Sherlock saw his opportunity not twenty minutes later; a boy was wandering away from the crowd, off to take a break it would seem, to take a breath. Sherlock could see a cigarette clenched in his fingers; he could see the shakiness of his steps...drunk, most likely, drunk or high or both. Either way he wasn't himself, he was drugged, he was an easy target, surely in this state he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the lips of a boy or a girl, maybe he would even be welcome to both. The boy was nothing more than a shadow moving through the darkness, but Sherlock was quiet and dark as well, mustering up all his courage as he crept along the wall to where the boy was standing, smoking and facing the crowd while the dying light of the disco ball played ever so gently across his unrecognizable face. Sherlock's heart was beating faster in faster in anticipation, and his brain was reminding him just what failure might lead to. He willed his brain to shut up, and for once it actually did so without too much of a battle. He wanted to focus on this moment, the first time in what felt like ages where he could actually be who he was, and get what he's wanted since before he could remember. Sherlock approached the boy from behind, pouncing like a gentle tiger and sliding his thin arms around the stranger's neck. The cigarette fell from the boy's fingers in surprise, but Sherlock was pleased to hear the he didn't cry out, he seemed more confused than afraid. Sherlock pressed his lips to the back of the stranger's neck, just on the brim of the stiff collar of his dress coat. It was a magical moment, feeling the boy's skin under his lips, it was an unimaginable breath of relief, an oasis in the middle of a loveless desert, and he was allowed simply because he was unknown. The boy drew his arms closer, tugging on Sherlock's fingers and easing himself back into Sherlock's grasp, he had no idea, he thought that Sherlock was a girl; he was such an ignorant fool! And yet it was working, whatever Sherlock was doing, he had him tricked, he had him in his grasp, he certainly couldn't waste this opportunity! Sherlock's fingers wrapped themselves around the boy's tie, tugging on it ever so softly as his lips moved around his neck in a careful path, trailing closer and closer to his jawbone, feeling the boy's sharp exhales of breath, feeling his heartbeat churning inside of his chest. The boy seemed completely unresponsive; he could do nothing but gasp for breath and pull his new admirer closer and closer to himself, desperately aching for the love that was being showered upon him from an unknown assailant. Sherlock was quite sure that even if he turned around he would be helpless to do anything but kiss him right back, he was sure that at this point the only thing this helpless boy could do was go on, the only thing he could bring himself to do was nothing at all. Sherlock willed his hands to travel farther up the tie, slowly pulling it loose while his lips trailed up and down the boy's jawbone, his fingers moving to the highest button of his shirt and undoing it with skilled precision. The boy's fingers clenched around Sherlock's, but Sherlock didn't know if that meant stop or continue, so he shook him off and continued to undo the shirt, pulling at the sleeves so that the boy's sculpted shoulder was exposed to the darkness. The boy grasped at Sherlock's arms, his own arms contorted at all sorts of uncomfortable angles as he tried to get so much as a touch. However as Sherlock's lips started to trail farther and farther down his collarbone an unfortunate gleam of light passed over the two of them, a mere morsel of illumination flung from the disco directly onto the loose tie of the boy trapped in his arms. And Sherlock's lips stilled for a moment, his eyes widening in horror as suddenly he realized just what type of boy he had in his arms. And suddenly the boy grabbed one of his wrists, taking this opportunity to gaze upon the face of his lover, and Sherlock found that there was nothing he could do now; he was trapped in the grasp of the boy that surely was going to be the death of him. The boy turned sharply, and for a moment there was nothing the two of them could do but stare. It seemed that even in this darkness there was enough light to illuminate the two terrified faces, and Sherlock stared into the face of a boy who he didn't recognize, an older boy who he had never seen in any of his classes. He was beautiful beyond any point of logic, however the fear that shown in his bright, radiant eyes was enough to remind Sherlock of the mistake he had made for attending this dance at all. Because it wasn't what this boy could do himself that worried Sherlock, it was who he could tell. He wasn't just an ordinary boy, he wasn't just a pathetic peer that wandered around the miserable tile halls of Lauriston Public School, that tie said it all, hanging around his neck loosely and reminding Sherlock that it was all over now. It was a crimson tie, red like blood, shining in the darkness with a sort of finality to it. That tie alone had just sealed his fate, because this boy wasn't just any boy, he was a Wisteria boy. And with that Sherlock yanked his wrist away, sharing one last startled look with that beautiful terrified boy before he ran off through the gym, pushing through the doors and running as quickly as he could back to the safety and security of his home, where he already vowed he would take an extra dose of poison. 

 John POV: The escaped boys snuck back into their rooms sometime around three o'clock in the morning, after the dance had been shut down completely it took them a couple of hours to recompose themselves to the point where they could climb up the makeshift rope without falling to their drunken deaths. John was in a state of confusion, some might have claimed he was simply drunk, but there was something different about this delirium, something that he simply couldn't expose to the rest of the boys. During the dance, God, it felt like it hadn't even happened, it felt like it had all just been a dream, or a hallucination! But no, he was sure of it, he could still feel those lips trailing down his skin, that boy had been there, he had been real, and he had run away! John had never felt such love, such gentleness in the lips of any other human being, all of his past girlfriends couldn't compete with what that stranger had made him feel in that dark dance floor, and yet he still wasn't even sure why. It had been wonderful, breathtakingly seductive when John had felt those arms wrap around his torso, when those powerful hands wrapped around his tie and those lips pressed up against his neck, and yet at that time he had thought that his mysterious lover was a girl. He had just assumed, and now, looking back, shivers went down his spine to think that it had been a boy! Disgusting, revolting, John was so astounded that a monster like that could prowl in their midst and get away with it, a boy, kissing other boys, attacking them! And yet this is what John told himself now, in the aftermath and on the brink of sobriety, he was insisting to himself that that had been his mindset throughout the entire night, he was trying to convince himself that whatever homosexual dared to come up and kiss him as if he was readily available to such criminal behavior would be rejected in an instant. However in the moment, that shocked stare he shared as he realized that his lover wasn't a girl but a boy, a terrified, pale boy who bore a sort of sickly beauty, John was quite sure that he wanted him to stay, to continue. If the boy hadn't run he had no idea what he might've done, where he might've gone, and who he might have taken with him. And why had he run? Was he afraid of being caught, was he afraid of rejection? What did he think John would do to hurt him, and what was the final trigger that made him run off? Surely he didn't think John was a girl as well, so why, when John turned around, did that stranger run as if he was scared of something? He must've thought he was being careful, sneaky even, he probably didn't predict that John would turn around. And why had John turned around, to catch him, to gaze upon him, or to kiss him with his own lips? Well surely it was the latter, yet that had still been when John was under the impression that it was women's arms that wrapped so gently around his shoulders. Who was he, that strange homosexual, and why did he pick John out of all the others? Why would he dare approach a boy if he was too afraid to confront him face to face? These questions all raced through John's mind as he followed the boys up the sloping green lawns of Wisteria, running through the trimmed grass so that it stuck to their shoes, moist with perspiration and spilled punch on the dance floor. Thankfully that single light remained illuminated in Greg and John's window, and the bed sheet rope still hung very faithfully out the window, the breeze blowing it softly to and fro against the stone. When they arrived at the wall they all stopped to catch their breath, shaking out their arms miserably and staring up at the large climb ahead of them. Personally John preferred to climb up rather than down, it was a lot easier to fight against gravity than to try to cooperate with its dominating forces. Greg went up first, just to prove that his rope was once more dependable, and soon he was scrambling in through the window ledge, trying his best to be quiet as he fell onto the wooden floors. John was one of the first to ascend up their little contraption, however he found that as he pulled himself up his arms were quite tired, and by the time he had scuffled his way through the window he was feeling extremely exhausted. The drunkenness and the physical activity were really working against him, and so he flopped down onto his bare mattress, still with his shoes and coat on, and fell into a deep, uninterrupted sleep. 

 John was relieved to wake up without the slightest memory of a dream. Now, that didn't mean he hadn't been dreaming, however it was reassuring not to have to live with the memory of whatever story his brain had managed to concoct in his unconsciousness. John's eyes blinked open around nine o'clock, a miracle considering he had slept through both the wakeup call and breakfast, to see the energetic figure of Greg Lestrade sitting upon his bed. 

"Well good morning sleepy head!" Greg exclaimed with a laugh, prying at the knots in the bedsheets while sitting on top of his freshly made bed. John blinked a couple of times, groaning and rubbing his throbbing head. He was hungover; of course, he knew that would happen when Greg had fed him yet another glass of that alcoholic punch. John let his head fall back into the pillows, the memories of the night banging around on the inside of his skull, insisting that he think about them right this instant. Of course only one memory stood out, and John couldn't help but rub the back of his neck, the very place that boy's lips had trialed not ten hours ago...
"I feel awful." John admitted groggily, his throat feeling very dry and scratchy.
"Well of course you did, they put a whole thing of vodka in that punch!" Greg said with a laugh. He seemed in a very jovial mood this morning, a smile was on his face and there was a light of excitement in his eyes, something John rarely ever saw unless Greg had been with a special someone the night previous. Well of course he had, that's why John left the group in the first place, Greg had picked up some very nice looking brunette about half way into the dance. John could only assume, by the happy mood he was in this morning, that he had gone a lot farther with his date than John had managed with his stranger. Then again, that was probably for the best, seeing as though his strange admirer turned out to be well, a little bit less female than he had hoped.
"And yet you kept feeding it to me." John debated, remembering how Greg kept going to and from the punch bowl only to give John the cups he collected.
"Well I thought it would be funny to get you drunk, however you don't seem to be as much fun as I imagined." Greg decided with a bit of a frown, shrugging it off and whistling a cheery tune to himself as he finally unearthed John's sheet from the tangled mess of cloth in his hands.
"Where did you get off to with that girl?" John wondered. Greg just chuckled to himself; his smile widening and a little shiver of excitement making his hands shake as he untied the knots.
"Oh, behind the bleachers. Although she wouldn't let it get too far, she's a good catholic girl you know?" Greg asked with a smile. John nodded, only half listening to what Greg had to say as his mind strayed back to that mysterious boy at the dance.
"Ya well, good for her I guess." John said with a shrug. "You were drunk?"
"Not in the slightest. Unlike you Johnny Boy, I can hold my alcohol." Greg pointed out with an air of pride. John sighed heavily, rolling his eyes like a disappointed mother.
"You're not even nineteen Greg, that's not something to be proud of." John debated, thinking of all the school rules they had definitely broken last night.
"Yes it is." Greg said with a little chuckle, smiling to himself once more.
"Whatever you say." John said with a passive sigh. Over the years he had learned not to argue with Greg, not that whatever he said was right, but it seemed to be pointless to try to convince him otherwise. So John stayed quiet, and let Greg go on and on about how wonderful this Molly girl was.
"Where did you go then? I saw that you weren't with the group for a little while, find a girl for yourself?" Greg asked with a little wink. John felt his face grow hot, but he shook his head truthfully. He didn't want to tell Greg about what had happened at the dance, he felt like that would be something Greg would use against him somehow, it was best not to admit such an embarrassing fact, especially when Greg was in such a good mood.
"No, I just wanted some air." John lied quickly, blinking for a moment and seeing that darkness, feeling that boy's lips against his skin and his breath against his back...
"You're lying, but I'm just going to nod." Greg decided finally, nodding his head very slowly like the annoying pest he was.
"I'm not lying! Why would I lie to you, I have no reason to lie!" John defended with a bit of an insulted glare. Greg just shook his head, as if he was insulted that John doubted his trustworthiness.
"Well of course you have a reason to lie; you want to keep your little Ms. a secret, just so that I don't swoop down and steal her away with my stunning good looks and excellent personality." Greg guessed with a swish of his head.
"And your humbleness?" John added with a sarcastic smile.
"Especially that." Greg agreed proudly, most likely not taking note of what humbleness even meant. Thankfully it was the weekend, so they had no classes to attend and no teachers to please with their intellect and appearance. John, being the good student he was, spent most of the day doing homework, or at least trying to make a dent in the massive pile that teachers thought was mandatory to their education. As if by submitting their students to the upmost pain and torment of bookwork they would automatically make their way through the real world without a problem. Well John had problems, thirty problems to be exact, all sitting snuggly inside of his chemistry book. Greg spent the day like he usually did, lying upside down on his bed and throwing his stress ball at the ceiling, trying to catch it in his delirium and giggling all the while. He was actually quite coordinated, and he insisted that he was practicing for rugby in his own way, just in case he was lying on the field and the ball was still flying towards him. John knew better than to believe Greg's ridiculous fairytales, but he just nodded along, knowing that the annoyance he felt now would certainly pay off when Greg got in trouble in class for not having his homework done. Except, as if on some miracle, Greg's homework always seemed completed, no matter how much time he wasted during the weekend he never got penalized for it. They stumbled down to lunch with growling stomachs around twelve o'clock, walking like zombies through the dining hall as they got their food. It was easy to pick out the boys who had attended the dance last night, they were the precious few who were falling asleep overtop of their meatloaf, they had bright red eyes and they kept massaging their throbbing foreheads, as if external pressure would ease their internal pain. John felt sorry for them, of course, but he was sure that he felt the worst out of all of them. Not only was he in physical pain but psychological shock as well, his brain still turning over the events of last night and trying to decipher his feelings towards them. Certainly it wasn't too difficult, I mean obviously he knew what he was supposed to feel. It had never been blatantly said that homosexuality was bad, it wasn't a talk concerned parents had with their kids, it was just sort of expected that it would never be practiced in any sane way. It was an unspoken rule, taken to be common sense by now, that two people of the same gender simply couldn't love each other. People had begun to peg homosexuals not as lovers, not as humans at all. They were sick, mentally deranged or something like that, so of course John should tell himself that everything about that stranger appalled him. He needed to tell himself that, otherwise he would be claiming himself to be insane. But what if the majority of humans were wrong? What if homosexuality wasn't a side effect of insanity, what if it was just rare, and therefore pegged as a crime? John's thoughts were interrupted when Mike slid into the seat across from the two, his plastic tray clacking down onto the hardwood table loudly enough that he didn't have to announce his arrival himself. Both Greg and John looked up at him with tired eyes, and yet Mike seemed to be in the best of spirits. John could only assume that he had the pleasure of finding a girl last night as well, it seemed as though the entirety of the escapees was separated into those two groups. The ones who had been lucky enough to have a female companion were the ones smiling and looking relatively alive, the ones who had been lonely, or in John's case, approached by a homosexual, were teetering on the brink of death by exhaustion.