Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shining Bright

By Joolz

Sherlock was greatly enjoying his new relationship with John. It wasn't something he had done before; not really having friends, let alone something more, but now he had John and, by extension, John's friends Mike and Molly as they all seemed to hang out together all the time. Sherlock had no problem with John having other friends as long as he got to spend plenty of time with him himself, but he had to admit he was smugly pleased that his plan to get Mike hooked up with a girlfriend had succeeded. Mike and Molly had really hit it off which kept the dynamic of their little group happy and their dating certainly freed up a bit of time for John and Sherlock to spend on their own.

When the Drama Club announced their next play was going into production though, Sherlock once again realised that the rehearsals were going to sap time away when he could be with John. He had already decided to sign up to be part of the backstage crew; not wanting to go to the effort of putting on a performance but still wanting to be around John whilst he was spending his evenings rehearsing. He had yet to inform John of the fact. He thought that allowing himself to be talked into the venture would earn him points with John and show the other boy that he listened to his ideas. He was still learning his way in this 'friends' thing but he was trying at least and John appreciated his efforts.

The Drama Club had decided to perform The Mousetrap by Agatha Christie which John highly approved of, having read the book, and he was keen to try a detective story as that was his favourite genre. Greg Lestrade, who was in his final year of the sixth form, was going to be the director and his friend Sally Donovan was going to be his assistant and stage manager. John knew Greg from rugby and knew he’d be a fair director so he eagerly signed himself up for the casting session and then tried to get Sherlock to accompany him.

“Come on, Sherlock, you’d be brilliant in this. You could do all your deducing on stage.”

“No. I don’t require an audience for what I do.”

“That’s rubbish. You love it when I praise your observational skills.”

“That’s just you, John.” Sherlock smirked and John grinned back at him.

“You’d do it so easily; you’d know your lines after the first read through.”

“Of course, I would, but still no. No-one else has ever been as accommodating as you with regards to my deductions. You’re welcome to strut your stuff up there, but I’d rather not. I’m willing to help you learn your lines though.”

“Well, how about something backstage, then we’d still be able to go to rehearsals together?”

“I suppose I could be talked into that. I do enjoy being skilled in all areas so I’m sure that knowledge would come in useful if I ever needed to know the workings of a theatre.”

“Brilliant. Come with me to the casting session tomorrow then and I’ll speak to Greg about something for you too. He’s in the year above us and he plays prop half on the rugby team with me; you’ve probably seen him.”

“I’m afraid I get rather focused on other things when I watch you playing rugby. The rest of the players tend to blur into the background.”

John blushed, thinking back to that time he had been at rugby practice and what had happened in the changing room afterwards. He had had a couple of matches since then and Sherlock had been persuaded into attending, but as he’d openly admitted, he didn’t go for the rugby; he only went to watch John.

“Well, come with me anyway and you can give me some moral support.”

“Of course, John; always.”

John smiled up at him and they carried on to lessons.

That night, Sherlock helped John to go through his lines. They had been given a choice of four scenes and told to rehearse whichever scene featured the character they wanted to play. John had decided he wanted to go for Major Metcalf and Sherlock told him that would be very good casting which gave John a boost of confidence. Sherlock played the other part and by the end of the evening John was putting plenty of verve and energy into his characterisation. Sherlock thought that barring any dramatic masterpieces from other students, John was a shoe-in.

~*~

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear and sitting in the waiting room for the casting session found John projecting calm, but Sherlock knew John well enough that he could tell it was taking a lot to pull it off. That bit of acting alone should get him the part, never mind his actual audition. The Drama Club didn’t usually have an excessive number of members, just enough for the roles and minimal backstage and John was the third to be seen so he was quite pleased to be able to get his audition out of the way early.

Sherlock sat and waited outside when John went in; trying to be patient but not succeeding very well if his fidgeting was any indication. He knew this was important to John and didn't want him to be disappointed. Sherlock had read the whole Agatha Christie book on the evening when he found out what the production was to be and he had obviously guessed the ending very early on. It had been more interesting to him what character John would associate with. He shouldn't have been surprised, of course, given John's military links and his helpful, 'can do' attitude that John had chosen Major Metcalf.

When John came out he had a smile on his face so the audition had obviously gone well which was a relief. They headed back out to their rooms, taking the scenic tour that went past their own private alcove.

"Well, that wasn't too bad. Greg said he'd put the list up tomorrow with all the parts. I asked him about you, too, and he was grateful for the offer of help so that'll be great if we get to do this together."

"That's good, John. I was looking at all the others who were in the waiting room and I don't anticipate you having any serious competition. Especially if you played it the way we rehearsed last night. You are far superior."

John grinned at Sherlock and pulled him in close. "You're definitely good for a guy's ego. Let's hope Greg feels the same way. Now I think I deserve a kiss for services rendered."

"What services have you rendered unto myself?"

"Allowing you to help me rehearse and come with me this morning."

"I believe that would count as services I have rendered so the reward would surely be mine to claim."

"Well, if you insist." John grabbed Sherlock, his hands on both cheeks and pulled him down for a long kiss. When he let go Sherlock was gasping for breath. "Never let it be said that John Watson welches on a debt."

"You are incorrigible, Mr Watson."

"Thank you; I like to think so."

They grinned at each other and returned to some serious kissing before they headed back to halls to meet up with Mike and Molly. They were all going into the town as there was no rugby match scheduled for that afternoon. They had decided to make the most of their time and go to the cinema. Sherlock wasn't overly keen to see a film, not having been to the cinema, but John had told him it would be worth his while.

When they went in Mike and Molly took their seats in the back row on the left so John and Sherlock sat in the back row on the opposite side at the far end of the row.

"Aren't we all sitting together?"

"No, Mike and Molly wanted some privacy and we'll have some too if we sit over here."

"How private can it be in a cinema containing other people?"

"Oh, my young Padawan; you have much to learn."

"If you insist on making ridiculous pop culture references you know I will have no idea to what you are referring or to what you could possibly think I have to learn either for that matter."

"Mike and Molly wanted to sit alone so they could indulge in the time honoured couples ritual of kissing in the back row."

"As no-one knows we are a couple how is that going to be of any significance to us?"

"Ah, now you will see the benefit of the coat I brought with me."

"Yes, why did you bring that? There is a less than 2% chance of rain today; it seems quite unnecessary."

"We may not be able to indulge in kissing in the back row but there is nothing to say what else we can or can’t get up to in the dark with a coat spread across our laps."

"Hmm, I am starting to see the merit of your idea."

"We will, of course, have to be very quiet. Do you think that's possible?"

"That was one time, John; honestly, must you bring it up constantly?"

"It wasn't a noise I had ever heard before, that's all."

John grinned but took pity on Sherlock and dropped the subject. He laid his coat across them both when the lights went out and allowed his hand to drift across to Sherlock's lap under its cover. He slowly and quietly pulled down Sherlock's zip and released him from his jeans and boxers. He had come prepared and had an absorbent tissue ready in his hand which he used to cover the head and he passed another over to Sherlock who did the same to him.

They paused when they heard the suction noise of the door opening and nonchalantly tried to look as innocent as possible as they pretended to watch the movie. When the new arrivals had taken their seats, thankfully quite near the front, John felt Sherlock's fingers sliding up his shaft. It seemed Sherlock was a fast learner and was eager to test his new environment. John couldn't let him get away with that so he stroked him back, squeezing the tip as he reached it and hearing an indrawn breath from Sherlock. John turned his head and brought his other finger to his lips and shushed him. Sherlock rolled his eyes but, unfortunately for him, it was too dark for John to see it clearly so it was wasted.

John slid his hand up the length of Sherlock's cock then back down again and cupped his balls, pulling them lightly. Sherlock copied him and on his next pass upwards he gave a little twist of the head of the shaft which made John gasp. Sherlock brought his finger to his lips as John had done and grinned at him. Oh, it was definitely on. Both of them tried their hardest to get the other to make some kind of noise whilst trying to resist the temptation themselves. Sherlock was biting his lip to keep himself quiet and John resorted to bringing his other hand to his mouth and chewing on a knuckle.

The excitement and secrecy of it all meant that it didn't take either boy long to reach the edge. Sherlock was the first to spill and he drew a drop of blood on his lip as he bit so hard as he climaxed. John quickly followed as he tried to capture everything in the tissue he had ready to avoid a mess. He ended up with his whole fist in his mouth, a single knuckle not being sufficient to cover the noise.

When they had calmed down and cleaned themselves up they left the coat where it was, allowing them to keep hold of each other's hands under the cover. They focused back on the screen but, needless to say, neither of them had any idea of what was going on as they hadn't been paying attention to anything but each other.

They met up with Mike and Molly again when they got outside and Sherlock could instantly tell that what John had said was correct. He could see by the state of their lips that they had been kissing. Molly's blouse was creased and Mike's hair was mussed so they had clearly been getting a bit handsy as well - though they obviously hadn't gone as far as John and himself had he thought with a satisfied grin. He hadn't counted on Molly being quite so observant as well; though perhaps if he could have seen himself he might have reconsidered.

"Were you two fighting in there or something, you've got blood on your lip, Sherlock?"

"Why would you assume a fight and not that I'd just banged my lip?"

"Well, John has red knuckles so I put the two together and thought maybe he punched you."

John choked as he tried to hold back his laughter and Sherlock banged him on the back. He was none too gentle though and it brought tears to John’s eyes, more so than the choking had.

"That was impressively worked out, Molly. Incorrect, but certainly well observed."

Molly blushed at the praise, she had been generally shy in front of him since Sherlock had joined their group, taking time to get used to him, but she was slowly coming in to her own and relaxing more with him as she did with John and Mike.

They ambled back towards Shaws, saying how much they had all enjoyed the film but none of them seemed prepared to go in to too much detail regarding the plot so Sherlock assumed that Mike and Molly had seen as little of it as had he and John. He had enjoyed his afternoon much to his own surprise, though, and he was glad that he'd allowed himself to be talked into going to the cinema.

They spent the rest of the evening relaxing in the common room, no sign of what had happened during their outing except for occasional small, shared smiles when he caught John glancing over at him.

~*~

The following morning the cast list was posted on the notice board and several students were gathered round trying to see which roles had been given to whom. John couldn’t see over the heads of the taller people around him so Sherlock read the names out for everyone standing behind.

~*~
Shaws Drama Club
proudly presents

The Mousetrap by Agatha Christie.

Cast and crew names :

Cast:
Mollie Ralston – Played by Jasmine Mills

Giles Ralston – Played by Freddie Bryant

Christopher Wren – Played by Oliver Gerrard

Mrs Boyle – Played by Hannah Reed

Major Metcalf – Played by John Watson

Miss Casewell – Played by Natalie Powell

Mr Paravicine – Played by Ethan Talbot

Detective Sergeant Trotter – Played by Matthew Dixon

Understudies:
Male Characters – Played by Marcus Coady
Female Characters – Played by Rebecca Fenn

Backstage:
Director – Greg Lestrade
Stage Manager – Sally Donovan
Assistant Stage Manager – Philip Anderson
Lights and Sound – Stacey Willis
Props – Sherlock Holmes
Scenery – Olivia Harvey, Julian Griffiths
Costume – Kerry Bevan, Rachel Vickers

Rehearsals will be Wednesday evenings at 7 pm and Sunday afternoons at 3 pm in the Drama Studio. Please try and attend every session as we have a lot to get through. More rehearsals will be added as we get nearer to the performance.

Thanks everyone

Greg Lestrade, Director
~*~

John was grinning at Sherlock after he’d read the list. Yes! He’d got the part he wanted. In fact, they had both got something so they could go to rehearsals together. It couldn’t get much better. John spent the rest of the day happy and Sherlock couldn’t help but be buoyed up by his friend’s mood. Maybe doing something as menial as props would be almost worth it if it kept John in such a happy frame of mind.

~*~

Wednesday eventually rolled round, though John would swear the start of the week had seemed to have been twice as long as usual. He was really keen to get his hands on the script and see what he would have to do. He and Sherlock made their way to the Drama Studio nice and early and were waiting outside when Greg arrived.

“Well, this is what I like to see; ready, willing and able, John?”

John mock saluted him. “Major Metcalf at your service, sir.” They both laughed.

“That’s what I like to hear. So, you must be Sherlock. I don’t think we’ve met properly, though I have seen you down at the rugby pitch; are you a fan?”

“Not of the rugby.”

John blushed and laughed, punching Sherlock on the arm. “He’s such a kidder. I’m just introducing him to it, trying to broaden his horizons.”

“Indeed.” Sherlock quirked his lip and Greg just shrugged, unlocked the door and led the way inside.

“The others should be here soon. Sally was just sorting the photocopying which she and Anderson had done so the scripts should be ready. I wanted to give everyone their own copy right away so they could get started on learning their lines; the sooner we’re off book the easier it’ll be to work on the staging. She should be here in a minute.”

They heard a rumble of voices coming down the corridor, obviously more than just Sally; it seemed she had been joined by quite a few of the other cast members on her way. After another few minutes the remainder had arrived and Greg called everyone into a circle.

“Ok, let’s start by introducing ourselves and saying what we’re all doing in this production. I’m Greg Lestrade and I’m the director and if anyone has any problems or queries then please feel free to come and see myself or Sally at any time.”

Greg gestured to Sally who was sat next to him and she took her turn. “Hi, I’m Sally Donovan and I’m the Assistant Director and Stage Manager. As Greg said, any problems I’d be happy to help.”

Anderson was next to Sally and after he’d introduced himself, the person sat next to him went and so on until it reached Sherlock who was sat next to a girl called Stacey who had just introduced herself as being in charge of the lighting and sound.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes and I’m in charge of props.” He looked at John who was sat between himself and Greg.

“I’m John Watson and I’m playing the part of Major Metcalf.” John nodded at Greg, who took up the reins again.

“Right, well, that’s all the introductions out of the way. Thanks everyone. We’re quite a small team so I hope everyone will be happy to pitch in where needed and we can make this the best show possible. It’s only going to be a short meeting today for the first one so how about we just do a couple of ice-breaker games to get to know each other and then we can start in with a proper read through on Sunday when we’ll have a bit more time to get things under way.”

The first game they played was human rock, paper and scissors. There were nineteen of them so they split into six teams of three people each with Greg standing aside and being the caller. The teams split up so that there were three separate games running, each with two teams facing each other. The teams had to decide between them which shape they were going to perform and then when Greg shouted 1, 2, 3, Go, they all had to jump into that shape and see who won; first to get 10 points won the game.

If they chose Rock they had to crouch into a ball with their hands around the knees. If they chose Scissors they had to stand with legs wide and arms joined together and bent behind the heads. If they chose Paper they had to stand with arms stretched out high and wide and legs split open. Rock would beat Scissors, Scissors would beat Paper and Paper would beat Rock as in the traditional game.

Sherlock proved to be a hit in this game – once John explained to him how to play. He could tell by the way the other team were tensing themselves or fidgeting as to what shape they were going to make so he instructed his team to make the opposite shape to beat them. Theirs was the only team that won 10 – 0 in their game, the others were all split fairly evenly.

Greg chose wink murder as the next game which would allow them all to play. He dealt out 19 cards and whoever had the joker was the murderer. Everyone had to walk around the room maintaining eye contact with each other and the murderer had to wink at someone to kill them without anyone else noticing. That person would then have to perform a little dying act, collapse on the floor and they were out of the game. They could wait a few moments to die after they received their wink so as not to immediately give the murderer away. The others had to try and guess who the murderer was before they were winked at themselves. If the murderer killed everyone they won and the cards would be dealt again and someone else would be the murderer. This one was great fun and it was easy to see which the actors were when they had to improvise their death scenes.

Sherlock again proved his skills at this game. He watched everyone very carefully and could very quickly tell from eye-lines and facial twitches who was the murderer each time. After he’d guessed correctly four times in a row, John whispered to him to let someone else have a chance so he stayed quiet during the next few games, even though on the last one he was desperate to shout out as the murderer was John himself. Unfortunately, for him, he only worked it out at the same time as John actually winked at him so he had to die before he could even gloat over his silent victory. John grinned at him and went on to successfully murder the rest of the players and claim his win.

To finish up they played a game meant to learn each other’s names. They stood in a circle and threw around a ball and as they threw it across to the next person they had to shout out that person’s name. This one was quite easy as most of them knew each other already but it was a nice way to ease down to the end of the session and got them all laughing and relaxed. All in all Greg was pleased with the way everyone had bonded and had high hopes that this would be a successful production.

“I think we’ll call it a night now, so thank you all for coming. If you’d all like to collect a script from Sally on your way out, and if possible have a look at it before Sunday, we should be able to start straight in with a full table read with all the characters. If any of the backstage team have any ideas of particular props, scenery or costumes etc that you think would enhance the performance then jot anything down, too. We’ll go through those at the end of the read-through so that we’ve got some kind of idea of how we want to proceed. Okay, thanks guys, that’s great. See you all here at 3 o’clock sharp.” The last part was shouted as everyone was shuffling towards the door and getting their scripts from Sally.

John and Sherlock headed back to their rooms, John eager to get started straight away. He and Sherlock set themselves up at John’s desk and John got out his highlighter pen and Sherlock got out his notebook and pen and they had a first read-through of the play. John read the stage directions and his own character and Sherlock read in for the other parts. As John read the descriptions of the scenes Sherlock wrote down all the props that were mentioned and any other things he thought would be needed to complete the set up. Every time John got to some of his own lines or stage directions that related to him he highlighted them all in yellow to make it easier to spot his own interactions.

By the time they’d finished Sherlock had filled several pages of his notebook and John was happy that he’d outlined his role and he was keen to start memorising his lines. Sherlock left him to it at that stage and John fell asleep with his script drooping in his hand, going over lines in his head.

~*~

The rest of the week passed quite quickly. John was to be found with his script in his hand each evening after he’d done his homework, learning his lines and getting Sherlock to test him on them. This proved to be good fun as Sherlock put on voices for the other characters he read and every time John succeeded in getting all his words correct, he would be rewarded by a kiss; a mutually beneficial bartering system which they both enjoyed.

John and Greg had a rugby match on the Saturday afternoon which Sherlock went down to watch. Mike and Molly came over to stand with him as they hadn’t seen much of him and John this week with all the practise they’d been doing. Sherlock was getting better at filtering their wittering so that he could concentrate on watching John but still maintain an underlying awareness of their conversation, so that he would know when they were addressing him specifically. The boys won their game and the foursome spent the evening in the common room watching some trashy reality chat show on TV. It was enhanced by listening to Sherlock’s sarcastic comments and revelations about the participants which were always proved correct when the truth came out at the end of the episode.

~*~

Sunday afternoon found the whole cast and crew assembled in the Drama Studio ready for the table read. Sally and Anderson had arrived early and set the room up with a very professional look; the tables arranged in a large square with water jugs and cups on each side and pens and paper spaced all round for everyone to make notes. Greg was sat at the head of the table with Sally next to him.

“Hi everyone. Hopefully you should all have had the chance to familiarise yourself with the script now so what we’ll do is read through the whole thing first of all. I’ll do the stage directions and if you would all read your own parts, that’d be great and we’ll get a feel for how it all goes. Then we’ll go through it again scene by scene and I’ll tell you how I was envisioning it and you can all add in any thoughts you may have too. If any of the crew have ideas with relation to their own particular areas we can put that into the mix too and see what we come up with at the end. Everyone okay with that?”

There were nods all round so Sally sat poised to take notes and Greg began. He first read out the names of all the characters and what their roles and personalities were. Then he went through the description of the main room which is where all the action would be set.

“’The curtains open on the sitting room of the hotel with the proprietor, Mollie Ralston listening to a news broadcast on the radio.’ Actually, before we go any further, I know this is sprung upon you a little, Sherlock, but I was wondering if you would consider being the voice of the radio newsreader? I was going to do it myself, but I was listening to you talking to John after the match yesterday and I thought that deep tone would be perfect for a posh BBC news announcer. You’d do it from backstage so you wouldn’t be seen. What do you think?”

“Oh yes, Sherlock, that would be amazing. You have the perfect sort of voice for that. Will you do it?”

Sherlock blushed at the idea that Greg had thought of him for the voice and he reddened even further following the effusive praise from John.

"I..."

"Oh go on, please?"

"Well, I suppose so."

John beamed at him. "Brilliant."

"That's great, thanks Sherlock. Well, would you like to start right in then and read the part now as those are the first lines to begin the play."

"Of course." Sherlock had read this part when he had gone over it with John and knew how it flowed, so he started straight in, deepening his voice even lower and sounding all his words crisply just as a radio announcer would do. When he stopped and looked around the others were all watching him. He looked at Greg and raised his eyebrow.

"Oh, that was just perfect. Such diction. You're the ideal radio voice. Thanks for agreeing to do it."

"It's no problem." Sherlock looked back at John who seemed awed and proud. John squeezed Sherlock's leg under the table and Sherlock blushed again. He'd have to stop that for a start. Three times he'd blushed in less than ten minutes - not on, not on at all. Luckily for Sherlock the focus left him then and they carried on with their read through; Jasmine and Freddie starting them off and then they were on a roll.

John read all his lines well and, as he had been practising with Sherlock, he added a bit of a military tone and crispness to his lines which really carried it off with flair. Sherlock thought he sounded very good and his lip quirked as he caught John's eye. They made it through smoothly to the end and everyone seemed very pleased with the result.

"Oh, that was brilliant, guys. If we can do it the justice that potential shows then we'll have an amazing show on our hands. Ok let's have a fifteen minute break, if anyone wants to stretch their legs or pop out, and then we'll go through it again and consider all the technical elements."

Sherlock and John went outside for some fresh air and a walk round.

"I'm so glad you agreed to do that, Sherlock, you sounded amazing."

"You weren't so bad yourself; you've really got that military tone off to a 'T'."

"The whole thing sounded great, didn't it? I reckon this'll be the best show we've ever done."

"I'm sure everyone says that each year."

"Well, this time we'll actually be right."

"If you say so, John." Sherlock smiled fondly at him. It made him happy to see John so enthused. He had to wonder when it had happened that seeing someone else's happiness was enough for him, but then it was only one person that did it. John always seemed able to push beyond his usual boundaries in all things.

They walked all around the building and then went back in and got settled down again for the technical read-through. Sally and Anderson both had their notebooks out this time, ready to jot down anything they thought they might need for their production. There was a store room where all the furniture and props from previous productions were kept and they were allowed access to anything they needed from that. The drama department also had a store of costumes which they should be able to adapt if necessary or they could make their own.

Greg started by reading out the description of the first scene and then told them his ideas.

“We’ll just use the one room for the whole performance so we’ll only need one set of backdrops painted. We’ve got some doors we can use for exiting the scene and we’ll have part of the stage as a lounge area for the guests to congregate. That’s where the radio will be, and there’ll be a hall area where we’ll have the phone and where the front door will be for when everyone arrives. Olivia and Julian, if you could maybe get together and draw me up some designs of how we could have it all set up, then we could get started on constructing the stage.”

“Sure, Greg. Julian and I can bring you some ideas at our next session on Wednesday and we can go from there.”

“That’s great, thanks, Olivia. Sherlock, if you wouldn’t mind going through the script and listing out what props you think we’ll need, aside from the phone and radio which we’ve already mentioned, that’d be really helpful.”

“Done.” Sherlock passed across his list and Greg could see that he had gone through the whole play scene by scene, adding in every single prop which would be used.

“Oh that’s good work, very thorough, thank you. Would you like me to have Anderson help you go through the prop store and find everything we’ll need?”

“No need, thanks. John has already agreed to help me.”

John had done no such thing, but he knew Sherlock’s opinion of Anderson from the brief time they had spent together during the icebreaker games. He wasn't about to inflict any more time spent in close contact with him upon Sherlock, so he nodded his agreement.

"That's fab, guys, thanks. This is really shaping up well already."

They talked about the other scenes and any other things that might be needed. Stacey said she would keep the set pretty brightly lit as there would always be someone in focus on the main stage.

"We could just have different colour fills for when someone comes in from outside perhaps; a bluer light to show the colder weather. How do you want to do the murder? Is it going to be off stage and we just hear the event or do you want it to be centre stage? We could maybe have the lights just go out and then when they come back on the person is dead?"

"I think the second option; it'll be more dramatic. We could have a bit of flickering first and then the lights go off completely, and we hear a scream which gets cut-off before the lights come back again, showing the body just lying there. We also have a full sound board filled with sound effects for anything we may need so we’re all set for that side of things too."

Rachel and Kerry said they would go through the clothing in the store room and pick out some warm things. The play was set in snowy, bad weather and even though the set was indoors, people would probably still be in long sleeved shirts or jumpers. A couple of the cast volunteered that they had their warm winter jackets in their trunks which they would be happy to wear for their characters, so that would help too.

All in all, it was a good session and everyone seemed pleased with how it had all panned out. Greg thanked everyone and dismissed them until the following Wednesday.

"Sherlock, if you and John have a chance to go through the prop store before the next session that would be great. Then we'll have more of an idea of what we have and what we'll need to beg, steal and borrow from other places."

"Of course. We'll get out everything applicable and let you know what items remain."

"Thanks, guys. See you later."

~*~

John and Sherlock headed back to their rooms once John had managed to persuade Sherlock that, no, they didn’t need to go to the stores right this minute and search for props. It was nice to see Sherlock being keen, but John had some revision he needed to do for a biology test tomorrow.

Sherlock had memorised it already, of course, but he volunteered to go back with John and help him revise. As they walked across the quad he grinned to himself as he thought of an innovative way of getting John to learn it as thoroughly and enjoyably as possible.

John settled on the bed and Sherlock sat in the chair in front of him, biology text book in his hand.

“Right, Mr Watson. We will implement a graduated learning system this evening to ensure full compliance and understanding of the composite materials in question, with a preferentially enhanced remuneration mechanism in operation.”

“Sherlock, I didn’t understand a word of that crap; what are you going on about?”

“We will be achieving learning on a reward basis.”

“Hmm, I think I’m liking where this is going – what is the reward system you had in mind?”

"I think we'll start with a kiss for each correct answer and work our way up from there."

"What’s your end goal?"

"That will entirely depend on how well you do, won't it, so why don't you give it your best shot and we'll see how we go."

"I accept your terms. First question?"

Sherlock asked John a nice easy one to start with and when John gave a correct answer, Sherlock leant forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. John turned his head to try to capture Sherlock's mouth, but he pulled back too quickly and laughed when John frowned.

"I don't think so. You have to work up to it to earn something more intense. A simple answer gets you a simple kiss."

"You're not playing fair."

"I'm playing perfectly fair. You can't expect to get the good stuff on the first question. You'll have nothing to aim for."

John sighed, "Come on then, next question."

The following few questions were also fairly straightforward and, when he answered correctly, John received a kiss on each eyelid, his nose, the other cheek and each corner of his mouth. The next one was a little harder and required a two sentence answer. This earned John a kiss on the mouth and a sucking of his lower lip as Sherlock moved back. This was getting better.

As the questions needed more complex answers so Sherlock gave John more and deeper kisses. After a few more on the lips he gave the next one on the neck. He dragged his teeth across the skin from the curve of the neck all the way up to John's ear and nibbled on it. John groaned and tilted his head further over to allow Sherlock more access and Sherlock took full advantage.

On the next question, John was still reeling from the sensations of that kiss and wasn't concentrating properly and he got it wrong. Sherlock looked at John and raised his eyebrow, shaking his head slowly. He bent towards John's neck and John thought he was still going to get a kiss out of it but instead, all he felt was hot breath on his skin. Sherlock hovered over his neck but didn't get close enough to touch. John shivered at the breath and tried lifting his shoulder to reach Sherlock's mouth but Sherlock pulled his head back and kept it at the same distance to John's skin the whole time, teasing but not touching.

"Sherlock, please."

"You gave me a wrong answer, John. If you want more then you know what you have to do."

John closed his eyes and tried to remember what Sherlock's question was. The question and answer both came to him in a moment of clarity and his eyes shot open as he blurted out the answer. Sherlock smiled indulgently at him and nodded. Then he leaned in and sucked a big love bite right on the skin he had been tempting. John groaned in delight, both at getting the question right and also at feeling Sherlock's lips instead of just his warm, teasing breath.

After a few more kisses and bites along John's neck and shoulder - all below his collar level for discretion, of course - Sherlock decided to up the ante.

On the next right answer he didn't lean in to kiss John, he pulled back and John's face fell.

"I thought I got that right?"

"Oh you did. We're moving on to the next portion of the evening. Now for every correctly answered question one item of clothing will be removed. You can choose if it's from me or you but I'll choose which item it is."

"Oh yes, that's a great idea and, of course, I choose you." John grinned and was only a little disappointed when Sherlock started with his shoe. He could be patient; he tried to convince himself of that at least. "Next question, come on."

"Well, aren't we an eager beaver."

"Can you blame me?”

Sherlock laughed but carried straight on with the questions. John got the next few correct and Sherlock was slowly divested of his other shoe and both socks before John took pity on him and said Sherlock could take an item of John’s clothing.

“Shirt.”

“Hey, that’s not fair; why do you only have to do your shoes and socks and I have to take my shirt off?”

“It’s just the luck of the draw.” Sherlock winked at him and smugly watched as John took off his shirt.

“Let’s move it along. Question?”

Sherlock knew that John was unlikely to choose himself on the next go or even the next several goes after that so he resigned himself to a slow undressing but at least he would have the pleasure of looking at John’s chest whilst he did it.

John did, indeed, keep choosing Sherlock until he was down to his silk boxer shorts.

“Ok, if you remove your own clothes down to the same level as I am at then for the next choice I will let you pick the place to be kissed – anywhere above the waist at this stage – and you can also choose who gets to do the kissing.”

“You bet.” John leapt off the bed and quickly stripped down to his pants - bright red ones Sherlock was delighted to see - and sat back on the edge of the bed nearer to Sherlock.

Sherlock asked another question and John jumped straight in with a correct answer. His eyes trailed up and down Sherlock’s body with delight and settled on the exact place Sherlock had guessed John was going to choose first.

“I choose me kissing you on the neck.”

John didn’t hesitate and went straight for Sherlock’s neck. It was one of his favourite parts of Sherlock’s body and he knew that it was very sensitive for Sherlock too, so it would ramp things up for both of them. He trailed his tongue along from shoulder to ear and back down. He gave Sherlock a bright love bite right in the crook of his neck to match the one that he was already sporting.

Sherlock groaned at the sensations. He did like any attention on his neck and he loved it when John marked him. He liked feeling that he belonged to John and that John was possessive enough to show it. It didn’t matter that it wouldn’t be seen by anyone else, Sherlock would know it was there and he often found himself sitting in lessons, running his fingers over areas where John had left his mark. John somehow seemed to sense when he did it and would catch his eyes and smile, knowing what Sherlock was doing and a feeling of pride would settle over him.

John pulled back, his pupils dilated, breath ragged. Sherlock was in the same state and it took him a while to pull himself together enough to ask the next question. John got it right again and this time he pointed at Sherlock’s left nipple. Sherlock nodded, nostrils flaring as he sucked in a breath as John licked over the rapidly hardening nub. John took it in to his mouth and when he had thoroughly covered it, he bit down gently, earning another groan from Sherlock. As he pulled away he blew over the damp skin, causing Sherlock to shiver at the differing temperatures.

John started to go towards the other nipple, but somehow Sherlock found the strength to force him to stop, much as he was loath to do it. John looked up at him with puppy dog eyes and Sherlock’s head fell back, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he tried to stay strong and resist. He put his hands on John’s shoulders to hold him back and found them slipping down John’s chest and trailing back up again, scraping over the taut muscles of his abdomen and scratching his nipples as he passed across them.

Sherlock shook his head to try and clear it and eventually asked another question. John took a little longer to focus enough to answer, but he did get it right. He trailed his finger down the centre of Sherlock’s chest, circling the belly button and then following down the thin line of hair to stop at the waistband of Sherlock’s boxers. Sherlock nodded and John kissed in the centre of Sherlock’s chest and traced the line his finger had just made with his tongue and lips, alternating each and peppering in little kisses and bites on his way down.

When he got to the belly button his tongue circled around it, getting slowly closer in until he was right in the centre and he poked his tongue inside. From there he kissed his way down the trail of hair, sliding his tongue along the edge of Sherlock’s underwear and sucking a love bite onto his abdomen. His cheek brushed against Sherlock’s cock which was rock hard and trying to get in on the action.

Before Sherlock could make him stop again, John turned his head and sucked the tip of Sherlock’s cock, complete with the covering silk material, into his mouth. Sherlock moaned and collapsed back in his chair, unable to resist this time. John was quick to take advantage, pulling Sherlock’s underwear down under his balls and taking the shaft back into his mouth, flicking the slit with his tongue as he moved it around.

John slid off the bed and landed on the floor between Sherlock’s legs so that he had better access and, more importantly, so he could look up at Sherlock whilst he sucked his cock and watch how he reacted to each touch. John tried to take as much down as he could; he had slowly been getting better at this and he loved the way Sherlock’s eyes rolled back when he did it, little involuntary noises escaping out of his mouth.

John pulled back up to the head, sucking around it and pushing his tongue against the tip, teasing Sherlock and pulling deeper moans from him. John ran his hand along Sherlock’s thigh and cupped his balls, feeling them harden and pull in tighter to Sherlock’s body. His friend was very close and John could feel himself approaching the edge, too. He slipped his free hand down into his own pants and as he swallowed Sherlock down deeply again, he stroked his own shaft in a matching rhythm.

It didn’t take much for both boys to reach orgasm, and as Sherlock came hard into John’s mouth, he swallowed it all down and brought himself off to the image of Sherlock’s face, relaxed into bliss. That was something of which he would never get tired.

When they had both recovered and Sherlock had re-dressed, John just putting on his pyjamas, they sat together on the bed for a while just enjoying each other’s company. Sherlock rested his head against John’s shoulder, his arm stroking the short hairs on John’s neck. John has his arms around Sherlock, rubbing his fingers in gentle circles on Sherlock’s skin; both of them making the most of their closeness whilst they could.

Sherlock eventually went back to his own room and they both fell asleep, alone but sweetly sated. Needless to say, the following morning John aced his biology test. He smiled as he thought to himself that they would definitely have to use that method of revision again.

~*~

Monday evening was rugby practise so they didn’t have chance to explore the prop store until Tuesday evening. Mike and Molly joined them and the four of them went to see what they could scavenge for their show. They had borrowed a trolley from the caretaker’s storage area which they could fill and wheel over to the drama studios. Their group had been assigned one of the rehearsal rooms to keep everything in as the main room was used for school drama lessons during the daytime.

The drama department storage room was quite large and split into four areas. To one side there were some scenery flats, already painted from previous productions, which they might be able to adapt for their purposes, but they would leave that to the others to sort out and see what was suitable. There was an area with some larger items of furniture; a sofa and chairs, a couple of tables and some upright dining chairs, which would all be useful for setting the scene. They could come over as a group and collect these later when they got further into the rehearsal stages. They ignored the costume area, knowing that other members of the team would be going through the racks to see if there was anything they could adapt for their production.

The smaller props were all housed at the far end on rows of shelves, so they carried on down to that area. Sherlock gave everyone a copy of the list he had made. The play was set in the 1940’s so they would need all old fashioned props. He told them what sort of things to look out for and to make sure things weren’t too modern looking. They each wandered over to a set of shelves and hunted through for anything they could use.

The section John was in had a lot of phones, but they were all from the wrong era. He laughed when he saw a huge brick-like mobile phone from the 1980’s and tried to imagine having to lug that around, unlike the tiny pocket mobiles used today. He was lucky in that, at the very back, he found an older phone which looked like it would fit for the era they were aiming for. He pulled it out and took it to show Sherlock.

“Oh, that’s perfect, John. Just the sort we wanted. I don’t know if we’re going to be so lucky with the radio though, I’ve looked through all these and there is nothing old enough for the style I wanted.”

“We could maybe make our own if we can get some off-cuts of wood. I’m sure it’s only like model kits which I’ve made before. It doesn’t have to actually work because you’ll be supplying the voice. We could rig it up with some knobs and a little light to come on behind the dial window. What do you think?”

“Yes, good idea. I’d rather have something that at least looks authentic. We could work on that together, couldn’t we?”

“Sure, it’ll be great fun. I used to help Mr Johnson, the woodwork teacher, clean up afterwards when I was taking his class so I’m sure he’d be willing to supply us with some off-cuts and let us use the school equipment for sawing and planing. I’m quite good at dovetail joints. Did you ever do woodwork in any of your other schools?”

“I made a cruet set in one of them and a kitchen paper towel holder in another; I think that was about my limit. The cruet set I still have, actually, in my room at home. I cut mine into a skull shape and painted the salt shaker black on white and the pepper was white on black.”

“I made a bird house and table in my third year which was all properly jointed and mounted and my mum has it in the garden; we even had some sparrows nesting in it last year which was brilliant.”

“Well, we can certainly tackle the radio ourselves then, if you can talk the teacher round, of which I have no doubt.” Sherlock grinned at John and they both went back to looking for more props.

By the time they had gone through all the shelves, they had amassed quite a collection of props and nearly filled the whole list. Sherlock put a couple of things back which weren’t quite what he was looking for, but luckily there were alternatives that they could use instead. The only other things missing now, aside from the radio, were a pistol and a set of skis. Mike had an idea about one of those.

“My dad has an old set of skis in the attic which belonged to my granddad. I could get my mum to send them in if you need them?”

“Do you have a picture of them so that we can see?”

“I’ll get my mum to take a photo for you and then you can decide.”

“Thanks, Mike; that would be very useful.”

The only thing they still needed, then, was the gun and they decided they were going to speak to the sports teacher about borrowing a pistol. One of the optional sports the school provided was shooting, both pistol and rifle. They had even had one of their pupils in the Under 21 British Ladies Pistol Shooting Team and she had only just missed out for selection for the last Olympics, so the school were very proud of their former pupil. John and Sherlock said they would go and see the teacher the following morning and see if he would allow them to borrow a pistol, loaded with blanks, of course, for them to use in the play.

“That’s everything in hand then. Shall we wheel this over to the studios and we can store it all away ready for when we need it.” John pushed the trolley towards the door, which Sherlock opened for him, and they took it all over to their rehearsal room and unloaded it on to one of the tables. Then they took the trolley back to the caretaker and headed back to their common room to relax for the rest of the evening.

~*~

The next evening was their first rehearsal session. When they had all arrived Greg asked for an update from each of the technical teams about what they had done so far.

“We’ve amassed all the props we need except for three items. A boy from our halls is going to source one of them for me; the sports teacher is going to allow us to borrow a pistol with blank cartridges and a lock box in which we have to keep it between performances; and John and I are going to make the third. The large furniture we need is all there in storage and we can bring that over whenever you’re ready to start using it for rehearsals, so there should be no problems with anything else.”

“Great, Sherlock. Thanks, we should be all set for that then. What about the scenery? Did you and Julian get a chance to check it out yet, Olivia?”

“There are some large flats, already painted, which are fitted out for an indoor room, so we should just be able to add some little touches to adapt those for what we want; and we can paint in a snow covered scene to show behind the windows. We’ve got four door panels already, so we’ll just paint one of them to look like a front door and that’ll be enough.”

“That sounds good, what about with costumes, Kerry, Rachel?”

“There are quite a few outfits for the men to wear as the style of trousers and shirts aren’t too different. We even have an army uniform which we can use for Major Metcalf’s costume if you want him to be in the full garb. We may need to make a few skirts for the girls as they are a completely different style to anything we have now, but I think we’ll be able to alter most things we need.”

"Thanks, it sounds like you've got most of it covered then. What do you think about your costume, John? Did you picture the Major in uniform or just a smart blazer and trousers?"

"I think I was probably picturing him a bit like the Major in Fawlty Towers with a smart jacket and a moustache, but I'd be happy to wear a uniform if you think it would fit the character better."

“No, I think you’re right. He’d probably not be in uniform if he’s retired but certainly a very smart, upright man. Whether you go with a moustache is up to you.”

“I’ll try some out and see how they feel. Maybe a nice handlebar affair?” John laughed, especially when he saw the appalled look on Sherlock’s face. It seemed Sherlock preferred his ‘boyfriend’ clean shaven.

“Thanks for all the updates on that everyone. I think we’re making great strides already. Right, shall we make a start with the first scene and block out some moves?”

They all moved the chairs to the sides to leave them some space for set up. They just left one chair which Jasmine, who was playing Mollie, the proprietor of the guest house, would be using whilst she sat and listened to the radio.

Sherlock stood off to the side, as he would be off stage for his part, and read out the radio news announcement. He was already off-book, of course, so he just presented it in his best posh BBC announcer voice.

Jasmine sat listening and then mimed turning off the radio and she sat thinking for a moment. Freddie, who was playing her husband, Giles, came into the room through what would be the door into the hall and they started in with their conversation. As the first guests to their newly opened guest house were arriving today, they were both a bit nervous as to how it would go, and they both played the emotions quite well, for a first attempt.

Greg got them to replay the scene a couple of times with a few variations; in where Freddie should stand to provide the best view for the audience; and whether to have him put his hand on Jasmine’s shoulder to bestow confidence and reassurance. Sally and Anderson were both making copious notes about who was standing where; when they needed to come in; what props would be needed to be put in which positions; and everything else they could think of, so that they would be able to replicate everything when they came to rehearse this scene in more detail later on in their sessions.

When Greg was happy with how that scene was panning out, they moved on to the next scene, which was the arrival of the first guest, Christopher Wren, played by Oliver. This scene took a little longer to play out and they tried it in several different ways. First Greg had Jasmine opening the door and then he tried it with Freddie doing it, seeing which worked better. The character of Christopher was a flighty young architect and Mollie was supposed to take to him instantly and Giles wasn’t, so they decided it worked better with Mollie opening the door and Christopher flirting with her, which inspired the instant dislike from Giles.

When the actors played out this scene, Sherlock was watching closely as he sat beside John, who was busy looking over his script as his first scene was coming next. Greg didn’t seem happy about the way it was coming across but couldn’t seem to see why, so he had them do it a few times more. It was quite obvious to Sherlock, however, that the reason it wasn’t working was that Oliver didn’t like Jasmine. He was trying his best to flirt with her, but it really wasn’t reaching his eyes at all and, consequently, it didn’t seem genuine.

Sherlock watched Oliver as he played the scene and noticed that his eyes kept flicking over to Natalie, who was playing Miss Casewell, to see if she was watching him. She did glance at him, and smiled when she did it, which seemed to perk him up so he obviously had an interest in her. Sherlock could tell, though, that Natalie was also watching Jasmine and Freddie as well as Oliver; Freddie with a look of wanting and Jasmine with a strong sense of dislike. That instantly told him a lot about their particular dynamics. He would have to tell John about it later to get it confirmed, and to impress John with his observations, as he had found there was nothing better than that look of admiration in John’s eyes.

This sparked Sherlock’s interest in all the rest of the cast and crew, thinking how much more he could amaze John with information on everyone; so he observed them as they watched the action – it was certainly better than watching the same scene played over and over.

It seemed that Jasmine was not as popular with this crowd as she was with her own cronies when Sherlock had seen her sitting in the dining room. She was in the same year as Greg, as were a good number of the other members of the production, so they didn’t share classes with Sherlock and John and, consequently, he hadn't really had any interaction with them except for this play. In fact, the only actors from their year were John; Ethan, who was playing Mr Paravicine; Hannah, who was playing Mrs Boyle; plus the girls doing the costumes, Kerry and Rachel and, of course, Sherlock himself.

John was an open book to him, obviously, and he vaguely knew Ethan from being in the same biology class; he was an average student and an average person and basically the word that came to mind was bland. He supposed John would say nice but to Sherlock people like that just faded into the background. Ethan was alternating between sitting quietly reading his script and watching the scene being played out, but he didn't seem to have any animosity against the people he was watching so Sherlock moved on.

He hadn't really paid much attention to the girls in his classes except for recognising their faces from seeing John smile at them. They weren't really his area of interest - in fact, no-one was his area of interest except John - so he watched them now. Kerry and Rachel, it seemed, were best friends and were looking at each other and raising eyebrows and smirking every time Jasmine was made to re-do her lines. Hmm, it seemed they were not keen on Jasmine either, so it wasn't just people from her own year. Hannah was sitting near enough to them to be a classroom friend, but was obviously not in their inner coterie. He could sense an edge of envy in her eyes as she watched the play, but she wasn't focused on Jasmine as much as she was on Freddie. Interesting. It looked like Hannah wanted Freddie so the envy must be for Jasmine having him instead of herself. Sherlock was fascinated and wondered what exactly Jasmine had done to inspire such dislike from so many of her fellow members.

He moved on to the other people from the year above that he had not really encountered before.
Freddie, himself, was taking no notice of Hannah so he obviously didn't know about her little crush. He did glance at Natalie occasionally, but only when Jasmine was focusing hard on what she was doing and wasn't paying attention to him. So did that mean Freddie knew Jasmine was jealous of Natalie for some reason? Yes; Natalie clearly must have been dating Freddie before Jasmine. It didn't look as if either Natalie or Freddie were completely over each other as he could see the looks of wanting from Freddie as much as he could from Natalie. Obviously, Jasmine must have stolen Freddie away from Natalie; maybe it was a popularity thing. These teens tended to put so much importance in being seen with the right people and, to all intents and purposes, it seemed that Jasmine was the 'right' person - well, she certainly appeared to think so anyway.

The boy sitting at the end of the row was watching both of the other boys in the scene and making notes whenever Greg gave them directions. He hadn’t really spoken in any of the sessions so far and Sherlock assumed he must be the understudy for all the male characters; Martin or Mark or something like that – no; Marcus, that was right. He obviously had the most to learn and the least to do, but he seemed quite intent on his own work and didn't appear to have any problems with any of the other actors; or if he did he was too busy to pay it any mind.

Another one who seemed too interested in his own script to bother with anyone else was
Matthew. He was probably the one with the biggest part as he was playing the detective. He didn't appear in any of these early scenes, though, so he was busy going over his own lines and not taking much notice of a scene he wasn’t in.

Olivia was the girl who had spoken about the scenery. She seemed very confident in her views and was obviously very knowledgeable about the artistic side of things but, like Marcus, she seemed to have little interest in her fellow performers. Her partner, though - Julian, wasn't it - now he was more interesting. He was another one who seemed to be in the anti-Jasmine camp. He was positively glaring at her on occasions. That seemed more than simple jealousy or envy; he appeared to actively hate her. There was obviously something deeper going on there. He might have to ask John about that one, as there was no way he could glean more information without knowing a little something more about the reasons behind the hatred.

The person understudying all the female parts was Rebecca and, like Marcus, she was making notes on her script. She kept sighing when the scene had to be re-played, but it looked like it was over Jasmine's performance rather than any personal problems with any of the people. Sherlock ascertained that her issue was in the fact that Jasmine had been given the part at all, when she clearly felt that she was the better actress, and should have been given the main role, not merely an understudy part.

Stacey, who was in charge of the tech board, doing lights and sound, was also sighing quietly to herself, but her reason looked to be the opposite of Rebecca's. She wasn't jealous of Jasmine for professional reasons; it seemed that it was definitely personal for her. If Sherlock had to say anything he would say that she appeared almost wistful as she watched Jasmine. He would say that they had been friends previously but had had a falling out or, more likely, that Stacey had been dumped by Jasmine; another victim of her popularity.

That only left the three main members of the production team. Greg, of course, he knew quite well from hanging around with John and he could tell that all Greg was interested in was the play. He also knew Sally from seeing her watching the rugby as she was Greg's friend. She seemed basically acceptable, although she could just as easily be annoying when she wanted to. He would have to hope that seeing more of her didn't increase the annoyance to unacceptable levels. He had thankfully found that having John around seemed to increase his tolerance slightly. He didn't like to disappoint him so he found he focused more on John and tried to ignore other distractions when he could.

Anderson, on the other hand, was a complete arse. He mooched around after Sally, looking at her with doe eyes, clearly enamoured with her, though she could hardly be bothered with him most of the time. Anderson had obviously only signed on to the production to be with Sally. If what John had told Sherlock about the procedures of putting on a play was correct, then it seemed that Anderson was basically the lackey who did all the things she didn't want to, whilst allowing her to take the credit; and that was certainly something that Sherlock could see happening.

Well that was everyone. It seemed Sherlock would have a busy evening enlightening John as to what he had deduced when they finished here.

He finished his perusal just in time, as it seemed that Greg was giving up on that scene for now and said they would work on it at a later date. Now it was time to do the scene where John’s character, Major Metcalf, arrived and Sherlock didn’t want to miss this.

The characters of Major Metcalf and Mrs Boyle, played by Hannah, arrived at the guest house together, as they had shared a taxi from the station. As John stood and mimed knocking on the door, stamping his foot for the noise, Sherlock saw a change come over him. All of a sudden he was standing more erect with a distinct military bearing, as if he could actually be a soldier. When the door was opened John stood to one side and extended his hand allowing Hannah to enter ahead of him in a thoroughly gentlemanly manner. Oh he was very good at this, Sherlock decided, looking on proudly.

They played through the scene a couple of times, going through the introductions to the proprietors, and them being shown through another door to go up to their rooms. It all seemed to flow very nicely, both John and Hannah already having a firm grip on their characters. This scene certainly required a lot less work than the one previously and it was soon finished for now.

John came back and sat beside Sherlock, raising his eyebrows to ask how his performance had come across. Sherlock nodded his head slightly, a small smile at the corner of his mouth. That was all it took for now, no words needed to be wasted in company. They knew they could go over it later when they could express themselves properly in private without observation and with other benefits thrown in, too.

The rehearsal carried on with the arrival of the next character, which was Miss Casewell, played by Natalie. Like the scene with Oliver, this scene wasn't quite so smooth running. There were, again, hints of jealousy ringing through the performances. This time it was Jasmine who wasn’t happy when Freddie was in any kind of close contact with Natalie, and Greg was making Freddie open the door to her, which wasn’t going down well. She argued with him and said that it should be her turn, as Freddie opened the door to the last pair, which was quite ridiculous; acting wasn’t about taking turns it was about putting on the best performance.

John was taking more notice of this scene, as his own was now over for the evening, so it was the first time he had seen the slight signs of animosity between cast members. He sent a questioning look to Sherlock who mouthed ‘later’ at him. John nodded and turned back to watch what was going on. They tried it a couple more times but it wasn’t going so well. In the end, Greg decided to call time on the rehearsals for the day. Tempers were getting a little frayed, but they had certainly got some ideas of how things were going and what they needed to work on in the future. It was clear that something was going to have to be sorted, though. People would need to get over themselves to allow the play to be performed properly or it would all be a disaster.

~*~

When Sherlock and John got back to Sherlock's room they got comfy on the bed and Sherlock told John everything he had noticed during the rehearsal. As he had hoped, John's look of stupefaction at his skills was as delightful as he had anticipated.

"That's amazing, Sherlock. You got all that just from watching how they looked at each other? Brilliant."

Sherlock blushed. "You were amazing. When you stepped up to that door you just completely became a retired soldier."

"I was just copying my Grandad. That's how he always stands when he meets someone, and he's unfailingly polite and courteous, but precise and no-nonsense at the same time. He's kind of my hero really."

"It's clear to see what a good influence he's been on you; you are very like him, John."

It was John's turn to blush this time. "Thanks, I guess. Anyway, that doesn't take away how extraordinary you were. As far as I know, you were right about everything."

"Really? So Jasmine is at the centre of all of it then, is she?"

"Well, yes, I think all of those things were true. Jasmine came back to school last year a changed person. All of a sudden she was Miss Popularity. Her dad had a huge settlement after a case of negligence against one of his associates, and she got him to buy that high tech stereo system for the cafeteria. Everyone miraculously seemed to like her after that. She dropped her old friends and started hanging out with all the trendy kids and got herself a new boyfriend. Freddie used to go out with Natalie, but Jasmine decided she wanted him, and went after him until he dumped Natalie for her. I’ve never really seen the appeal of her to be honest. She just seems so fake, as do the rest of her groupies. I like my friends with a bit more character to them.”

John smiled at Sherlock and squeezed his arm. He bent forward and kissed him softly on the mouth, his lips sliding across Sherlock’s jaw, placing little kisses as he went. He didn’t want to let go; he was just enjoying being close to Sherlock, being able to hold him in his arms.

“Fancy running some lines with me before we go to bed?”

“You need only ask.”

“I did just ask, idiot.”

Sherlock sighed and shook his head.

John laughed. “Oh, just come here, you.”

John shuffled up the bed a bit ‘til his back was half resting against the headboard and pillows. He pulled Sherlock up so he was lying with his back against John’s chest, his head resting comfortably on John’s shoulder. Sherlock held on to the script so they could both see it as necessary, his other arm stroking smoothly along John’s thigh. John had one arm resting around Sherlock’s chest and the other ruffling through his curls. He loved the feel of Sherlock’s hair and, by a happy circumstance, Sherlock had found there was nothing he liked more than the feel of fingers gently massaging his head, releasing all the tension usually contained within.

They spent a relaxed hour and a half rehearsing before John, reluctantly, slid himself out from under Sherlock, and left him to get some sleep, while he went back to his own room to do the same. He didn’t know when he’d been happier than he was now with Sherlock in his life.

~*~

The Christmas holidays were rapidly approaching and neither boy was particularly happy thinking about all that time they would be forced to be apart. John was going up to Scotland with his mum and sister five days before Christmas to stay with his grandparents. Then they were coming home on Boxing Day morning as his mum had a party organised by her work which she had to attend that night.

Sherlock would be staying at his family estate over the whole holidays, including the annual Holmes family party on Boxing Day, which he was dreading as usual. He hated his family at the best of times and being inundated with even more relatives, especially his obnoxious cousins, who spent most of their time teasing him about dropping out of another school, was his idea of hell. He wished he could take John there and show them that he had someone; that he wasn’t alone like they always said he would be.

“I wish you could come with me, John. I hate having to spend so much time with my family. I always thought Mycroft was bad enough, but even he pales into insignificance in comparison to the rest of them.”

“I’d love to be there with you. I can’t say I’m looking forward to spending time with Harry either; she’ll be too busy drinking and partying with all her friends. I suppose the only good thing is she won’t be able to do that whilst we’re in Scotland, but as soon as we come back she will, especially with Mum going out that night.”

Sherlock bolted upright, “John, you have to come to my house.”

“Yes, we just said it would be nice.”

“No I’m not making some abstract comment; I’m properly asking you. Come to mine on Boxing Day and you can stay with me for the rest of the holiday. Then we can come back to school together for the start of term?”

“You can’t just say that without asking anyone. Your mum wouldn’t want me turning up and spoiling your party.”

“You wouldn’t spoil anything, in fact, you’d make it better, because then Mummy wouldn’t complain that I’m moping about the place. Oh please, John, you have to come?”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean I’d love to be with you and see where you live and everything, but do you really think our parents would agree?”

“Of course, they would. I’ll ring Mummy now and ask her and then you can ring your Mum, too.”

“Where did you get a phone from? You know we’re not supposed to bring them to school with us.” Sherlock brushed that aside and, before John could object further, Sherlock already had his phone out and to his ear and was ringing his house.

“Yes hello, Carstairs. Is Mummy there please?”

“Carstairs?” John mouthed as he looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock covered the mouthpiece as he spoke. “He’s our butler/estate manager. Mummy doesn’t like mobile phones so I’ve had to ring the house phone. He’s gone to get her now.”

John’s eyebrows had risen at the word ‘butler’, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Sherlock was the very epitome of upper class.

“Hello Mummy, it’s Sherlock. Yes, I know I don’t usually ring. No, everything is fine, thank you. No, I haven’t blown anything up. Why is that always the first thing people think of? Yes, I know it has happened in the past. Listen Mummy, would it be acceptable for me to invite a friend over to come to the Boxing Day party, and then stay until we go back to school please? Yes, I do. His name is John. Watson. No, I don’t think he’s one of the Kensington Watson’s. Yes, he is. He’s going to ring her now to see if he’s allowed. Oh, thank you, Mummy. Yes, I can meet him at the station. Oh no, do we have to? I suppose so then, thank you. Yes, I’ll see you soon. Goodbye.”

“What was the ‘oh no’ for at the end? Does she not want me to come?”

“No, she sounded pleased that I wanted to bring someone home. I was saying ‘oh no’ because she said that Mycroft will bring us back from the station as he has some things to pick up.”

“I’m sure he’s not that bad, Sherlock.”

“Wait until you’ve met him and then tell me that. Now, come on, your turn to ring your Mum.”

“Ok, give it here then.” John dialled his Mum’s number. “Hi Mum, it’s John. No, there's nothing wrong; I'm fine. How are you? That's good. Mum, I was wondering if I could go to stay at my friend's house when we get back from Scotland after Christmas please? No, it's not Mike; it's a boy who just started here this term and his name is Sherlock. Yes, it is quite an unusual name; if fits him perfectly as he's rather a unique person, too. His family have a party on Boxing Day and he's invited me to that, and then to stay afterwards, and we'll come back to school together when term begins. No, his Mum doesn't mind; he's just rung her to ask. His older brother will pick me up at the station. Yes, honestly, she's fine if I stay for the rest of the holidays. Oh thanks, Mum, you're the greatest. Yes, okay, I'll see you when I get home. Yes, I'm looking forward to it, too. See you soon. Bye Mum."

John gave the phone back to Sherlock, grinning up at him. “That’s brilliant. I’ll get to spend the holidays with you after all.”

“What’s brilliant is that I won’t have to spend the holidays with my brother. I can’t wait to show you off to my cousins.”

“I’m hardly worth showing off, Sherlock.”

“You are to me,” Sherlock smiled at him shyly. “They always tell me I’ll never have any friends and certainly not a boyfriend. I can even put up with the fact that they’re bound to go on about me changing schools again if I’ve got you there with me.”

“Well, I’m not having anyone talking to you like that, so they’d better watch out. You’re amazing and everyone should know it.”

Sherlock looked dumbstruck. He had never had anyone stand up for him like that before. John stroked his cheek when he saw that look.

“Come here, love.” Sherlock blushed at the endearment and John smiled; they hadn’t used them before but John had wanted to try that out to see if it fit. He liked it; especially if it made Sherlock react like that.

Sherlock came over and snuggled up next to John – cuddling was another one of those things of which Sherlock had found himself unable to get enough. He was making a lot of these discoveries since he’d been with John. Things which he’d always thought unnecessary were now as important as air – well, more important, as half the time he considered breathing boring. John was decidedly not boring; not in any way, shape or form. The boys lay on John’s bed for an hour, just enjoying each other’s company, before they headed over for the start of Sunday’s drama session.

This was the last rehearsal session before they broke up for the holidays on Thursday morning as the Wednesday evening would be spent with everyone packing ready to leave. They had had quite a few more rehearsals since that first one and, although everything seemed to be moving with a greater flow now that they were getting into it all, there was still a bit of an edge to the interactions between some of the actors.

They had worked their way through every scene and each of the actors seemed to have got into the rhythm of their own characters. Most of them knew the majority of their lines now and only had their scripts around for reference, instead of constantly referring to them, which was making it easier to block out the scenes and for everyone to know where they should be standing or looking. Today was really more in the way of a Christmas party than a proper rehearsal, so Greg called everyone together to talk to them.

“Okay everyone, thanks for coming today. I know you’re probably all already in holiday mode. I just wanted to thank you for all you’ve done so far. It’s really starting to come together now and we’re getting a feel for the whole thing. If I could ask you all to do your best over the Christmas holidays to get completely off-book that would be great. Then when we come back we can get straight into full-on rehearsals to bring this whole thing off as best as we can, and show them that our play is the best one they’ve ever seen.”

Everyone cheered and clapped and Greg smiled at them.

“Well enough of that, I’m sure you’d rather get on with the partying. I managed to wangle some goodies out of Mrs Price so we have a veritable feast to enjoy. Sally has organised some music for us, which I have promised Sherlock won’t consist of those – to quote himself – ‘infernally annoying Christmas songs that are droning on everywhere you go’. Well, it won’t all consist of that, though there may be one or two thrown in for good measure.”

Sherlock, who had perked up considerably on hearing the first part of Greg’s sentence, pulled a face at the second part. John nudged him jovially.

“It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

“Somehow, I doubt it.”

John and Greg both laughed then Greg pointed to the table with the food.

“Everyone help yourselves. Here’s to a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of us.”

They cheered again and Sally turned on the music in the background for now and everyone made their way over to the table which was set up for food and drink. Anderson was there passing out plates and they all helped themselves to some sandwiches and crisps. Mrs Price had a real soft spot for Greg, who was always nice to her and complimented her on her food, so she had also done them some vol-au-vents, sausage rolls, mini quiches and pizza slices. Everyone tucked in happily, even Sherlock took some of the savoury snacks after he was glared at by John. Sally was pouring out brightly coloured plastic beakers filled with Coke which she left on the end of the table for them to take as they reached the end of the food line.

John pushed Sherlock ahead of him and made him take a drink as well; he was determined to curb this habit he had noticed of Sherlock just not bothering with food. The tables and chairs had been set out in a circle so that they could all chat together. John found himself sat next to Jasmine who was on her own waiting for Freddie to join her, so he felt compelled to chat with her a little, for the sake of politeness.

“Are you doing anything special over Christmas?”

“Daddy is taking us to Innsbruck on Friday so we’ll be skiing ‘til after New Year. Mummy did say I could ask Freddie along, but he has some boring family thing he has to do so he couldn’t come. I do think he could have got out of it but he said not, it’s really too bad.”

“I’m sure you’ll still enjoy the skiing.”

“Oh, of course. Daddy has the run of the company ski lodge. It has a couple of cabins joined on to a main building so we tend to have big parties in the evenings.” Jasmine looked up and saw Julian listening in to their conversation. “We always have great fun, don’t we, Julian.”

Julian pulled a smile on his face but it didn’t look very genuine to John. “Yes, the after piste is almost as much fun as the skiing.”

“When are you coming up this…? Oh.”

“We actually have some family commitments this year so we couldn’t go anyway.”

Freddie came across at that moment and thankfully started talking to Jasmine which distracted her from the conversation.

John turned back to Sherlock, his duty to interact with other people fulfilled for the moment. He noticed that Sherlock was intently watching Julian who was looking down at his plate and pushing his food around a bit, seeming to have lost his appetite somewhat. Sherlock realised John was looking at him and he focused on him instead and picked up a vol-au-vent when John nodded towards his plate. He did prefer his pastry with a sweeter filling but pastry was pastry, and he liked the way John smiled at him as he ate, so he felt somewhat vindicated for the effort.

Rachel and Kerry got up to get another drink and they passed some beakers along the row to the others after Stacey filled up more cups at the table for them. The majority of them went to refill their plates from the buffet table again; John didn’t bother forcing Sherlock to go up, knowing that one plate was more than enough for him.

As John sat down his chair leg banged against his drink of Coke and knocked it over. He jumped up and went to the table for some of the serviettes and cleaned up the mess, before taking his plate back from Sherlock who had taken it for him. Unfortunately, the Coke had all gone, but Jasmine passed him her second cup.

“I didn’t want another drink so you can have mine.”

“Oh, thank you; that’s really nice of you. Are you sure?”

“It wasn’t diet so I wouldn’t have had more than one cup anyway.”

“Well, thanks.” John smiled back at her and had a big drink before he turned back to talk to Sherlock. When they had all finished eating and chatting they cleared away the food and moved the tables out of the way. Sally turned the music up for people to dance if they wanted to. People seemed loath to be the first up so Greg made an effort and went over to stand by Sally.

"Since we went to all the trouble of having to learn those fancy dances, what say we give them a whirl now? Miss Donovan, would you care to dance?"

"I would be delighted, Mr Lestrade." Sally gave a curtsey and clicked the music on to some waltz music; she and Greg having planned this in advance.

"Partner up everyone, you know the rules, pick whoever you're next to."

John leapt up and bowed to Sherlock. "Mr Holmes, may I have the pleasure?"

Sherlock shook his head lightly at John's antics then took his hand as he stood. "You may indeed, Mr Watson." Sherlock leant forward and, for John's ears only, he added, "As you have many times before."

John blushed charmingly and started giggling. The others all got up and paired off. Most people were already sitting by their own friends so it wasn’t a problem finding a partner. Anderson was the only one on his own for the first dance as there were an odd number of them, but on the next change Greg sat down and Sally took a spin round with Anderson, so he was quite happy to take turns.

As they spun round the room for each dance, Sherlock found himself being gripped more tightly by John, their hips, which had started at the requisite distance apart, soon lacked all separation and Sherlock could feel John rubbing up against him. The hand which had been on Sherlock’s back also kept trying to slide its way down his body and cup his arse. Sherlock blushed and pulled John’s arm back up each time and tried to extricate their lower regions.

“John!” he hissed in John’s ear, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“We should dance the upright mambo instead of the waltz. I want to feel your body.”

“Keep your voice down. What’s come over you? You’re not usually so obvious in public.”

“I can’t re…ssssist you.”

“John, are you ok? You’re slurring your words as if you’re drunk; have you taken anything?”

“Don’t need to take ‘nythin’, I’ve got you.” John grinned at him and his head slipped down onto Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock lifted John’s head and his eyes seemed as if they were struggling to focus. He put his hand on John’s cheek to hold his face upright and John tried to turn his head and kiss Sherlock’s palm but Sherlock was holding quite tightly. All he could manage was to make kissing motions with his lips into thin air. Sherlock moved John to a nearby chair and knelt in front of him, which got the attention of some of the others, and the dancing slowly stopped as more and more of them saw something was going on. Greg came over to see what was happening.

“What’s the matter, Sherlock; is John feeling ill?”

“He looks like he’s drunk but all he’s had is the same Coke that we all had.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t snuck in a bottle of something else?”

“No he’s not the sort to sneak drinks in that way; if he was going to drink he’d share with everyone.”

“That’s true enough; he is very generous. John, can you hear me mate; are you ok?”

“Greg! Greggie! Why aren’t you wearing your shorts – should have shorts – good legs.” John giggled at him as his head tried to sink down on to his chest but Sherlock’s fingers held it up.

“He’s definitely had something. He wouldn’t say things like that.” Greg blushed. “Maybe you ought to take him to see the nurse?”

“I don’t want to get him in to trouble. I’ll take him back to his room and then I can keep an eye on him. If you could just help me get him there, that would be helpful.”

“Of course; you grab that arm and I’ll take this one.”

They both took hold under John’s arms and pulled him up. They put his arms around their shoulders so they could walk him forwards with little input from himself, which was fortunate. It was slow progress, but they eventually got him up to his room. They’d had to stop at one point and Sherlock and Greg fake laughed whilst Sherlock held John’s head up by the back of his hair, so that it looked as if they were just having a joke together when one of the teachers walked by them. Greg leaned John against Sherlock as he went to open the door. John pressed his head into Sherlock’s neck and took a deep sniff.

“Mmm, smell good… love your smell… love you.”

“John!” Sherlock blushed when he saw Greg watching them both with a grin on his face.

“Don’t worry; I didn’t hear a thing.”

They manoeuvred John on to his bed and Sherlock stopped his hands as he did his best to start ripping off his clothes. John grabbed on to Sherlock’s hands and held him there, pulling one hand up to his mouth and sloppily kissing it. Sherlock looked helplessly at Greg who winked kindly at him and zipped his lips making Sherlock feel better.

“Are you sure you can manage on your own?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ll call someone if he gets any worse, don’t worry. Thank you for… everything.”

“Sure; it doesn’t change anything.”

“Thank you.”

Greg nodded his acceptance of Sherlock’s acknowledgement and let himself out of John’s room, smiling to himself as he heard John asking Sherlock to take his clothes off, as he shut the door.

“Too hot… Sherlock clothes off.”

“You’re not being very clear, John, are you asking for your clothes off or mine?”

“Both, silly.” John giggled at him again. He had definitely had something; Sherlock had never seen him being drunk like this before.

“We’ll do that a bit later. Why don’t you just have a little sleep for now and hopefully when you wake up you’ll be a bit more sober.”

“You sleep?” John clumsily patted the bed.

“Ok, I’ll lie with you for now. Come on.”

Sherlock pulled off both their shoes and unfastened their trousers to make them more comfy. He lay on the bed next to John, after stopping John’s hands from roaming again. John had misinterpreted the opening of his trousers as the intent for something further, so Sherlock took him into his arms. He put John’s head on his chest so that Sherlock could rest his own head on top and he pressed gentle kisses in to John’s hair as he stroked his arm up and down John’s back. John hummed happily as he felt himself relaxing into the comforting warmth of Sherlock’s body.

It wasn’t long before Sherlock felt and heard John snoring heavily against his shirt, John’s outward breath heating his skin through the material. Sherlock pulled John’s upper leg over his own to turn him slightly more on his side and to settle him more comfortably. He resigned himself to being trapped there for the long haul, not wanting to leave John on his own just in case he needed anything. Some time after midnight, when everything around them had settled into silence, Sherlock found himself drifting off to the reassuring sound of John’s breathing beside him.

~*~

Sherlock felt warmth surrounding him. Something was tickling against his nose and he couldn’t feel one arm, but as he slowly awakened and memories of the previous evening returned, he caught himself smiling; feelings of contented happiness flowing through him. He usually had great trouble dropping off or staying asleep for any great length of time. Yet here he was – about six thirty in the morning, judging by the light coming in from John’s window – well rested after having slept about six hours straight through. This was something he could get used to. He wondered if he could persuade John to sleep in his bed when he stayed with him over the holidays. He was sure they could hide it from Mummy; maybe not Mycroft, but he could keep his big nose out.

Sherlock carefully slid John’s head back on to his chest, from where it had slipped to press down on his shoulder, giving him a dead arm. He clenched his fist as all the feeling rushed back in with a pins and needles sensation. When it stopped he put his arm around John and stroked up his back, fingers carding through the short hair at the base of John’s head. John made a funny noise, almost a rumble in his throat, and pushed backwards into the contact, enjoying the feeling of fingers in his hair, even in his sleep.

Sherlock catalogued all the little snuffling noises and movements John was making against his skin. He was torn between keeping John there as long as possible and waking him up to see how he was feeling now. Some noise from rooms further down the hall signalled that the others were starting to wake up so that forced his hand somewhat. He didn’t want anyone else to come in and see John in this state so he would have to wake him.

He rubbed his thumb down John’s cheek and across his lower lip, smiling as John’s lips tried to follow the movement and capture the digit. Sherlock did it a few more times, watching John’s face as he seemed to come further awake with each touch, his eyelashes fluttering as they struggled to open.

“Eurghhhhh.”

“Good morning, John.”

John pulled back in shock, stared up at Sherlock right in front of him, then groaned as his eyes closed tightly and his hand flew up to hold his head.

“My head!”

“Yes, that is your head.”

“What…?”

“Well, your articulation doesn’t seem to have improved with the morning.”

“What happened?”

“Do you remember anything about yesterday at all?”

“Umm,” John concentrated hard; trying to think, then he winced at the sensation of screwing his face up and concentrated a little less hard, as he once more tried to remember.

“It was the party, wasn’t it? I remember eating and drinking and Jasmine being vaguely pleasant to me, which was a surprise. Did we dance? I sort of remember holding you and waltzing, but not a lot else, I don’t think. No, wait, Greg was there, wasn’t he? Something about legs, what does that mean?”

“Not bad. All of that did happen so you obviously don’t have amnesia which is good. When we were dancing you seemed to be getting more and more drunk.”

“What? I wasn’t drunk. I didn’t have anything to drink except the Coke which we all had.”

“Well, that’s what I thought, too, but you were certainly acting drunk on the dance floor. You tried groping me in front of everyone, and then you proceeded to tell Greg he had nice legs and should be wearing shorts.”

“I didn’t, did I?” John groaned and held his head again. “Did I do anything else embarrassing?”

“Let’s just say that Greg is no longer in any doubt about the state of our relationship. Luckily, he didn’t seem bothered about it and appeared to be willing to keep it to himself.”

“He’s a good guy, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Should I be worried that you prefer his legs?”

“I would never have said I preferred anything of anyone else above what I like of yours.”

“You flatterer. I’ll let you off then.” Sherlock gave a small smile at the worried look on John's face. "Relax, I'm teasing you. It is obvious to me that, though you respect and like Greg, you don't feel anything more for him."

"That's a relief. So, what happened yesterday then? Why did I end up like that? And could you tell that herd of elephants out there to keep the noise down, some people have a headache."

"I suspect what you have is a hangover not a headache, my dear Watson, and those lesser mortals out there are no louder than they usually contrive to be every morning, whatever the inside of your cranium may be trying to tell you."

"Do you have to be so clever when I'm suffering? I can't even work up the energy to praise you." John looked up at Sherlock through one eye and smiled. Sherlock smiled back.

"I shall look forward to some amazing pronouncements when you have recovered then. As to what happened to you, though, I’m afraid I don't know at this stage. If you definitely didn't have any alcohol yourself, then it must have been in something you ate or drank."

"I had exactly the same things as you and you're fine."

"We need to examine the scene of the crime."

"I think 'crime' is taking things a bit far, but we could certainly go over there and have a look round - maybe in a couple of days, when I am able to move again."

"I'll get you some paracetamol; you'll be fine in about twenty minutes."

"What time is it anyway? Shouldn't we be in lessons? Should you be here at all, come to think of it?"

"Someone had to stay to make sure you were okay. If anyone kicks up a fuss we can just say I sat up awake in the chair all night, they'll believe me capable of it."

"I'm glad you didn't spend the night in the chair. It was nice to wake up with you, even with my head like this."

"I thought so, too. Maybe we can try it again over the holidays?"

"What about your Mum?"

"I have an adjoining dressing room so I'll suggest she sets you up next door to me and then what no-one sees, no-one will know any better, will they."

"An adjoining room? Just how big is your house exactly?"

Sherlock laughed at John's apprehensive face. "You'll be fine, John. Now, tablets, clothes and then investigation. We don't have a lesson until this afternoon, if you recall, because Professor Smythe said it wasn't worth starting the next module until after the break. He said we have some compounds to distil that will need to be tended over ten days, so that leaves us with this morning fortuitously free."

Sherlock was already dressed so he just fastened his trousers and put his shoes back on and, after listening to see if the hallway was clear, he went back to his own room to wash and change. He got some tablets for John, which he took back with him, and got John to take quickly so he would soon be recovered enough to help with the investigation.

When they were both ready, and John seemed a little more enlivened, they headed over to the drama rooms. They were lucky that there was no class going on in there that morning, so they went into the room and looked around. The others had obviously cleared everything away once John and Sherlock had left, so there was nothing left out to examine. Sherlock could see where the chairs had all been moved to and from by the dents in the flooring, but there were no marks from anything that hadn’t been there when he had last been in there yesterday, so that told him nothing.

Most of the food had been eaten and what had been left had obviously now all been cleared away, so there was nothing left there to see. It would have been put straight in the school mulcher, as they had their own kitchen garden that the students helped to run and everything was recycled. Sherlock had deduced that there couldn’t have been anything in the food itself anyway, as they had all eaten the same things and no-one else had been ill.

The only things that could have been doctored to target only one person were the plates or cups themselves, and after the party, they would have been put in the plastic recycling bins, so that was where Sherlock led them next. They quickly found the plates and cups that had been used at the party. Nothing else had been going on yesterday so there wasn’t anything that had been put in on top of them; luckily they hadn’t had anything messy or sticky to eat at the party, so they were all fairly clean. Sherlock had brought a bag with him and he counted in all the plates and cups and, with a gleeful smile on his face, he turned to lead John over to the science labs. This was one time that he was actually glad for something that Mycroft had done, as the special access pass he had to the labs would come in very handy.

“Right, John, what we need to do is take a swab from each item and then we can analyse each one for any trace elements of alcohol, or maybe even a drug of some description. Isn’t this exciting?”

“Only you would find swabbing used plates thrilling?” Sherlock’s face dropped so John added, “No, that’s a lie; I’m finding the investigation exciting, too. It’s great to see you so happy and completely in your element.”

“There’s the John that was missing last night.” They smiled at each other and set to work.

John numbered each plate and took a swab across each one which he transferred to a slide marked with the corresponding number, He put them in a row in front of Sherlock, who was putting them through the analyser to assess which compounds were present in each sample.

They went through all the plates with no trace of anything untoward being found, so then they moved on to the cups. The cups were of various colours, but John couldn’t remember what colour he had had to narrow things down. Sherlock, of course, did.

“You had an orange cup for your first drink and a blue one for your second, so let’s do those first.”

They tested all the orange and blue cups, but they were all clear of any traces. Then John remembered what had happened.

“My second cup was blue, but I didn’t drink it because it got spilt, and I ended up with that cup that Jasmine gave me, do you remember?”

“Of course; stupid! That one was red. Let’s check the red ones, John.”

They checked all the red cups and on their sixth one they hit pay dirt.

“John, look, this is coming up with components of a foreign substance. Wait while I break it down further. There are trace elements of benzyl alcohol, ethanol and propylene glycol, which I happen to know, combine to make a benzodiazepine anxiolytic; the most common form of which is Diazepam. These drugs are used to combat severe anxiety and stress related symptoms, also for status epilepticus and febrile convulsions.”

“Do you think Jasmine suffers from one of those things?”

“If she was, I can’t believe that she would put it into a drink she was having at a party. She would be more likely to take it privately in her room if that was necessary. Plus I would have seen if she did that as she was sitting right next to you and she didn’t touch her cup until she gave it to you. If she had known it contained her medication then she wouldn’t have passed it on to anyone else, would she?”

“So what do you think then; how did it get in to the cup if Jasmine didn’t do it?”

“It can’t have been put in to the bottle itself or more people would have been affected. It can only have been put in the cup by the person pouring the drink or the person passing the drinks around. The next question we have to ask is, was it put in a random cup and you were just unlucky enough to be the recipient, or was it more specifically targeted to one person? That would mean that the target was not yourself, as they could not know that you would spill your drink so it, therefore, must have been aimed at Jasmine.”

“Would someone really do that?”

“What other explanation is there? Looking at the high concentration of elements within the sample, this must have been quite a large dose, so it couldn’t have been an accident, for example, if someone had meant to take their own tablet and dropped it. The parts per million would indicate that the ratio must fall within at least four or five tablets concentration. That is not the dosage for any of those relevant conditions and could, indeed, by very harmful if a person did not have such a strong constitution, as you do yourself, to burn it off so quickly. We were lucky that it resulted in nothing worse than moderate drunkenness and loss of inhibitions.”

John shuddered as he thought of what else could have befallen him; he had been lucky indeed. “

“What does this mean for Jasmine then? Was it just a silly prank or was someone trying to hurt her? Who would have access to those sorts of pills?”

“That is what we must find out, John.”

“What are we going to do now? If we ask people if they put pills in to the drinks they’re obviously not going to admit it and then they will know we are on to them and we’ll never find out who it was.”

“You’re right; I don’t think a frontal assault will work in this instance. Loath as I am to say this, I think a watch-and-wait approach will be necessary in the circumstances. We will keep Jasmine under observation when we are in our drama sessions; as you will recall from my earlier observations there were several people who didn’t seem to regard her kindly.”

“That’s true; you worked out quite a list, didn’t you? So we won’t be able to do anything else this term as Sunday was our last get-together with them all. We’ll have to start afresh with the new term.”

“Hmmm, I suppose so. I wonder if we could do a search of the rooms to see if anyone has pills hidden away?”

“No, we couldn’t! We’d never get away with that. I suppose we could check with the Nurse to see if she has anything missing from her supplies, or if anyone has been prescribed any such pills?”

“That’s a great idea, John. Let’s do that now before the bell goes for lunch.”

They made their way to the Nurse’s Office having decided that John would say he had a headache. This wasn’t far off the truth as he was still feeling a little delicate. The Nurse had a bit of a soft spot for John as he’d always been interested in the medical side of things and had often helped her out when she’d been checking stock and tidying her cupboards.

“Hello Nurse Clarke, how are you today? You’re looking lovely as always.”

“Oh get away with you, Mr Watson; you can’t charm me like that. What seems to be the problem?”

“Well, actually, I have a bit of a headache and just wondered if you had anything I could take for it, please?”

“Let me have a look at you; have you been overdoing things? Have you had any flashing lights or visual disturbances?”

“I was at the drama party yesterday and was doing some dancing, but nothing too wearying, and we all ate and drank the same things and there’s nothing wrong with anyone else. Sherlock, here, was fine and he was with me the whole night. No, I haven’t had anything wrong with my eyes, so I don’t think it’s a migraine or anything like that.”

“Hmmm, that doesn’t sound like too much, but I know how you youngsters get all excited about the end of term and, with Christmas being almost upon us too, you might be a little overwrought.”

John didn’t exactly like the sound of being thought overwrought; it made him feel like one of the lower formers, over-excited about everything they saw, but he bore it manfully for the cause.

“I do have some tablets I can give you, though my stores are running low this close to the end of term. I won’t get my new supply through until next term now.”

“Oh, do you have some things missing or has it just been a busy term?” John smiled winningly at her as he asked his question, in faux innocence.

“Well, yes, it has been a busy term, what with all the shenanigans you children get up to. No, I don’t have anything missing, I keep a rigid control over all my supplies, you should know that, John; and if any medication aside from the norm was required then, of course, Dr Devinson would be called in for a consultation and he would prescribe something specific.”

She got the tablets from her locked cupboard, the key hanging from a ring that was secured around her waist so there would be no chance for someone to have got hold of it from it being left lying around.

“Now, if you still have any symptoms tomorrow then I want you to come back and see me again. We don’t want to be sending you home in a worse state than that in which you arrived now, do we.”

“No, of course not. Thanks, Nurse Clarke, you’re the best.”

“Get off with you, the pair of you.” She covered a smile as she pushed them towards the door. “The bell will be ringing for lunch in a minute so you may as well make your way straight there. Look after yourself and come back if you need anything further.”

The boys left and headed down towards the dining room, John’s stomach feeling a little more settled now, than it had been first thing, and definitely wanting some food.

“Well that rules out a theft from the Nurse’s Office then.”

“Yes and Diazepam wasn’t a component of her cupboard either; I had a good look when she got your tablets. That means it has to be something for the Doctor to prescribe, if it was needed, so it must have been for specific use for a person here, or they’ve got it from somewhere else, either off campus or maybe even brought from home.”

“I suppose so. Not a lot we can do about that right now then, we’ll just have to keep our eyes open next term, as you suggested.”

“Unfortunately, it would seem so.”

“Don’t seem so down, it’ll give us something to focus on next term. Plus, we break up in a couple of days and then we have Christmas to look forward to and we’ll see each other right after so that’ll be brilliant.”

Sherlock cheered up slightly at that; not so much the Christmas part, as he had never been too excited about it, not since he was four and had deduced that there was no such thing as Father Christmas. All it usually meant was more time he had to spend with his stupid cousins, and with Mycroft whom, since the time he’d gone away to school and abandoned Sherlock, had turned really boring. He was, however, looking forward to having John stay at his home. It would be nice to show them all that he had a proper friend and, after this morning, he couldn’t wait to get John in his own room too.

~*~

The last few days of the term passed very quickly; the professors taking it easy on them, knowing they wouldn’t get an awful lot of work done this close to the Christmas holidays.

Wednesday night found everybody packing and getting ready for departure. Sherlock had been a little down at the fact that John was leaving. It didn’t help that John couldn’t remember his mobile phone number off-hand, so he had had to write Sherlock’s number down in three places so that he didn’t lose it. He had faithfully promised to text him as soon as he got home so that Sherlock would know what it was and be able to reply.

“I won’t be able to endure the holidays if I don’t have some way to get in touch with you, at least.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget – I won’t be able to with the number of reminders you’ve given me.” John smiled at him. “Now, why don’t you come and lie with me for a while and we can say a proper goodbye before you have to go back to your room. We won’t have time in the morning, as I’ve got to leave on the first coach to get the early train.”

~*~

John was up early to catch the coach to the station for his train. Sherlock was being picked up by Mycroft on his way home from London, unfortunately, as far as he was concerned, so he had longer to wait. He didn’t think he could bear saying goodbye to John in front of everyone, where he wouldn’t be able to touch him, so he didn’t go down to where the coach was getting ready to leave and, consequently, didn’t see John looking around everywhere for him.

Just as the coach was stopping for the gates to open, John saw Sherlock leaning against the wall looking forlorn. He gave him a smile and a wave and did the phone gesture to him as the coach pulled off. Sherlock raised his hand and gave a wan smile, just before John passed out of sight, and then he moped back up to the school. He hoped that John’s journey would be as quick as possible so that he could get to his phone and start texting him. He didn’t know how he was going survive ten days at this rate, when John had only been gone ten minutes and he was already suffering. The journey home didn’t bode well for Mycroft, but as far as Sherlock was concerned, that was his problem.

~*~

tbc...

Chapter Text

~*~

Christmas had been fun. John always liked spending time with his grandparents, as his grandfather had such wonderful stories to tell of his time as a soldier, seeing the world. John wasn't naive, obviously he knew that there was a brutal side to soldiering as well, but his grandfather didn't go into a lot of detail about the harsher aspects, so John enjoyed the adventurous tales he told.

He had managed to get on with Harry for most of the time, too. She always laid off the booze in front of their grandparents so even she hadn't been too bad except, it seemed, for the near constant teasing about his ‘friend’. Whenever he hadn't been busy listening to stories, the majority of his time had been spent answering texts from Sherlock.

True to his word he had sent Sherlock his number as soon as he reached home, and Sherlock hadn't stopped texting him since. He received stream of consciousness, random observations about Sherlock's day; insults on his interactions with Mycroft; and sheer gloom when the cousins were mentioned. Two of them had arrived early as their parents had been invited on a last minute skiing trip to replace another couple, who couldn't attend through illness, and they wouldn't be home until the morning of the party. Sherlock had told his cousins all about John, but they had been mocking and doubting him, so he had been doing his best to stay out of their way. He couldn't wait for John to arrive to put them in their place, as John had been promising to do in his replies.

The best texts they had exchanged though had been the ones late at night when they had been missing each other badly. The shared desires of what they would do when they were together again, had transmuted into torrid sexting sessions; where they had got each other off by daring the other to further acts, that would be repeated when they met. John had never been gladder that his grandfather had had some boards put up in the attic a couple of years ago. It provided the smallest space for a bed of his own, but it meant he didn’t have to share a room with Harry, as they had done when they were younger. His life wouldn’t have been worth living if she had found out about what they were doing.

Now, finally, the day had arrived and he hugged his mum and sister goodbye at Peterborough Station, as they were continuing their journey on to Kings Cross, whilst he was changing lines and heading towards Norwich, where Sherlock would be waiting to meet him and take him onwards to his home. Once the train his mum and sister were taking had left, John went over to the platform to wait for his own, as it wasn’t due in for another twenty minutes.

He texted Sherlock to let him know where he was, and got an instant reply back that they were on their way to the station. This was followed by several rapid texts about the onerous nature of his journey, as he was having to share it with Mycroft. At least, he had been spared the presence of any of the cousins, as they had been reunited with their parents that morning. They had been nauseatingly catching up as he ducked out to wait in the car for Mycroft to finish one of his interminable phone calls with his office.

John texted again when he was actually on the train and Sherlock told him that they were just approaching Norwich City Centre. Mycroft had wanted to get there early to pick up some supplies for the party that Mummy needed, so they would be at the station in plenty of time for when John arrived.

Sherlock spotted a theatrical costumer on their way to the station car park and he insisted that they go there, before going anywhere else, as he wanted to get something for John. He found a professional make-up kit in an attractive case which he thought would be the ideal gift. On his way out he noticed a display of superior quality moustaches made with genuine human hair. Though he himself certainly wasn’t keen on seeing John with whiskers, he had seen the gleam in John’s eye when a moustache was mentioned for his character. If John was going to have one, he was going to have the best, not some fake-looking, sticky-backed thing that would be almost drooping off before they even started. The shop owner packaged it up in a display box and Sherlock bought the necessary glue and remover to go with it.

Highly pleased with his purchases, which the lady had also very kindly wrapped for him, he was even content enough to follow Mycroft to three of the stores he needed to visit before his patience gave out. Then he insisted that he needed to go to the station, in case John’s train came in early.

“Trains never come in early, Sherlock, you know that.”

“I wish to be there in readiness. I don’t want John to get off the train and not have someone there to meet him.”

“Fine, you go there, and I will finish the errands I have and meet you back at the car.”

Sherlock had no problem with that; he would rather that Mycroft wasn’t around when John’s train came in anyway. He strode into the station and enquired at the desk on which platform the Peterborough train would be arriving. He went straight across there and spent the next half hour pacing the platform impatiently. At one minute before the time it was due (ha, take that, Mycroft!) Sherlock saw movement from further down the line. He was almost here. John was nearly here.

Knowing what Sherlock was like, John had his bag re-packed, on his shoulder and standing at the door well before they reached the station, so that he was ready to leave as soon as it stopped. Sherlock had, of course, parsed which carriage John would be on, and where exactly the train would stop, so he was there at John’s door as the train pulled to a halt. John grinned at him through the glass and saw the relief in Sherlock’s eyes that his friend had arrived at last.

“John! Finally; I thought you were never going to get here.”

John put his arms around Sherlock and hugged him. Sherlock’s arms stuck out as if he didn’t know what to do, before he enfolded John and squeezed him hard for a moment, then let go. They didn’t usually do public displays of affection and he was unsure where the line lay on what was allowable or not.

“It’s great to see you. Happy Boxing Day.”

“I don’t believe that this day has an official greeting.”

“Well, it does now because I’m certainly happy to see you.”

Sherlock blushed, “I’m happy to see you, too. It has been deathly dull without you.”

John grinned at him, “Well, it’s nice to be ranked above deathly dull. So, where’s the infamous Mycroft then?”

“I wanted to come here to wait for you, so I left him finishing his errands and he said he’d meet us back at the car.”

“Lead on, MacDuff.”

Sherlock led the way out to the car park to see Mycroft approaching them weighed down with several large bags and a couple of boxes. John nodded Sherlock towards him and, after a briefly raised eyebrow and a deep sigh; Sherlock stepped forward and took the boxes out of Mycroft’s arms. Mycroft’s own eyebrows rose sharply before he turned to John, extending his now free hand.

“Delighted to meet you, Mr Watson, especially if this is the kind of effect you have on my dear brother.”

“I think you’ll find your dear brother can be perfectly delightful in his own right, when he so wishes, he doesn’t require my assistance; and it’s John, please.”

Mycroft looked across at Sherlock and took in the almost imperceptible (to anyone but him) show of feeling and pride on Sherlock’s face, that John had stood up for him already. He didn’t say anything but he was glad that Sherlock finally had someone that obviously knew and accepted him for what he was, and who was able to bring out the best in him, with seemingly little effort. He gave a slight twitch of his lip in Sherlock’s direction, letting him know that he approved. Though Sherlock would never deign to show it, or admit to it out loud, deep down he still sought such acknowledgement from the brother he had worshipped when he was four. A subtle darkening at the top of his cheeks told Mycroft that the message was received and accepted.

“Of course; John it is, then. Shall we get these things into the car and make a move? I’m sure you’d like the chance to settle in before the festivities begin.”

“That’d be great, thanks. I can’t wait to see your house; Sherlock was telling me all about it.”

“Yes, this is quite my favourite.”

“Your favourite? You mean, it’s not your only house, then?”

“No, we have a place in Berkeley Square in London, where I reside most of the time as it’s convenient for work, and then there’s our Grandmere’s villa in France also. You’ll have to allow Sherlock to take you there in the summer vacation; the scenery is just exquisite.”

“Yes, thank you, Mycroft. I’m sure I can discuss such things with John at a later date. Hadn’t we better be making a move, you don’t want to keep Mummy waiting?”

Mycroft put all the packages and John’s luggage in the boot and Sherlock and John got in the back so they could catch up on everything they had missed – not that there was an awful lot, of course, as nearly every occurrence they had experienced had already been shared through their constant texting.

After about an hour, Sherlock nudged John and pointed out of the window.

“If you look over there as we go round the bend and past those trees you should get your first sight of the house.”

John turned to look and, as there was no traffic behind them, Mycroft slowed down to allow a better view. John’s jaw dropped as he gazed at the buildings and surrounding parklands in front of him.

“That’s not a house; it’s a mansion with a whole country estate!”

“It keeps the wolves from the door.” Mycroft added with faux modesty, as he sped up.

Sherlock pointed out some of the features as they got nearer.

“That building behind the house is the gym and indoor pool which opens out on to the sunken garden and gazebo. Over there by the lake is the boathouse. The building this side of the fountain is the garage and the one over the far side is the stables. Have you been riding before? We'll have to go out whilst you're here"

"I have ridden a bit, yes. There's a farm near to my grandparents with horses. I used to go over to help them muck out and exercise the horses, to earn some extra money, so I hope I'll be able to keep up." John winked at him. "You have an indoor pool?"

"Well, it's not really practical to have an outdoor one in this country, is it? The glass doors do all slide open if it's a warm, sunny day so you almost feel like you're outside. The Jacuzzi at the far end has a glass roof, too, so it's practically like a solarium, which is amazing."

They pulled up in front of the house as Sherlock was busy explaining what vessels they had in the boat house. John was a little overwhelmed by the very obvious level of wealth enjoyed by Sherlock's family; even more so as the butler came out to welcome them home, along with a footman to gather their bags and a chauffeur to take the car around to the garage.

"We don't usually have quite so many staff, don't let it overwhelm you. Mummy always hires in extra help over Christmas, when we have the party and family staying over afterwards."

“How many do you usually have then?”

“We only have Carstairs, who manages the house and helps to run the estate, and his wife, who is our cook, that live on the property; they have their own rooms above the garage. We have two girls who come in from the village every morning to do the cleaning, washing and ironing. They stay to help Mrs Carstairs around the house if we ever have guests, except for occasions like this, when Mummy uses a special company that provide whatever staff necessary to cater to our needs.”

“Only two permanent staff, gosh, how do you cope?”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, John. Never mind about that now, let’s go up and I can show you my room first, then we can do a tour of the house later. I arranged it with Mummy for you to sleep in my dressing room, and one of the men helped me set it up with a bed yesterday, so we’re all sorted. I can lock the outer doors to my suite so we won’t be disturbed. Come on.”

Sherlock grabbed hold of John’s arm and dragged him towards the stairs.

“Shouldn’t I say hello to your mother first; she did invite me to stay in your house after all.”

“Oh John, you’re always so polite; it’s really too bad, I’ll have to train it out of you.”

“You mean I’ll have to train it in to you.” John grinned. Sherlock detoured and led them to, what John later found out, was called the Morning Room which was the favourite sitting room of Sherlock’s mother. There were two ladies - who could only be sisters - already ensconced having tea.

“You’re back, darling. Did you manage to get everything I asked for?”

“Yes we got it all, I’m sure Mycroft will be in to gloat shortly.”

“Sherlock!”

“Mummy, this is my friend, John Watson. John, this is my mother, Felicia Holmes, and my aunt, Regina Harwood.”

John went over to Sherlock’s mother, his hand outstretched. She stood to greet him as he shook her hand and he could see that she had the same innate gracefulness as Sherlock, and was certainly far taller than John himself.

“How delightful to meet you, John. You’ve been all Sherlock has spoken about since he got home, so it’s nice to put a face to the name.”

“It’s lovely to meet you as well, Mrs Holmes.”

“Oh you must call me Mummy, or Felicia if you’d rather.”

“Um… thank you…” John left it there, not sure that he preferred either option really. Sherlock grabbed his arm again and pulled him towards the door.

“I really ought to show John where he’ll be sleeping so that he can settle in and get changed for the party, Mummy; you know you like everyone down and ready before the other guests arrive.”

“Of course, darling, you show John where to go and you must take him on a tour as well, though you may only have time to do the house today. You can show him the rest tomorrow.”

“Thank you, yes, that would be lovely.”

“Come on, John.”

Sherlock towed him quickly out before his mother thought of something else she wanted to add. He wanted John to see his rooms; he’d never had anyone else he’d wanted to show around before and he wanted to know John’s opinion.

John’s thoughts were patently obvious to Sherlock as soon as he walked through the door and he couldn’t be happier. John’s jaw dropped and his eyes scooted from one area to another, widening more each time. He took in the large TV and sound system with a comfy couch in front of it in one corner of the room, and an entire wall of books alongside it with a wing back chair, obviously meant for reading, placed next to an enormous fireplace. On the other side, there was a writing desk and chair, with a charming view out towards the lake through the picture window and, set up in the corner, was what looked like a fully equipped chemistry worktable, with far more equipment than they had in the school labs, and its own extractor fan fixed into the wall above it.

There was a doorway in the centre of the wall in front of him and, through the open door, John could see into Sherlock’s bedroom; to the stately looking four poster bed with matching side tables and lamps. While the living room was done in gold tones and dark reds, giving it a warm lived in atmosphere; the bedroom was all in deep blue tones with colour coordinated pillows providing a cool, sophisticated appearance. The wood throughout the suite was a dark teak or mahogany and it was all well-built and solid, obviously antique, most probably family heirlooms. Only the home entertainment system and the laboratory equipment looked brand new.

“Sherlock… this is… this is just amazing.”

Sherlock grinned at him, even more pleased than he had anticipated that John liked it. “Come through and see the rest properly.”

He led the way through to the bedroom where John could see more of the dark wood in the panelling across the whole wall behind the bed. The rest of the walls were painted in a soft, pale blue, which lightened the atmosphere enough to give an airy spacious feel, and counteract the darkness of the wood. There was another large picture window looking towards the lake and the forest behind. John thought if it were his room, he would just sit there for hours on the comfy, padded window seat, staring at the beauty beyond. Knowing Sherlock as he did though, he doubted his friend would sit still long enough to enjoy that, unless he was engrossed in a good book.

On the opposite wall there were two doors. The first led into a large bathroom, painted in cream with gold highlights, with a large claw foot tub and a separate shower. That meant the other had to be Sherlock’s dressing room. This was surprisingly large inside – well, probably not surprising if he thought about the rest of what he’d seen - with one wall covered floor to ceiling with a built-in wardrobe. The top half was hanging space, with Sherlock’s suits neatly lined up in protective bags and shirts in front of those, graduating in colour tones from left to right. The bottom half was taken up with drawers and shelves and a dresser top displaying some boxed cuff-links and a hair brush, comb and clothes brush. The wall facing this had a full length mirror and, in the place where he presumed there was usually a chair or sofa, there was now set up a metal framed bed. Not a common, fold-up bed like he had been expecting, but a proper solid framework, which must have been constructed within the room, as it didn’t appear that it would have fit through the doorway. He was almost sorry he wouldn’t be sleeping in it now as the mattress seemed very comfortable when he pressed down on it. His bags had already been brought up and were on the floor in the corner. They went back into the main bedroom and sat on Sherlock’s bed.

“Well…?”

“I love it, Sherlock, I really do. My whole bedroom would probably fit in your dressing room alone, never mind the rest of it. It’s just gorgeous. You have everything you could ever need and the views are beautiful. I’d never want to leave.”

“I don’t now that you’re here. You’re the one who makes everything seem right.”

John bumped shoulders with Sherlock and gave him such a sweet, blushing smile that Sherlock found himself beaming in delight. He leaned forward and kissed John on his red cheeks, his nose and then his mouth; putting his arm around him as the kisses got more serious. Eventually, Sherlock had to reluctantly pull away, after many lingering pauses to snatch just one more kiss each time.

“Loathe as I am to move from this spot, we really ought to get you unpacked so that we can get ready for later, John. If you get out the clothes you want for the party, I’ll give them to Ivy to steam your suit for you, to take out any crinkles from packing.”

John went to his bags where there was a suit bag fastened on to the straps of his back pack. He had taken it all the way up to Scotland just to make sure that he had it with him ready for the party. He had been to a family wedding earlier in the year and had bought a smart, new suit for that and, luckily, he hadn’t grown too much over the summer so it still fit him nicely. Sherlock took it out and headed down to the kitchens, but conveniently, he met a maid on the way. He gave her John’s suit with strict instructions to treat it very carefully and to bring it back to his room as soon as they were done.

When he got back, John was sitting sideways on the sofa with a brightly wrapped box on his knee and a huge grin on his face. He shook it gently as he held it up towards Sherlock, his head on one side. Sherlock took it then quickly gave it back to him, smiling at the look of confusion on John's face. He went into the bedroom, where he'd noted earlier, that his own purchases had been left. He got out the present he'd bought for John and went back into the other room. He sat cross-legged on the sofa facing John.

John smiled when he saw the present in Sherlock's hand; he hadn't been sure if Sherlock did gifts. He'd brushed it aside when John had asked about his birthday. John had gone ahead and got him something anyway. He hadn't been able to resist when he'd seen it in the little curio shop in the local village, when he'd gone out for a walk with his grandfather the morning after they arrived. John had ended up explaining all about his friend and his grandfather had enjoyed hearing John's enthusiasm and seeing it just light up his face as he talked. Hamish had seen a lot of the world from being in the army and was not as small minded about such things as others of his generation might have been. He was just glad that John was happy.

They exchanged parcels and grinned at each other as they both started in. As Sherlock ripped the final bit of paper off and went to open the plain brown box inside, John paused in his own unwrapping as he wanted to watch Sherlock's face when he saw what it was. Sherlock pushed the flaps aside and removed the crumpled tissue paper from off the top to see a hard, white circle surrounded by packing peanuts. It looked like bone with the start of suture lines just visible on one edge where the packaging was lower. Sherlock's eyes shot up to John's face, a questioning eyebrow rising almost to his hairline. John grinned and nodded and Sherlock buried his fingers in the box to bring out its contents. It was a genuine, perfectly preserved, human skull.

Sherlock traced his fingers over it, feeling the ridges and bumps and the eye sockets. He ran his fingers along the teeth as the jaw hinged open. John could see deductions shooting across Sherlock's face as he studied it and smiled.

"Go on then. I know you're dying to tell me."

"It's a male, probably 70 - 80 when he died, judging by the condition of the teeth. Practically an omnivore, in fact, as the incisors are hardly worn and there is far more erosion on the lower molars. No visible injuries, so not a traumatic death. Not a particularly tall man given the distances between the facial features but hardy. I would say you got this when you were up in Scotland and it is most likely the skull of a shepherd from the highlands."

"Amazing. You are bloody amazing. That is exactly what the man in the shop told me. It was an old shepherd who lived up in the highlands, on his own with the sheep. One day his brother went up to see him as he hadn't heard anything for a few weeks and he'd just passed away in his sleep, still sat in the chair outside his hut watching the sheep."

Sherlock blushed at John's praise - the pleasure of having John be thrilled by his deductions never seemed to get old; it pleased him as much now as it had the very first time. He walked over to the fireplace and put the skull in pride of place so he would always be able to see it when he sat curled in his chair reading.

"Do you know what his name was?"

"Can't you deduce that as well?"

Sherlock tilted his head and gave John the look.

"Okay, okay, I'm joking. You're going to love this. He was genuinely, distantly related to the great Scottish doctor and inventor of penicillin, Alexander Fleming and he was actually named after his illustrious relative."

"Perfect, that's what we shall call him then."

"I thought you'd appreciate that what with all your experimentations."

Sherlock came back and sat in front of John. He leaned over the box in John's lap to give him a soft kiss.

"Thank you, John. It's the best gift I've ever received."

"You're welcome. I just saw it and thought of you; the story that went with it was just a bonus." It was John's turn to blush now at the sincerity in Sherlock's voice. "Is it my turn now?"

"Indeed, though I'm afraid it's nothing on a par with yours."

"It'll be great whatever it is because you chose it for me."

"Effusive sentimentality is a distinct failing of yours, John. How can you possibly know it will be great without even looking?"

John punched him lightly on the arm then finished opening his present. He pulled out the wooden case, lifted the lid and saw all the professional stage make-up within. The shop assistant had affixed the glue and remover into banded slots in the case too, and the moustache box was slipped into a fastening alongside them. John looked at the labels on all the bottles and tubes and ran his finger along the brushes arranged along one side. He pulled out and opened the thin box and sucked in his breath when he saw the quality of it, and that the colouring so perfectly matched his own hair.

"It's brilliant, Sherlock; just what I need. Thank you so much. I thought you didn't want me to wear a moustache, though?"

"Well, although I may prefer you clean shaven, I feel that Major Metcalf can only add to his distinction with the addition of a proper one."

"It'll be perfect for the play and look at this fake blood; we can use it to practice disguises and adding scars and bloody injuries, too. We can have great fun."

"Oh yes, could we do that tonight for the party and scare my cousins?"

"I don't think your mother would appreciate it if we turned up at her party dripping blood, Sherlock, but we can certainly do it on another day during the holidays if you want to."

"Spoilsport," Sherlock pouted, "but okay; I suppose you have a point."

John put everything carefully back in its assigned place in the case and closed it up, putting it on the floor beside him. He screwed up all the wrapping paper and pushed it into the box which had contained the skull. Then he reached forward and curled his finger under Sherlock's collar.

"Come here, you. I think a gift like that needs a special thank you."

John leaned forward and sucked Sherlock's lower lip into his mouth, then his upper, then he placed soft little kisses all the way along. Every time Sherlock tried to open his lips to pull John in deeper, John would draw back slightly, smile and start again. In the end Sherlock had had enough.

"Jooooohhhhhn," he whined.

"Sorry, I just wanted to see how long it would take you. I'm desperate for something more, too, but any chance to taste those amazing lips has to be taken."

"My turn now, then. Come over here." Sherlock spun his legs around and sat straight, pulling John over so that he was straddling his hips. He liked this position because he always felt completely surrounded by John, and he knew that John liked the chance to be taller and lean down to kiss Sherlock, so it was a win-win.

They spent the next half hour getting re-acquainted and were only stopped from going further when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. John carefully climbed off Sherlock and Sherlock opened the door with his body discreetly hidden behind it and just his head poking round. It was the maid with John's suit so he took it off her quickly, thanked her and shut the door again.

"We mustn't be late for Mummy's party, but we can't go down like this, John."

"Well, I had a thought about that. You have that big, empty, private shower stall just waiting for someone to step inside. We need to be very quick getting ready, so we'd be saving time and money and be environmentally friendly, if we were to share said shower, wouldn't we."

"You have the best ideas."

"I'm not just a pretty face, I'll have you know."

"I've heard you say that to Greg when you've been joking around, and this is where I'm supposed to say 'you're not even a pretty face', but I don't want to say that because I don't think it's true."

"You're just a big softie under all that, aren't you?"

"It only seems to be where you're concerned; I don't think anyone else would say that."

"That's okay. I don't want anyone else to know, because you're all mine."

Sherlock blushed and took hold of John’s hand as he pulled him towards the bathroom. They shed their clothes in the bedroom on the way past. Sherlock turned the shower on to a pleasantly warm temperature and they got in.

They rubbed against each other, revelling in the feel of the other’s warmed skin against their own. They continued where they had left off in their kissing earlier. John’s arms settled comfortably around Sherlock’s neck, pulling him down so that he could reach. Sherlock’s own arms rested on John’s hips, drawing small circles against his skin. John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, he loved the feel of the silky strands, and now he was going to take the opportunity to do even more. He squeezed some shampoo onto his hands and turned Sherlock under the water so that he got his hair wet. He got him to tilt his head back so that John could lather it up and wash it for him. He rinsed it all off when he was done and was then given a bottle of expensive conditioner – only the best for Sherlock, it seemed. John went through the whole process again, gently massaging it in, to make the hair really soft.

When John was finished, Sherlock pulled him into place to wet his own hair and he proceeded to do the same for John. He even used the conditioner too, though John didn’t usually bother as his hair was too short to get tangled. He thought he would greatly enjoy smelling like Sherlock though so he let him do what he wanted. He had to admit to himself later, as he was brushing his hair when he got changed, though, that it did feel incredibly soft. He would enjoy letting Sherlock feel for himself when they finally shared a bed properly later.

When they had both done their hair, John lathered up his hands again with shower gel. He gently took each of Sherlock’s limbs into his own hands and cleaned them one by one. He spent even longer on the torso, rubbing over Sherlock’s nipples and kissing him deeply to swallow the gasp he let out. He slid his hands round the soapy body in front of him and cleaned Sherlock’s back, taking extra time to make sure the whole of the lowest part was cleaned too – cleanliness was most important in these matters! When there was only one area of the body left to clean, John got some more gel and rubbed his hands together to get them really soapy, He took hold of Sherlock’s shaft and slid his hands up and down, slipping one underneath to cover his balls, too.

John was so turned on, now, that he had to get in on the action, too. He pushed his lower body forwards and moved his hands to encircle both of their cocks, using the bubbles to help them slide smoothly against one another. Sherlock’s head gave an audible clunk as it fell back against the wall and he groaned deeply. John grinned and pulled Sherlock’s legs open a little, to lower him down so that they were nicely lined up in his hands. Sherlock placed his own hands around John’s and they stroked together, with John giving little pushes of his pelvis to keep himself pressed tightly against Sherlock.

It didn’t take either of them much time to near completion, as it had certainly been far too long since they had been together like this. John finished Sherlock off with a little twist as he reached the head, loving the look on Sherlock’s face as he came all over their fingers. This easily set John off, himself, and they stood pressed closely together under the water for a few moments as they recovered.

Sherlock took the shower head out of its holder and cleaned them both off. John very quickly finished washing himself before they both jumped out. They each took one of the large, soft towels that had been left on the warming rail earlier. They dried off and John collected his suit from where Sherlock had hooked it on the door, and went back into Sherlock’s room to get changed.

Sherlock went in to the dressing room to get the suit he had chosen for the party. He had picked a dark purple shirt which he had bought after John had pointed out a similar one, saying how much it would suit Sherlock. That had been the last time they had gone into town to meet up with Mike and Molly after John had had a Saturday rugby match. He decided to get changed in the dressing room so that the complete outfit would be a nice surprise for John, and he hoped John would be pleased when he saw it.

When Sherlock was ready, he pushed open the door and was stunned at the sight of John. His suit was a deep sapphire and he’d matched it with a crisp, white shirt and a sapphire tie. He looked really sophisticated and Sherlock felt proud that John would be there with him. He couldn’t wait ‘til his cousins saw them.

John’s eyes lit up when he saw Sherlock. He was wearing a jet black suit with a deep purple shirt of the precise colour that John had known would suit his friend perfectly, and he was right. Sherlock had got an especially tight one and the way it outlined his body under the jacket looked delicious. In fact, even though they had just relieved themselves in the shower, he found he already couldn’t wait to get Sherlock back here after the party and strip him out of it.

They grinned at each other and Sherlock opened the door and gestured for John to precede him through. They made their way down to the ballroom where everyone was gathering for the party. Mummy saw them as they came in and rushed over.

“Darlings, don’t you both look wonderful? That’s a lovely colour on you Sherlock, we ought to get you some more of those; and John, don’t you look handsome in that blue, it looks so good against your blond hair.”

“Thank you very much. This room is just amazing; everything looks fabulous and I love that massive tree.”

“That’s nice of you to say, dear, we do our best. I think, if you look closely, you may even see a decoration that Sherlock made on there.”

“Oh really, we’ll have to look at that.”

“Of course. Why don’t you take him over there Sherlock and then you can introduce him round to all the family.”

“Do I have to? You know they’re all deadly dull.”

“Sherlock!”

“Sorry, Mummy.”

“I would like to see the tree please.” John defused the situation by taking Sherlock’s arm and leading him across the room to the large tree beside the fireplace. “So let me guess which you made? There's nothing amateurish here which, of course, I wouldn't expect there to be if you made it.”

"John!"

"Hush, I'm deducing," John grinned at him. “I would have to say it is this perfectly formed, five point, crystalline star which is in pride of place here in the centre of the tree."

"Lucky guess. I made it with my very first chemistry set when I was four. I got Mycroft to help me make a star framework and then I grew the crystals within it and preserved it with a special lacquer so it wouldn't disintegrate. Mummy made such a fuss and always insists that it is put on the tree each year, goodness knows why, I'm sure I could make something far superior now."

"That's what mum's do, Sherlock. They're always proud of anything we make them. Our Christmas tree at home is covered in things Harry and I have made. There are various other decorations around the house which we have to put out every year, even though some of them are getting a little tatty these days. I think it's lovely that your mum treasures it."

"Hmm, it seems you are almost as sentimental as she is."

John bumped his shoulder and grinned and they moved away to get themselves a drink. Sherlock logged the thought for later consideration, as to whether there was something he could make for John which he would treasure.

Unfortunately, near the drinks table, stood Sherlock's cousins. He'd already had a barrage of teasing from the two who had been staying with them, but now they were reinforced by the others, too, so Sherlock knew he would be in for a fresh assault.

“Well, look who it is. Our favourite host."

"Hello Simon, Angelica, Nigel, Tarquin, Jemima. I'd like you to meet my friend, John. John, these are my cousins."

"Hello." John said with a brief smile. It was nothing like the ones he usually gave to anyone else he met, Sherlock noticed.

"Friend?" Simon, who was obviously the ringleader, scoffed at the word.

"That's correct. Best friends, in fact." Sherlock blushed at this; John had never actually said that before. John gave another short smile at Simon, which didn't reach his eyes, and Sherlock knew that look was trouble. He was secretly gleeful that John was on his side and might actually stand up for him, if he was lucky. He had no need to worry on that score, as John had very quickly ascertained what sort of people they were, even if he hadn't already had advance warning from Sherlock.

Simon tried again to get a rise out of Sherlock. "I hear you’ve actually stuck it out for a whole term this time, Sherlock. How on earth did you manage that? Did Daddy have to pay for a new wing?”

Sherlock looked down, shamefully, and that was something that John simply would not accept.

“I think you’ll find that Sherlock can do anything he puts his mind to; and an absolutely amazing mind it is, too.”

“Well, it’s obvious what appeals to you," Simon smirked.

John straightened his shoulders and stood up in front of Simon. He had a perfectly polite smile on his face, as far as anyone watching them would observe, but underneath he was seething at the way Sherlock was being treated. It was only made worse by the fact that it was so commonplace to Sherlock that he was just accepting it and not fighting back.

“Yes, it is quite obvious that here is a person who is quite simply brilliant in every facet of his life; despite being clearly undervalued by his so-called family. He manages to rise above that and share his talents with people who appreciate those gifts and see him for the genius he is. As far as I can see, he has the wherewithal to spend his time in more esoteric pursuits with people of his own calibre, instead of having to waste his time on ignorant, dull-witted clots such as yourselves. People who think that just because they’re going to inherit Daddy’s money, they have the right to bully anyone they see fit, just because that person doesn't fit into the right mould."

Simon started spluttering, "You can't talk to me like that."

“I think you'll find I can do exactly what I like. What's more, I'll have you know that Sherlock is a better person than you will ever be in your whole life. I hope you're prepared for a life of disappointment and boring mundanity as that is all you'll ever achieve. Sherlock can, and will, do anything as he isn't ruled by your petty limitations. Now, I think you'd probably like to apologise for the appalling way you have always treated him, wouldn't you, and I'm fairly sure, that it is not something you are ever going to do again."

John leaned in closer at that point and whispered in Simon's ear for a few moments. Sherlock couldn't hear what John was saying. However, he could see the colour draining from Simon's face and the way his eyes widened and his jaw dropped in shock. As John pulled back, Simon quickly stepped away and flushed a bright red, as he mumbled out a very quiet 'sorry'.

"I'm sorry; I don't think anyone heard that. Perhaps you'd like to try again?"

Simon's eyes shot quickly to John's face then away just as fast, and he cleared his throat and tried again.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, for treating you so badly. We all are and we won't do it again. Ever."

"Much better. Now, we'd probably like to enjoy the rest of the party unmolested by your foul presence, so maybe you'd like to congregate somewhere else, as far out of our way as possible."

Simon backed away quickly, the others rapidly going after him, and all Sherlock could do was stare at John in awe.

"That was... How did you...? You were... John, I think you're a miracle worker. I've never seen them look like that before. What did you say to Simon?"

"Oh, not much. I just told him what might happen if he continued along the path he was taking. Bullies are all the same when you stand up to them. I've seen you handle them yourself at school so I know you know that. I think it's just that you're too close to the situation with your own family, and it's been going on for so long that it's just become expected behaviour. I merely let Simon know that it would no longer be acceptable and I think he understands that. You shouldn't have any bother again."

"John, I don't know what to say. Thank you. No-one has ever stood up for me like that before."

"Well, they should have done, because you deserve it."

They were standing close together with a wall behind them, so John took the opportunity to slide his hand across Sherlock's back. He pressed it warmly against him so that Sherlock could almost feel it right through to his skin. Sherlock pushed back into him in acknowledgement and smiled shyly at John.

"Thank you," he said again, quietly, deep sincerity in his eyes. John smiled at him. That was what a proper John smile should look like. Sherlock was happier than he could say, that he seemed to be entitled to stand with this man by his side. He'd never been more proud.

Mycroft, who had been standing in clear sight of everything that had gone on, smiled to himself. His hands had always been tied, rather, by familial obligations, and he had never really been able to stop the constant teasing. He did always try to extricate Sherlock from it as quickly as possible, though, and had, of course, prevented it from ever being physical, though he knew that the other kind could be just as bad. He looked across now and caught John's eye. He nodded his head ever so slightly. John nodded back and cleared his throat.

"Well, we seem to be at a party and I am without nibbles - I think we need to rectify that situation, don't you?"

"I could give you a few nibbles." Sherlock winked lasciviously at him.

John blushed and dropped his head, then looked up at Sherlock through his lashes. "I'll certainly hold you to that later. I don't think it would go down so well with your mother, though, so maybe we ought to mingle for a while first."

"Boring." Sherlock smiled as he said it, but he willingly took John over to the buffet table, and even took some of the petit fours for himself, too. John gave him a wide smile and tucked in. It seemed that dealing with bullies gave him a ravenous appetite. Of course, the delicious orgasms they had both had earlier could have had something to do with it, too. John didn't mind either way. He was here with Sherlock and they were both happy; that was all that mattered to him.

~*~

In the end they stayed at the party all evening which was a lot longer than Sherlock usually managed. John had been introduced to all of Sherlock’s aunts and uncles, and to some of the older cousins, nearer in age to Mycroft. Most of the local village dignitaries, who had also been invited were also mentioned. John had been his usual polite and charming self, which everyone had been taken with. Even Sherlock found himself vaguely smiling at the people who were so nice to John, when he would usually have cut them down with his scathing comments. Mummy was thrilled and had sent some pleased smiles across in the direction of both boys. She was delighted that Sherlock was making an effort.

As it was approaching midnight, however, John could tell that Sherlock was nearing his limit. He had been pleasant for far too long and, if he was pushed much further, he would surely snap and deduce the life out of whoever was unfortunate enough to be in front of him. John led him over towards his mother so they could say their good-nights.

“Thank you for a lovely party. We just wanted to let you know that we’re going up now.”

Mummy gave Sherlock a hug. “Thank you, darling, you were wonderful.” Sherlock blushed, but looked pleased. John was smiling proudly at him, and was soon engulfed in his own hug and a whispered ‘thank you’ in his ear.

The boys headed up and Sherlock gratefully locked the door behind him.

“My face is aching. If I’d had to smile at one more obnoxious half-wit I’d have exploded.”

“I could tell; that’s why I got us out of there. You were amazingly restrained, though; well done for that. I think your mum was impressed, too.”

Sherlock snorted. “She was impressed with you not me, John; for taming the beast, as it were.”

“Don’t be daft, you don’t need taming. You just needed a reason to want to behave and a welcome distraction from all the bores. If I can provide that service for you then I am happy to do so.” John laughed.

“I could think of another service you could perform for me, if you wanted to?”

“Oh really, and what did you have in mind, exactly?”

“Hmm, well you have been distracting me in that delicious suit all evening, so you could let me take it off you.”

“Are you kidding me – have you seen yourself? I have been tempted by that tight, purple shirt since you walked out of the changing room door. Those buttons have been screaming at me to pop them off.”

“Far be it from me to stop you, then; have at it.”

“How about we take it in turns and strip each other?”

John pushed Sherlock’s jacket off his shoulders and draped it over the arm of the sofa. He slid his hand slowly down the front of that enticing shirt, circling each button and sliding his fingers into the gaping spaces between, as Sherlock flexed his chest, pulling it even tighter. John popped the first button open and kissed the area of skin newly exposed. He did the same all the way down Sherlock’s chest, until the other was shaking with restraint. He tried to stop himself from pulling John away and attacking his mouth. John traced around Sherlock’s belly button and pushed his tongue inside. He sucked the skin around it and bit down, leaving a red mark, which he kissed away to soften the blow.

Sherlock groaned and his eyes fell shut. He grabbed hold of John’s face and pulled him up so that he could reach his mouth. He kissed him hard and fast, desperate to taste those lips which had been tormenting him. John opened his mouth and let Sherlock in, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and holding him close. Sherlock rapidly unfastened John’s buttons, needing to reveal that delectable skin, and unable to wait any longer and tease as he’d been planning. He pushed the shirt off and leaned forward to trail his lips down John’s body. He paused for a moment at the nipples, sucking one and tweaking the other, and then he swapped over so that he tasted both. The angle was a bit steep for him to reach any lower, so he went down on his knees, which put him in a much better position. He wrapped his arms around John’s back and pulled him close, kissing down his stomach. John’s hands massaged Sherlock’s head as he held on tight.

Sherlock undid John’s zip and, in one motion, pulled down his trousers and pants. He let out a pleased sigh as John’s cock bounced against his cheek as it was released. John kicked his clothes aside, but didn’t move away. He was enjoying the sight of Sherlock on his knees before him. Sherlock kissed the tip and then suckled lightly at it, before licking his way along the shaft and back up the other side. He took John in as deeply as he could and tried swallowing around it. He had been practising taking it in further each time they did this and he knew that the motion of his throat, moving around John’s shaft, would bring him closer to his climax. John shuddered and moaned at the sensations flowing through him. Sherlock did it a few more times; watching John through his eyelashes. He loved the faces John was pulling. It didn’t take much longer until John was gripping his head tightly, right on the edge.

“Sher…, I’m…”

Sherlock cupped John’s balls and rubbed them softly with one hand. He stroked the shaft with the other, twirling his tongue around the head at the same time. That was too much for John, and he shouted out as he came hard down Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock licked him clean then stood back, with a smirk on his face, as he looked at John struggling to keep himself upright in his bliss. Sherlock took pity and led him over to the bed and lay him down to catch his breath.

It didn’t take John long, and when he came back to himself, Sherlock was lying beside him, naked and ready. His hand was loosely stroking his cock, so John didn’t keep him waiting any longer. He pulled Sherlock into the middle of the bed and lay down between his legs. He stroked slowly along Sherlock’s inner thighs, watching him tremble at the gentle touch. He circled nearer to Sherlock’s cock each time, without actually touching it. He followed the trails he had made with his tongue and sucked one of Sherlock’s balls into his mouth. He pulled it down and then did the same to the other. When Sherlock was clutching the sheets, trying to restrain himself, John knew he’d reached his limit. He took pity on him and took the head into his mouth. He swirled his tongue up and down the shaft and round the tip, licking the pre-come that quickly gathered.

Sherlock was groaning and making broken sounds. John loved it when Sherlock got to the stage where he couldn’t even form sentences. Sherlock had been worked up for so long now, whilst he waited for John, and through the whole evening. When John took Sherlock’s cock deep into his throat and sucked on it hard a few more times, Sherlock’s orgasm rushed through him. John swallowed it all down. Sherlock collapsed back against the bed, and John rolled him over and settled himself behind him, gathering him into his arms. John pulled the duvet up to cover them both and he buried his nose comfortably in Sherlock’s nape. The pair of them drifted off into a sated sleep.

~*~

John woke slowly, feeling lovely and warm and hugging his teddy bear. Teddy bear? He hadn’t had a teddy bear since he was six. He squeezed it a bit tighter and heard a huff of breath. His eyes shot open. As he saw the dark curly hair in front of his face, he suddenly remembered where he was, and whom it was, exactly, that was in his arms. He felt a big smile appearing and he snuggled his nose into the warm neck. He nudged Sherlock’s hair aside and kissed the soft skin underneath, trailing his lips lightly across. Sherlock made a quiet humming noise and nestled himself back against John. His arse was pressing into John’s crotch, rubbing against John’s morning erection. How had he never known how good that felt? Well, of course, he knew why not, but he was very much afraid, that now he’d experienced waking up with Sherlock in his arms, he never wanted to wake without him again. He stroked his fingers across Sherlock’s chest, drawing little circles on the pale skin and John knew the exact moment that Sherlock woke up as he felt the instant tensing of muscles.

Sherlock’s hand slid down to encompass John’s own and he squeezed his fingers, pushing himself back more purposefully this time as he felt John pressing against him.

“Good morning, John. I trust you slept well.”

“Good morning, yourself. I slept amazingly, and woke up even better, with you in my arms. This is something I could get used to.”

“Well, we have another fifteen days to make the most of it, so let’s enjoy it whilst we can.” Sherlock wriggled his hips again.

“If you keep doing that, you’re going to get more than you bargained for.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I am bargaining for.” Sherlock tilted his head backwards and John stretched his neck forwards and they met for a warm, welcoming kiss in the middle. Sherlock rubbed his arse against John again, and it started him moaning into the kiss at the pleasure. “Can I try something?”

“You can do anything you like.”

“You really shouldn’t say things like that or I might just take you up on it.”

“You can take me up or down.”

Sherlock laughed and then he lifted the hip on top and pushed back so that John’s cock slid in between the gap, and then he lowered his hip back down to trap it there. John groaned at the tight feeling and instinctively pushed his pelvis forward in a rocking movement. It made his cock rub against the base of Sherlock’s sac on each pass which started Sherlock moaning as well. John loved the warmth of feeling himself between Sherlock’s thighs. All of a sudden, Sherlock pulled forward, stretching John’s cock with him for a moment before it sprang back, whilst Sherlock jumped out of bed. He turned to look at John and had to laugh at the bereft, kicked-puppy look on John’s face.

“I’ll be right back, John, just hang on a minute.”

Sherlock ran to the bathroom and quickly came back with a tube of lube in his hand. He shook his head at John’s face, knowing what he was thinking, but aware that it wasn’t something that they had discussed yet.

“I just thought it might make the slide a little easier. Shall we try?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

John took the lube and coated his shaft in it. He pulled Sherlock back towards him and slid his cock between Sherlock’s thighs again. This time it was a lot smoother and slid more easily, so John rocked himself against Sherlock. He pressed in deeply so that his pelvis hit Sherlock’s arse on each stroke and brushed against the base of Sherlock’s own cock

“Oh yes, that’s brilliant. Harder, John.”

John was happy to obey and he slammed his pelvis harder against Sherlock. He stretched his arm around to give himself more support and took hold of Sherlock’s cock. His fingers were still slippery so they slid easily down the shaft making Sherlock groan in delight. They set up a rhythm so that when John pushed forward, his hand slid up to Sherlock’s tip, and when he pulled back, his hand glided down to the base, Sherlock’s arse nestling against John’s groin each time. They were quickly overcome with the new sensations and, after only a few more moments, John came against the base of Sherlock’s cock, and pulled hard against his friend to bring him off, too.

The pair of them collapsed against each other, breaths heaving, and sighing as they came down. Sherlock swivelled round when he'd recovered and kissed John gently and grinned at him.

"Well, if that's the way you wake me up; you're never leaving my bed again."

"I'm glad you approved, my liege," John laughed and gave the imitation of a bow from his supine position. "You'd certainly have no arguments from me about that. I loved waking up with you in my arms, and what we just did was inspired; what made you think of that?"

"I wanted to try something more, but I didn't want to rush you in to other things"

"It was you I was trying not to rush. I know this is your first relationship, and I didn't want you to do anything until you were ready."

"I'm ready, John. I've been ready since the beginning. I may not have done this before, but I'm not a total innocent. I looked it up on the internet and I want it all; I want do everything - with you."

"I want that, too, Sherlock. So much. I know I've had girlfriends, but I haven't done this with a boy before either and I really want to try it all with you."

"What's stopping us then?"

"Well, I think all that sticky stuff all over you is evidence enough that we can't do it right now." John laughed at Sherlock's crestfallen face. "We could certainly try something later, maybe, especially as you seem to have acquired the lube from somewhere."

"I bought it on my way to meet you, after I left my brother yesterday. I got some condoms as well, so we're all prepared."

John blushed, "Um, it would seem so, then."

"Honestly, John, it's a perfectly natural bodily function; there's no need for embarrassment."

"I know that. I was just thinking about... about the chance of being... in you. If what we just did was even a small part of it, then I can't wait to try the real thing."

"Is that all you want to do?"

"No, I was serious. I want to try everything with you, Sherlock."

"So, you wouldn't be averse to me being in you, either?"

"Oh God, no; I really want to try that, too. I want to feel you all around me and... in me."

"We really must cure you of this shyness, John; charming though your blushes are."

"Shut up, idiot. I'm just not used to people being so blunt about things like that, but I suppose I shouldn't really expect anything less from you, should I?"

"No, you shouldn't." They grinned at each other.

"We probably ought to get cleaned up and then, maybe, you could show me around this stately home of yours."

"Honestly, John, it's not a listed building or anything so exotic; you always exaggerate these things."

"Me, take things too far - have you met you?"

"Cheek! Now get that delectable arse out of bed and I'll give you the full tour."

"I think I pretty much saw it all this morning, thank you very much."

"John! You are being very flippant; if I were you I would fear reprisals."

"Promises, promises."

John laughed and swatted Sherlock on the arse as he jumped out of bed and ran towards the bathroom. Before he reached the door, however, Sherlock was on him and pressed himself against John's back, rubbing his sticky body all over him.

"Urgh, Sherlock, that's gross."

"I thought you wanted it all, John."

"Not that, you daft git!"

Sherlock laughed as he ushered John into the bathroom and set the shower running. They got in and cleaned themselves off, too recently spent to do anything more energetic. They did manage plentiful smacks with fingers and flannels as they tried to outdo each other, however. They eventually emerged clean and raring to go.

Sherlock led them down to breakfast, knowing John would need sustenance even though he wasn't usually bothered for himself. They were down early enough to avoid most of the guests, who were still in bed. Only Mycroft was already at the table in the grand dining hall and, after a brief groan at the sight of him, Sherlock showed John where the warming dishes were, and encouraged him to help himself. John nodded Sherlock towards the food, so Sherlock eventually took a piece of toast, once he had bestowed an almighty eye roll and sigh upon John first. When they sat down, it was at the opposite end of the long table to Mycroft.

"Petty, Sherlock, really."

"Sorry, Mycroft, did you say something? Couldn't hear you from down here and it's very impolite to shout."

John smirked and carried on with his full English. He was absolutely ravenous after their earlier activities. Sherlock must have been feeling it, too, because he finished his own piece of toast and also took one off John's plate.

"Some of the cousins are having a pool party this afternoon, if either of you are interested?"

Sherlock shuddered. "I'm taking John on a tour of the estate, so I'm positive we'll be far too busy."

The side of Mycroft's lip twisted in amusement. "I'll be certain to pass your apologies on to Simon. I'm sure he'll be distraught."

John snorted. "Yeah, right. Like I want to spend any more time with that idiot.”

“If you’ve finished eating, John, we’ll tour the rest of the house before everyone else gets up. Then we could do the pool next so that we’re gone well before the others arrive.”

“Sounds good, let’s go.”

The boys headed off on a tour of the house with Sherlock showing John all of his favourite secret places for hiding and spying on the others when he was younger. He passed along stories of adventures he had had and experiments he had carried out in various attics. There were even a couple of experiments that were still on-going which he checked up on whenever he came home, so he and John did that now, so that Sherlock could record his findings. He found it nice to have someone to discuss them with for a change. One more reason, if it were needed, to be glad that John had joined him for the holidays.

By the time they’d finished in the house, there were other people about, so Sherlock led them down the back stairs and outside to some of the other buildings. On the way past the kitchen they picked up some sandwiches and drinks, which Sherlock managed to charm out of Mrs C. She’d always had a soft spot for Sherlock and was forever trying to feed him up, so she was happy to provide lunch for him and his friend.

They did the pool first, as they certainly didn’t want to be there when the cousins landed. Sherlock explained that the water was kept at a comfortable temperature so it could be used all year round, and he saw John looking covetously at the water.

“The others won’t be out ‘til after dinner so we’ve got time for a dip if you wanted to try it?”

“Really? That would be great. Oh, but I haven’t brought any swimming gear with me.”

“I’ve got a few here, and there are always some spares provided for guests, so that won’t be a problem.”

“In that case, yes please; I’d love to.”

They went into the changing rooms and Sherlock found them a pair of trunks each and got out some fluffy towels. They quickly got changed and were back by the side of the pool. Sherlock did a stylish swan dive into the water and surfaced halfway across the width.

“Trust you to be graceful in that too, you lanky git.”

John laughed and ran to the edge and leapt as far as he could, grabbing hold of his knees and dive bombing right next to Sherlock. When he came up, Sherlock was wiping his face from all the splash back. They horsed about for a few minutes, splashing everywhere and trying to push each other under the water. They set themselves up for a race down the length and back, and after Sherlock counted them in, they powered off down the pool. Sherlock had a long, smooth stroke with his extra length helping him cut quickly through the water. John had all the power in his body from his rugby playing, and he had been doing a lot more exercise with that than Sherlock had recently. It was close, but he just managed to edge to victory with a last powerful kick. He insisted that he needed a victory kiss to celebrate his win, so they indulged in that for a while, until John pushed down with his arms, which were around Sherlock’s neck, and ducked him before swimming away, laughing.

They swam a few lengths at a more sedate pace, trying different strokes and checking each other’s techniques. After practising some diving they did a little more swimming, before John tipped his head back to do some floating, which he always enjoyed. Sherlock copied him and floated for a while but, of course, he didn’t have the patience to just lie there for long. He righted himself and moved far enough away, so he could lift his feet to the surface and kick a load of water right in John’s face. John sat up, choking and spluttering, after swallowing what felt like half the pool. He shot over to where Sherlock was laughing his head off and dunked him under the water. He came up coughing just as much as John had been. They both laughed and played around some more, trying to pull the other’s trunks down, without getting caught themselves.

When they’d had enough they got out, showered off the chlorine and got dressed again, before heading out to do some more exploring. They went to the boathouse next and, after looking at the rowing boats and canoes inside, they came out on the other side, away from the house. Sherlock led them down to a, now denuded, weeping willow where, he told John, he liked to sit in the summer, hidden away from everyone. They ate their sandwiches and had a coke each; then sat back resting against the tree, holding hands as they took a moment just to enjoy their surroundings.

They walked from there over to the garage to see the cars, but Sherlock rushed through that. It was things with four legs he preferred, not things with four wheels. He took John over to the stables to meet his pride and joy, Mystery. Mystery turned out to be a large, black stallion with a beautiful, flowing mane and an imperious manner, very like his owner.

"Well, aren't you a handsome fellow."

"Thank you, John; I'm glad you think me handsome."

John laughed and nudged Sherlock's shoulder. "Not you, fool; I'm talking about this gorgeous chap." John held his hand out flat with a sugar lump Sherlock had given him and Mystery allowed him to stroke his mane. "I bet you're a real handful, aren't you – and, no, I wasn't talking to you again. I already know you're a handful, Sherlock, in all the ways that count, so you can wipe that smirk off your face."

"You're very honoured; he doesn't usually let anyone touch him except for myself and Toby, the head groom."

"Horses like me."

"Everyone likes you, John."

John blushed but smiled; always pleased when he got a compliment from Sherlock.

"I don't suppose there's any chance we could go for a ride, is there?"

"I hoped you'd say that. We've got some clothes and boots here in the tack room that you can use, and I left some of mine down here ready, just in case. I'll have Toby saddle up Mystery. What sort of horse would you like, John? You did say you'd ridden before, didn't you?"

"Oh I'm sure I could manage whatever you have. Something that could keep up with Mystery, maybe; I'm sure you like to give him a good run."

"If you're sure you can handle it then we'll take King. He came from the same stable as Mystery. Come and meet him.”

They went to the adjoining stable which contained a horse almost as tall as Mystery, with a deep chestnut coat and a white diamond shape on his forehead. John had another sugar lump and he offered it to the horse. King allowed John to pat his neck, and he butted him gently for more when John stopped.

“You’re a beauty, aren’t you, boy? I can’t wait to take you out. I’ll be back in a minute.” John was nudged by an inquisitive nose. He laughed and added, “Yes I will, I’ll be back.”

Sherlock and John went into the changing area, off the tack room, and quickly got their gear on. John was pleased that they had something in his size, not knowing that Sherlock had ordered a riding outfit to be made specifically for him. They were soon ready, and when they went out, both Mystery and King were saddled up ready for them. The grooms holding each horse gave them a boost up and they trotted out of the stable yard, heading for the open paddock beyond.

They started off at a steady pace, allowing them each to get used to each other. Sherlock was pleased to note that John had a good seat, so he had no qualms about letting them have a bit of a gallop later, when they were warmed up. They headed down to the perimeter lines so that Sherlock could show John the scope of the property. They ambled pleasantly through the small wood, enjoying the calming, natural atmosphere under the trees. When they reached the other side, they came out into a big piece of parkland.

“Fancy stretching the horses a bit, John?”

“Yeah, that’d be good. Where are we heading; to that copse over there?”

“Yes, do your best to keep up.” Sherlock grinned at him.

John sent him one right back, “I think I’ll manage.”

Sherlock knocked his heels into Mystery and he was off. John was very close behind and, much to Sherlock’s surprise, he seemed to stay there easily, not losing any ground as Sherlock sensed him right beside him. When Sherlock took a moment to look across, he saw that John was poised up on his toes, knees tucked in, bottom out of the saddle and leaning hunched forward over King, perfectly balanced. John had been keeping secrets from him it seemed. He spurred Mystery on, trying to keep ahead of John, but the other boy matched him length for length. When they finally approached the copse, and had to slow down, it was a dead heat.

“Do you have something to tell me about the sort of riding you’ve been doing, John?”

“Well you didn’t ask for details, just if I’d ridden before, so I left it at that. As you’ve obviously guessed though, the stable near my grandparents’ house is actually a racing stud. I’ve been going there to help out in the summer holidays since I was ten. I’ve grown up with the jockeys and they taught me to ride and race with them; seems my lack of height was good for something.”

“Very sneaky, but a nice surprise. We’ll have to make the most of it and go out for a ride each morning. Have you done jumps as well as flat racing?”

“Yes, I can do both. I miss riding when I’m not in Scotland, so I’d love the chance to go out with you here.”

They meandered back towards the stables, giving the horses time to cool down, and they eventually got back to the house just in time to change for dinner. Sherlock had told John that the rest of the family tended to stay until after New Year, when they had another party, so there was a full house for dinner. Sherlock and John were, thankfully, sat at the opposite end to the cousins, so they spent a pleasant meal conversing with Sherlock’s favourite Uncle. He was a Chemistry Professor at Cambridge and the pair of them took turns, happily describing their latest experiments in great detail.

When the boys were finished, they decided to go up and have an early night. After their late night the day before, their early awakening and all the vigorous forms of activity they had indulged in that day, they were quite tired. They snuggled down in bed, arms comfortably around each other, Sherlock’s head resting on John’s chest.

“You remember what we talked about this morning?”

“We discussed so many things this morning; to what specifically are you referring?”

“Don’t be obtuse, John, you know what I’m talking about.”

John kissed the tip of Sherlock’s nose as he looked up at him in exasperation.

“Fine, yes, I know which subject you wish to discuss further. Did you want to…? Were you thinking of doing that now?”

“Well, no, actually; sorry to disappoint you. I was wondering if we should maybe wait ‘til after New Year, when all the relatives have gone. Mummy is going back to Berkshire with her sister for a few days, like she usually does, and I happen to know that Mycroft has to go back to the City too. We would have the place to ourselves and could take our time, without being disturbed.”

“That would, perhaps, be better all round, then. I’d feel happier not having to worry about interruptions, or whether we make any untoward noises.”

“I thought so, too. It is certainly my intention to have you screaming my name as you come.” Sherlock grinned evilly at him, and John swallowed loudly, as he imagined what Sherlock might do to him.

“I would love that. We’ve never really been able to fully let go when we’ve been at school and, even here, we’ve had so many people around that we couldn’t be unrestrained. I think you’ll find that you are the one who ends up screaming, though; you’re much more vocal than I am.”

“A challenge then, John?”

John grinned back at him. “Oh, it is so on. You’re going down, Holmes.”

“On you… I certainly hope so, Watson.”

They both burst out laughing, loving the fact that they could enjoy all this with each other, and that they wanted the same things. They knew it was going to seem a long time to wait until after New Year, but they both decided it would definitely be worth it.

~*~

The next week passed quite quickly, with the boys busy every day. They went swimming each morning and then circled back to pick up a picnic, before saddling up the horses and heading out for a day on the estate. Sherlock took John around the whole property in stages and they also rode through the local forest one day, and out on to a large heathland on the other side.

One day they went out on the lake, taking turns to row each other about, and stopping for lunch on the little island in the middle of the lake. They sat under the shade of a small gazebo with perfect views of the surrounding park land. On another occasion, they cadged a lift with Mycroft and went down to London for the day, showing each other their favourite places.

There was another party on New Year’s Eve, and this time, all the local families in the village were invited. A marquee had been erected on the terrace, leading out from the ballroom, to encompass all the extra dancers. One end was cordoned off to give the children somewhere to run round more freely. A catered buffet had been provided by Mrs Carstairs and her helpers. The children were taken in to special consideration again, with some less exotic finger foods being prepared, that would be more likely to appeal to their younger palates. Mummy also hired several babysitters who set up games for the children to play and kept them amused for the evening. This allowed their parents to enjoy themselves and, more freely, welcome in the New Year. There was even a room set aside for the smaller ones who fell asleep before the party ended, with lots of squashy bean bags for them to use.

Sherlock usually avoided this party, even more assiduously than the one on Boxing Day, but John persuaded him to attend this year. When they had helped themselves at the buffet table, John encouraged Sherlock to deduce everyone who passed them, and Sherlock was surprised to note that he actually found himself enjoying the evening. It was amazing what a difference a willing companion made. They even found themselves roped in to joining a special treasure hunt through the maze, which had been especially lit for the occasion. Sherlock knew all the best ways to get through and they helped any of the children who were struggling to find their way. Sherlock also guessed where to find the best prizes, and John made sure that anybody who had, so far, not found a present, was ushered over to Sherlock to help them out. All in all, it was a fun evening, and they retired to bed in the early hours, exhausted but happy. John had even managed to get Sherlock in to a secluded corner of the dance floor as midnight struck, to give him a sweet kiss, and then kept him there for some dancing afterwards.

~*~

Sherlock and John stood on the steps waving goodbye to Mummy and Aunt Regina. Mycroft had gone back first thing, as he couldn’t be spared from the office any longer. He had threatened that he was going to be stopping by at some point over the next few days, whilst Mummy was away, though, to check on them, much to Sherlock’s chagrin - “I’ll be eighteen in a few days, Mycroft, and John is already eighteen, so I think we can be trusted”. All the other guests had already departed and the boys were looking forward to finally having some time alone.

They went back inside to get changed into their riding gear. They had decided to go out for a ride this morning whilst the hired maids performed their last task, to clean the now vacated bedrooms. Then they would have the house to themselves after lunch, except for Carstairs and his wife, who would be busy getting things back to normal downstairs. The party detritus had already been cleared away straight afterwards, and there was only the marquee itself left to be dismantled, which would be done later that afternoon.

When they arrived back from their ride, they had a cooked lunch in the kitchen with the Carstairs. Sherlock said they would just make themselves some sandwiches later, when they felt like it, so the Carstairs could go on home and have the evening to themselves. It didn’t take much to persuade them, since they had been working flat out with all these extra guests and the parties. They both had a soft spot for Sherlock, so were happy to oblige him.

Sherlock took John up to his rooms and they decided to watch a film first to let their dinner go down. On the way, Sherlock showed him some of the other bedrooms in the house, which had been occupied up until now.

"You didn't tell me it was your birthday?"

"Well, I'm not usually bothered about it. I'm normally just so pleased to have everybody else gone from the house, that I just enjoy the time to myself."

"I would have got you something."

"That's really not necessary, John. The skull that I have already received was excellent, and will suffice for both occasions."

"It's not the same thing. Especially not for your eighteenth."

"Numbers are arbitrary and mean very little to me."

"How about I give you the film I brought with me for us to watch? It's one of my favourites."

"Well, of course, I would treasure anything of yours, but do you wish to part with it if it's a favourite?"

"I think you'll like it. It's called The Princess Bride."

"Really, John? Royalty and weddings - does that sound like something I would like?"

John laughed. "You sound just like the boy in the film. It's about pirates, kidnapping, poisoning, sword fighting, fire swamps and torture."

"Well, I suppose it doesn't sound too bad. Go on then."

"You're too kind. I'll just go and get it then."

When John had put the disk in, Sherlock patted the sofa beside him.

"You sit here, John; you make the comfiest pillow."

"As you wish."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, but John just smiled and sat down next to him. They wriggled about until John was wedged into the corner with Sherlock lying across him, his head resting on John's chest. John put his arm round Sherlock, his hand stroking through Sherlock's hair, which he knew the other boy loved. They started the film and Sherlock laughed when the boy asked 'Is this a kissing book?" and sounded just as disgusted as Sherlock had himself. They watched the whole film through, Sherlock laughing at all the appropriate parts, John was happy to note. He hadn't been sure if Sherlock would like it or not, but it seemed he did. When they had finished, Sherlock turned himself so that he was facing John, arms resting across his chest.

"Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?"

"What you said when you sat down?"

"Of course I meant it, Sherlock. I thought you knew that by now."

"Yes, but it's always nice to hear. I do, too, by the way."

"I know. Now why don't you stretch up here a bit, you're much too far away."

Sherlock wriggled up John's body and captured his lips. They had been waiting so long for this, it seemed, and now it was finally the right time. They kissed for a while, then Sherlock rolled off and up and grabbed John's hand, pulling him to his feet.

"Shall we take this somewhere more comfortable?"

"As you wish."

"Is that going to be a 'thing', now?"

"Would you like it to be?"

"I suppose it's not the worst thing in the world."

"Come here, you," John laughed and pushed Sherlock backwards on to the bed and climbed over him.

John pulled aside Sherlock’s sock and bit gently on his ankle. As he moved up his body, he nibbled the side of his knee, through his clothes, and on to his inner thigh, skirting around the steadily rising mound. He pushed up Sherlock’s shirt and sucked a deep mark just below his navel. He unfastened the buttons from the bottom up and laved the skin he exposed at each level; leaving his mark with bites, kisses or sucks, as the mood took him. He slid his tongue across Sherlock’s chest and circled his nipples in turns, blowing over the wet trail he left, making Sherlock shiver under him.

When he finally reached Sherlock’s mouth, he found hard kisses pressed to his lips, almost to the point of bruising. Sherlock was desperate to taste the mouth which had been tempting him so delightfully. John found himself quickly rolled on to his back, Sherlock pressing him down into the mattress, covering as much of his body as he could. Sherlock’s hands trailed down John’s sides, dragging the t-shirt back up as he went. He pulled it up John’s arms then left it there, tangling John still within it, keeping him trapped. Sherlock kissed John’s chin and neck, which was all that was free from the t-shirt. He edged it up further, kissing each new feature of John’s face as it appeared. He spent extra time on his lips then kissed his nose before he stopped again, not allowing John to free his eyes or his arms.

Sherlock kept John held in place with one hand, whilst he traced the contours of his body with the other. Whilst he distracted John by following the line of hair down his chest, he leant forward and bit down on one nipple. This caused John to shout out and push his chest up towards Sherlock, instantly wanting more. Sherlock quite enjoyed keeping John off balance like this, with him being unable to see or retaliate. He left a few more bites and kisses, choosing unusual places so that John wouldn’t be expecting it. He took it one step too far, it seemed, when he went to suck the underarm, which was starkly exposed in this position, with John’s arms trapped above his head. John was too ticklish to just lie still and accept that, and his arm reflexively shot downwards, catching the side of Sherlock’s head as he tried to stop the tickling. Sherlock fell back, groaning, as he held his head where John had elbowed him. John sat up and pulled the t-shirt off, quickly soothing his friend and leaning in to kiss his head better.

“Sorry, Sherlock. You know I’m ticklish; I couldn’t help myself, it was just a reflex.”

“I know, it’s fine. I forgot for a moment.” Sherlock pushed John back down again and kissed him to stop him apologising again. He looked down as him with an evil grin on his face. “I can see that next time I want to torment you, I’ll have to make sure you’re tied down properly.”

“Ooh, promises, promises.” John grinned back at him, looking tempted by the idea of being completely under Sherlock’s control. ”Not for tickling though; that’s not allowed.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. “I fail to see how you will be able to stop anything I wish to do to you, John.”

The idea seemed more enticing to him, as Sherlock thought of exactly what he would be able to do; all the things he wanted to try. Maybe they could get a proper blindfold too; he had enjoyed surprising John and keeping him on edge. That would definitely be an idea they would be revisiting very soon. For now though, he had other desires in mind, and he reached over to his drawer and got out the supplies he had bought.

John blushed and cleared his throat. He had to admit to being a bit nervous, but very excited, at the same time. They had decided that Sherlock would get to go first. John said he’d almost had it himself that time when he’d come between Sherlock’s thighs, so Sherlock could experience the real thing first. They had both had a go at inserting a finger into themselves with some lube, but that had just felt weird somehow, so they had decided to wait and do it properly.

John lay on his back with his knees bent up, exposing himself to Sherlock. He blushed again, but Sherlock was having none of that. He bent forwards and trailed his tongue up John’s shaft, something with which they were both comfortable, and the familiar sensation calmed John down. Sherlock coated his fingers and, whilst still licking John to distract him, he gently circled John’s hole with one finger. Sherlock waited until John had relaxed again, after the initial tensing of muscles at the touch, and he timed it so he swallowed down John’s cock and pushed one finger in at the same time.

John yelped at the intrusion then moaned at the feeling of Sherlock’s warm mouth encircling him. Sherlock played with him awhile; sucking and pressing further in, getting John used to the sensation. John found it felt much better with Sherlock doing it, though the blow job was certainly helping with that, too. Sherlock pushed his finger right in and felt around for the little nub that he knew should be right there – yes, that was it, if John’s reaction was anything to go by. He quivered under Sherlock’s touch and groaned loudly, asking for more. Sherlock smiled and did it again, loving the look on John’s face. He used the opportunity to slide in another finger and he kept that up for a while, until John got used to it, and then he added another. John was feeling so full, but at least the pain was tempered after Sherlock found his prostate, and he soon wanted more.

“Need you. Now.”

“Oh yes, please, John. I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

Sherlock slicked up his cock and pulled back to allow John to turn over.

“No, I want to stay here.”

“We decided it would be easier if you were on your knees. That’s what all those websites said.”

“I don’t care. I want to be able to see you as you come inside me.”

Sherlock groaned at the idea; he too, would prefer to be looking into John’s eyes whilst they did this, so he could make sure he didn’t hurt John in any way. Plus, he just loved watching John as his orgasm overtook him.

They got in position and Sherlock pushed John’s legs up, and John held on to them behind the knees. He pulled them right back so he could see what was happening, and to give Sherlock plenty of room. Sherlock knelt in front of him and held his cock in front of John’s hole, almost as if he was unsure if he should be doing this. John took the decision out of his hand by pushing forwards so that the tip started to go in. He gasped at the intrusion, which brought Sherlock back to himself, and he pushed past the outer ring. He waited there for a moment, for John to acclimatise.

John soon nodded his head and Sherlock slowly pushed in, inching forward and pausing frequently to give John time to stretch around him. They both groaned when Sherlock was finally fully seated, his balls touching John’s skin. Sherlock waited again for John to tell him to move, knowing that it was just as necessary for himself to wait, as well. The tight feeling of being encased inside John was almost enough to set him off on its own. They both gathered themselves together and, when John looked him in the eye, he pulled almost all the way out, before slowly pushing in once more.

“Oh, Sherlock, yes, please; like that, just like that.”

Sherlock did it again and again, each time getting slightly easier for John; the glide becoming smoother and occasionally rubbing against his prostate.

“John, you feel amazing; so hot. I don’t think I can wait.”

“Nor me. Do it now, faster; let me feel you.”

Sherlock didn’t need telling again. He took hold of John’s hips and on his forward motion, this time, he pushed in fast, pulling John back against him so that they both really felt it.

“Oh, bloody hell; do that again. Please.”

Sherlock pounded in hard, managing to find the right angle to graze against John’s prostate on each stroke. They were both shouting and moaning as they each approached their climax. Sherlock took hold of John’s cock and after only a couple of strokes John was crying out as he came all over Sherlock’s fingers and his own chest. His passage contracted around Sherlock on each pulse and Sherlock couldn’t hold back any longer before he, too, was releasing inside John. Sherlock collapsed down on top of John, who just put his arms around him and held him tight. The pair of them lay there for long moments recovering.

John was the first to surface, probably because his one leg was still stuck under Sherlock where he had fallen on it. He nudged Sherlock, who slid sleepily over to the side, allowing John to stretch out properly. John used his other leg to drag the cover up from the bottom of the bed and he pulled it over them both, falling asleep with Sherlock snugly in his arms.

~*~

The rest of the holidays passed far too quickly for their liking. They had enjoyed waking up entangled together on the morning after and had revelled in having the whole day to themselves. They took the time to experiment with different positions. When Sherlock had his first chance to be on the receiving end, he enjoyed it just as much as the other way round. They only briefly ventured out of their room to collect some snacks from Mrs C before returning to their bed and exploring some more.

The following day had been marred slightly, as far as Sherlock was concerned, by an unannounced visit from Mycroft. Thankfully, he had only stayed for lunch and, once he had gone, they spent the afternoon swimming and relaxing by the pool. They had decided to forgo riding for the day as they were both still feeling a little tender after their exertions yesterday. They had found that they both loved bottoming as much as they did topping and they had been taking full advantage of their time alone to try out many different things.

Mummy was back in time for Sherlock’s birthday and she took them out for a meal in town to celebrate. Sherlock actually enjoyed it for once, as John was there with him, even though he had to put up with Mycroft’s company, too. Mycroft was staying overnight as he was going to be driving them back to college the next day. They packed quickly when they got back from the meal and left everything by the door ready. They spent their last evening together in bed; knowing that tomorrow night they would, unfortunately, be in their separate dorm rooms again.

~*~

Chapter Text

~*~

Lessons started straight back in with a vengeance, the teachers making up for the breaks they had given before the holidays. Greg had put up a notice saying that the first rehearsal would be on Sunday afternoon at the usual time. They would attempt a run-through to check if everyone was off-book, and to see how many scenes they still needed to block out.

Everyone arrived early, eager to get back into the rehearsals, as they only had eleven weeks until the actual performances. They were scheduled for the three days before the end of that term, so that parents could stay overnight locally, if they wished, and then take their children home with them for the Easter holidays.

John had gone through all of his lines with Sherlock over the holidays. He felt reasonably confident that he knew what to say and where to stand for all of his interactions, so he was keen to start. The others had obviously made good use of their time, too, as the practice started off well. There was still a little tension between Jasmine and Oliver, but it had certainly eased somewhat since the beginning. It seemed Oliver had decided that the performance was more important than his animosity, in this instance, so he was obviously trying his best to overcome his dislike.

They got through the first half quite quickly; that was the part they had worked on the most last term. Everyone remembered, more or less, where they were supposed to stand and knew their lines. Sherlock and John had brought out some of the smaller, easier-to-hand props, to help the actors get into the scenes, and it all went quite smoothly. After the part in the play where they were having the interval, the performance wasn’t quite so polished. Most people still knew the majority of their lines, but there was a little bit of shot-blocking. They would definitely need to focus more on that in the next couple of weeks.

When they’d finished the run-through of the whole play, they all gathered round Greg for his analysis. He and Sally had been scribbling away, making notes throughout, so they knew exactly where they still needed support.

“Well, that was great for a first performance back after such a long break. Most of you remembered what we went through last term and it’s clear which parts we need to work on next, but it’s certainly good progress made so far. Well done on learning your lines, too, though a couple of you still need to work on the second half a little more. Overall I think we’re doing really well, though.” He smiled at them all and there were lots of happy faces looking back at him. He looked over to Sherlock.

“It definitely looked a bit more authentic in the scenes where we had some props added. So if you could get everything sorted ready for the later scenes as well, Sherlock, that would be great, and I think it would help to pull the performances together.” Sherlock nodded, already planning exactly how he wanted things properly set up ready for the next session.

“How are we going on the scenery and costumes? Do you need any help to get things finished or are both teams on schedule?”

Kerry piped up first. “We’re on track, I think, Greg. We’ve more or less altered all the garments we had stored already so they should be ready for fittings next week. A couple of people have brought in some old fashioned coats for us, so we can work on adapting those as we need to, and we should have it all done very soon.”

“That’s great, thanks Kerry, Rachel. How about with the scenery, Olivia, Julian?”

“We’ve re-painted the living room wall we had to better match the era we needed but we do still need to paint a winter scene to put behind the window. The doors were all painted before we left for the holidays so they should just need a soft soap and varnishing then we’re pretty much sorted as well.”

“Brilliant. If you let me know when you’ve got those all finished then we’ll see if we can use the big rehearsal room to have a run-through with the doors in place, so that we can get a better feel for the scene changes. This is going to be so good everyone; I’m really feeling it now, aren’t you?”

There was a general chorus of agreement and approval and everyone left the room in high spirits.

Sherlock pulled John back to let the others pass and then went over to the shelves where they had stored all the props.

“I want to get them all set up on a table so that we can just carry it through to whichever room we’re using for rehearsals and then everything will be to hand. I’ve seen tables like that before and they tape little squares for each prop and put on a label so you know exactly where it should go and you place them on the table in the order they are needed so it is easy to reach for the exact thing you need.”

“That’s a great idea; it’ll make everything so much easier. Do you have any tape?”

“Not here. Would we be able to get some from the office?”

“We can certainly go and check. Or maybe Mr Johnson would be a better person to ask. He's more likely to have masking tape which is probably the best sort to use and we could also ask him about the wood we need to make the radio whilst we’re there."

"Good plan. Can we do that now; I'd really like to get started?"

"I don't think he works weekends as a rule. He isn't a live-in teacher; I think I remember him saying he lived in the village so he only comes up when he has lessons or if he has a special project on. We'll have to wait 'til after class tomorrow and go and speak to him then."

Sherlock's face fell. When he got something in his mind he liked to get on with it straight away, as John knew only too well.

"Don't look like that, tomorrow's not so far away. I know; why don't we go and find Mike. We still need to get those skis off him which I know he brought back to school with him. Judging by the picture he showed you, they should be just what you need."

"That's a good idea. Apart from making the radio and collecting the gun nearer the time, that's the last thing we need."

They made their way back to halls and hunted up Mike. Rather unsurprisingly, he was with Molly in the common room, but he was more than happy to detour to his room to get the skis for Sherlock. They were exactly the sort Sherlock had hoped to get, curve-tipped wooden skis with matching poles. Sherlock stored them in his room for now, as John insisted it was not necessary to take them back down to the drama studio right this minute. He had rather hoped to spend his afternoon in much more pleasant pursuits in Sherlock's room, and it turned out even Sherlock could be waylaid from his current obsession with that far more enjoyable distraction.

~*~

The next afternoon Sherlock was waiting outside John's classroom for him to come out. They headed over to the workshops where the woodwork studio was located. Mr Johnson was just finishing his class so they waited until the younger children had been dismissed and then went in.

"John. Long time no see. What are you doing down here?"

"Hello, sir. Oh let me give you a hand with that." John rushed down to the front of the workshop and took hold of the long plank which the students had obviously been using to cut out their cruet sets, judging by what they had been putting away at the end of the lesson.

"You always were a good lad, staying behind and helping me clear up. Now what can I do for you?"

John turned back from stacking the wood. "Well, Sherlock and I - this is my friend, Sherlock, by the way - are in the drama club performance of The Mousetrap. We were wondering if you had any offcuts of wood, please, that we could use to make an old fashioned radio for us to use in the play."

"The Mousetrap, eh? I remember going to see that in London many moons ago, an excellent mystery and one that's been running for years, if I remember rightly."

"That's the one. I'm going to be Major Metcalf, if you can remember any of the characters, and Sherlock is prop master. He's also going to be the voice of the news announcer coming over the radio, so we don't need it to actually work, just to look old fashioned. Maybe we could rig up a dial and a switch with a light behind it, too, just to make it look good. Do you think that would be possible?"

"I'm sure that's something that can be done. I do, in fact, have some off-cuts of mahogany at home from a cabinet I was making, which would be perfect for that old style of radio. I'll bring them in for you tomorrow. Do you want help making it, too?"

"Well, I think Sherlock and I could manage it between us if we had permission to use your machinery please, sir."

"You were always a very careful student, John; I know I can trust you to be safe around the machines. If you were to come in a couple of lunch times, to do the work between classes, then I'd be around if you needed any assistance. I have lunch in my work room, but I'll leave you to get on with it yourselves."

"That's brilliant; thank you very much, Mr Johnson. We'll be exceedingly careful with our methods and the machinery, and we'll tidy up properly after ourselves, of course, and leave everything ready for your afternoon classes."

"Think nothing of it, lad. I'll bring the wood in tomorrow morning, so you could start as early as tomorrow lunch time if you have the urge."

"Oh, yes, we will, thanks again. We'll see you at lunch. Thanks, sir, bye."

John and Sherlock left in great excitement and were back again the next day at 12:15 - Sherlock allowing John a bare minimum of fifteen minutes to finish his lunch - before they were knocking on the door ready to begin. The wood Mr Johnson had brought in was perfect for what they needed. Sherlock had downloaded some pictures from the internet, and had even been able to find some specs for construction so they knew exactly what they needed to do.

"Can I have a look at your plans?"

John passed over the specs and Mr Johnson had a good look.

"I don't see you having a problem with any of this. I remember you being an expert at the dove tail joints, John."

John smiled. "I certainly did enough of them on that integrated bird house and table, didn't I, sir."

"We haven't got any different machinery here since your last session, even though it was two years ago, John. Are you au fait with everything or would you like a refresher, maybe for your friend, too?"

"I still remember it, thank you, sir and though Sherlock hasn't used these specific machines, he has done woodworking at a previous school so he knows the basics. Would we be alright to go ahead with it and just give you a shout if we need help?"

"Of course, have at it. I'll just be in the back if you need anything."

Sherlock and John grabbed a couple of aprons and some protective googles and took the first piece of wood to be cut to size. They made sure the guard was down and carefully cut each piece to the correct length. They had decided to make it as complete as possible, with a sliding panel at the back so that they could insert the dial and have a switch for the light. When they had cut them all, they carved a groove on the inside of the bottom and sides where they could slide in a board to act as the back cover.

They made a start on the dove tail joints, measuring them out carefully and lining everything up to make sure it would fit, before measuring them again just to be sure; John having taken to heart Mr Johnson’s edict to always measure twice and cut once. John did the first one as it wasn't something Sherlock had done before, but after watching the second one, he was eager to try for himself. He was very careful to only cut as far as the line so there was no overlap and he was soon managing as well as John, himself. John moved to another machine to start on another side to speed things along a bit.

By the end of the lunch break they had managed to finish a side piece each and were keen to come back the next day to do some more. John made sure they finished in plenty of time to tidy up everything they had done, and to leave it all ready for the students coming in for the afternoon lesson. Mr Johnson came over just as they were finishing and admired their work, saying he would look forward to seeing them on the 'morrow.

~*~

They went back every lunch break and by the end of the week all the pieces were cut and planed and they were ready to be assembled. Everything fitted together perfectly, and Mr Johnson came over to see how they were getting on.

“You really have done an excellent job there, boys. It looks very authentic. I could almost imagine hearing it working properly.”

The boys grinned at him. They had ordered an old radio dial from an internet parts supply store which should be arriving this weekend. They weren’t bothered that it didn’t work they just wanted it to make their radio look good. They had drilled two holes in it already for a little orange light bulb that Mr Johnson had had lying around. They had rigged it up with an on/off switch to make it light up, so Sherlock would be able to see when the light came on from where he would be standing in the wings, and know to start his broadcast announcement.

They were waiting for it all to dry now and then they would just need to varnish it and attach the accessories and it would be done. Mr Johnson gave John the key to the workshop so that they would be able to come in at the weekend to do the varnishing – he didn’t mind them doing that without him at least being in the building as they was no machinery involved. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them to be safe but there were all these health and safety regulations that had to be adhered to around machinery.

John and Sherlock were in there straight after breakfast to check if the radio had set and luckily it had, so they set about getting it varnished. They wanted to give it a good shine so they were going to do two coats. They applied the first one and then left it out to dry. They opened all the vents in the room, like Mr Johnson had told them, to help it dry quicker and to distil the fumes.

They left it overnight and then went back the next day to give it a second coat. It really was looking really good now and, when it was completely dry tomorrow, they could fix in the light and dial which had arrived on Saturday morning and it would be finished.

When they arrived on Monday lunchtime Mr Johnson was admiring their handiwork.

“It’s looking good, that varnish has brought the wood up a treat. Are you ready to fix everything in now?”

“Yes, the parts have all arrived so we’re hoping to get it finished today.”

“Carry on, then, and give me a shout when you’re done, I’d like to see the finished article.”

“Ok, thanks, sir.”

Mr Johnson left them to it and they were soon trying to push the dial in to position. They had got the measurements and drilled a hole already, erring slightly on the side of caution, not wanting to have it too big. It seemed to be just a little too small, however, so they got out the sand paper and smoothed the hole, taking a few millimetres off its core so that it fitted perfectly tightly in place. They fastened in the bulb and attached the wire to the switch, which also slotted in snugly, and then slid the back cover into place and they were done.

The moment of truth arrived and John called Mr Johnson over whilst Sherlock prepared to flick the switch. He pressed down the lever and it worked first time. All three of them beamed and John cheered and put his arm around Sherlock’s back, patting him on the shoulder.

“We did it.”

“We certainly did. That actually looks really good.”

“You’ve done a grand job there, John, Sherlock; well done.”

“Thank you, Mr Johnson; you’ve been great and so supportive. Thanks for all your help and for letting us use your equipment.”

“It was a pleasure. It’s nice to see people so enthusiastic and using their skills to achieve their objectives. I can’t wait to come and see the play now and admire your handiwork on stage.”

“Oh yes, that would be great if you came to see. We’ll reserve you a seat right at the front so you have a perfect view; you and Mrs Johnson.”

“Thanks, that’d be right nice of you. Mrs Johnson does like a good drama. It’ll be nice to see you boys in action. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Thanks, sir. We’ll come and let you know when the tickets are out.”

“Thanks. Bye then.”

Sherlock carefully carried the radio over to the drama studio, not wanting to damage it at this stage after all the work they’d put in to its construction. They decided to keep it there until the next rehearsal, and then they would bring it out and show everyone.

When the whole cast and crew had arrived on Wednesday, and had finished doing their usual warm up, Sherlock carried over the radio which was hidden under a cloth. When everyone was looking, John pulled the cloth aside and shouted ‘Ta da!’

Sherlock frowned at the over-dramatics, but was soon smiling again when he heard all the praise being showered upon them. Greg was delighted and wanted to test the switch, and everyone oohed when they saw the light come on.

“That is brilliant, guys, did you do that all from scratch.”

“We ordered the dial obviously, but we built the whole thing ourselves and fitted the attachments and everything else. Do you think it’ll be okay?”

“It’ll be fabulous; it’ll look so good on stage, and that light will be a perfect signal for Sherlock to start his speech. Well done, both of you.”

Sherlock put the radio down on the table and they moved some other props into place for the first scene. The light worked perfectly when Jasmine turned it on, and Sherlock used that as his cue to start his announcement. It all went like clockwork. It was a triumph and Sherlock couldn’t have been happier that all of his and John’s hard work had paid off so well; he was very proud and he smiled again as he caught John’s wink.

~*~

The twice weekly rehearsals went on apace. It wasn't long until they were practising with the scenery sets in place, so they could do proper entries and exits and really block out the whole play, as it would be on the day. Everyone now knew their lines, even the two understudies, who had had to learn the whole play, not just individual characters, as they could be called on for any of the roles if necessary.

Sherlock had set up a prop table, just as he wanted, and it was laid out with sectioned squares and every prop in its place so it was easily accessible, as required, for each scene. The costumes were altered and ready and everyone had tried them on. They hadn't had a dress rehearsal yet, they were waiting to do that in the next week or so as opening night was rapidly approaching.

One of the props Sherlock had appropriated was a chandelier, which they had set up the previous day on a ceiling hook to test out how it looked, and it gave the stage a very authentic feel. It would be wired up so that Stacey could adjust the brightness from her technical board at the back of the room, along with the usual studio lights and the spotlights, which would be used when they moved into the theatre for the actual shows.

On the stage Mollie, played by Jasmine, and Detective Inspector Trotter, played by Matthew, were having their discussion as to why he had turned up at the hotel. The detective was shaking off his jacket and handing it over to Mollie to hang on the coat stand by the door, when there was a loud, creaking sound. Everyone looked round, wondering where the noise had come from. Jasmine looked at the doors, thinking that one had come off the latch and was opening, but they all seemed to be shut so it couldn’t be that. The next thing she knew, she was flat on the floor with Matthew lying on top of her, gasping haltingly, as everyone else was shouting and running on to the stage.

What Matthew had spotted, luckily just in time, was that the creaking noise was coming from the chandelier. He had managed to push Jasmine out of the way just as it crashed down where she had been standing. Matthew was holding his leg, and when the others gently rolled him away from Jasmine, they could see that he had a rip in his trouser leg with blood seeping through.

John was the first aider for the production so he carefully pulled up the material to expose Matthew's leg, and saw a long cut down the back of his calf. Fortunately, it was only a superficial skin wound and it didn't appear to go too deeply into the muscles below. John took a pad and a bandage from the first aid box, which was kept in the corner of the room, and wrapped his leg for him. Greg was standing right by them so John got him to hold crossed arms with him, and Anderson helped Matthew to stand up and put his arms around their necks. He sat on their joined hands and they carried him out and across to the Nurse's Office for him to have his leg examined properly.

Nurse Clarke was in when they got there and they helped Matthew on to the examination table. She proceeded to unwrap the bandage to check the wound over for herself. Matthew was a bit worried because he didn't want to have to drop out of the play.

"I won't have to give up my part, will I?"

"Let me have a look. Oh, that's not too bad at all; you'll soon be racing around the stage again."

Matthew sighed with relief and Greg along with him. "Thank goodness for that; it would be hard to replace you. You've really got the character down pat, Matthew, and I'd hate to have to change now when the performances are so close."

John joined in. "He's right, mate, you're really good. That was a pretty heroic thing you did back there"

"It certainly was. Just think how much worse it would have been if you hadn’t spotted it and it had landed square on Jasmine; she was right underneath it. You saved her and the show."

Matthew blushed. "I just reacted. I saw that the chandelier was going to fall and I just jumped across to get us out of the way."

"Well, young man, it sounds like you have a war wound to be proud of, in that case. Now take it easy as much as you can for the next couple of days to give it time to heal, without opening the wound again. Come back and see me when the dressings need changing, so I can make sure it doesn't get infected or anything. Now, are you boys ok to help him up to his room; he can rest his leg for the rest of the night and I'll bring his tea to him in his room, just this once?"

"Yes, we can help him. Thanks, Nurse Clarke. We'll look after him."

They carried Matthew up to his room, deciding that was easier than seeing him struggle to hop all that way. They left him settled on his bed with a book to read. They headed back to the drama studio to see what had happened in their absence.

Sherlock had not been idle whilst they were gone. He had left the care of a semi-hysterical Jasmine to the others - crying girls were not something in which he had the least interest - whilst he went over to the chandelier. He had hung it himself with John yesterday and nothing had seemed to be amiss with it at the time; everything appearing solid and well connected when they had finished. He had realised what the sound was at the same time as Matthew, but had been further away, and unable to stop anything.

Whilst the others had rushed to help the injured parties, Sherlock had rushed over to examine the fallen light. He instantly saw that this wasn't a problem with the way he and John had hung it; the wire had been purposely cut. There was a straight line across the wire which certainly wouldn't have been caused by fraying. Someone had meant for that light to fall; and now he just had to figure out if it was done to sabotage the play or to specifically injure one of the actors.

Jasmine was the obvious first thought, as she was the person under it at the time it fell, but whoever cut the wire wouldn't have been able to tell exactly when it would fall. He or she couldn't have timed it exactly for that moment. John, himself, had been standing in just that spot when he had entered the scene, and Sherlock shuddered when he thought of John being injured in that way. He whizzed through the play quickly in his mind, picturing where everyone stood throughout the play. He had to come to the conclusion that at some point in the action, everyone passed under the chandelier, but it certainly seemed as if Jasmine was in that position the most.

What could he make of that? He thought back to what had happened with the spiked drink at the Christmas party. Though John had been the one affected, it had seemed that Jasmine was supposedly the intended victim of that incident, too. Did someone have a vendetta against Jasmine? If so, they were obviously getting more serious in their efforts to cause her harm; and with the failure of this attempt, how much more desperate were they likely to become now?

Sherlock scanned the room. The stepladder that he and John had used was in the corner, where they had left it, so anyone would have been able to reach the chandelier to tamper with it. Access wouldn’t have been a problem. In fact, he could still see an indent in the carpet, which was slightly further over than where he had placed the ladder when he, himself, had climbed up, so that was definitely the means. He and John had been the last to arrive to rehearsal today, as they had been caught by Mike on their way over, so he didn’t know in which order the others had arrived. He wasn’t able to tell who might have been in the room on their own; though the person could have come in even earlier and then come back in to the room after some of the others had turned up, so that wouldn’t have been definite proof of anything anyway.

He watched all the faces. Most people looked shaken up still, but no-one appeared excessively guilty. The costume girls, Kelly and Rachel, seemed fairly disgusted at the hysterical excesses Jasmine was exhibiting, and at the way it was making everyone fawn over her. So were both Julian and Olivia, who were standing together to the side, but it was hard to tell if there could be the disgust of the failure of their mission mixed in with the disgust of Jasmine's overreactions. Natalie and Oliver, too, were rolling their eyes at the unnecessary fuss. It seemed Jasmine was determined to milk it for all she was worth, and she was sobbing delicately in Freddie’s arms as he attempted to console her. It was obvious to Sherlock that she considered real tears an unnecessary addition, though, as she was merely dabbing at her eyes, and didn’t have any unsightly redness to spoil her still perfectly applied make-up.

Stacey was hovering near Jasmine, offering her a tissue, and looking grateful for the chance to be able to help her former friend. The break-up had definitely been on Jasmine's side only, and Stacey appeared to still miss her friend. Hannah and Ethan had been backstage, as they had been waiting to come back in to the room. They had come through the door when they had heard the crash, and both just looked surprised when it had happened, though Hannah was edging nearer to Freddie, trying to be supportive.

Marcus and Rebecca had been sitting together to the left of the stage, watching all the action avidly. They’d been too busy picking up all the cues, in case they were called on to fill any of the roles, so they would be able to slot in easily without too much extra rehearsal being necessary. They had seemed quite absorbed in what was going on, so Sherlock doubted that they had been waiting for the chandelier to fall - he couldn't rule them out, though, as both of them possibly stood to gain by an injury to a cast member.

He obviously counted John and himself out of the suspicions, along with Greg and Matthew. Greg was too invested in the production to sabotage it, or its stars, in any way, and Matthew had looked genuinely surprised and reacted instantaneously when he'd heard the noise. Which left him with Sally and Anderson to consider? Sally was looking annoyed at the disturbance and had quickly come over to check the damage to their props. She’d been ignoring Jasmine's hysterics as much as possible. Anderson appeared harassed and was chasing around after her, trying to help, but mainly just getting in the way.

It was by this time in his deductions that Greg and John arrived back. John came straight over to Sherlock to find out what had been happening. Sherlock could see that he was obviously worried that they had done something wrong when hanging the light yesterday, so he drew John off to one side, away from the others, and started straight in.

"The wire has been cut. It wasn't a poorly hung light; it was a deliberately sabotaged one. Someone was trying to cause an accident."

"Really? Another accident? This is getting a bit much, isn't it, Sherlock. What are we going to do?"

Greg came over to join them, after having checked that Jasmine was okay. He and John had been talking about it on their way back over and he had heard John's last statement.

"Do you think someone is trying to sabotage the play, Sherlock?"

"I don't think they have it in for the play as much as for your leading lady. This is the second attempt; you remember what happened at the Christmas party."

"So you think this was definitely aimed at Jasmine, then? I mean, anyone could have been standing under that light."

"True, but taking in the law of probabilities and the unrealistic likelihood of coincidence, it seems highly likely that she was the intended victim. I think it will be wise to keep an eye on things, and make sure opportunity doesn't strike again."

"It's only three weeks 'til the performances. Do you guys think I should cancel to be on the safe side?"

"Oh no, Greg, surely you don’t mean that! We've worked so hard, and it's really coming together now."

"I think John's right. There is no need to cancel at this stage. He and I will monitor the situation, as I know you have enough to do, putting on the final touches before the show."

Greg nodded his thanks and turned back to the others. He tried to reassure them that everything was fine.

"We'll obviously have to call it a day for now, but don't worry, we'll get everything sorted for the next rehearsal. We can be glad that no-one was seriously hurt and put this unfortunate accident behind us."

There was some low muttering, but everyone picked up their bits and pieces and headed out. Freddie had pulled Jasmine to her feet and was walking out with his arm around her shoulder. She held her hand to her face as if everything was just too much. Stacey followed closely behind, making the most of this opportunity to spend time with Jasmine, regardless of how temporary it probably was. Sherlock nudged John to look at the eye-rolling going on between most of the rest of the cast. It seemed no-one was taken in by Jasmine's display. A few of them announced they were going to go and see Matthew; the person who had an actual injury from the afternoon, discussing it loudly as they passed Jasmine and Freddie.

Greg had joined Sally and Anderson by the chandelier.

"Do you think we'll be able to fix it?"

"Well, I think we'll need to get a proper electrician in to re-wire it; this cord has been spliced right through and it's not something we can fix ourselves. I'll take it over to Mr Hobbs, the caretaker, and see if he can get it sorted for us."

Sally and Anderson picked it up and went off to see the caretaker. Greg locked the studio door behind them and walked back with Sherlock and John.

"So, tell me what you know then; or what you suspect at least."

Sherlock launched into a full précis of his deductions about Jasmine and the people around her that he had made during their very first rehearsal. He also filled Greg in on all of his findings regarding the spiked drink before Christmas, and finally, on what he had observed about everyone's reactions today. Greg shook his head.

"This is really serious then. If someone is truly trying to hurt Jasmine, do you think they are going to try again?"

"Well, they've tried twice already and failed both times, I think it unlikely that that would put them off. Like I said, we can all keep our eyes open to anything untoward happening. I'm not needed, except for the very start of the play, so I'll stay around backstage and watch what's going on. We'll catch whoever it is, don't worry."

"I hope so. I would hate to think someone would be injured whilst we're putting on this play. We've all put in so much work, too. I would really like it to go smoothly, and without anyone being hurt."

"Don't worry, Greg. With Sherlock on the case, we'll soon have this sorted."

Sherlock smiled shyly at John. He did so love it when John showed how proud he was of him; it never got old. They parted ways as they got up to their rooms, all of them pondering what they could do to keep everyone safe for the rest of the production.

~*~

The final dress rehearsal went badly, but everyone assured each other that a bad dress rehearsal was a good thing, as that meant the performance, itself, was sure to be a hit. It had just been lots of silly things. Freddie had completely dried and forgotten his lines when he had been talking to John just after he had arrived. Luckily, John had taken it in his stride and, after including part of Freddie’s line in with his own, Freddie had recovered enough to carry on. One of the props they’d needed hadn’t been put back in the right place at the end of the previous session, and Anderson had told Sherlock off, in supposed mutters, backstage. This had been clearly heard front of house and put Oliver off his speech. Needless to say, Sherlock had clearly pointed out that it had been Anderson who had moved the prop, when he had been mooning over Sally before they’d left the night before, and, of course, he was proved correct. Anderson had sloped off in a sulk, knocking into the back of one of the doors on stage. That had forced it open so that it nearly trapped the hand of Natalie, who had been standing behind it at the time. Matthew had dropped his skis as he’d arrived, and he and Freddie had banged heads as they’d both bent down at the same time to pick them up. They’d both been fine afterwards, but it was another hold-up to the show which they obviously hoped wouldn’t happen on the night.

“We’re just getting all the mistakes out, now, that’s all. Right, John? Sherlock?” Greg was sitting with his head in his hands after the rehearsal. John and Sherlock were double checking the props table was set ready for the first actual show tomorrow; Sherlock not being prepared to leave anything in Anderson’s hands.

“Sure, Greg, you know that’s a good omen that it will all go well tomorrow. The rehearsal on Sunday went brilliantly, so you know that everyone knows their parts. It’s just the jitters before the performance. Once everyone gets on stage with the audience there, it’ll all come together.”

“I hope you’re right. It all seems to have been going so well lately; we haven’t had any of those other problems these last couple of weeks, either, so I thought it was settled.”

“It’s true that nothing else has happened, but whether that is down to a cessation of hostilities or merely to our ever present vigilance, is impossible to tell.”

They had all been keeping a clear watch on the goings on since the chandelier incident. Sherlock had been the mainstay as he was only needed very briefly at the beginning of the rehearsal. He could use the excuse of checking props to be everywhere backstage, keeping an eye on everything that was happening. John was also with him as much as he could be, when he wasn’t needed on stage. Greg was obviously busy keeping things running, but he tried to keep more of a general eye on everyone’s positions on stage, as well, just to make sure there was nothing untoward happening.

The rest of the rehearsals had all run smoothly up until now. When they had had the first dress rehearsal the previous week, it had looked amazing to see everyone in full costume, and it had really brought it to life for them all. A couple of days before the first performance, they had been allowed to set up on the main stage and leave everything in place. It was nearing the Easter holidays and the drama classes had all had their end of term assessments so the room wouldn’t be needed. Luckily the rugby team had not had a match that day so the whole cast had been free to move in all their furniture, scenery flats, doors and props. They got it all arranged ready for a full rehearsal on the Sunday afternoon. Seeing the stage fully set was exciting for all of them. They stood at the back of the room to proudly take in all their hard work for a moment, before they got set up for a run-through with everything in place.

The chandelier had also been returned to them fully re-wired. They had only had to move round a few of the crystals to keep a symmetrical pattern, and it didn’t show any sign of the slight damage it had received. They had hung it on the main stage and, when it was all plugged in to Stacey’s light board, it worked perfectly. Sherlock made a point of climbing a ladder before each rehearsal to make sure that nothing had been tampered with, and that everything was perfectly safe for the cast to begin.

~*~

The day of their last performance was finally upon them and everyone was very excited.

First night had been a huge success. All Greg’s worries had come to naught and the performance had been trouble free. There had been quite a lot of the staff attending the first show, as well as local villagers and a few parents, who had come down early to spend a few days before they took their children home. Mr Johnson and his wife had been in pride of place in the front row, and he had caught John and Sherlock after the show to praise them on their whole performance, and on how good the radio had looked on stage, so they were both very pleased.

The second night had been just as good, with even more parents at that performance as the end of term drew ever nearer. The entire team had been jubilant, as they had also performed a matinee earlier in the day for the rest of the school, and had received enthusiastic cheers from their school mates on a show well done.

As the cast were all sixth formers, their parents didn’t usually come down to meet them out of school any more, allowing them to travel home on their own. This meant that very few of their relatives had been at either of the earlier performances. Most of them were going to be in tonight for the final show, however, having travelled down especially to see their own children in action.

This included John’s mum and sister, who had both arranged to have the day off so that they could come down for the show. They had arrived in time for lunch and had arranged with the school to take John and Sherlock out for the meal. Lessons had more or less finished already, especially for the performers. A few of the other families of cast members had also had the same idea, and Sherlock spotted Oliver, Matthew, Hannah and Julian dining with their own families whilst they were there.

Mrs Watson was very impressed with Sherlock, who was on his best behaviour, and had opened the door for her and pulled out her chair. John grinned at him, knowing that he was trying to get into her good graces, as he wanted to ask if John could come to stay with him again over the holidays. John was just as keen for this to happen, so was happy to encourage the excessive manners he knew Sherlock didn’t usually display.

They had a lovely meal with Sherlock making polite but interesting conversation with Mrs Watson. He used his observations, and the knowledge he had gained from things John had said previously, to engage her in topics she would enjoy, and chipped in when John provided amusing anecdotes about their friends. Even Harry was succumbing to Sherlock’s charms as he focused on her achievements, instead of the subtle signs which were already visible – to him, at least – concerning her drinking habits. They sat with coffee after dessert and Sherlock launched his offensive.

“Mrs Watson, I wonder if I might ask a favour of you, please?”

“Of course, Sherlock, what is it?”

“I was wondering if you would allow John to come and visit me again these holidays? There isn’t really anyone else with whom I would wish to spend time, and there will only be my elder brother home for the holidays. I think if we have to spend the whole time solely in one another’s company, my mother will find herself short one son by the end of it.”

“Oh, Sherlock, you are funny.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John. “Now, you see where I get it from”, John laughed.

“Well, I would certainly like to see John for a while over the holidays, so perhaps he could stay with us until Easter Monday and come to you on the Tuesday. I will, of course, have to check all this with your mother first, to see if she is happy for John to come over as she won’t be there herself.”

“She’s actually arriving later this afternoon to see the play with my brother. I would be happy to introduce her to you, if you wanted to discuss it with her.”

“That would be lovely; I’d very much like to meet her and to thank her for having John over for Christmas, too.”

“I’m sure she’d be very happy to meet you, too, Mrs Watson.”

Sherlock knocked his knee against John, excited that his plan was going well so far. John grinned at him and, soon after, they left to head back to school, leaving his mum and sister to have a wander round the town before they came back later for the show.

Sherlock and John had actually arranged it so that their mothers would be sitting together for this evening’s performance, to serve this very purpose. They were watching out for them both to arrive. Sherlock's family arrived first so they both went down to greet them.

Mrs Holmes had been so pleased that Sherlock was getting involved in something, that she had insisted that she be invited, even though she had been told that Sherlock only had a minor role. She was happy to see John again, too, having been very impressed with what she had seen of him over Christmas.

"Sherlock, darling, you're looking well, and you, John. I was talking with the Headmistress when we arrived and she said the shows had been very impressive so far; are you looking forward to the performance this evening?"

"Yes, it's all gone brilliantly; we've been having great fun, and hopefully tonight will be just as good. I certainly hope you enjoy it, anyway."

"Oh, I'm sure we shall, won't we, Mycroft?"

"Indeed. I can't remember when I've looked forward to an evening more."

"Well, there's cake available in the interval if that's what you're anticipating, dear brother." The brothers glowered at each other for a moment before John coughed, reminding Sherlock of their purpose.

"Mummy, as you are going away for Easter, as usual, I was wondering whether I might be allowed to invite John over to stay for part of the holidays, please?"

"I'm sure his mother will want to see him herself. I would need to speak to her before any decision could be made."

"She actually arrived earlier today and we met them for lunch. She said she would be happy for him to come after Easter Monday, if it was convenient with you."

"Oh, is she coming tonight, then, how lovely; I was hoping I would get to meet her at some point?"

"We thought you might, so we've arranged for you to sit together. In fact, here she comes now."

John's mum and sister were just coming in to the theatre. John went over to greet them and brought them over to join Sherlock and his family.

"Mum, this is Sherlock's mother and his brother, Mycroft. Mrs Holmes, may I introduce my mother and my sister, Harry."

"How lovely to meet you, my dear; please call me Felicia."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, too, Felicia, thank you, and you must call me Maddie. Thank you so much for having John over at Christmas. From everything I've heard, he enjoyed himself immensely."

"He was a delight, and it was so nice for Sherlock to have some company. The boys tell me they've spoken to you about Easter?"

"Yes, I said I would have to speak to you, as to whether you would want to be invaded, again, so soon after the last holiday."

"Oh, it's no imposition at all. As I said, it was lovely to have him, and he kept Sherlock out of mischief."

"Mummy!"

"I'm only joking, darling. In truth, Maddie, it would be a relief to me to have someone there; Sherlock does get so bored on his own all the time."

"Well, if you're sure you don't mind, then yes, I'd be happy for John to come over after Easter, for as long as you want him."

"He might as well stay until the boys go back and then they can travel together, if that would suit you?"

"That would work perfectly, thank you.”

John escorted their families over to the seats they had reserved, at this point, and left the two mothers getting better acquainted. He and Sherlock went backstage to get ready for the performance. Sherlock squeezed John’s shoulders as they went behind the curtains and grinned down at him; it had all worked out perfectly, and they would get to be together again very soon.

~*~

The curtain rose and Jasmine, as Molly, was seated next to the table with the radio. As she flicked the switch, Sherlock’s dulcet tones poured forth upon the audience and they were off.

The performance was going very well. Everyone made their entrances on time and delivered their lines perfectly. The props were all to hand, when needed, and everything was lit exactly right, and the gasp from the audience when they heard the loud gun shot, as the stage was momentarily pitched into darkness, was very satisfying.

Refreshments were served in the interval with drinks and cakes (Mycroft was pleased to see that Sherlock hadn’t been merely teasing about that) available for the audience. There was also a table of refreshments for the cast and crew in the green room, so that they could also take a quick break and revive themselves.

Sherlock didn’t go to the green room; he stayed backstage, his eyes not on his surroundings but looking within his own memory for something that wasn’t right. Something had occurred during the first half of the performance that was off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. He thought back over everything that had happened so far, replaying the whole show back through his mind. What was it?

The others came back out, ready to re-start, but he was still there, thinking. John came over to him; he’d missed seeing him in the other room.

“Hey, are you okay?” After a pause, he added, “Earth to Sherlock?”

Sherlock came back to himself as he felt John’s hands on his arm.

“Hmmm? John! Something has happened, but I can’t recall what it is I’ve seen that made me think that. We need to keep an eye on everyone. Stay by Jasmine whenever you can, just in case.”

A serious expression fell over John’s face. “I haven’t noticed anything myself. Was it somebody sneaking around backstage?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s that because that would have raised my suspicions immediately. It’ll come back to me, but let’s just be vigilant.”

“Sure. Do you want me to go and tell Greg?”

“No, there’s nothing he can do until I know what the problem is, and he’s busy keeping an eye on everything else, anyway. Keep it between us for now.”

“Okay, well, let me know when you know what it is. I’d better get to my place; I’m on in a minute. Be careful, Sherlock.”

Sherlock shooed John away, but the gesture was softened by a slight lifting of the corner of his mouth, and John knew that Sherlock had acknowledged his concern. John went to wait behind the door for his entry and Sherlock stood behind the prop table, running the performance through his head again; trying to think what had put him on alert.

The play carried on as expected with everything proceeding as it should. John went on and came off again, but he could see that Sherlock was still in thinking mode so he left him to it, and kept an eye on what everyone else was doing.

The character reveal had been made and the cast were on stage for the big dramatic conclusion of the show, and still Sherlock couldn’t think. He scanned over the prop table, to see if something had been removed, but everything was where it should be, except for those props in use in this scene, of course. He consciously tuned back in to the dialogue he could hear on stage; none of it was quite as loud from behind here, obviously, as the actors were all facing the audience.

Wait a minute! That was it, it wasn’t something he had seen; it was something he had heard. Something he had heard very loudly, that hadn’t sounded quite right. He had to get on stage immediately, before something bad happened and things went too far. He grabbed a handful of things from the props table, pulled on the jacket which he had been wearing when they went into town earlier, and he walked over to the front door of the stage set. He knocked on the door, pushed it straight open, without waiting to be answered, and walked over to where Matthew and Jasmine were standing.

“Ah, there you are, Inspector. I’ve just been sent over from the station to do a quick gun inspection. If I could just have that for a moment?” Sherlock took the gun out of the hands of a stunned Matthew, quickly emptied the bullets out and put them into his coat pocket. He took another handful of bullets out of his other pocket and proceeded to reload the gun.

“There we are Sir, all shipshape and ready to go. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be off to check the next officer now. Thank you, goodbye.” With that, he spun round on his heels and was back out through the door before anyone could say anything; leaving them with dropped jaws and shocked expressions.

John was the first one to come back to his senses as he realised that Sherlock must, obviously, have discovered the problem and it, clearly, had something to do with the gun. He stepped forward towards Matthew and tried to bring things round and get back to the script.

“I’m glad that was sorted, Inspector. Now, did you want to finish the point you were trying to make to Mollie here?”

Matthew shook his head to clear his thoughts and recalled where he had been in the conversation. He went back a couple of lines to a clear starting point and started back in; urging Jasmine with his eyes to play along with him. Jasmine coughed and quickly joined in, and soon everything was back on course.

They continued on to the conclusion of the play in fine style and were gratified to receive rapturous applause when they reached the end. The cast happily took a few bows, and then once the curtain closed, they all heaved a sigh of relief at being done.

That wasn’t quite the end though, because as the cast and crew gathered on stage congratulating each other, Greg came charging over to Sherlock and stood glaring at him.

“What the hell was that, Sherlock? You nearly disrupted the whole play.”

“I thought a slight interruption might be better than having to deal with the death of a cast member.”

Everyone gasped. John stepped over to stand protectively beside Sherlock.

“Do you really think Sherlock wouldn’t have had a good reason for that, Greg? You know what’s been going on.”

Realisation dawned on Greg’s face. He looked around at the others, his gaze resting on Jasmine for a moment, before he looked back to Sherlock.

“Really? What did you find out, then?”

“We should probably start by asking Julian why he thought substituting real bullets for the blanks in the gun was a good idea?”

Julian’s feet stuttered as he wobbled backwards, the backs of his knees hitting a chair behind him and he fell down onto the seat. The colour drained from his face, and his head dropped into his shaking hands, as he muttered in a low voice.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Sally was standing by Greg and asked the question they were all wondering. “What exactly is going on here? What’s this all about?”

“All the accidents we’ve had haven’t been accidents at all. It seems that Julian has been trying to get back at Jasmine. Judging by comments made at the Christmas party, and using information John told me regarding events from last year, plus a meeting I witnessed between Julian and his parents whilst at the Four Seasons Restaurant early on today, I was able to piece together all the necessary information.”

“I was there at the meal earlier, too. What did you witness that I didn’t?”

“As always, you see but you do not observe.” Sherlock winked at John. “It began during our first rehearsal when I noticed how everyone was reacting to Jasmine.”

Jasmine gasped at this point. “Me?”

“Yes, you drew an adverse reaction from several people for various reasons, which I won’t go in to now. When I discussed it with John later, he mentioned how you had come back to school last year with a sudden influx of money and influence, after your father settled a case of negligence against a colleague. John knew no more details than that and no names were mentioned, but then, when we were at the Christmas party, you were talking about going to the ski lodge that your father’s company owned. You started to ask Julian if he was also going to be in attendance as usual, but you stopped yourself when you realised that wouldn’t be happening this year. Obviously the reason being because Julian’s father was the colleague previously mentioned, against whom the negligence case was filed.”

“You got that just from the way she stopped herself talking?”

“It was quite evident, John, but I didn’t consciously put it all together until lunch time today, when I saw Julian’s mother tearfully telling him that they would not be able to pay the fees for Julian to finish another term here at Shaw’s.”

Julian gasped and looked stricken at Sherlock, his complexion paling even further, if that were possible.

“I think that was the final straw wasn’t it, Julian? All the little niggling annoyances of Jasmine being popular, and having more money, and still being able to go skiing when you couldn’t, finally culminated in your reaction today. At the Christmas party, you thought you would get back at her by slipping some of your mother’s tablets – which you had taken last time you were home - into Jasmine’s drink. The only problem was she didn’t drink it; she gave it to John after his was spilt. You are very lucky that John has a fast metabolism due to all his sporting activities, and he managed to burn it off quickly, only appearing to be slightly drunk. I don’t think Jasmine would have escaped so lightly had she ingested it herself, as you hoped.”

Jasmine sat down at this point, and was stunned enough in her shock, to allow Stacey to come over and put her arm around her.

“Your next attempt was with the chandelier, wasn’t it? You got to the studio early, before rehearsal, and cut through the wire holding it in place, leaving only a thread. It was a bit risky, taking the chance that you would get your target, but I worked out that, though everyone passed under that spot, Jasmine was the one who stood the greatest chance of being hit when it fell. Indeed, that would have been the case if Matthew hadn’t been so swift in pushing her out of the way, injuring himself in the process.”

Matthew was leaning against one of the tables and his hand twitched, reflexively, towards his leg; the wound had healed, but it was still red and ached on occasion.

“Then we come to today. Hearing the news that you wouldn’t be able to return to school after this holiday, really lit the fuse under your seething anger, didn’t it? I know you’re a member of the shooting club, because I’ve seen you practising at the target range beyond the rugby pitch, when I’ve been watching John play. It would have been easy for you to swap over the blanks that we were given for the gun, for the express purpose of using for the play, as you would have access to the gun cupboard keys. You came back after lunch in a towering range and obviously decided that if you couldn’t be here, then why should Jasmine be allowed, either. You switched the bullets, then just sat back in the wings and waiting for it to happen. You knew you’d be safe for the first shot, as it was done off stage and the gun was just fired up into the air, as usual, but not so for the second one.”

“How could you tell something was wrong, though?” Greg asked.

“I said to John, after the interval, that something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t think what I’d seen to make me wary. Then I realised I hadn’t seen anything; it was actually what I’d heard that had been wrong. More specifically, it was the sound of a live bullet being fired from the gun earlier, as opposed to the usual noise of a blank. I knew I had to stop them before that next bullet was fired, which was why I dashed on stage with that ridiculous story of a police officer checking the gun. In the circumstances, I thought that was more important than letting anything worse happen. Luckily, John knew I’d been worried about something, and he stepped in quickly to cover and help everyone pull it back together, which they all did superbly.”

“Amazing. You truly are astounding, Sherlock. To have realised what was going on just from the sound of a bullet; well, it’s a good job you’re so astute, just imagine what could have happened otherwise.”

“What are we supposed to do now, then?”

“I suggest you make a citizen’s arrest ‘Officer Lestrade’, and then perhaps a word with your father would benefit us. I’m sure he could liaise with the local station and get something done. Perhaps Sally would be good enough to get the Headmistress, too, and we can get everything sorted as quickly as possible. I’m sure our families are wondering why we haven’t been out to receive their rapturous exhortations.”

“Good plan. Wait, how do you know my dad is with the police; no, never mind now; how do you know anything. Sally go and get Mrs Featherstone, please, and I’ll go and get my Dad. Julian, you stay here; this isn’t something we can deal with ourselves. You attempted actual physical harm on one of us so it goes beyond our control. John, Sherlock, would you make sure that Julian doesn’t try an escaping act in the meantime. The rest of you can go and see your families, I guess, but don’t talk about this for now, until we find out what the authorities want to do.”

John and Sherlock moved over to stand by Julian. It didn’t look as if he would be doing any escaping in the near future, though; he had just collapsed in his seat, staring blankly ahead, muttering incoherently
Greg was soon back with his dad, who arrived at the same time as the headmistress. Before they went any further Mr Lestrade asked for Julian’s parents to be brought over as well, to be present during the questioning.

Sherlock was made to go through it again for all of them, and when Greg’s dad had the whole story, he phoned the local police force. They dispatched a couple of officers to take over the situation and take Julian into custody. Julian had made a full confession, when asked directly by Mr Lestrade, so Sherlock and John, along with Greg, his dad and Julian’s parents all accompanied the police back to the station for official statements to be made and signed, before they were allowed to return back to school.

Mrs Featherstone had explained the situation to Sherlock and John’s families and, after assuring them she would ring to let them know when the boys returned safely, they went off to their hotels for the night, until they could take them home with them the next day.

Greg’s dad drove them back from the station and was obviously impressed with what he’d seen.

“That was very clever work, boys. You kept your heads, monitored the situation - though perhaps a little warning that there was a situation in the first place might have been nice - and, upon discovery of the live bullets, Sherlock, you dealt with it quickly and efficiently. You’d all make pretty good detectives, you know.”

Greg turned round to grin at the other two in the back.

“It was actually quite good fun, except for the bits which were dangerous…”

John butted in, “Are you kidding, those bits were even more fun!”

Greg continued, as Sherlock raised his eyebrows then chuckled at John. “All that investigating - I mean, I know I didn’t do as much as you two – but it was really interesting. I can see why you like it, Dad; maybe it would be something I’d like to do.”

“Well, I’d be very proud if you followed in my footsteps. It’s hard work, mind you, and can be quite tough on occasions; but when you get a good result and put away some very nasty pieces of work, it is very rewarding.”

“I don’t think I’d like having to do all that ridiculous paperwork we just had to fill in, but I did enjoy solving the mystery part of the problem. Maybe I could just do that side of it; be some sort of consultant that helps the police when they get stuck.”

“Oh yeah, that sounds like fun, I’ll help you; we can do that together, be a crime-fighting team.”

The boys all grinned at each other and turned back in their seats, gazing out of the windows and dreaming of things that could be…

~*~

Fin

~*~