thrill went through John as he truly kissed a boy for the first time. Sherlock's tongue was running over his teeth, diving to brush against his. John was panting by the time they pulled away. A slight smile was pulling on Sherlock's lips now and John's heart soared.
I was originally chocolatesyc but I changed accounts. Please don't comment that I stole the fic.)
Sherlock couldn't take it here anymore. His family didn't understand him at all. For some reason they always compared him to Mycroft. He was never perfect like Mycroft was. Mycroft could talk to people without making them cry. His parents had called him out at dinner, asking him why he couldn't be more like Mycroft. His brother had just sat there, absolutely still and carefully not looking at Sherlock. He had stormed out when his father angrily yelled "You are no son of mine!"
Sherlock threw another pair of jeans into the bag he was packing, digging his cellphone out of his pants pocket as he did so. He held down the 3 button on his speed dial. Angrily, he used the back of his hand to wipe the tears gathering at the edge of his vision.
On the other side of town, John Watson's phone was vibrating against his leg in the movie theater. Lestrade looked over at him, eyebrow arched as he stood to leave. Sarah disentangled herself from John's right side with a sigh. For some reason John always had to leave in the middle of everything. She crossed her arms, ignoring John's apologetic look.
John got to the doors and flipped his phone open. "Hello?" he pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the door leading to the parking lot. He sighed, shifting from foot to foot. A mother with three kids gave him a nasty look, and wrenched the door next to him open, flipping him off and complaining about lazy people blocking entry ways under her breath. Bitch, John thought, it wasn't like I was doing anything wrong...
"Could you come pick me up?" Sherlock's voice came over the little speaker, but it sounded off, like he had a bad head cold.
"Sherlock, I'm with my friends. I told you we were going to be seeing "Inception"." John massaged his temple, a new head ache starting right behind his eyes. This always happened. Usually it was because John was the only one of them to have a car. Even though Sherlock was seventeen and perfectly capable to drive by himself, his parents never got him a car for the soul reason that they were scared he was going to run away with it if they got him one.
This time though, John was going to spend the night with his girlfriend instead of the world's only consulting detective. And possibly get laid, if he was lucky.
That plan went right out the window when he heard the faint and broken sounding, "Please, John? I have to get out of here."
Biting his lip, John sighed. "I'll come get you. Where you at?"
After Sherlock told him, he hung up and ran back to the seats. He grabbed his coat, not bothering to stop. He had to when Sarah grabbed his arm, glaring. He shook her off gently, prying her fingers away from his elbow. She flipped him off and moved into John's old seat, snuggling against Lestrade. He looked vaguely surprised, but let her snuggle up against him, smirking at John as if to say, 'sorry buddy but I guess she's mine now.'
John just rolled his eyes at the two of them, throwing his coat on. He had bigger problems to attend to. He rushed down the stairs and out into the night air.
---
John hadn't expected the huge house at the top of the hill to be the one he was looking for. He shrugged, slowly driving his old Cadillac up the drive. It circled around a fountains like the drives of the fancy houses in movies. It was paved with gravel and it felt like he was doing something wrong with the way it crunched under the wheels of his car. He pulled around and parked in front the impressive steps. He had to fight the transmission to get it to shut off.
The front door threw itself open before John could get halfway up the steps. John paused, looking up at the doors. Sherlock came flying out of the house, backpack bouncing against his leg as he ran down the steps. His hair was a mess and his face was pale. Shouts followed after him. John stopped, opening his mouth to say something. But Sherlock shot right past John, throwing his bag into the car then sitting in there himself. John hurried back to his Cadillac before he was the one that was being yelled at.
He started it up without a fight and sped off just as Mr. Holmes arrived at the front door. John looked over to Sherlock, who was staring into his lap. The car ride was quiet, only broken by the ticking of John's turning signal. Every once in a while, John would glance over to Sherlock. He started to worry about the dark-haired teen next to him and the speedometer slowly started to climb.
"Do you wanna..." John started, but trailed off when Sherlock shook his head quickly. "Alright."
After about a half an hour, they pulled up to John's house, the porch light on and the air smelling like the grill that his father was operating. John's dad waved from the back porch.
His parents didn't care that Sherlock was over. Sherlock stayed over enough that Mrs. Watson was getting used to setting the table for five instead of four and pestering John about the black haired teen when he didn't come over. But today Sherlock didn't even stop to say hello when he got inside. Instead he made a beeline straight to the steps up to John's room.
He flopped down on the bed, but not before he shoved all of John's comics and textbooks to the floor. John sat down next to him, his senses heightened because he'd never seen Sherlock act like this before. Sherlock took a deep breath and spilled the story out to John's pillows. John had to lean over him to hear what he was saying.
When Sherlock was done, John pulled Sherlock up from the bed and hugged him. Sherlock froze, not knowing what to do. John pulled away from Sherlock slowly, arms still around Sherlock loosely. He looked up at John, then arched a bit, and kissed him.
A short thought of Sarah hit John, but it was gone once he closed his eyes, sitting down in Sherlock's lap. The kiss was slow and heated, partly comforting and partly desperate. Sherlock was the one who pushed it further placing his hands on John's hips and pulling him close. John put his hands on either side of Sherlock's face, holding him still, then opened his mouth.
A thrill went through John as he truly kissed a boy for the first time. Sherlock's tongue was running over his teeth, diving to brush against his. John was panting by the time they pulled away. A slight smile was pulling on Sherlock's lips now and John's heart soared.