The alarm clock screeched, Sherlock jumped, and John groaned. He pushed himself up to turn off the alarm. Sherlock sat up, rubbing his eyes. John sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. Dim morning light was just barely pushing through the curtains. Rain was falling loudly against the windowpane.
“Six?” Sherlock blinked several times. “You wake up at six?”
“School’s at half seven,” John rubbed his thigh, trying to get his circulation going.
“Oh, of course,” Sherlock nodded.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” John stood, looking down at Sherlock “Uh, my laptop’s there, if you want to use it.”
“Okay,” Sherlock nodded again, sleep still fresh in his eyes.
John smiled at Sherlock, and, without really thinking about it, leaned down and kissed him. Sherlock blinked lazily at John, a small smile on his lips. He rubbed John’s side affectionately before grabbing the laptop off the bedside table. John walked out of the room and into the bathroom.
The mirror was wet with condensation, meaning Harry had just left the bathroom. John silently cursed as he realized there would be very little hot water as he laid his cane against the sink. He tossed his sleep clothes to the corner, and sat down on the lid of the toilet. He unhooked the leather belt that held his waist, and pulled the straps away that gripped his thigh. Then, John let it all fall to the ground with soft thud. John pushed himself up, and gripped the bar that was on the inside of the shower. He turned on the water, and was met with a warm shower.
“There is a God,” John chuckled.
After thoroughly showering, John quickly toweled off before hooking the annoying straps back onto himself. He wrapped his lower half in a towel, and took up the cane again. As he approached his room, he heard the end of an Adam Lambert song playing softly from inside. John paused outside the door, staring through the small crack. Sherlock had the laptop on his lap. Another song started, and John was sure this was Adam Lambert as well. This one was an instrumental, however.
“Strip away the flesh and bone, look beyond the lies you’ve known,” Sherlock half-sang, half-spoke. He was tapping his fingers to the beat. “Everybody wants to talk about a freak. No one wants to dig that deep. Let me take you underneath. Baby, better watch your step, never mind what’s on the left. You’re gonna see things you might not wanna see; it’s still not that easy for me underneath.”
Sherlock paused, letting the music run for too long. John assumed the chorus, but did not know why he was skipping it. Before he knew it, Sherlock had opened the door was standing before him.
“Welcome to my world of truth,” he stared at John, a playful light in his eyes. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot. “I don’t wanna hide any part of me from you. I’m standing here with no apologies... Such a beautiful release.”
“I just walked into a musical,” John pushed into the room, shutting the door behind him. He was slightly flushed, and hoped Sherlock would assume it was from the heat from the shower and not from being caught. Unfortunately, he knew Sherlock well enough to know that that was not the case. “That was really good, though, is that for the showcase?”
Sherlock had stopped. He was staring at John’s towel. John chuckled nervously, and cleared his throat. His smile fell when he realized what Sherlock was actually focusing on, and he wished it was the towel. Sherlock had his eyes trained on John’s prosthetic leg.
“Why didn’t you tell me that it wasn’t psychosomatic?” Sherlock asked, eyes trained on the mixture of metal and flesh tone skin in front of him. He picked his eyes up from John’s leg to stare at the rippling scars on his shoulder. He touched the scar gently, John’s eyes followed his every move. “You let me say that, and it’s not that at all.”
“I don’t really like to talk about it,” John lowered his eyes. “I didn’t want anybody to treat me differently. Everybody at school knows, so I can’t really act normal, you know?”
“Can I see it?” Sherlock knelt down to look at it better. “This explains so much!”
“Sherlock!” John said sternly, alarmed. “Towel!”
“Ah, of course,” Sherlock stood quickly. He turned away from John. “How did I never notice it? You were pretty well on top of me a few times.”
John blushed. He pulled on a pair of boxers, and put on a T-shit. “Well, you didn’t exactly have your mind on my legs.”
“Very true,” Sherlock turned as John tapped him on the shoulder.
John stood in front of Sherlock in green boxers and a ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ T-shirt. As Sherlock knelt again to look at the prosthesis, John held himself up on Sherlock’s shoulders. The prosthesis was attached to his thigh with a strap that ran up and hooked to a belt around John’s waist.
“I will not even comment on the cliche that is the shirt,” Sherlock chuckled, touching the leg curiously. “This is amazing. You walk with this all the time? The changing in the bathroom, the lack of movement, the extreme difficulty standing up, the refusing to share the bed with me! It all makes sense, John.”
“Don’t be weird about this, please?” John pleaded.
“Me? Weird?” Sherlock looked up at John with the playful eyes again. “I am never weird, John. In fact, I am the picture of the typical Englishman.”
“Yeah, in the 1700s,” John rolled his eyes. “Get up. Show and tell is over.”
“I’m serious, though, John,” Sherlock stood slowly, allowing John to continue to hold onto his shoulders. “I will not treat you any differently. I just do not know how I didn’t see this before!”
“You thought you knew, so you stopped looking,” John reached around for his cane before looking for some jeans.
“This is brand new information for the John folder,” Sherlock tapped his fingers together in front of his face. He sounded as close to giddy as Sherlock could sound.
“Do you know you said that out loud, mate?”
John snatched his black, leather jacket from the hook on the door. He turned to face Sherlock, who was staring at him again. The translucent blue eyes were fixed on him, and John swallowed.
“You’re doing it,” John groaned. “You’re treating me weird.”
“I’m looking at you,” Sherlock scoffed. “I always look at you. You’re just paranoid.”
“You always look at me?” John mentally reprimanded himself for sounding so effeminate.
“You really notice nothing,” Sherlock was putting his clothes on from the day before. He tapped his head meaningfully. “It must be so dull in there.”
“You’re an arse,” John rolled his eyes, but a smile was creeping at his lips. “Come on, let’s eat something.”
“Eating?” Sherlock shook his head. “School today. No eating.”
“Uh, no,” John left the room, allowing Sherlock to take the stairs first. “You are in my house.”
“I don’t see how that factors into my eating to working ratio,” Sherlock stopped at the bottom of the stairs to wait.
“You’re here, you’ll do what I say,” John clarified. He stopped in front of Sherlock. “Got it?”
“Ooh, so authoritative,” Sherlock mocked, though it was good natured.
“John, who are you talking to?” Harry asked, sticking her head out. “Oh, my God, John, it’s the guy.”
“I’m the guy?” Sherlock looked down at John.
“Harry, this is Sherlock,” John sighed. “Sherlock, this is my sister Harry.”
“Pleasure,” Sherlock’s voice was unusually charming.
“Keep him,” Harry said seriously. “I need to bring my friends over to see him.”
“Do you have straight friends?” John glanced at the clock. “Okay, we have time for a real breakfast. Eggs, bacon, tea?”
“Your house, your rules, or something of that nature.,” Sherlock followed John into the kitchen.
John grumbled to himself as he pulled out two pans. His kitchen was smaller than his bedroom. There was just enough room for a small table. John put the pans on the stovetop, and went for the eggs. He saw Harry staring at Sherlock, who was staring at John.
“Harry, honestly?” John sighed. “Don’t stare at the guests.”
“I’m used to it,” Sherlock responded without any hint of arrogance. He was merely stating a fact.
“Of course you are,” John flung his hands up in the air. “Har, get bacon out of the fridge for me.”
“Are you cooking for me?” she was fixing the bacon without hearing his response.
“Yeah, okay,” John’s tongue stuck out to the side as he concentrated on the eggs.
“Can I... do... something?” Sherlock said slowly.
John laughed. “Wow, Sherlock, be more obvious that you’ve never said that before.”
“Now who’s the arse?” Sherlock said from behind John. His breath hit John’s neck.
“Jesus Christ,” John jumped. “Don’t do that.”
Harry’s jaw dropped. “Wait, are you two a thing?”
“No, we’re not a thing. He’s not my boyfriend,” John glared at Harry.
“I’m not his boyfriend,” Sherlock agreed wistfully.