There was an awkward silence and Ella started to look around for her clipboard, as if suddenly noticing it wasn't in her hands.
"Well, thank you for coming to the meeting, are you planning on coming back this Monday?" Ella wondered.
"Yes, Sherlock will attend." Mrs. Holmes agreed, shaking Ella's hand once more.
"Ya, um, thanks." John agreed with a smile, just trying to thank her on Sherlock's behalf since he had gone kind of mute.
"Alright, I guess I'll see you then. Have a nice Sunday." Ella decided with a smile, and walked away to put away the rest of the chairs. They were the last ones to leave, the second last car in the parking lot when they jumped back into the car.
"Well that was nice, wasn't it?" Mrs. Holmes asked with a smile, looking at Sherlock in the rear view mirror.
"That was terrifying; don't tell me you're going to make me go all alone?" Sherlock whined, suddenly able to find his voice again.
"Of course silly, it's a safe environment, no one is going to hurt you." She assured with a very motherly, protective tone.
"I'm not worried about people hurting me!" Sherlock whined, as if his mother was just being annoying.
"Then what are you scared of?" she wondered.
"I'm not scared of anything! I just don't want to go back, they're all pasty and they expect me to tell them my entire life and death and life story, it just seems weird." Sherlock admitted.
"I thought it was nice, I think it'll be good for you to go." John assured, patting Sherlock's hand reassuringly.
"It's scary how many people I recognized though, half of them I didn't even realize had died." Mrs. Holmes admitted, pulling out of the parking lot and heading to town. "Why don't we all get ice cream? You haven't had ice cream since you got back." She decided.
"Mom I was only dead for four days!" Sherlock insisted.
"Yes well, it feels like an eternity, and I want to take you out for ice cream." Mrs. Holmes snapped, and Sherlock just groaned, sinking into his seat and looking at John as if searching for support. John just shrugged, trying to tell him that there was nothing any of them could do to chance Mrs. Holmes' mind, so shortly after they were pulling into a parking spot along the sidewalk, getting out of the car and walking into the local ice cream shop. It was very brightly lit, with white walls and white floors, so bright that John actually had to squint to avoid his eyes burning. There were all sorts of cheesy illustrations of ice cream with faces on the walls, dancing and waving and overall being very obnoxious. There were little chairs and tables off to one side and on the other side was a large freezer, displaying about twenty different types of ice cream. There was a bored looking server sitting in a swivel chair next to the register, scrolling through Instagram or whatever it was they were doing. When the little bell rung on the top of the door he got up from the chair with a frown, standing in front of the freezer and waiting while John and Sherlock scanned the selection.
"Well, I don't know about them, but I'm going to have a medium chocolate in a cone please." Mrs. Holmes said as soon as she walked in, as if that had been all she was thinking about on the ride over. John settled with a small cookies and cream, as to not waste too much of their money, and Sherlock wanted lemon sherbet. When they got their orders and Mrs. Holmes paid (John thanking her three times, just for good measure), they went and sat outside on the benches, watching the people milling by and the traffic buzzing down the road. Sherlock sat in the middle once again, John was making an effort not to alienate him from his mother, and they all ate their ice cream silently. Some people walking down the street would do a double take, staring at Sherlock's pale skin and figuring out in their mind that he was one of the dead people. They mostly just kept walking, however some walked very, very slowly, staring very obviously at him, as if hoping to start up some sort of conversation. Sherlock kept his attention completely focused on his sherbet, however, and John just glared at his fan base until they finally kept on going wherever it was they wanted to go. Mrs. Holmes tried to start up some sort of conversation, but Sherlock didn't say much and eventually she just gave up, staring awkwardly down at the sidewalk and sighing. This seemed to be a recurring theme, and John was actually starting to get annoyed with Sherlock and his rudeness. His mother had suffered a tragic loss, and now that he was back he wouldn't even notice her existence, as if she was just made of food and money and that was all he needed. John could never imagine being so rude to his own mother, she's probably start crying and that would be enough for him to promise a whole week of mommy son days. Those had been her favorite when John was little, they would go out for the day to John's favorite restaurant and go to the movies or to the playground and spend time together. Ever since John got older they kind of forgot to keep the tradition going, but that was alright because they had begun to get very busy, with school and sports and work, mommy son days were nearly impossible to schedule. Not that it was a huge tragedy. When their ice cream was finished Mrs. Holmes drove John back to his house, pulling into the driveway and putting the car in park.
"Bye John thanks for coming along with us." Mrs. Holmes said with a smile, leaning over the seat so that she could see him properly.
"Can I come?" Sherlock asked as John opened his door, grabbing John's shoulder as if to make sure John noticed him.
"Sherlock we spent the whole day together, talk to your family." John insisted, shaking his hand off and stepping out of the car. He could almost hear Mrs. Holmes' relief.
"But I want to spend time with you." Sherlock insisted, frowning so heavily that it almost hurt John to say no.
"Come on Sherlock, just for tonight, alright? Maybe you can come over tomorrow." John assured. Sherlock frowned even deeper, but John ignored him. "Bye Sherlock, bye Mrs. Holmes, thanks for the ice cream!" John said finally, and with that he closed the door and walked swiftly into his house, before Sherlock could jump out of the car and follow him inside. John waited at the door, watching as the car backed out of the driveway and back down the street, and finally John could take a breath of relief and head back up to his bedroom.

                John checked his reflection in the full body mirror, checking to make sure the cuffs on his jacket sleeves were properly rolled, making sure his pants were ironed and flat, making sure his tie wasn't tangled. He looked good, he thought, but to be honest it wasn't his opinion that mattered. It was Sherlock's.
"Ooh, you're nervous aren't you?" Harry joked, coming into the bathroom for no apparent reason other than to torment John as he spun around in circles in the mirror, trying to make sure he looked good from every angle.
"Do you think this looks too fancy?" he asked, holding up his arms so that Harry could see his full outfit.
"Where are you going?" Harry wondered, scanning John's outfit as if trying to look for even more ways to humiliate him.
"Italian." John admitted, feeling his cheeks glow even though there was nothing to be embarrassed about.
"Italian, huh? Do you mean Mario's crappy pizza or that fancy place down the street?" she wondered. John just scowled at her, and Harry laughed evilly, as if her terrible jokes were the funniest thing she had heard all day. "You look fine John. Other than, you know, your face...and your personality." She decided.
"Shut up Harry, it's not my fault you're single." John snapped.
"Funny, I never thought you'd get a boyfriend before I did." Harry admitted with a laugh.
"Shut up!" John snapped, pushing past his sister and descending the stairs. There was a loud gasp from the living room and a flash of light, as if his mother had unearthed the camera once more.
"Oh John, look at you, you look so fancy!" Mrs. Watson exclaimed, rushing over to pat down his hair and give him a hug.
"Oh come on mom, get off." John groaned, pushing his mother away and flattening his jacket once more.
"Oh he's not going to know what hit him." Mrs. Watson insisted.
"Are you sure this isn't...you know, weird?" John asked apprehensively, checking his reflection in the hallway mirror once more.
"I think being gay is perfectly okay, your father and I have no problems with it." Mrs. Watson assured.
"No, I mean, going out, eating together, in public. Wouldn't it, I don't know, weird people out a little bit?" John wondered.
"It'll be fine John, just fine. And if people have a problem with it, they can just go through me." Mrs. Watson assured, punching her fist and wincing when her engagement ring diamond speared her palm. Before John could force a laugh there was a knock on the door and his heart sort of stopped, looking at his mother with wide, fearful eyes.
"Well, aren't you going to answer it?" Mr. Watson asked from the kitchen doorway. John had an odd feeling his shotgun wasn't far away. John nodded, forcing his legs, which felt like lead, to lead him to the doorway. He took a deep breath, staring at the door before finally pulling it open. Sherlock stood on the front porch, dressed in a suit and tie with a small, nervous smile on his face. In his hand was a rose, holding it with two fingers as to not spike himself with the thorns. John took a deep breath, trying not to look too amazed and definitely not too love struck, not in front of his family. Sherlock stared at him for a moment with an equally mystified look in his eyes, as if not able to comprehend that John was actually going to be his boyfriend.
"Hello John." he said with an exhale of breath, as if those were the only two words he could force out of his mouth.
"Hello Sherlock." John said with a smile, opening the door wider to let him inside. He looked breathtaking, truly breathtaking. So beautiful in fact that John doubted anyone would have a problem with them being together at all, and even if they did, John wouldn't necessarily care.

                Sherlock met John at his locker on Monday morning, looking solemn. He was wearing his usual formal attire, but he looked mopey, and John knew why before he even got through the doors. Sherlock had been under house arrest yesterday, the whole family went out to lunch and went to see a movie and tried to spend time together. John could only guess that the whole thing was a total bust, considering that Sherlock probably spent the whole time whining about how horrible his life was and how Mycroft probably scowled throughout the whole thing. So when Sherlock finally saw John for the first time in a day, the longest they've gone since he's come up from the ground, Sherlock threw his arms around him in the middle of the hallway, sighing as if it were very satisfying to finally have John so close again.
"Hello Sherlock." John muttered with an uneasy laugh, easing out of Sherlock's arms and smiling a bit guiltily.
"I missed you John, my mother is a complete psychopath." Sherlock groaned, stepping back and admiring John from a distance.
"She cares for you Sherlock, she's not a monster. You've barely spent any time with her since you've gotten back; I think you owe her at least a lunch date." John assured. Sherlock just frowned, leaning against the lockers as John threw the last of his books into the back and shut the door.
"But I'm not supposed to go on dates with my family; I'm supposed to go on dates with you, because you're my boyfriend." Sherlock pointed out, and John gave him a bit of a funny look.
"Are we officially back together then?" he wondered. Sherlock shrugged, looking at the ground a bit awkwardly before kicking the toe of his shoe against the floor.
"I don't know." He admitted in a small little voice.
"Well, we can talk it out later, but now, I'm going to be late for my first class." John decided, holding up his history book mournfully before starting down the hallway.
"Goodbye John!" Sherlock called, standing on his toes so that he could see John's head disappear into the crowd of students. As John suffered through whatever of the lesson he was actually absorbing, he tapped his fingers against the desk and lounged in his chair, trying to concentrate on Sherlock and not so much on school. He knew that Sherlock had another group therapy session this afternoon, and he knew for sure that he wouldn't be happy about that. To be honest John wasn't happy about that either, even though he knew it was good for Sherlock to be with people of his own kind and to talk out his newfound problems with zombies who understood, he had looked so awkward and so uncomfortable in that room the other day that John would simply hate to see him alone. Hopefully that Ella lady could do her best to calm him down, but he would have no friends, no one's hand to hold, it made John sad to think of Sherlock being scared, being alone. God knows he was alone for far too long, trapped in that coffin under the ground. John's small little train of thought was interrupted; however, when the class went silent, and just as he started to come back to consciousness, he realized that everyone was starting at him. The teacher was looking unamused, staring at John with his eyebrows raised; obviously John had missed some sort of question.
"I'm sorry, what?" John muttered, and the class giggled a little bit.
"I said, you have a personal connection with one of our walking dead?" the teacher repeated. John squinted in confusion, and looked around at the eager faces on his classmates.
"Um...ya, ya I do." John agreed, straightening up in his chair a bit awkwardly. He didn't know why this had anything to do with their history lesson, but then again, the teacher loved to talk about current events.
"Some people say that we should lock them all up, says they're dangerous." Said a kid from the back, and there was some muttering in agreement.
"They're not dangerous, they haven't done anything wrong!" John protested, turning back to face the speaker, one of the class nerds, Henry.
"Not yet, but you know about the disease, right? Eating away at their brain? What do you think is going to happen when all of their humanity is gone, but they're still walking? That's why they're called zombies; they should all be put down right now." Henry decided, crossing his arms in satisfaction.
"Are you really that oblivious as to think that they're going to start wanting to eat people's brains? They're people, living, breathing people!" John insisted. "They'll find a cure to whatever that disease is." He added in an unconfident little mutter.
"A cure?" Henry asked with a laugh, laughing by himself because he was the only one capable of finding this funny. "There is no cure, John! That disease is the thing piloting them, nothing else works in their bodies, they're like puppets! If you cure the disease then you kill them again, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to do that to poor little Sherlock." John got to his feet, pushing his chair back so forcefully that it fell to the floor with a loud bang.
"Now you listen here, Henry, they're not monsters, alright? Maybe you don't have one in your family, maybe you don't have a friend that died, but it doesn't mean that you can slaughter everyone else's loved ones just because you think they're dangerous! Sherlock's not going to kill anyone, he couldn't if he tried, so shut your mouth or the moment his brain gets overrun I'll send him to your doorstep. Have fun trying to convince people to kill the zombies when you are one." John snapped, picking his chair up dramatically and sitting back down, staring at the blackboard with his hands clenched into fists.