NEW AND UPDATED VERSION! Sherlock and John are both 16 and have been friends since a young age, and dating for over a year. The writing in italics is a glimpse into the future. Enjoy! :D

John shifted his weight between his feet as he waited for an answer to the door, rain lashed against his face but he didn't move to shield himself with his hood. It hadn't hit him yet. The words seemed to ring in his ears, knocking around his head, but he couldn't accept it.

He knew before they'd been told. He had been pulled from school. Taken to the hospital. As soon as he had seen Harry and his father standing together, hugging, his father's hands clenching until his knuckles showed through his pale skin, he knew. But he hadn't cried, not there. He had left, walking out of the hospital with a façade of calmness. He felt as though he had been deafened, only able to hear the strong beating of his heart. Where else could he have went but to Sherlock's? Home wasn't a place he'd be able to face for a very long time.

The next series of events aren't clear to John. His eyes are blurry suddenly and his legs are weak. He is overcome by the crushing sense of choking. He didn't seem able to breathe. Every time he tried, his throat would close up. The tears were hot against his cheeks in contrast to the cold rain, but John couldn't grasp it, not now.

He was young to have lost his mother, just like so many others.

"Christ, John?" Sherlock's voice is incredulous as he stares at the boy in front of him. He read what had happened off of John's face. Of course, he knew his mother had been unwell but John never was one to pity himself or project his worries onto others. Rather than saying 'a problem shared is a problem halved,' he would reply; 'A problem shared is a problem doubled,' in a giddy tone. Truly, Sherlock had no idea how bad it has been.

"Mu-" John's lips parted as he attempted to speak. Instead what comes out is a horrendous sound as John's voice cracks. His eyes screw shut with a cried sob and he falls forward against Sherlock, who's lanky arms engulf him in a surprisingly comforting embrace. The taller boy struggled to hold him up for a moment, as John could barely support his own weight, but caught himself and wrapped a tight arm around John's waist, guiding him into the house. John's hand tightened in Sherlock's shirt, clasping the material as though letting go would end his life. Sherlock was the only thing that John could process at the moment, he was the only thing that felt real. So he held on.

As the shock began to subside, John is paralysed with the pain of guilt which follows the death of a loved one. He hadn't visited his mother in the hospital much. She hadn't been herself for over a month now. The tumour had infected the person he loved. And like an infection, it was the thing that had killed her. The doctors told John she was comfortable, she wasn't in any pain. Although John would never wish anything else for his mother, the medication allowing this had stolen away his last few weeks with her in a muddle of confusion and sleep.

His mother was the best person in the world. It sounded cliché, but she was the one that had kept a grip on John's father and Harry. He knew that their downward spiral would occur very quickly now that his mother was gone. They both drank too much, and his father's nature changed so dramatically when he did so.

"I-" John's voice is so different, alive with grief. "I-never...S-Said goodb-" his head lifted from Sherlock's chest where it had been hidden, exposing his face which was twisted and contorted. His eyes red and puffy, contrasting harshly with the paleness of his skin.

As Sherlock looked down at him, he felt his own cold eyes stinging with the tell tale blur of tears. Even Sherlock wasn't immune to his reaction whilst witnessing something so heart wrenching. But he had no words to return to John in reply to his own choked ones. Sherlock never was and never would be a comforting or empathetic person.

Naturally, he went with something he knew he had to do. His hands pushed the short black coat off of John's shoulders, letting it drop into a damp pile behind the boy on the sofa. His fingers skirted down the boys chest, popping open the buttons one by one. Honestly, the last thing either of them needed was John catching ill because of wet clothes. Johns eye's rose as Sherlock slipped the shirt off of his shoulder and put it aside, meeting Sherlock's hard, grey ones. Sherlock looked back, but didn't stop with what he was doing. He reached aside to collect a crumpled jumper of his he'd thrown aside earlier and tipped it over John's head. It swamped him, as Sherlock was much taller than his boyfriend. He did the same with John's trousers, leaving the room for just a moment to find some jogging bottoms and pull them on John, before making him lie down, kneeling by the boys head and scattering kisses across his cheeks,

"Sleep, John. You'll need your strength." It seemed like an appropriate comment to make.

It took a long time, but eventually, he did. Grief is draining, after all, and following hours of chest crying, John eventually fell asleep in the early hours of the morning. Sherlock dealt with the business, informing his mother of the situation as well as John's father where he was. Sherlock hadn't expected him to take kindly to it or understand why John was here, and he hadn't.

Beams of light danced across the carpet as the morning brought the sun, which leaked in through the sides of the curtains. Sherlock was sitting with crossed legs on the arm chair by the couch John lay on, his hands steepled under his chin and his eyes closed lightly. How inconvenient; John would be in a solemn mood for months.

"Sherlock?" A hoarse voice broke Sherlock out of his thoughts, his eyes opening and locking onto John,

"I'll make you some breakfast, then we'll go for a walk. You are welcome to stay here for as long as you like, but I wouldn't think your father would be too happy about it." Sherlock's word seem harsh and to the point, but there is a soft expression on his features and his hand reached out to touch Johns, then he crawled over onto the sofa, pressing his lips to the boys in an attempt at comfort.

John was nodding. He understood. He reached out to lace his fingers with Sherlock and sighed shakily, but he wouldn't cry again. He would pick himself up and endure this. Yet, there was something simmering just below his chest. Perhaps he was wrong, but it felt like anger. Towards who? John knew it was illogical, but he couldnt stop the feeling growing.

"Thanks," he replied to Sherlock's kisses, but he didn't say any more about the situation, instead, he lifted himself up, brushing himself down and letting out a heavy sigh, "Did you mention breakfast?" John had never felt like eating less, but he had to try go on as normal, and hope that it healed him over time.

Sherlock nodded, keeping a hold of John's hand as he led him to the kitchen, smiling warily as he presented the horrifically cooked, yet edible breakfast he had prepared. John chuckled, and had never felt so weak in his life, but he chuckled none the less and met Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock caught his in reply and smiled, his grey eyes sparkling.

They didn't need to state in words that they loved each other, that came through actions.

John hid his face as he walked along the corridors, ignoring the whisperers. He could catch his name in nearly every conversation if he focused properly, which is exactly why he didn't, preferring to shut himself off as he walked through what felt like crowds of murmurs staring his way. His throat was tight but he held onto the strap of his school bag until his knuckles turned white, his fingernails digging into the stylishly frayed material, he had to control himself. Sherlock was waiting for him. Then finally he may be able to piece together what the fuck is going on.

He started jogging as he ducked out of the school doors, walking along the field and trying to ignore the rub of material against the red and sore skin of his wrists. He lifted his eyes from the muddied floor for a second and faltered in his steps as he saw a mass of dark curls which could honestly only be Sherlock's. He sighed and cleared his throat to call when his ears caught onto another voice.

Edging forward, John pressed himself behind the wall a little so he could still see Sherlock and...And Victor? Victor Trevor? How strange. John was sure Sherlock had mentioned that he didn't like that boy. He was a year or so older than them too. The boy was built strong, taller than Sherlock, but only by an inch or so. He wore his light brown hair short and stylishly. John watched with a frown as he reached out for Sherlock, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend. His first reaction was to rush forward and smack his fist against Victor's jaw for coming onto Sherlock, but he caught himself on the wall as he watched Sherlock's hand rise after a moments hesitation to cup Victor's cheek, his head tilting in such a familiar way. Sherlock was returning the kiss. John stuttered back on himself, his lips parted and his eyes glazed,

"Sherlock?" he called out.

It was raining. Again. It was like a funeral scene from a cheap movie. One where it was obvious that the only way the director could force some actual emotion onto the actors was by making it rain and giving everyone black umbrellas. John's hand was warm in the touch of Sherlock's but he couldn't feel again. His sister wasn't here. John didn't know where she was. Her best friends in this whole situation were alcohol and sex, which caused her to end up in god knows where. His father was speaking, but John couldn't feel anything but anger in regards to the words he spoke. He should be saying them, because he was the one who loved her the most. Not his father. Never him.

Instead of looking at him, John stared at the wooden coffin as it was lowered into the ground, his grip on Sherlock's hand tightening as he came to touch Sherlock's arm, taking in a shaking breath as his eyes blurred with tears that he wouldn't allow to fall. Sherlock glanced at the boy and sighed, putting an arm around his shoulders. John appreciated it greatly.

The funeral was a large one. His mother was loved by everyone and everyone who entered her life, for seconds or years, was touched by her in some way. So, as the funeral ended there were may distant relatives and faceless friends to thank for coming and accept condolences from. It just made John angrier. What right did they have to be here? The anger was fuelled by guilt, and that was the root of it. He didn't blame any of these people for it, not really.

John hated it, but the funeral was over far too quickly. It felt like a final goodbye but it didn't bring him any closure. As it ended, John's father stepped over to the pair of them, running his eyes down Sherlock,

"Come home, John." his voice was hard and cold, and John couldn't tell if it was only grief that was causing that. He doubted it very much. His father had expressed to him that he should have visited his mother in her dying days. John had shouted in reply, but he never let on that his father was right. Nor that he couldn't feel his guilt any stronger.

John huffed a laugh, his eyes were red and teary but they were angry when directed at his father, "No." he replied, "I'm staying at Sherlock's tonight." there is a finality in his words that his father clearly doesn't react well to.

"Your mother, my wife, has just died and you are being too much of a brat to come home?" he replied in a heated tone.

Sherlock put a stop to the argument quickly and shook John's father off, steering John towards his home. The boy was seething, Sherlock could feel it through the hold he had on his hand, but no words were exchanged between the pair of them until they got into Sherlock's house,

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, removing his coat and hanging it up to dry. John kept his eyes fixed on the ground as his jaw clenched. Sherlock's mother had given them plenty of space and agreed to stay at a friends for the night, and his father was on a work placement in Zambia at the moment. John loved them both, they were so kind. Sherlock certainly didn't appreciate either of them enough.

"I'm fine," John snapped in reply, hanging up his coat and kicking off his shoes, each action done with an aggression which wasn't required. However, he looked up at Sherlock afterwards and a rush of emotion filled him. John had a problem. He was his father's son, and naturally he had some of his traits. One of those is converting every painful emotion to anger. And John had found that there was a sure fire way to relieve anger.

He stepped forward and - before Sherlock could question him - tangled his finger in the mess of curls atop the taller boys head, tightening his fingers them and pulling his head down into a harsh kiss. Their teeth got in the way due to the roughness of it but John took control quickly, slamming Sherlock back into the wall behind him and digging his teeth into his bottom lip. Following Sherlock's gasp, John took the chance to slip his tongue into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock was too surprised to react for a good ten seconds or so, but the sharp nip to his lip brought him back to the situation, and his hands came up to press against John's chest, meaning to push him away. Then the boys tongue rubbed against his and Sherlock seemed to melt back into the wall behind him, his hand scrunching into Johns shirt instead. John's nails scratched against Sherlock's scalp as his lips left to boys mouth, pressing hot wet kisses down his jaw. Sherlock's eyes closed and his mouth opened in a breathless moan,

"Christ, John." he exhaled, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

"We're going to your room," John said, his lips tickling against Sherlock's throat and his hot breath teasing the pale skin. There is something darker and more lustful in his tone than Sherlock has ever heard before. It has him whimpering humiliatingly as he nodded and doing exactly as he was told, running up the stairs as soon as John released him, pursued by the boy himself. John all but threw Sherlock onto the bed as they got in the room, quickly following him and straddling the boy, his crotch rubbing against Sherlock's. They're both hard now, and panting between each breath.

John couldn't speak, he was acting on pure adrenaline and arousal now. Dropping down to lick under Sherlock's ear, he bit the shell of it, his hips rolling against the brunettes. Sherlock swore under his breath and pressed his head back into the pillow.

Sherlock was his love and his distraction. He didn't bother with Sherlock fiddly shirt as there was nothing under it which was of interest to him at the moment. Instead, his fingers ran down the boys chest until he reached his trousers, cupping his hand over the bulge there and squeezing, smiling darkly at the choked moan he received in reply and dropping his head down to mouth against the material. There isn't long that Sherlock can stand this before his hand is in John's short hair, tightening painfully, and a squeaked 'John' is leaving his lips every few seconds. John smirked and untied Sherlock's trousers, tugging them down and wasting no time in taking the impressive cock into his hand, pumping it. His other hand reached down into his own trousers and wanked himself off in rhythm.

It isn't long before John's body seized up as he hit his orgasm, shooting all of Sherlock's leg and the sheets. Sherlock followed promptly.

Wiping his hand on the sheets, John crawled up into the bed next to Sherlock, admiring the red bite marks standing out against Sherlock's pale skin and reaching up to trail his fingers over them,

"Alright?" he asked, leaning up to peck Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock's laugh is rather amusing, and very strained,

"Alright? I'm very good, thank you. That was a rather unexpected surprise." he commented, shooting John an amused smile. John returned it and huffed a laugh, closing his eyes as it faded. It had been a long day, but hopefully the beginning of healing.

Even Sherlock fell asleep quite quickly that night, curled around John under twisted and bundled sheets. Together they would always be safe. But things can change in the passing of a second and all hearts are broken someday.

Thank you for reading! I'm hoping to update regularly, so the next chapter should be coming soon. Please leave a review if you liked it/have suggestions/found any mistakes etc :3