Another month had passed, and still, there was no rain. John and Sherlock had been living together for over a year. Sherlock had long turned nineteen, and John was well on his way to turning twenty-one. They were growing up. Sherlock felt he was a man before, but now he knew it would be a while before that happened. He was far too eager to grow up, and now he wanted to be a child again. Funny how time works on a person.

Unspoken words lingered in the air above their heads, clinging to the atmosphere like heavy dust motes, if dust was composed of lead and sulfur. Sherlock's breath hitched in his throat whenever he tried to bring up the subject. It was undoubtedly the most difficult thing he'd ever attempted.

August rolled around, and John had a break from school. What better way to spend it (and his birthday) than at the Rainy Days bookstore?

But before that, Sherlock took John out to a cake shop where they got to sample all different kinds of expensive cakes and pastries, because one cake just isn't enough. Especially on one's twenty-first birthday. Sherlock loved seeing John so happy.

The pair joked as they strolled down the busy London streets to Rainy Days, laughing pleasantly and skipping a step ever so often. They suppressed laughter once they got in there. After all this time, the store had become rather popular with the college students around the area, as well as a few high schoolers. Sherlock managed to scare them away from where he and John liked to sit, in the back by the window.

They got situated at their special table, and sat around for a very long while. John seemed to be having the time of his life, and Sherlock was simply glad that John was having fun. Before they knew it, the sun was setting, and they didn't feel like walking home. Luckily there was a bus stop down the street from the bookstore.

Sherlock's heart dropped as John went ahead of him and stood at the bench. It was just like that day.

"Oh, you're the guy from that bookstore!"

"Apparently." Sherlock reached into his bag and pulled out the textbook. The man in front of him gaped in embarrassment. "Did you...?"

"Just take it, it wasn't a hindrance to buy. My family is rather prestigious." Sherlock stuffed his hands in his pockets and sat down on the bench and under the shelter from the drizzle.

The words echoed in Sherlock's brain.

It was here that Sherlock changed. It was here that Sherlock decided to look for John, to invite him into his life. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel his blood pump even to his feet and fingertips. His pupils dilated with the adrenaline, his eyes focusing on the scorching orange and fiery red sunlight that set John's golden hair and darkening silhouette ablaze.

Sherlock hadn't noticed he'd stopped to stare.

"Is something wrong, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was silent. His emotions engulfed him for the first time since Redbeard, and he found himself bounding towards John. Their bodies slammed together, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John desperately, hugging him closer and closer, tighter and tighter. He just couldn't seem to get enough. John stammered, hugging Sherlock in return, and then fell quiet as he felt his shoulder dampen with what could only be tears.

They stood there under the bench canopy, Sherlock's tears dripping out of him like quiet raindrops, his body unmoving. John squeezed him tighter. He wanted to ask about what the hell was happening, of course, but he kept silent. He never got to see Sherlock like this. It was strange. Unnatural. Then again, so was Sherlock.

"-ve you."

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's head snapped up ('He even looks good when he's crying,' John thought) and he looked John square in his coffee brown eyes. His voice boomed.

"I love you, god dammit. I always knew I loved you platonically but I never thought I'd love you like this. I've only ever told my old dog that I loved him, because I never understood the word. I never told my mother and father truthfully, and I hate my brother to the ends of the Earth. You, John Watson, you are a special someone. You've helped me in ways I can't begin to explain or exclaim. I love you, with my whole being I love you."

Sherlock crashed his lips against John's, lingering, and then pulled away to scan his face again.

John stared with wide eyes at Sherlock. A single jovial laugh escaped his lips.

CRASH

Somewhere above their heads, the loudest clap of thunder they've ever heard sounded off, and the downpour of the century washed in out of nowhere. Sherlock intertwined his fingers with John's, and they watched the pedestrians scurry inside shoppes as the clouds flung icy daggers towards the asphalt and concrete.

Sherlock dragged John out into it, raising his free hand up to touch those fatal blades that shattered upon contact. He grinned up to the heavens and shouted, and soon John was doing the same. They danced and twirled and sang and kicked the water at each other like children, chasing each other in dizzy circles and leaning against one another when they couldn't withstand it any longer. They didn't know if they were crying because they were laughing or laughing because they were crying. They honestly didn't care at that point.

Sherlock started to think about this rainstorm. Perhaps people were watching the two of them, and they realize that sometimes it's okay to be childish. Perhaps two people are meeting for the first time, trapped inside the same store or cafe or whatever. Perhaps these people will become best friends or even lovers, or both. Or perhaps not, and that's okay too. 

It was strange for Sherlock to be so sentimental about life or simply existing, but for the time being, he was content.

A tiny weed with a white bud poked out from between the cracks of the sidewalk, and Sherlock held John tightly as he looked at the precious little gift the rain had created.

"From the rain, flowers are born. We give these flowers to other people. And from that, love is born." -Unknown

~End~