It's a relief to be out of school at the end of everyday but I especially love walking out of that horrid building on a Friday. It's like an angel comes along and lifts a heavy, heavy weight off my shoulders for two whole days.

Knowing I have those forty eight hours to myself is truly amazing. This week more so than ever before. This weekend, for the very first time, I get to see Sherlock's flat - and more importantly, his bed.

I had to tell Molly that I had a family thing in order to not make her suspicious and to compensate for the fact I am basically cheating on her (not that I consider our relationship a relationship, I consider what I have with Molly as a way to keep a friend). I've said before and I will say it again: She is far too good for me even as a friend.

As we walk and talk, Molly's hand accidentally brushes against mine and I immediately flinch back.

She smiles sadly and frowns at the same time, her face distorting into some weird expression.

We stay silent for a moment, then she speaks up.

"Is it a germ thing?" She asks, glancing at me quickly to check she hasn't stepped over some kind of line.

Really, I should have expected for this conversation to come up. I'm so bad with people.. What on Earth do I say? 'No, Molly, it's not a germ thing. It's a I prefer to fuck my gorgeous French teacher thing..'? Yeah, I think not.

"Uh, I suppose.. A bit. It's more of a... dislike of people thing" I answer after some thought.

"So... If you really like someone, you'll touch them"

"In theory, I guess" Well, definitely, yes but I can't really tell her how I've enjoyed every second of touching Mr Holmes (Sherlock), can I?

Molly looks dow at her feet, a disheartened aura covering her. It's only then I realise that I just told my 'girlfriend' that I don't touch her because I don't like her enough. I become a fish, my mouth opening and closing repeatedly as I try to think of something to say that could possible make this better. God knows what.

"Do you not like me?" Molly asks, in a quiet voice.

"Of course, I do, Molly! Just - er... - maybe not as much as you like me or maybe not the same way that you like me..?" It came out like a question and Molly's face drops further, informing me I've said completely the wrong thing to make her feel better. I'm such a great friend! ..Not.

Molly takes a breath and straightens. He looks me dead in the ey as she asks her next question. "Are you saying we should break up?"

Quick. Think.

Think or you'll lose her, idiot.

"No! No.. I'm saying..  um.. Let's give it time!" My eyes widen as the words come to me. "Yeah! Let's give it time. So, I can get used to the idea.. of us" I gesture between us, watching in relief as Molly's lips twitch into a small, pleased smile.

"Okay, I feel like a total bitch for asking this" I can't help but gasp at the profanity and Molly giggles a little. "But there's not another girl, right...?" She becomes a little more serious now.

A wave of guilt rushes through me then as I realise that Sherlock is unaware of the fact Molly is my girlfriend. I don't even kow what I'm doing with myself right now. Would Sherlock understand if I explained that I see this relationship as a way to just keep Molly as a friend? I've always had trouble getting people to understand my way of thinking - because it's that fantastic - but I hope Sherlock might understand the whole situation with Molly.

He wouldn't he think I view him as the 'other woman' so to speak, would he? (Even though, Sherlock is definitely not a woman. I've seen and touched and tasted the evidence myself.) 

"No" I answer honestly, returning my focus to the conversation. There isn't another girl, that's not a lie. 

Satisfied that I was speaking the truth, Molly nods and our pace picks up to where it previously was. I hadn't even realised how much we'd slowed as we talked.

We're silent for a while, then Molly asks aother question, extending her hand to me as she does.

"Will you hold my hand?"

My brain short circuits and I gape, trying to form a response. "I-"

"Please" Molly asks, almost whimpers.

I nod and look down to her hand. I take a deep breath before I tangle our fingers and watch as our hands fall limply between us. The urge to rip my skin away from hers rising and I want to turn away and empty my stomach on the grass. I'm not even sure why. It's just the way I am.

"Do you feel sick?" Molly asks, expressing nothing but concern for me.

Seriously, woman, stop being so god damn nice. I am a horrible person, please, for your sake, realise this!

"A bit" I mumble, cotinuing to walk.

"We'll take it slowly" Molly says. All I can do is nod.

*

Sherlock's flat (and Sherlock's bed) is wonderful. He lives in London, which wasn't too far to commute each day. A fair number of teachers lived in London. Not quite as central as Sherlock but our school was maybe an hour away so it wasn't all that big a deal. It just meant Sherlock had to get up a bit earlier than the other teachers would.

 As I sit on the sofa, Sherlock sets down two steaming mugs of tea on the table. He hadn't been in long himself and so the flat was freezing and the heating had only just been turned on. When Sherlock had explained that, I made a cheeky comments about removing our clothes and sharing body heat. Sherlock had smirked at that. 

Once Sherlock had sat himself down, he wastes no time in turning towards me and covering my mouth with his own. 

His lips are soft. I'm pretty sure he does use ChapStick or some kind of lip butter. Whatever it is, I want him to keep using it because, God, it makes kissing him all that much better. I could spend all day just kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. Although, I'd prefer for there to be some fucking and sucking somewhere in there. 

As much as I go on about it, though, I know that I'm not quite at the state of wanting to lose my virginity. I know I will and to Sherlock for sure but.. I dunno.. I just want to wait a bit. Get used to all the touching and kissing before I take that irreversible plunge into my teacher's beautiful arse.

After some time of kissing, I'd some how mirgrated on to Sherlock's lap. Thia seems to happen a lot.  Funny, that. 

I pull back gently and meet Sherlock's eyes, my conversation with Molly coming to mind. I really should tell him about Molly, shouldn't I?

A burst of panic goes through me. What if he wants me to break it off with Molly and then I lose her? I can't lose her. She's my only friend that's my age. The only decent soul in the hell named school that isn't a teacher. I need her by myself, even though I'll never admit how much I need her aloud to anyone, ever. 

"Something wrong, James?" Sherlock asks,  pushing back some of my  hair even though it doesn't flop over my eyes. 

"I have a girlfriend" I blurt, instead of the 'can we talk?' I planned. 

Sherlock's brows knit together in confusion immediately. "What?"He asks, sitting back at bit and lessening the contact between us. 

I swallow thickly. "Molly... I, er, I'm kind of in a relationship with her?" It comes out as a question. 

I start to sweat, panic rising and my stomach churning. How could I possibly think they'd be an equilibrium here?! Shit. Fuck. Bugger. I'm going to lose them both. 

"Since when?" Sherlock asks calmly, his face an expressionless mask. 

"Uhh... I'm not sure. I have poor awareness of time"

"Be... Before us?"

"Yes"

Sherlock pauses, studies me closely. "Is this all just some game to you?"

My worry fizzles out and is replaced by angry. What the hell is that supposed to mean? A game?! What kind of person does he take me for? I'm miserble, yes, but I'm not a total cunt. 

"No, it's not a fucking game" I snap, moving off his lap and standing.

The moment he's able, Sherlock's on his feet too. "Then why are you with Molly?" He asks, seemig to be trying to keep his voice in check but failing horridly and raising his tone at me. He even uses the fucking 'teacher' tone and that doesn't do a thing to lower the rage boiling within me. 

"She assumed! I don't want to correct her and then have no friends" Huffing as I answer, I move away from Sherlock, needing the space. 

Sherlock, the stupid french speaking idiot, follows me into the open space. "You're cheating on her"

"Oh, stop acting like you'd be any less of a dirty little secret if I wasn't 'dating' her!" I growl the words, whirling to face him. 

We're nose to nose. Chest to chest. His eyes are cold and cruel, and I'm sure my own reflect his perfectly. It's silent for some time, us just glaring at each other as we build up the defensive walls and square our shoulders, preparing for the next onslaught of words and thinkig up our comebacks to any possible response. 

Then, before there's time to think, my mouth is on his and we're stumbling towards the sofa once again.