They arrived at the cars after a very perilous trek through mud, cars, and people, and while the sun sank lower and lower they all sat in the back of Sarah's father's pickup truck, digging into their popcorn and sipping at their drinks while they waited for the movie to start. Molly and Greg were sitting very close, talking to each other in low voices, both of them bursting out into giggles momentarily while the pecked at their popcorn like chickens. Mike and Sarah were a little bit less affectionate, holding a polite conversation and laughing a little bit, and Sherlock and John merely sat there, a good foot apart on the railing, not talking and not looking at each other. John didn't really like the spotlight, knowing that both of his friends, his very heterosexual friends, were sitting there and waiting to judge him, well it was a bit awkward. He knew that they all knew it was coming, heck they planned the whole thing, but it was one thing to know about something and another to watch it happening, and to flirt with Sherlock Holmes here, in front of these four witnesses, well it seemed like blackmail for the rest of his life.
"So what movie are we even watching?" Sherlock wondered in a rather croaking voice, as if he were coughing up words just to cut through the silence that was beginning to suffocate them. John simply shrugged, looking over at the other two couples and hoping they had heard the question.
"Honestly no one tells me anything." John admitted with a careless shrug.
"Evidently." Sherlock agreed, and John laughed a little bit.
"It was a happy surprise." John assured, feeling the need to clarify his enjoyment one more time, to be sure that Sherlock didn't have any self-esteem issues while in his company.
"Like a surprise party?" Sherlock offered hopefully, and John just laughed again, nodding in agreement.
"Certainly, just a little bit more, you know, surprise." John agreed.
"I was so nervous that you'd run away, I almost didn't come, but Molly rather forced me out of the house." Sherlock admitted with a small little frown.
"I'm sorry I didn't reach out, I should've written, confirmed that I was still thinking of you." John added again, if they were making apologies then he might as well get that off his chest. To be honest he had been staring at that paper day in and day out, trying to figure out what to write, when to write, and what the consequences were. If he sent a letter out of Wisteria addressed to Sherlock Holmes, and even worse if he got a response back, surely there would be questions asked, ones he certainly didn't want to answer. And then Sherlock would be questioned and John suspected and the whole thing would turn into a huge mess, and so John didn't write, he didn't even pick up his pen.
"I have been thinking of you too." Sherlock admitted in a forceful voice, as if he felt the need to be a little bit romantic, if to sacrifice some of the hard to get attitude that was encouraged on first dates such as these.
"That's flattering." John admitted, not sure what else to say accept the truth. Because it was flattering, obviously, Sherlock had been floating around in his skull since the dance and now that he was actually here, well, it was nice to know that John wasn't the only one who had been preoccupied while they were apart. Sherlock was silent once more, obviously he had nothing else to say, or at least his brain couldn't cough up a simple statement to get a conversation rolling. John knew the feeling; in fact he was sitting in this momentary awkwardness just as speechless, grasping for any sort of word or question to ease this silence. They were both saved, however, when suddenly a great flash of light erupted from the projector, and finally some sort of soda commercials started to play on the large white screen.
"I guess it's dark enough now." Sherlock muttered, and they both craned their eyes up to the sky, just to check. It was still dusk, light enough to see around and to navigate without a flashlight, but in the shadows of the trees that stretched from behind them it was evident that darkness was creeping ever so slowly over the large crowd. Bats and bugs flew ahead in the last of the summer air, and the chattering of the crowds started to die down, everyone settling in their cars for the show. Mike and Sarah had already leapt off of the back of the truck, and so Sherlock and John waited until Greg helped Molly down (being the gentleman that he was) until they had their chance to dismount. John jumped down easily into the mud, while Sherlock sat on the truck and slid daintily off, dragging his poor trench coat across the muddy interior of the truck's bed.
"Alright then, I suppose it's starting." Molly said obviously, meandering her way to her adorable lilac car. John nodded; starting to follow Sherlock to the little black car that was parked next to Molly's when he was pulled back by a strong hand. It was Greg, of course, John knew that before he even had to turn around, and yet there was something of caution in Greg's curious grey eyes.
"Hey, you know what you're doing, right?" Greg muttered in a sort of whisper, glancing over at where Sherlock was loitering next to the driver's seat, too polite to get in and too polite to look back to see what was taking his date so long. John just pulled his arm away, looking at Greg curiously and trying to decipher what he meant by that.
"I mean, I've been on dates before, maybe not with a companion like this but ya, I mean..."
"I don't mean just average date stuff. Do you trust him, fully?" Greg wondered nervously. John took a step back, a little shocked at Greg's daring.
"He's innocent Greg; you heard it from his own mouth." John snapped, feeling a little bit offended on Sherlock's part from the suspicious question.
"Yes but Victor still claims he's guilty." Greg pointed out. "I'll let you decide who to believe." John gaped at him for a moment, trying to think of a simple word to say in response and yet he came up with nothing. To think that Greg didn't trust Sherlock, even after arranging this whole thing, and just now he was being cautious because of pathetic lies spread from an evil boy? So John just turned away, shaking his head in disbelief and marching over the muddy tire tracks to where Sherlock waited near the car, hoping that Greg was considerate enough not to come knocking on the windows in ten minute intervals. He was in no danger, that scrawny kid posed no threat except threatening the capacity of love he could fit in his heart at a time. Who cares about accusations, they were just words, and there had been no harm done, at least, that's what Sherlock claimed... 

 Sherlock POV: Sherlock waited by the car carefully, knowing full well what was being discussed even though it was just beyond his earshot. He was ashamed, of course, that such accusations could even come into conversation, and now more than ever he just wanted Victor and everything he had ever said to disintegrate and be forgotten. They thought him a rapist and what could he do to stop them, to ease their minds? And now that Greg was surely warning John there would be an awkwardness throughout the car, but not the first date kind. It would be suspicion, the elephant in the room, and yet John would never mention it and every move Sherlock made would make shivers go down his spine. Sherlock could only hope that John was shaking Greg off, denying everything, standing up for what he knew to be the truth and nothing more. So Sherlock stared down into the mud, pretending he didn't know what was going on, and waited for the telltale footsteps that announced John's arrival. 

"Ready?" John's voice wondered over the car. Sherlock peered over top of it, but of course he couldn't see anything but the very top of John's blonde little head, and he felt that they would have a much better conversation when the car wasn't pointing out the rather unfair height difference between them. So as an answer Sherlock pulled open his car door and made sure the doors were unlocked before clambering into the driver's seat and pulling door shut. And there he was, that beautiful boy, sitting right beside him, trying to shut his door as quietly as he could, as to make sure to not disturb anyone else's movie. It was almost unnatural to see a boy such as John Watson sitting next to him, almost as if this were all too good to be true. And maybe it was? Maybe John was just a hallucination, and Sherlock was sitting in this car alone, awkwardly interacting with the rest of the gang because they pitied him, or thought him crazy. Maybe John didn't exist at all... Sherlock looked over at John suspiciously, not able to wipe the look of awe on his face as he started to question everything he had ever known.
"Are you alright?" John wondered with a little laugh, looking over at Sherlock with a curious tilt of his head. The laugh woke Sherlock back up to reality, and he nodded quickly, smiling apologetically down at the steering wheel as if eye contact would only hurt his case.
"Yes of course." He agreed in a small voice. "Never better." A loud burst of music rang through the speaker that was sitting on the dashboard of the car, and suddenly the screen displayed a very grainy and black and white image of an old, run down house.
"Night of the Living Dead." John read from the title sequence. Sherlock nodded, trying to focus on the names upon the screen rather than the boy in the seat next to him. He hadn't imagined this to be as awkward as it was, at least not in this sense. He had imagined the whole 'I don't want to be around you' awkwardness just fine, the anticipation that John would hate him or run away and he would be left alone to watch this pathetic zombie movie in an empty car. What he didn't anticipate was the 'I want to kiss you very much' awkwardness, the type of uncomfortableness that comes only to very antisocial teens on their first date, not quite sure what to say or what to do. So they small talked, or didn't talk at all, and yet they knew exactly who was sitting next to them, what was going on, and what wasn't going on. And all the while they were staring at that movie screen from afar, time was being wasted. Sherlock knew that a date with a boy from Wisteria was difficult, he had been in those walls before and knew that they weren't terribly easy to escape. So he wouldn't see John for another week, maybe more, and while he was sitting here thinking of what to say he was wasting his moment with this angel and hiding in a little ball of fake movie enthusiasm.
"How did you get here?" Sherlock wondered, looking over at John with a rather inquisitive glance. John just laughed, shrugging his shoulders and setting his Coke down in the cup holder next to the gear shift.
"Well, let's just say I'm not supposed to be here." John said with a shrug, smiling that sort of rebellious smile that made Sherlock's legs go numb. He hated being so easily flustered, especially when that attraction was so obvious. Maybe that's why John insisted on being so, well, flirtatious, because he knew that Sherlock would react. He was toying with Sherlock's emotions for his own amusement but oh how effective it was.
"No need to keep secrets John, I'm just curious. They barely let you breathe without consent over there, so I can hardly imagine how you managed to sneak out so effectively." Sherlock wondered, twiddling with a pen that he had found nestled in the dashboard.
"Greg's creative, he ties the bedsheets together and we crawl down the sides of the building, like escaped prisoners." John admitted with a laugh.
"You are prisoners over there." Sherlock muttered in agreement, almost forgetting what John had said entirely.
"Well I suppose it's worth it, they say the education is the best in the country." John added, as if he felt the need to defend his school. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head doubtfully and glancing at the movie once more, already lost in the minimal plot.
"They say that at Lauriston too." he pointed out. John nodded, humming with a sort of disappointment.
"Yes well, they can't both be right." He shrugged. "How is Lauriston?"
"Awful. You have no idea how brutal it gets in there, chaos, disobedience, bullying, and it seems that I'm the target for them all." Sherlock admitted in a weak voice, flicking the pen rather agressivley at the steering wheel to give himself something to do. John was silent beside him, obviously not quite sure what to do. The car had darkened since they had first climbed in, and now the only source of light was coming from the projector far in front of them, so that whenever Sherlock glanced at his companion he could only see the pale white glow on John's skin. It made him look almost ghostlike, and if John, who was rather tanned, looked like a ghost Sherlock couldn't imagine what he looked like. Probably beyond dead, like aggressive white light. Sherlock really hoped that John found that beautiful.
"I'm sorry to hear that." John muttered. "But if it makes you feel any better, I'm sure half the boys in Wisteria would rather go to Lauriston."
"That's what they all say, but would they really give it up for public school? I never wanted to change schools, even though Wisteria was rather stuffy I always knew that it beat white cement hallways and chewing tobacco in the water fountains." Sherlock admitted with no humor intended. However John laughed, shrugging as if that was an easy diagnosis.
"Well I mean, I suppose you can't appreciate the main temptation in Lauriston." John muttered.
"And what might that be?" Sherlock asked with his eyebrow raised inquisitively.
"Girls." John admitted with a laugh. Sherlock just cleared his throat, looking down at the steering wheel in shame and forcing a smile upon his lips. He had known that answer would come, however in all honesty he didn't want to hear it. There was a doubtful voice in his head that had been singing all night, something that was trying to remind him that John's love for him was probably nothing more than a momentary obsession, or just a phase. John seemed heterosexual, which was a painful but truthful observation. It seemed almost too good to be true that he would fall for another boy, and here he was, as predicted, gushing about how girls would make him hang up his Wisteria uniform.
"Well yes, I suppose I'm not getting the most out of public education." Sherlock agreed in a small voice.
"I wish you could come to Wisteria, with me." John said rather suddenly. Sherlock just laughed, however, finding nothing charming about such a statement. John was just saying that to be nice, obviously he didn't know the consequences that would befall them if Sherlock was even caught glancing in the direction of those horrible stone walls.
"No I don't think that would work, not at all." Sherlock muttered. John was silent for a moment, his hand midway between where it had been lying on the seat and where his Coke sat, waiting to be drunk.
"Well, I mean, I understand that's rather impossible now, but if everything had, you know...gone smoothly." He muttered in a very forced voice, as if he regretted every word as soon as it came out of his mouth. Sherlock nodded in agreement, watching as a band of idiot teenagers paraded around the empty house, almost asking to get killed by whatever Claymation monster Hollywood would come up with next.
"I don't think anything about wisteria was good for me, I rather think it molded me into the freak I am today." Sherlock muttered softly.
"Stop calling yourself that Sherlock." John demanded immediately, his voice tensing for a moment. Sherlock glanced over at him and caught John staring right back, his hazel eyes hard with determination.
"Why not? I have every right to refer to myself with my proper title." Sherlock debated in a sort of snap. He didn't want to quarrel, he really didn't, but it seemed like he had to stand up for who he was, almost as if he were testing John's faith in him.
"Because if you start calling yourself a freak, ultimately you start to believe that you are." John said flatly. Sherlock sighed heavily, leaning back in his seat and raising his eyebrows almost challengingly at John. Evidently the boy didn't know what to do next, because his clenched jaw slackened and his powerful eyes dimmed momentarily.
"And what if I am a freak? Surely you must've thought that, the first time you met me?" Sherlock guessed.
"A freak is just a title society gives to a perfectly normal person who's not afraid to step out of the shell they had been told to hide in." John protested.
"I'm not normal, John, and it seems now that you're not either. We can be freaks together, there's nothing wrong with that." Sherlock assured softly, flicking the pen loudly on the steering wheel and giving rhythm to the silence.
"Why do we have to be freaks to be in love?" John wondered softly. Sherlock's tough attitude diminished right then and there, and the mere mention of love his cheeks blushed so agressivley he thought his blood vessels might burst. But he had an answer, of course.
"Because we have managed to fall in love with someone of our own gender. That's usually frowned upon, and attempted to be corrected." Sherlock admitted. He felt John's eyes on him, but for the moment he wasn't brave enough to glance back. He just kept his head down, hoping beyond hopes that his curls looked presentable and that his face looked nice enough to keep John's attention. He wanted that boy to love him, everything about him, including his silhouette in this natural darkness.
"Sherlock what have they done to you?" John whispered ever so softly, his words playing off of his lips so quietly that Sherlock could barely hear him over the noise that was continuously bursting out of the little speaker. Sherlock shuttered at the very word, watching as his hands began to twitch around the pen, his fingers losing control at the very mention of the poison they force into his bloodstream every night.
"I um...I'm on medication. They said I'll get better with time, but I don't think it's working very well." Sherlock admitted with a rather embarrassed tone.
"Medication? What on earth do you mean by that?" John wondered in a rather defensive voice, as if he was fully prepared to fight whoever prescribed something like that. Sherlock didn't answer, instead he simply rolled up his sleeves, unbuttoning the cuff of his dress shirt and pulling it up to the elbow, revealing all the bruising of the injection sights upon his arm. He merely glanced at his arm in the darkness, dropping his head down in shame and letting John glance upon the mess he had made of his own precious skin.
"Treated like a freak." Sherlock whispered in a broken voice. There was silence, and he dare not look, but suddenly he felt fingertips, soft, careful fingertips playing across the bruises on his arm. As if somehow, by merely touching them, John could heal the wounds and erase the poison that had been injected day after day. And slowly his hand crept down Sherlock's arm, and his careful fingers interlocked with Sherlock's safely, perfectly. Sherlock only glanced at him, his face contorted into an expression of pure shock, disbelief. John was holding his hand, this was...this was really happening! Their fingers fit like puzzle pieces, their hearts beat in synchronization, he really wanted this, didn't he? It's not some joke, not just so phase, John Watson was in love with...with him!
"You're um...you're..." Sherlock stuttered.
"Ya." John agreed in a small voice, squeezing Sherlock's hand reassuringly and glancing at the movie screen once more.