For the first time, Sherlock truly felt like his life was the most boring thing in the world. He had everything a common teen love drama would need, a forbidden relationship, a family that doesn't understand, a picture perfect boyfriend, and he was sitting up in his room like a total loser, staring out the window. Not only did he feel bad for totally wasting this opportunity for drama, he couldn't even imagine what Victor was feeling right now. All the poor boy did was invite Sherlock to dinner, and now he wasn't allowed to see him, or talk to him, and had to communicate by scarce letters that were never returned. It was just sad. Sherlock honestly just screwed up the one good thing he'd ever had. Victor didn't deserve this, Sherlock didn't deserve this, but no, of course, why would Sherlock ever be able to be happy? That must be a sin in his maniacal father's eyes. So, when Sherlock was longing on his bed on Saturday afternoon, the clanging of a rock on the window was almost enough to make his heart jump right out of his chest. Sherlock bolted up, looking to the door, which was closed, (he left it closed in case Victor did come) and opened the window. Victor was standing out in the yard with a smile on his face, as if finally seeing Sherlock after so long was like a breath of fresh air. Sherlock, of course, couldn't even get air after seeing his boyfriend looking so happy, and anxiously gestured for him to climb up the pipe. It seemed like much longer of a climb in broad daylight, especially when Sherlock knew his family was right downstairs, probably wondering what was thumping on the side of the house as Victor made his way up. Finally though, he pulled himself up into the room, closing the window and pulling the blinds, leaving the room in a state of semi darkness, making the light from the other window and the lamp the only source of light available.
"Victor, it's broad daylight, surely someone..." Sherlock started, but his words were cut off when Victor took him by the side of the face and kissed him shamelessly. Of course, Sherlock wasn't complaining, his words were definitely able to be put on hold, especially when he and Victor finally got to share the long overdue kiss they'd been waiting weeks for.
"I don't care about them anymore, I couldn't wait for that." Victor whispered, so that no one could hear them, slowly pulling away from Sherlock's trembling lips.
"That's, that's fine." Sherlock assured. Victor smiled softly, pulling away completely and letting Sherlock recollect himself. "But my parents are home, they're right downstairs, surely they'll hear us."
"Turn on the radio. No one will hear us, and if they do they'll just think that you're singing along to the radio or something." Victor suggested. Sherlock smiled, he could always count on Victor to have a plan.
"They know I never sing along to anything." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well maybe today's your day." Victor said with a small smile. He looked like one of those teen pop stars that all the girls swoon over, with his beautiful brown hair and his shining blue eyes, and with a smile like that, it made Sherlock want to swoon as well. Victor walked over to the radio which Sherlock had in the corner, and turned on some weird song, Sherlock couldn't name it, but it was definitely loud enough and annoying enough to not raise suspicion.
"There we go." Victor decided.
"You're going to get me in so much trouble." Sherlock laughed.
"Not if we don't get caught." Victor insisted. He walked over and took both of Sherlock's hands, leading him in some sort of ridiculous stepping dance. Sherlock really didn't do the dancing, he just sort of flailed around and tried not to fall over as Victor lead him around, dancing as if he was born in jazz shoes. Of course Sherlock didn't care what they were doing, they could be cleaning out smelly dumpsters with toothbrushes and he wouldn't mind, as long as Victor was next to him. He wanted to be able to hear Victor's heart beating; he wanted to be able to see the small beads of sweat accumulate on his brow, he wanted to feel the tightness in his lungs whenever that boy was around. And of course, he did now. He might be the one who's heart was beating out of his chest, he might be sweating so badly with nerves, he was definitely struggling to make it look like he was breathing normally.
"They'll hear our feet." Sherlock mumbled as Victor spun him. Sherlock twirled in a little unorganized circle, and once he was all dizzy Victor pulled Sherlock to him, wrapping him in his arms and holding him there for a moment.
"Maybe they think you started to enjoy dancing as well." Victor shrugged.
"I do love dancing, as long as it's with you." Sherlock insisted. He felt Victor laugh, and the soldier pulled him even closer, planting a loving kiss on the mess of curls on top of Sherlock's head.
"I love anything as long as it's with you." He assured. Sherlock smiled, feeling his face heat up.
"You're too kind." He insisted.
"You're too beautiful." Victor agreed. Sherlock could do nothing but blush and try to stammer back a response, but he knew it was a lost cause. Finally Victor let him go, let him get his space and catch his escaped breath.
"Your father is home?" Victor asked.
"Yes." Sherlock muttered, almost in a defeated way.
"And, if he finds me..." Victor asked.
"He'll most certainly throw you head first from the window." Sherlock guessed.
"Alright, that's not as bad as I thought. Let's sit down." Victor decided. Sherlock was a little bit taken aback by that, but never the less he went over and sat against the headboard on his bed. Victor sat next to him, putting a protective arm around him and smiling gently.
"I assume you got my letter?" he asked.
"I did, yes. It made my day." Sherlock agreed.
"Will I be getting a response?" Victor asked.
"Certainly, but how would I get it to you?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, you can always slip it into my locker, or my letterbox. Mrs. Turner knows well enough not to open my mail." Victor shrugged.
"I will most certainly send you that." Sherlock agreed.
"Good, I always love to hear from you." Victor agreed. Sherlock took a deep breath and tested his luck, leaning ever so slightly against Victor's shoulder. His action, of course, wasn't shot down, but Victor didn't do anything to acknowledge it, so Sherlock was sure that he had gotten away with it.
"I'm sorry I got in trouble, I should've told you that I was breaking the rules." Sherlock sighed.
"Just the fact that you were there is enough for me." Victor assured.
"How? I mean, I know it was a fabulous evening, but now we'll never have another night like that again, because I was being stupid and selfish." Sherlock pointed out.
"Then it's a good thing that we enjoyed it while we can." Victor insisted with a smile. Sherlock nodded shyly, staring at the wall in front of him and searching his brain desperately for something to say.
"I really love spending time with you." Sherlock muttered, which was probably the cheesiest and obvious thing he could ever have said.
"And I love you, so I guess it fits, doesn't it?" Victor asked.
"If you don't mind, I mean, you don't have to answer, but, why me? Honestly Victor, you could have whatever girl, whatever guy, anyone you want, they'd fall in love with you instantly, I just don't understand why me?" Sherlock asked. Victor smiled sadly down at Sherlock, as if upset that he couldn't see his full potential.
"Have you ever considered that you're favorable to every other living person on this planet?" Victor asked. Sherlock blushed so badly that he was sure Victor needed to apply a coat of sunscreen just so he didn't get burned.
"I never thought of myself like that." Sherlock muttered.
"Well, I have. I have a lot since I met you. It's not like that time in the field was on impulse, well, everything didn't go exactly to plan, but I knew that if I ever was in a position where I could finally tell you how I truly feel, I would. I had spent days thinking about you, you were the only thing that was ever on my mind, how truly adorable you were, how nervous, how beautiful, I knew from the moment I met you that the two of us had to be more than acquaintances, more than friends, because I think that, by some miracle, we were meant to run into each other on that street." Victor admitted. Sherlock seemed at a loss for words, gaping at Victor like a fish out of the water.
"You, you thought about me?" Sherlock asked.
"I still do think about you." Victor insisted.
"I thought about you as well, I didn't know why, but I did. That was still when I didn't know how deep my interest in you went." Sherlock admitted.
"How deep is it now?" Victor asked.
"I found oil." Sherlock said with a small smile. Victor laughed, kissing Sherlock's nose playfully.
"You're a lovely human being Sherlock." He decided.
"As are you." Sherlock agreed. Victor's carefree expression dissolved at once, and he perked up like a prairie dog, looking around for danger.
"Did you hear that?" he whispered nervously. Sherlock listened as well, and he knew at once what scared Victor so much. Footsteps.
"In the closet!" Sherlock hissed, pushing Victor off his bed. The boy was just able to close the door when Sherlock's bedroom door opened, and Mr. Holmes stood scowling in the doorway.
"What is that horrible screeching?" he growled.
"It's music." Sherlock insisted, ending his sentence there. He could, of course, throw in a few choice words, but he only wanted that troll to get out of his room.
"Well turn it off, it's killing my ears." Mr. Holmes decided. That's not the music, that's the beer. Sherlock sighed, reaching over to the dresser and turning the music off.
"There." He muttered. Happy? Mr. Holmes looked around suspiciously, as if he could smell the fear radiating off of Sherlock. If he looked in the closet, what would happen? Would Victor be a good enough hider to avoid detection? Would he just run so that Mr. Holmes would be too started to hurt him? Would Mr. Holmes simply snap his neck, right then and there, in Sherlock's closet? All of these thoughts were running through Sherlock's head, but instead Mr. Holmes looked somewhat satisfied and closed the door with a snap. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief, and once the footsteps of his father's retreating shuffle had long since ceased, Sherlock finally got the nerve to open his closet door.
"That was close." Victor decided in a nervous whisper.
"That was indeed." Sherlock agreed.
"I'm guessing you're going to insist that I go, and that it's not safe for me right now?" Victor asked.
"Sorry to say, but you took the words right out of my mouth." Sherlock admitted.
"I was afraid you'd say that." Victor sighed.
"It's not like I don't want to spend time with you, I do, of course I do, it's just, I don't want to get caught. And I know you don't want to be caught either." Sherlock insisted.
"Alright, I'll go, but I'm coming back." Victor insisted.
"When?" Sherlock asked hopefully.
"Whenever I think I can. Expect me." Victor decided.
"I'll keep the window unlocked." Sherlock agreed.
"So if you're not home I can just stay here?" Victor asked.
"If you want to, I wouldn't have a problem with it." Sherlock shrugged.
"I'll keep it in mind." Victor decided. Sherlock just laughed, leading Victor over to the window and opening it.
"Be safe Victor, really, I can't have you hurt, not now." Sherlock insisted.
"And you my love." Victor agreed, planting a final farewell kiss onto Sherlock's lips before descending down the ladder with ease.                                                                                                                                  

         True to his word, Victor showed up unannounced for the next couple of weeks, slipping love letters into Sherlock's locker when he wasn't looking, and smiling at him through the hallways. But they never truly talked in school, they never got to share an ice cream on the street corner, never got to attend school dances together, or get couple's discounts in restaurants. In fact, they only made true contact in the privacy of Sherlock's room, when no one was looking, no one was listening, and no one knew. No one could ever know. His punishment was nearly unbearable, and the months of October, November, December, and January wasted away as if nothing really mattered. Christmas came and went, New Years was spent alone since Sherlock was expected to wear stupid crowns and drink bubbly juice at midnight with his family, and he watched the snow fall with hate. Snow was the curse to his secret relationship, yes, it may be pretty, perfect for romantic sleigh rides through the woods, but, in his case, the only thing snow did was leave footprints. Victor only made that mistake once, and Sherlock had to go outside before anyone woke up and clear the footprints, having to explain to his mother that he had accidently dropped something out his window while trying to feel the temperature. It was a weak argument, of course, but apparently his mother wasn't really trying to punish him, and therefore let Sherlock's pathetic cover-up slide. February was finally upon them, and usually people thought that it was great, spring was close, Valentine's day was approaching, spirits were still high and New Year's resolutions still in action. But for Sherlock and Victor, February was the calm before the storm, the hateful silence that they had to endure, pretending that nothing was coming, pretending like they still had an eternity to spend together, when in fact their time was limited, it was scarce. Victor's deployment was rapidly approaching; March 15th was when he officially left the town, left Sherlock, left Mrs. Turner, left everything to go fight for his country. Sherlock dared not bring it up; he didn't want to sound like he didn't appreciate Victor's dedication to Britain. Of course Victor was still looking forward to it; there was no reason he shouldn't be. He was probably just as excited, probably cleaning his gun right now, counting down the days on a military calendar hanging in his room. Sherlock, however, couldn't stand the thought of Victor leaving. Now that Sherlock had finally gotten the taste of companionship, he never wanted to let him go, he never wanted to see Victor leave him, possibly never to return, he didn't want to see Victor's retreating back and know that it might be the last time he ever saw the boy again. It was all too painful for Sherlock to even comprehend, the dream he had about Victor dying was getting all too real, and soon he'd be staring out the window not at the yard, but at the road, hoping that maybe he'd see a military vehicle dropping Victor back off where he belonged. Or maybe he'd see a hearse, and the last he'd see of his boyfriend would be his cold, dead face being lowered into a grave. And as the weeks went on, Sherlock knew that surely, after months of being on lockdown, that maybe he might be able to pull some extra slack, be able to be free, possibly even get permission to see Victor again. That was precisely what was on his mind as Sherlock sat down for dinner. It was a cold February day, there were small flakes of snow scattering through the wind, collecting more and more outside on the ground. They were having hot vegetable soup, which was perfect for the type of day it was outside. But Sherlock was too focused on what he was about to ask than what was steaming in his bowl.
"So, father." He muttered, looking at Mr. Holmes, who looked up in annoyance, just about to take his first bite of soup.
"Sherlock." He grunted.
"It's been, well, it's been months since I went to Victor's house, and I was thinking that maybe it would be an appropriate time to let me free?" Sherlock asked in a pleading tone.
"Why should I do that?" he asked, taking a sloppy bite of soup and glaring at his son.
"Well, Victor gets deployed sometime in March, and I haven't seen him forever, I just want to spend some more time with him before he has to leave." Sherlock muttered.
"I thought I said that I didn't want to see him again?" Mr. Holmes asked.
"And you won't, of course not. I'll go to his house, or we'll go to town, you don't have to see him, he won't come here at all, and if he does we'll just go outside, or up in my room." Sherlock suggested.
"I thought a couple of months might have done you some good, got that pathetic soldier out of our lives for good." Mr. Holmes insisted.
"And he is, at least, out of your life." Sherlock defended.
"I think that's a good idea, Sherlock only has a month and a half to spend with his new friend, I think it's only fair that you let him." Mrs. Holmes decided.
"It's only a month and a half, and then he'll be gone, he won't be back for a good three years, not until the war is over. You'll never have to see him again." Sherlock insisted. Mr. Holmes sighed, taking another thoughtful bite of his soup as if it were some enormous decision.
"Well, I guess if I don't see him, and you stay on your best behavior, that I'll allow it." he sighed. Sherlock tried not to look too excited; he tried not to look as if that ruling had just given his life whole new meaning.
"Thank you! Thank you so much, that's very kind of you." Sherlock said happily.
"Make sure I don't regret it." Mr. Holmes warned.
"Of course, I would never." Sherlock assured.
"Good." Mr. Holmes muttered. That was the end of that conversation.