It was a sunny day, rare in London for such an early time in the year, but amazingly fitting to the atmosphere that filled the busy field. Men, women and all those in between walked alone, hand in hand, with groups of friends, and all bore grins etched onto their lips.
The green grass sparkled and the teen found it to be littered with glitter and confetti as he walked across it. He was in awe of what was going on, everything surrounding him, but tread carefully and stuck to the sidelines. If he had been given permission to be here, he might be less cautious about being seen, however his parents had harsh disproval for the event, and everything it stood for, and so John Watson sat in the grass under the shade of a tree. Alone, lost only to his thoughts as he wondered if he could ever show his true self.
He’d known he had attraction to both Men and Women for over a year now, but after his sister was kicked out for her drunk habits and girlfriend, he dared not speak of it to his parents. If he had to leave home now he would have no clue where to go.
With a sigh he pulled at the grass beside his knee where he sat crossed legged, and watched once more the bustling crowd of people all joyous and caring.
John stepped out of his dorm, ready to join his new classmates on his first day at Avenir. As he walked throughout the beautiful campus, he couldn’t help but greet everyone he walked by. It was enjoyable to interact with his peers. It was at one point, when he was departing with his latest meet-and-greet that John turned, and ran right into the person who’d been trying to walk past him.
“Oh dear!” John exclaimed, “I’m so very sorry! Are you alright? Here–”John offered his hand–”Let me help you up!”
John huffed as he leant against the inside of 221B’s door, saying he’d had a long day would be an understatement by now. After running around the streets of London for a few hours he’d finally managed to escape the unforgiving jaws of… birthday present shopping.
Now something like that may sound incredibly easy but alas when one is shopping for no other than Sherlock Holmes, gifts are a wide and yet incredibly empty topic. After all what does somebody buy for the worlds only consulting detective?
With a sigh at the thought, John tucked the roll of wrapping paper under his arm and shifted the bags in his hands. He couldn’t know if Sherlock would actually like his gift, but it was too late to go back now. Treading carefully he walked straight to his room, knowing full well Sherlock may easily deduce what he was carrying, but at the very least /trying/ to keep it secret.
This was FAR from how Sherlock Holmes had expected his evening to play out; never had he imagined that a couple TYPOS in the beginning of a text conversation would result in him now sitting in the corner booth on the mezzanine is some pub downtown. As CAPTAINJOHN WATSON made his way over through crowds of people like a man on a MISSION to save him from a bit of unwanted company. It was only sheer amusement at the drunken, new money lawyer’s obliviousness ( or down right lack of care ) to his rejections & in how VEXED the idea of said lawyer made his friend that had kept Sherlock from saying something that would evoke a scene. That, mixed with the strong truth that he cared very little about the moron, who had INVITED HIMSELF to the seat he had SAVED for John, to engage with him in a more serious way. However, the texts he had tipsily typed & the redness of his face, told Sherlock that he would LIKELY not have to tolerate this IDIOCY much longer. Besides, the texts that the two had been sharing had proved to be very REVEALING, and he was curious is seeing where further INVESTIGATIONS would lead them.
The DRUNK, who kept referring to him as the barkeep ( but that was due more to the disguise he had been using, and less the impairment of alcohol ), hardly REGISTERED the fact that Sherlock continually looked PASSED him & down on his mobile to send John texts through the crowds. A group of office co-workers out for after dinner drinks served as the remaining BARRIER; a gaggle of mostly female, middle-class with medium pressure jobs, between the ages 25-40 stood between him & salvation. Allowing him to send off ONELAST message & receive a damn near instant reply ( impressively fast, as John’s other hand held the third glass of Whiskey that Sherlock had sent his way ).
[txt: john watson ]: Now, kindly remove this imbecile. [txt: sherlock holmes ]: With pleasure.
Azazel laid curled up, a weak smile on his lips as his hand softly brushed his slightly rounded stomach. That John… even now he didn’t quit the plan to kill the demon.
The pain was excruciating. Azazel had no idea how John’s soul ended up stuck inside him instead of going to Hell, or how did he begin growing. But it happened, and now the demon was carrying his worst enemy in the same way mothers carried their infants.
The new being was absorbing all the energy from Azazel to sustain the new life - his power and his strengt. His essense was painful and his vessel was in constant agony - it’s vitals were reforming to adjust to the… fetus?
And though Azazel refused to get rid of John despite all the cirumstances. Some kind of maternal instinct, or his obsession with children it was, didn’t let him to. He will protect that little creature with his life or death. He will raise his little soldier strong. No, not for Lucifer. For himself. Only for himself, nobody will touch his John.
Suddenly, his gaze shot up, eyes wide as two people crashed into the place. The… Winchesters?