John raced up the grassy hill towards Wisteria, knowing full well that all it took was a teacher preparing for class to look out their window and expel him on the spot. The building was obviously alive, there were some lights on in the windows and he could see figures moving around behind shut blinds, changing most likely. Thankfully the rope still swung securely out the designated window and with a quick tug John tested to make sure that it was still fasted correctly to the bedpost inside. When the rope didn't budge he carefully grabbed hold, slowly starting his way up the several story climb with an aching back and an arm that still hadn't gained full feeling. It was definitely the worst climb he'd ever had in his life, a couple of times his shoes, still damp and muddy, slipped out from underneath him and he had to cling desperately to the rope to avoid falling to his death. However finally, by some miracle, he reached the window ledge and carefully pulled himself inside, flopping like a seal on top of the ledge and finally falling face first onto the hardwood floor below.
"You made it." Greg's voice said with a triumphant laugh, and John looked up with a throbbing nose to see his roommate longing on his bed carelessly. John groaned miserably, rolling onto his back in relief and messaging his poor face full of dust and splinters.
"I need to shower." John muttered anxiously, pulling himself to his feet and rushing around the room, trying to find his clothes and soaps and shampoos.
"You have exactly..." Greg paused, looking at his watch and doing the mental math, "Twenty one minutes. Make it fast." Greg warned, and John nodded. He took up his clothes in his arms and smiled rather pathetically at Greg as he raced out the door, his shoes leaving a trail of mud along the carpet as he raced along the corridor. He could almost swear he heard Greg's laughing even as he made his way into the bathroom, as though that mockery was following him even while out of ear shot. Nevertheless he raced into one of the shower stalls and ripped of his wet, stinking clothes, showering to the best and quickest of his abilities and struggling to pull on fresh clothes all while drying his hair with his towel. Then (that could only have been eight minutes, maybe nine) he sprinted back down the hallway barefoot, his feet leaving respective wet marks upon the carpet so that anyone who so much as walked along the hallway could see whatever story that was trying to be told through the mud and shower water. When John finally arrived back in his room he saw that Greg, being the kind hearted soul he was, had left him a stack of toast wrapped in some napkins on his pillow as a sort of makeshift breakfast.
"Greg you're a life saver!" John exclaimed, grabbing a piece of toast and munching on it while he arranged his backpack for the day. His homework had all thankfully been done, and finally he was starting to feel like he wasn't rushing as much as he had to.
"Where on earth have you been John? You looked like you had just lost a fight with a tree." Greg observed curiously, leaning against the wall and letting his feet dangle off the edge of his bed.
"I was down by the stream, Sherlock recommended it." John admitted rather thoughtlessly as he rummaged around under his bed for his chemistry book.
"So you were just splashing around for, I don't know, eight hours or so?" Greg wondered with a suspicious laugh. John sighed heavily, finally unearthing his book in his pile of dirty laundry (ew) and stuffing it into his backpack carelessly.
"We fell asleep." John admitted, jumping back on top of his bed and starting on his second piece of toast. Greg just smiled at him, raising his eyebrows at certain intervals of silence, as if begging to hear more.

"Oh did you now?" he wondered suggestively.
"Oh would you shut up, we didn't...no Greg we didn't do anything!" John defended, although his cheeks turned very red at the very thought.
"So you did nothing? You went down there to the stream, with the love of your life and your obsession, and simply fell asleep?" Greg guessed with a look of disappointment, as if he had thought he could count on John recalling every little detail of his encounter simply for Greg's amusement.
"No I mean, define something..." John muttered rather moodily, crossing his arms and trying to look as intimidating as he could all while having toast crumbs sticking to the corners of his lips.
"Anything remotely intimate." Greg decided quickly, as though he had already defined 'something' a long time ago. John sighed heavily, shrugging and yet feeling his cheeks glow at the very thought of their river romantics.
"Well, it was freezing down there, obviously, and he didn't want to go in, so I kind of tricked him I guess. It was cruel, on my apart, but I pretended that I was going to kiss him so that I could get close and then I picked him up and threw him into the stream." John admitted with a laugh. Greg burst out into laughter as well, kicking his feet against the edge of his bed to show his enthusiasm.
"And he didn't break up with you?" he asked in amazement, and John just shook his head proudly.
"No of course not. And we kind of just splashed around, there was a rope swing and stuff...it was actually pretty fun." John admitted with a small smile.
"Oh come on John, I see that blush, something else happened, come on this is our deal ya? You do all the romantic stuff and I hear all about it because I'm your dearest friend." Greg insisted proudly, holding himself higher as if trying to insist on his sincerity and trustworthiness. John just groaned, feeling as though it wasn't right to recite all of the occurrences down in the water. However it was kind of their deal, they were always one hundred percent honest with each other whenever the other had the miracle of getting a date, and it was only fair that he fill Greg in on everything that happened. Besides John was quite sure that Molly and Sarah would magically know everything that had happened when Sherlock saw them again.
"Okay well, I mean...we kind of kissed, in the stream a little bit." John admitted with a slight smile. Greg knew there was more because he made that little noise of knowingness, egging John to continue his story.
"There's more, come on Johnny." He insisted anxiously. John sighed heavily, leaning his head against the wall and busying himself with his third piece of toast.
"It wasn't much I mean, he just kind of, you know, well he tried to take off my shirt. But do you remember what Victor said in the hallway?" John wondered with a bit of a frown, staring at his toast without much of an appetite. Greg's face suddenly fell, looking at the door as if fully prepared to run out of his and beat Victor up if need be.
"Something about Sherlock taking what he wants, right? But that's rubbish John, surely you didn't..." he muttered, looking at John with a gasp. "You stopped?" he exclaimed horrifically.
"I had to stop, I didn't know what to do he kind of, well I wasn't expecting it, that's all. And then I remembered Victor's warning and I got so caught up in what Sherlock may or may not have done that I forgot about what he was going to do and I kind of just, I got carried away." John admitted in a pouty sort of voice. Greg sighed heavily, leaning against the wall as if he was suddenly very disappointed in John's lack of initiative.
"That's pretty lame John. And you know that now he's going to be all nervous around you now, right? Like you have to initiate everything." Greg reminded him with a frown. John sighed heavily, however it was all he could do but shrug.
"It's alright, like we got over it but still...we spent the rest of the night lying in the grass, covered in his coat because it was the only thing that was still dry, and we kind of just talked about stars until we fell asleep." John admitted. Now that he told Greg he realized just how lame his whole excursion sounded, and by the look on Greg's face he wasn't amused either.
"Woah Romeo, slow down there, looking at stars, are you sure you didn't get him pregnant?" Greg asked sarcastically, keeping a scowl on his face all the while he pretended to show enthusiasm.
"Greg come on, I don't need to be all...ehh... with Sherlock to have fun. I just like being with him." John admitted with a bit of a pout, finishing off the last of his toast and staring longingly out the window.
"And I respect that, totally John that's like a class A healthy relationship but still, are you sure Sherlock's satisfied with that?" Greg wondered curiously. John shrugged hopelessly, who honestly knows what goes on in that brain of his?
"I think he's just happy to be with me as well. I don't think he minds what form that companionship takes." John admitted finally. That was the truth, too. There was no doubt in his mind that Sherlock loved even the idea of John, the promise of his presence, over whatever romantic situations Greg was trying to enforce. There would be a time and a place and yet right now, when they were still but teenagers on their third date, didn't that seem a bit premature? Kissing was fine but whatever was beyond that was a red flag, it meant that it was more of a physical love than an emotional one, and all John wanted right now was a heart that was capable of loving him for as long as he lived. And if to find a life partner he had to splash around in streams and gaze at stars well then of course it would be worth it! It was pure, innocent; it was romantic in its own spiritual way.
"Well then Casanova, we ought to get to class. Your hair is still wet, nerd." Greg added in his moody little tone as he hopped off of his bed and grabbed his backpack from where it sat in a little bundle on the floor. John mimicked him, putting on his shoes and wiping the last of the toast crumbs off of his bed before following Greg anxiously out of the door. 

 Sherlock POV: Okay so there would be punishments, all on different levels of severity, depending on the quality of the excuse Sherlock was able to create in his head. Obviously he wouldn't get away with sneaking off in the middle of the night and scaring his parents to death, but as long as he effectively made his parents believe that he had been with Molly the whole time then he should get away with a minimal punishment. Now he had to make it convincing of course, claim that he was just following Dr. Thompson's suggestions right, getting more intimate? Ew, okay, he was going to have to really go out of his comfort zone with this lie. The very idea of making his parents believe that he had actually been out there at night kissing a girl (shutter) was absolutely revolting but it must be done! For John! Sherlock finally pulled open the front door, expecting that he could maybe creep up into his bedroom without anyone noticing. However as soon as he stepped inside he looked towards the kitchen where he saw three heads spin accusingly in his direction, all with eyes of fiery rage. 

"I was with Molly!" Sherlock exclaimed desperately, holding his hands up in surrender and backing up against the door in horror. It was his father's discipline he was scared of however it was his brother's brainpower and built in lie detection that scared him most of all. His mother would melt as soon as she heard Sherlock's cover story, and yet he had rather expected to only be facing her, not the entire family. They were all standing around the kitchen counter, not eating anything, yet all decked out in their nighttime attire (except for Mycroft, who was never seen without his suit and tie). Mrs. Holmes was still wearing her curlers while Mr. Holmes was forcefully drinking a cup of steaming coffee, as if even all this runaway excitement wasn't enough to keep him awake.
"Come here boy." he growled, patting the counter anxiously with his meaty fist. Sherlock winced, whenever he was called boy he knew it wasn't going to be good. Sherlock nervously made his way into the kitchen, glancing towards his mother with fearful eyes, however obviously there was nothing she could do. Sherlock lingered in the doorway, not wanting to get too close God forbid anything got thrown, fists or coffee cups or other makeshift projectiles.
"Where were you?" Mr. Holmes growled, leaning against the counter so forcefully that Sherlock was worried the entire thing might give out. Then again he should probably be more afraid for his own wellbeing than the furniture's, furniture can get fixed but some bones stay broken for years.
"I was with Molly; I was with...my girlfriend..." Sherlock whispered, the words getting caught on his tongue in disgust. Unfortunately that little word didn't strike any sympathy in the heart of the beast, and if anything Mr. Holmes looked angrier than ever.
"Where?" Mr. Holmes demanded, evidently not amused by Sherlock's attempt at throwing around titles.
"The stream! The stream we went down to that little pool." Sherlock whimpered.
"What makes you think that you're just allowed to sneak out whenever you want? What makes you think that you're somehow above our rules just because you got yourself a pathetic little girlfriend?" Mr. Holmes growled. Mrs. Holmes pursed her lips in disagreement and yet she didn't dare speak out against her husband now that he was all fired up. Sherlock backed into the apple print wallpaper, trying to look as weak and insignificant as possible, hoping for something like pity to work its way into Mr. Holmes's vicious heart.
"I was...I was wrong I'm sorry. Dr. Thompson said that..."
"Don't give me that about your ruddy therapist! If it was my decision I would have that useless woman fired on the spot!" Mr. Holmes roared, and it was all Sherlock could do but nod in forceful agreement, wanting nothing more but to escape and cower in his room.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry yes but she said that I should get out more, with Molly, try to enjoy myself." Sherlock insisted, trying to make it seem as if by breaking the rules he was in turn following them.
"And you were with that girl?" Mr. Holmes clarified gravely, raising one of his eyebrows as if he doubted Sherlock's claim. Sherlock looked at him in a sort of amazed horror, trying to decipher if his father actually knew what had happened or if he was just shooting around in the dark and had accidentally hit a bullseye.
"Yes of course, who else would I be with?" Sherlock whispered weakly, trying his best to try to look innocent, however he knew that it was pointless. He was a terrible liar, and yet only one member of the family was would ever notice that something wasn't exactly right... Sherlock glanced at Mycroft, who was holding himself high and mighty, staring upon his brother with a disgusted look in his dark eyes. So maybe he didn't know, maybe he couldn't tell...
"You could've been with a boy for all I know, disgracing your family and your name." Mr. Holmes growled. Sherlock winced, thinking in horror of what his father might think if he ever found out about John. Surely someone would end up dead, and who that was would depend on who found a suitable weapon the fastest.
"I wasn't, father I'm trying to get better, I'm trying to fall in love...with her." Sherlock insisted in a softer voice, as if trying to convince his parents that despite his little incident he was still their little angel. Their heterosexual angel that had totally 100% been down by the stream with a girl. Totally.
"Go to your room." Mr. Holmes demanded, shooing Sherlock with a simple sweep of his hand, as if his son was nothing more than an irritating fly that was buzzing in his ear for a moment too long. Sherlock opened his mouth before closing it once more, as if not fully able to process what he had just heard.
"To your room!" Mr. Holmes roared, and Sherlock nodded, pushing himself away from the wall and racing desperately up the steps, running into his room and closing the door sharply. Had that really just happened? Had he seriously just gotten away with sneaking out at night, in front of the judicial hearing of his entire family? And they had let him go? Sherlock almost gave a jump of joy when there was a soft knock on the door, not the motherly kind of knock but the dignified sort of knock that was only characterized by one member of the family. Sherlock's face dropped, and yet he stood stone still in the middle of his room, awaiting whatever kind of punishment he was going to receive. The door swung open, obviously Mycroft didn't wait for invitations, and the two brothers stood facing each other, one with an aura of power and the other, well, the other wishing he could crawl under the bed to hide. Good luck guessing which was which.