Thankfully Victor seemed to understand why a meeting was necessary, which proved that his timing for finding out about the relationship really couldn't have been better. Even though he didn't know the true significance of the writing Victor was still knowledgeable enough to help Sherlock and John meet in private during their study hour, acting as a scout for any oncoming pedestrian traffic as the two scurried down the hallway towards the band room. They tried to stagger their entrances, making it seem as if they were not heading in the same direction nor to the same room, though by the time Sherlock arrived he was so anxious to look upon John that he was ready to yell out the door to summon him. Some sort of irritation almost cracked his common sense, though it took only a moment until the door was pushed open once again, this time announcing the arrival of the only boy he cared to see.
"John." Sherlock whispered anxiously, racing to throw his arms around the other boy's neck, trapping him in an embrace that felt more motherly than romantic. John was the only one who could understand this situation, as he was living through the same rollercoaster of emotions. Even being pressed against his chest made Sherlock's anxiety drop away, feeling as though he was understood with every breath and beat of his quivering heart.
"What on earth have they done to us?" John grumbled at last, easing Sherlock off of his chest so that they could hold a proper conversation.
"It must be the witch; we've got the entire plot mixed up." Sherlock insisted, letting his arms fall away from john as he retreated to one of the steep carpeted stairs. He sat down heavily, hanging his head onto his arms but keeping his eyes fixed upon John, watching to make sure he wasn't going to make any unpredictable moves.
"I figured that too. It's not an enchanted woman, it's an enchanted pen. Someone's writing stories, maybe without knowing they're even coming true." John agreed.
"Exactly." Sherlock agreed. John sighed heavily, coming to sit by Sherlock's side and slouching over just as uneasily.
"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse." John admitted.
"Worse, definitely." Sherlock muttered. "Not only are they controlling what we do, they're also publishing it online for everyone to see. Obviously it leaked, if it was ever private at all. This conversation we're having now may very well be printed on our lockers tomorrow morning, and then what? Will they realize we're self-aware, will they begin to trace our movements?"
"No, they're not smart enough for that." John scoffed. "That would involve paying attention."
"Obviously someone's been paying attention." Sherlock whispered. John nodded again, seeming too overwhelmed for proper words. Instead he reached for Sherlock's hand, wrapping their fingers together and keeping the grip tight, as if worried someone would show up and rip them apart just as easily as they had been sewn together. He looked increasingly worried, though in a defensive sort of way. Sherlock could tell now that John was willing to fight for their relationship, even if it did end up making the front of the school newspaper.
"Well, what do you want to do?" John asked at last.
"What do I want to do? Is move out of this school district an option?" Sherlock laughed. Though with a simple glance he saw that John's eyes were dead set, serious and thoughtful. This was not a laughing matter for John, even if the situation was perfectly helpless for the both of them.
"What else is there to do, John?" Sherlock whispered at last, recovering his bravery to try to probe John for his hidden intentions. Certainly he wasn't concocting some plan inside of that incompetent brain of his?
"Well, this stuff only has power if the school thinks it's a joke. The moment we validate it, well then it'll just go away." John suggested.
"Validate! You mean admit to this entire thing?" Sherlock clarified with a gasp. "Haven't you thought what would happen after that, how many of our so called friends would turn their backs?"
"So what, Sherlock?" John insisted at last, turning so that they could sit face to face without having to bend their necks at strange angles. "If they're going to leave then they're not real friends. Besides, the real trouble is over. Victor didn't kill me; your brother didn't call the cops. I mean the next biggest threat is Jeanette, but if figure if you're there defending me she couldn't be nearly as dangerous."
"But what about Greg, and Mike? I mean, no offense, but wouldn't your whole team get all weird to be showering with you after that?" Sherlock insisted. John sighed, turning his head away in some hesitation as if he hadn't considered that factor. Perhaps he was so caught up in the drama club's reaction that he didn't think about his own situation. Sure the thespians could be judgmental, but they were nowhere near as cliquey and violent as were the footballers. What would John do if his own team turned against him? Would he be forced to try out for the spring show and merge with the very group he swore to destroy?
"I don't want to be ashamed of this, Sherlock. It's tiresome trying to pretend to hate you." John insisted at last, squeezing Sherlock's hand now between both of his own, as if trying to push some sense into him. Sherlock smiled, though he didn't feel anyway persuaded. He had much more on the line here, not only from the footballers, but from jealous cheerleaders as well! Who knows what Mary Morstan would do when she found out Sherlock had stolen her unofficial boyfriend?
"I'm just so afraid of what they'd do to me." Sherlock admitted quietly. John sighed, nodding his head once more as if he couldn't dispute the potential violence.
"I know. It's just a thought, Sherlock." John assured. "Just a thought."
"I'm happy that Mycroft knows, and Victor too." Sherlock admitted. "And you're welcome to tell your closest friends, if you think they could be supportive to the both of us. I just don't trust the whole school, not when we're so close to leaving them behind!"
"What's the worst they can do? It's not like we've been at peace before, it's not like you've ever been safe from my friends. Maybe they'll treat you better, knowing now that you're under my protection." John suggested quickly. Sherlock nodded again, though his heart was still settled on his vow of silence. He had spent so long convincing himself that secrets were key to staying alive, but never had he owned a secret so large as this! Was there really an alternative to keeping it all balled up inside of your chest?
"John, let's first figure out who's doing this to us. And after we've taken them down, well then we can admit to the entire thing." Sherlock suggested at last. "That way no one will be wondering if the fanfiction is accurate or what not. We can say it opened our eyes, but to overlap with their discovery would raise some eyebrows. The last thing I want them to know is my thoughts when I'm kissing you."
"Oh ya? Got something to hide, do you?" John chuckled.
"It's all written down, if you would care to read it." Sherlock muttered miserably. "Ghastly writing, taking over not just our kiss but the rest of our lives! It's to the letter John, making me wonder which came first, if the two were not perfectly overlapping at all."
"I've told you before that she's had us controlled ever since that bus stop. It's just started to feel normal; we're confusing her intentions with ours." John admitted quietly.
"She? Do you really think it's a girl?" Sherlock wondered.
"Of course it's a girl. No boy would write this stuff, not in this school at least." John assured.
"Perhaps you're right." Sherlock agreed. "But I don't feel any more confident choosing from our selection of girls. There's hundreds out there."
"Well, we know at least that she's got to know the both of us just minimally. If she knew us personally it wouldn't be fathomable, because then she'd have to take a side and hate the other. So she's not drama, not sports, a neutral party." John muttered.
"And she likes One Direction." Sherlock pointed out. John gave a groan, sinking his face into his hands at the mere mention of his adopted guardians.
"Those absolute creeps. They come to my door every hour on the hour and try to bait me out of my room. I swear they're waiting with a silver wire, ready to choke me to death and mount my head on the wall." John shivered.
"I'm sorry, but I can't take that seriously at all. It's just too funny." Sherlock chuckled.
"It's not! I was kidnapped, literally kidnapped." John demanded.
"I know! Kidnapped by One Direction! How did we not know this was a fanfiction before?" Sherlock sighed, laughing once again as he imagined the initial look on John's face when he saw the band in his house. Oh how delightful this was, how terribly out of place!
"I wonder if we could bait them, using all of this to our advantage? I mean, we know that they love the two of us together, as well as the band...what if we advertised something like that? What if we narrowed down the school's population, concentrated it into all the likely suspects..."
"And caught them red handed." Sherlock finished excitedly, nodding his head along in enthusiasm.
"That wouldn't be hard at all, either. I could convince Harry..."
"Ha!"
"Shut up! I could convince my guardians to let me host a party, and I'll advertise the address but not the main event, to keep the guests limited. We can call it a mixer; try to get both sides attending." John suggested.
"And our author will know the significance, and she'll show up without an invitation. The only neutral player at the party." Sherlock agreed.
"We'll know her when we see her. I imagine this will all end with us hitting ourselves for being so blind." John decided with a little nod. Sherlock's smile began to fade when he considered the feasibility of this master plan, one which sounded so good in theory but nearly impossible in practice. In order to get their groups together they would have to cooperate, they would have to encourage both jocks and thespians to attend a single event willingly! In order for the neutrals to stick out they needed to have both sides at their biggest and best, but how would Sherlock be able to talk his friends into attending a party that was hosted at their enemies' house?
"John, how would we get them to your house?" Sherlock wondered.
"We could always lie. Say it's your vacation home." John suggested after a quick moment of thought, as if he had already been pondering that exact situation.
"No, then it wouldn't be convincing. If she shows up to a house of just you, me, and all members of One Direction she'll know it's a trap. She's run before we can get a hold of her." Sherlock pointed out.
"Maybe that would make it easier?" John suggested.
"Not if she tailors her stories to something more self-aware! If she goes and cuts off our hands, wipes our memories...who knows what power she holds? She's got us on puppet strings, and I'm sure she doesn't even realize it!" Sherlock pointed out insistently.
"I suppose you're right. It'll be one shot for this, won't it?" John murmured.
"How about if you host the after party for our opening night?" Sherlock decided at last. "It could be...a trade off! You convince your team to come to our play, to boost up ticket sales, if I can convince my friends to come to your house for the after party. We can market it as...I don't know, what would make your team show up to my play?"
"If they had the promise of tormenting you they'd arrive." John promised.
"Well I'm not sure I like the sound of that." Sherlock protested with a little whine. "Anything more docile?"
"We could be border line honest, perhaps? I can tell them that I'm sick of this rivalry, and for some sort of charity stunt I'll kiss you at the after party. That can be the reward, with the conditions being all football players and cheerleaders have to attend your play, and all lesbians have to come to the after party."
"Thespians." Sherlock corrected quietly.
"Sorry. Force of habit." John grumbled. "But that's what's on everyone's minds now, isn't it? The idea of us together. We could just make it a little peck, if it has to happen at all. I'm sure she'll show up if she's promised a show."
"You're terribly conniving, John. I didn't know that brain of yours could do anything except play elevator music." Sherlock teased.
"I can think when I need to! But do you like it, the plan?" John muttered a bit nervously.
"I think it's brilliant. We just need to make sure it stays between our two groups and doesn't blow up. We don't want the whole school showing up." Sherlock pointed out.
"If we keep it between our groups then how will our author know to attend?" John wondered apprehensively.
"Doesn't she already know?" Sherlock pointed out. "She very well may be writing this as we speak."
"Then she definitely won't show up." John grumbled.
"Not unless she organized the whole thing. How about this, leak the party out, but not the kiss. That's just leverage for those who would be reluctant to attend otherwise." Sherlock suggested.
"That way I get my public appearance too." John chuckled. "I get to kiss you in front of all my friends, and all yours as well."
"Little will they know we've been practicing." Sherlock muttered, his cheeks flushing up with a red shade of excitement.
"I might need more practice, come to think of it." John sighed, forcing regret into his voice so as to sound a bit more convincing. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but chuckled as he tried to show concern.
"Practice? I think you're right, really. Don't want to make a fool of ourselves in front of all those people." Sherlock agreed with a little nod, feeling John's hand slacken within his own.
"I agree." John muttered, freeing his hands from Sherlock's grip only to clutch at the boy's face, pulling their lips together in a much needed practice kiss before the big show. It was only until the bell rang that they decided their kiss was authentic, working tirelessly to perfect what never needed altering. 

John POV: It was a charity event, that was how he sold it, though as John lingered in the school parking lot at six forty five he didn't expect to see any familiar cars drive towards him. He had said all the right things, selling the idea of his mixer party and stewing up enthusiasm from even his most reluctant friends, though could he really trust these jocks to hold to their commitments? Tonight was opening night for the theater kids, it would be Sherlock's most shining moment, and here John sat in the parking lot, alone and rather dumb looking with his feet scuffing against the dirt underneath the bike rack. It had been about a week since the first of the fanfictions surfaced, and ever since then it was all the school could talk about or even think about. He stories appeared almost as frequently as did homework, and before the week had ended John had read over almost every single interaction he had with Sherlock, starting all the way back to their first bus stop interaction and finishing with their break in night. His words had been published for all to see, Sherlock's stories of middle school trauma, their cuddles, their kisses...thank God the school didn't believe any of it to be true. Tonight they were supposed to be rallying towards their true romance; they were supposed to appear in support of the 'first' true kiss between the school's official Romeo and Juliet. But with only fifteen minutes to go, John wasn't entirely surprised that he was sitting all alone. How far would the jock's enthusiasm stretch, if all the way to a seven dollar theater ticket and an hour and half worth of their time? John couldn't imagine the tension being felt backstage, not only the pressure of opening night but now the added pressures of the entire football team supposedly showing up. Sherlock was probably losing his mind over the entire ordeal, worried that he might mess up a line and be misquoted for the rest of his sorry existence. It was a big night, an important night, and John was just trying to summon up as many bodies to fill the seats as he could. He cared for Sherlock enough to prioritize the theater's turnout over his own reputation, figuring a single kiss between the two would draw out their main aggressor and heal the wounds that had been inflicted during this school's meaningless feud. Tonight had the potential to be the most important night of either of their lives, and even though it wasn't John's job to be nervous he could already feel his stomach churning. What if he messed it up, what if something went wrong? If they allowed their author to discover their self-awareness she could go mad on them, she could debilitate them from ever finding or stopping her again! Who knew the extent of her power, and if it could be used with bad intentions or not? Was there anything preventing her from crippling them, blinding them, or even killing them? Well the solution was simple. Don't mess up, and get her before she gets you. When it's spelled out like that, well it's almost effortless, was it not? It was ten minutes until the curtain opened that at last a familiar car came rolling into the parking lot, the first of a long progression of familiar faces and nervous jocks. John bounded off of the bike rack, jumping up and down on the sidewalk to show his enthusiasm for the newly arrived caravan. There was Greg, sauntering over and looking as if he was expecting a sniper to take him out, Mike with Sarah Sawyer on his arm, holding her close as if to protect her. And even...well, Mary Morstan's convertible wasn't an entirely welcomed sight, though her presence was better than nothing.
"John Watson, you little Devil! So hot for Sherlock Holmes that you had to make it our problem." Greg groaned, grabbing John's arm and twisting him around in a painful contortion.
"You know nothing about decency, Greg." John snarled. "This is going to be a healing project, nothing more."
"Healing what, exactly?" Sarah complained, leaning heavily upon Mike's shoulder and glancing over the last of the lingering crowds at the door.
"The gash between our school! Mike can attest, they're not all that bad at all." John pointed out.
"I can't attest to anything. Just because we played Crazy Eights doesn't mean I'm going to start spending my Friday nights dressed like a fairy and singing." Mike protested.
"I'm sick of bullies, I'm sick of victims. And above everything else, I'm sick of stereotypes!" John growled, shooting a rather accusing glance at Mike. Despite this obvious call out, the boy didn't seem to get the message. He stood firmly to his unpopular opinion, and didn't back down in the face of John's glare.
"He's gone soft." Greg muttered mournfully.
"Shut up!" John demanded, pushing Greg with enough force to make the boy step back and shakily maintain his balance.