Counting Stars (Chapter 4)

Titanium

"It sounds like this guy is mildly attracted to you." That was my mother's first impression of Sherlock after I'd gone home and woke up the next morning to a scent of toasty breakfast. I had a fixation of sitting on the kitchen counter while my parents cooked food, my legs too short as they dangled over the edge with my oxygen tank mounted on the tiled floor. I rolled my head back and gave her a perplexed stare. My mouth hung open as she giggled over her shoulder.

"Mom —" I started to comeback, but my father cut me off while siding with my mum.

"Why don't you give him a chance? You never know what might happen if you take things slowly."

"Dad!" I bellowed, alarmed. "First off, I'd like to inform you that I am not gay!"

"Uh huh," he teased, mocking my squeaky voice, "and what's the other thing?"

"Yeah, well, I've known him for not even a full day, and people are already getting ideas." I sighed and leaned my head back against a wooden cabinet, my parents snickering while they scraped some scrambled eggs onto my plate.

"That's the joy of being a teenager," my dad implied, "you get to meet new faces that lit up your world."

The cannula bounced behind my ears as I shook my head to bring up a remarkable point, spit building up in my throat. "You are just trying to get me to go further with Sherlock. You say that being a teenager is about living life to the fullest, but I can't do that because of my downfall."

"John!"

I kept ranting on, somehow becoming angrier with each word, but when I rolled onto the subject of escaping into the world as a responsible human I calmed down. "I will never get as many chances as others because I have a disease. I am not normal." I pointed my touching fingers to my chest, right above where my malfunctioning lungs still carried on to their maximum. "Nobody wants any interest in me because they don't see who I am, what I have to struggle with every day, and how I deal with the universe. If you want me to be a teenager then I need to get out more. I'm stuck in this house for almost eighteen hours a day, sitting and watching boring television —"

"Because you're depressed!" My mom would not disregard the idea that I suffered in life.

I made a distorted face and slammed my palms onto the marble beside my hips. "Just because I read the same book over and over again doesn't mean I'm depressed! Maybe I just like the adventure it takes me on. There are plenty of people in England that don't read altogether."

"Why don't you just enjoy the things you have?" My father clearly wanted to stay out of the heated argument, cause he kept his mouth shut and took a leisurely seat at the dining room table, watching us like we were acting out a dramatic Shakespeare play while sipping his roast coffee.

"School. Cancer. Food. Sleep. That's all I get mum. I don't think you understand that. That is all I'm gonna get." I flat out said it to her face so she'd process it properly. "You want me to have a chance, to be a proud son; well this is the only chance I may get. And sending me to support group is not going to make this any better."

My mother sighed and sagged her collarbone. But she wasn't the first to answer. My father, lounging back in with his army mug weaved between his fingers, understood the message I was getting to right away. And he said it like it was mentioned in an everyday conversation.

"So you're saying you will spend time with this guy? Possibly, get closely 'comfortable' with him? Hook up, share a few, special moments?" He was having too much enthusiastic fun with this. He just grinned and raised his eyebrows, waiting for my socially awkward response.

The strain to keep the smirk off my lips ceased to hold back, and the snickering smile came and sent the oxygen wire digging into my puffy cheeks. "Maybe not…get so intimate, but I'll give it a shot."

"That's my boy!" I winked at him. There's goes my heterosexuality in one open family talk.

And I fished out a little secret opinion that I meant 100%. "He's pretty cute, actually." Going from pissed off to child energetic in thirty seconds flat. I giggled and hopped off the counter, my shoulders rising up to my ears as I blushed.

"And halleluiah, I have a brother that likes boys."

"Harriet…"

"Morning." Trust my dad to end tension in any rude remark.

"So, you got two problems with me now?" I questioned, locking my hands on my hips with the tube in my nose shifted.

"I did not imply anything." Twenty-one years old, her brain was starting to collapse in the back of her skull. The first thing she grabbed out of the refrigerator shelf was a light beer. Harry always made sure it was low in calories so she could have at least three a day. Her drinking problem never got in the way of her daily life; she'd had even less friends than I did, but the amount of alcohol she consumed never deprived her of staying sober. I'm amazed at how she can handle that.

And just to make me feel ticked off, she smokes cigarettes too, but luckily outside on the back porch.

"Well, I'll just throw it out there now, because no one should be afraid to express who they really are with a conspicuous heart. So I'll lay this out nicely for you. Yes I've got cancer, sucks I know, and for the record, sure, I am interested in a boy. But I'm not entirely gay, most likely bisexual."

"Gross."

"Harriet Watson…!" And my mother's got a fire in her spirit. But I spat back too quickly for anyone to stop me.

"Says the lesbian of the household!" I went too far. She pointed a finger at me but the madness drinking gave her controlled her body to shove me, hard onto the floor. My legs crumbled and my oxygen tank yanked pressure on my ears and nose, causing my wrist to bend twisted under my backside.

"AHHHHHHH!" I fell lopsided and not only panicked from my arm but additionally I couldn't breathe. And my sister got a good shouting at as I sat, panting as my dad came to tend and aid me. But I couldn't hear because my ears were blocked and a sort of ringing entered from my right.

"You okay?" my male parent asked, and I blinked rapidly from the dizziness in my head. Gasping, he held me in my arms, and I clung onto his shirt sleeve for support. Harriet left the house altogether and started up the old car, backing down the driveway and speeding down the road to her girlfriends place I suspected.

"Oh John, are you okay?"

"Yeah." They both helped me extend my knees to stand up, adjusting my oxygen tank as I finagled the cannula so it was fastened securely.

"You better watch your mouth too young man," my mother warned, leading me over to the table where my first morning meal was getting cold. "You've got some serious studying to do this afternoon."

I was relaxing on my bed around four P.M. when I got a phone call. From none other than Sherlock Holmes too. I picked up without dialing any numbers and spoke my first word to him that day.

"Bonjour."

"Ah. Tu parles français?"

"A little. So what do you want 'genius boy'?"

"I think you'd be pleased to know that I started reading your book."

I sat up in my bed, the pillows poofing out after I'd left a dent in their surfaces for a couple hours. And I could only come up with one word to talk back with. "Really?"

"Would I lie to you John Hamish?"

"Will you stop calling me that?"

"What's the fun in that? How about 'JH', is that okay?"

"Why don't you just stick with John? That is my regular title after all."

"I like to spice things up a bit John Hamish." I made a little excited squeak on the phone and he heard me, but I covered my mouth in innocence.

"So how far are you?" I piped up, sitting on the edge of my mattress like a jumpy cat.

"They just crossed through Mirkwood and met the elves."

"Jesus, you're that far already?"

"In my free time, books occupy half of my life."

"And what about the other 50%?" I asked in a dazed wonderland.

"Uh, let's see…" He paused through the static of the phone background and considered his thoughts. "Maybe 10% family, 1% school slash support group..." He made a disgusted groan with the roll of his tongue before continuing, "And 1% cancer."

"Only 1% dedicated to cancer? Hell, I'd say it's three fourths of my life."

"Well John, if you're in recovery, I think you would consider the same as well." I counted on my fingers and noticed he left a blank spot in his story.

"You left out an extra 38%," I calculated. "What's that for?"

"Hmm…" He paused and said the next few sentences as sarcastically as possible. It was way too easy for me to decipher that he was fooling around with my mind. "What could it be for indeed…?" His deep voice rose in pitch and dragged in certain sections of his speech.

"Sherlock…Stop messing with me."

"It's for you." The casual tone struck me like a pounding sensation of gratitude, and my palm cupped my mouth as I tried not to squeal in excitement.

Instead of complimenting him too I laughed a little and just shook my head back and forth. "You sly devil, you."

At dinner on Thursday I had my math book set beside my elbow, chomping on a portion of French fries my mom had baked when my phone buzzed and I looked up gingerly to check if anyone had noticed. Harriet was missing for the time being and I reached into my back pocket to retrieve my mobile device. Sherlock was impatient and wouldn't wait till I'd finished eating to text me.

That's it? It ends with them sharing a tobacco jar? I want more! –SH

I smiled at my lap under the table to make sure no one saw. I sealed my lips shut and sent a message back.

I take it you enjoyed the book? –JW

He writes us this whole book on this epic journey, he gets back home to the Shire and then poof, nothing? –SH

I pondered his suggestion before adding a reasonable extension to his puzzled, complex brain.

Why don't you come up with an epilogue or something? –JW

Damn. John Hamish, you are absolutely right. –SH

I snorted a little too loudly to have polite manners. "John, do you need to be excused?" my father wondered. I didn't hear at first. When he coughed, I looked up in a dreamy reality.

"What?"

My parents took my phone until after I'd finished eating, by which point I'd rushed out to the backyard lawn as quickly as my lungs would allow and sat on the fresh scented grass. I called him the second my left foot hit the polished wood on the porch, and I huffed as I went down the couple steps as Holmes picked up on the other end of the line.

"You would not believe the odd little attraction I am stuck in because of one book," he said.

Yep. Seemed accurate. "Welcome to the world of Tolkien," I commented. "Please enjoy your stay." That was just to joke around. "Although I forgot to add, there is a sequel. The Lord Of The Rings trilogy."

"So I've been aware. I find it to be very fascinating."

"I love your extensive range of vocabulary." He grinned on even though I couldn't see him, I just knew it.

"I always try and entertain." His muffled voice was so soothing.

"And you know there are movies too," I provided the information. "The Hobbiton set is still up for tourists to visit."

He was silent for a while before sounding interested once more. "And where might this movie set be located?"

"New Zealand. Halfway across the globe. I'd love to set it, but with my conditions, only a powerful wish could assist me with that."

"Well, I think we could make some arrangements." My cell phone vibrated and I put Sherlock on speaker to do two tasks at once. An alert showed up from surprisingly Molly Hooper with a request to go out later in the week.

"Oh lord," I complained.

"What be the matter John Hamish?" He spoke through his teeth in a catchy phrase.

"I've been invited to go shopping with the ladies Saturday morning."

"Ladies as in…?"

"Hooper and Morstan." I'm not entirely sure why I addressed them by their last names.

"Boring."

"Not your fancy?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Me either honestly," I told him. "I don't think my lungs could handle it anyways."

"Just go."

"Excuse me?"

"For them. You may hate buying stuff, but you don't have to. I promise. It'll just be a fun day. If you need to sit, then do so. They'll understand." I sighed and closed the text message from my other friend. "I'll just see you on Sunday for lousy support group, okay?" Something in his last word turned me on. It was sexy all day long.

"Okay."

His lips made a popping noise in satisfaction. "Okay."

"Is this a thing now for us now?" I asked, amused. "Will 'okay' always be a communication thing only for us?"

"You know it pretty boy."

"Good god…"

"What?"

"Nothing. I just find your outbursts, cute." I openly expressed it. Now he knew I loved him, which was the truth. I was just hiding it from the rest of society.

"Well, I find your face to be adorable." I smiled so wide I rolled over onto my stomach. Absolutely in a little infinity, I had to say goodbye.

"I have to bid thee farewell. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Always."

Going to the mall with two girls, not just one makes me feel wrapped up. Especially since they're both close buddies and people stare when we walk by, partially because I'm a bisexual sixteen-year-old who doesn't look like it and has lung cancer and on the other hand because I'm just casually strolling through a shopping center with two pretty ladies.

They insisted we go to a shoe department store first, and I just put my head in a single hand and exhaled monstrously. But nevertheless, it was a breather for my legs so I could sit while they tried on sneakers, boots, heels, you name it. I myself even looked dashing in a new pair of black converse, but I didn't have the small fortune to afford them. Molly and Mary, I guess the two M girls, figures, came out with two or three pairs each and I only then remembered we'd only been through one store.

It was literally the same routine with each shopping building we went to. The happy females skipped gleefully through the racks of blouses or shorts, searching for some flattering summer outfits. And I'd just wait patiently for them to finish before we moved on. It was only till we stopped for lunch that I was released from the horror, chewing and swallowing a light salad with some of my favorite ripe vegetables.

And when they announced we would be visiting a store filled with bathing suits for women and all sorts of colored bikinis, I had to call Holmes to get me out of the mess.

He picked up the instant he saw on speed dial it was me.

"What can I do for you my fantastic blogger?"

All I told him was, "Save me."

He knew what I meant. Didn't even have to be told twice.

The evening wasn't any better. I forgot there was a lonely swing set behind the house, almost propped up against a white fence that bordered out property. The red bottoms of the swings were flat, and a tiny slide reminded me of childhood memories while I had endless fun outside. It now only came up to my hips in height, but I sat and rocked backward and forward to kill some time.

And then my phone rang. No hesitation whatsoever, I accepted the call from Sherlock Holmes.

"Hey. What's up?"

"John Hamish, can you do me a favor and come over here. It's urgent."

"Why?!" I sat up in a panic and thought he was in trouble or hurt. "What's wrong?" But then I was interrupted by a loud noise hollering over the sweetness of Sherlock's voice.

"What the hell?" I couldn't make out what the madness was over at his home. "Is everything alright?" He could sense the tightness in the back of my throat.

"Yeah, I'm grand. It's actually Greg Lestrade that's having a row right now."

I scrunched my eyebrows and sniffed through my nose tube. Clarify the unbelievable situation, I asked, "Is that what the absurd noises I hear are coming from?"

"The wailing?" Sherlock reasoned. "Yeah. Um, that's just it. It's actually Lestrade trying to sing a sappy love song. Can you please get your butt over here? I can't bear to listen to this for much longer. I know you live like seven minutes away." I didn't even get the chance to claim I would. He probably just assumed I would tag along because, he was fond of me. I was his trusty companion.

And he hung up on me…