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The Wall had been around for as long as the students of St. Bart's could remember. Originally a blank expanse about six feet wide, the white paint was nearly eclipsed by black scribbles. Students whose parents attended St Bart's often heard stories of The Wall during their time at school, and more than one student confirmed that their grandparents had also used The Wall. The faculty had given up the fight long ago; the only maintenance they did any more involved painting over the scribbles at the end of the year, letting students start fresh the next school year.
When John had arrived at Bart's two years previous, he had been flattered to find his name pop up on the wall almost immediately. Of course, this earned him a bit of a reputation with his new rugby team that he certainly didn't earn. But, like all things new, the novelty of John faded and so did the wild gossip.
That wasn't to say that John didn't find his name on the wall anymore. Occasionally he would spot his name between random doodles, but it wasn't as often anymore.
And it was never written in the handwriting he wanted, anyway.
John slung his rucksack over his shoulders as made his way up the steps to St Bart's entrance. Though classes started over two weeks ago, the building still smelled beginning-of-the-school-year fresh. The Wall was covered in fresh graffiti, mostly doodles at this point. John smiled to himself as he walked past The Wall, remembering vividly how he had made his own confession last year.
Snagging a paint brush and a cup full of black paint from the art department had been easy. He had timed it well, so that the entire school would be dismissed as he was finishing up his masterpiece.
'John Watson is Bi' was painted in proud black, the letters larger than life as it covered the entire expanse of The Wall. When John was certain enough people had seen the message, he gave them a cheeky wave and disappeared, glad that he had a summer between him and his next classes.
Thankfully, his fellow classmates took the news even better than he had hoped. His rugby mates voted him captain unanimously, and some had even made it their personal mission to find him his first boyfriend.
John smiled to himself as he made his way to class, waving in greeting as he went. As great as all of that was, he didn't consider it to be his greatest accomplishment of this year. No, the best thing that happened so far was his blind luck in lab partners.
Sherlock Holmes was one year younger, and about a thousand times smarter than John. Not that John needed help during lab, but his rather easy on the eyes table mate made the experience so much better.
Not that John could get more than a few words out of Sherlock. He'd been trying to strike up a conversation ever since Sherlock dropped several books on John's head during his first year at St Bart's.
It had been entirely accidental, John was sure, but Sherlock avoided John like the plague anyway. But now that Sherlock was stuck being his lab partner, maybe he would be able to make some headway and convince Sherlock that John wasn't all bad.
John entered the lab, pleased to see that Sherlock was already there. Unable to keep the grin off his face, he plopped down next to Sherlock, marvelling to himself once again how lucky he was.
"Morning, partner," John said. "How are we doing this fine Monday morning?"
"It's Tuesday, John," Sherlock murmured, causing John's stomach to do an odd sort of dance at the sound of his deep voice.
"I know that," John replied. "I just wanted you to talk to me."
Sherlock shot him a confused look, his eyes narrowing as he tried to figure John out. "Why?"
"Why what?" John countered.
"What do you want me to talk to you?" Sherlock asked, fiddling with his pen.
"Because," John said with a shrug, "You've been ignoring me for the past two weeks, and the past two years before that. I figure it's time we become friends."
"I don't have friends," Sherlock replied automatically, a bit of a bite in his tone.
Sherlock was famous for his temper, and even more famous for his genius. If you got on his bad side, he would pick you apart and reveal your darkest secrets. Or so John had been told. He had seen the aftermath of Sherlock's deductions a few times, but he had never witnessed it for himself. Whenever John was in the room, Sherlock seemed to claim up before disappearing, which frustrated John to no end.
"You do now," John said.
"If this is about me doing your homework-" Sherlock began, a flush high on his cheekbones.
"Nope, I'm gonna stop you right there," John cut him off. "I'm no genius, but I'm still pretty damn smart. And I don't copy off friend's homework anyway."
Sherlock blinked at John rapidly, looking a bit lost. It was heart breaking, and absolutely adorable. "But you...trust issues."
"Wait...what?" John frowned.
"Trust issues," Sherlock repeated rapidly. "You have trust issues. Your rugby friends found out about your sexuality the same way everyone did. Your false bravado by announcing it on The Wall fooled most students, but the slight tremor in the lines suggested otherwise. You also chose to do it before classes let out for the summer, distancing yourself from the revelation. Your posture on the first day of school confirmed this, as you kept more to yourself until you realised no one was condemning you for your sexuality."
"How did you know all that?" John asked, blinking up at Sherlock, who looked mortified.
"People are very telling," Sherlock replied, "Their very nature will tell the truth to those who simply observe."
"That was amazing," John said, shaking his head.
"What?" Sherlock peeked at him out of the corner of his eye.
"Incredible," John confirmed. "Simply incredible."
"That's not what people normally say," Sherlock said slowly.
"What do people normally say?" John asked.
"Piss off," Sherlock said, making John laugh softly.
"Do it again," John said after a moment.
"Do what?" Sherlock shook his head, a confused frown on his face.
"What else can you deduce about me?" John replied. "Give me your best."
After class, Sherlock left without a word, as was usual. John didn't mind it as much today, with how much progress he had made. He was still grinning at the end of the day, his rugby mates teasing him over his lovesick smile.
"Come on, Cap. When do we get to meet him?" Mike Stamford asked, elbowing him.
"How do you know it’s a him?" John countered.
"Cause, you didn't deny it." Bill Murray replied. "Come on, introduce us to your boyfriend, or we're gonna keep trying to set you up."
"He's not my boyfriend," John said.
"Oh good, cause we found something on The Wall that'll-"
"Shut it, you." Mike interrupted Bill, before turning back to John. "We wish you all the best with this mystery bloke, but we've got a little something up our sleeves if it doesn't work out."
"What do you mean?" John asked, too thrilled from his conversation with Sherlock to be suspicious."
"You'll see," Bill replied.
John didn't notice the posters at first. In fact, it wasn't until Friday afternoon that he bothered to read one.
He was holed up in the library, trying to concentrate on his homework, and not the odd, guilty looks Sherlock had been giving him for the past few days.
Suddenly, a wad of paper smacked into John's ear, causing him to startle. He picked up the wad, frowning at it as he examined it.
Unfurling the paper, he was surprised to see what looked like a hastily written note.
I'm gay and hopelessly in love with the rugby captain.
On top of the paper, John recognized Mike's hasty scrawl: John Watson is bi and ready to try! If you know who this is, please text Mike Stamford. John scowled down at the piece of paper, wondering how many posters Mike had printed.
"Your team mates are trying to find your secret admirer," a silky voice said, and John was surprised to see Irene Adler standing in front of him. "You look surprised. You didn't have anything to do with this?"
"I...no." John said, shaking his head. "What is this?"
"Mike Stamford found this on The Wall," Irene shrugged. "So they enhanced it and plastered it to every surface available. This has been going on since Wednesday, I'm surprised you haven't seen anything."
"I've been...distracted," John replied. Sherlock had laughed at one of his feeble jokes on Wednesday, and John had been riding the high off that the rest of the week. "Why are you talking to me, you never talk to me."
"Because, I know who wrote the note," Irene smiled innocently.
"But they wrote it anonymously," John frowned. "And what if they aren't out yet? They clearly don't want everyone to know they like me."
"So you don't want me to tell you?" Irene asked, looking amused.
"No," John said. "It wouldn't be right."
"Very noble of you," Irene said, sitting down across from him. "However, I'm rather sick of his pining."
"Irene..." John warned.
"Oh, don't be like that," Irene waved a hand at him. "I'm not just going to tell you. No, he'll do that for me, when he sees us chatting."
"That's mean," John admonished. "And I don't want to hurt this guy. I already like someone else."
"Oh?" Irene looked interested now, and leaned forward. "Who is it?"
"Why would I tell you?" John asked. "I haven't even told my own friends."
"Because I won't leave you alone until you do," Irene replied, looking devious. "And if you don't want to break your secret admirer’s heart, you cough it up. He'll be here any minute."
"You're incorrigible," John sighed. "It's my lab partner, and that's all I'm going to tell you."
"That's all I'm going to need!" Irene looked positively delighted.
"Wait...you know who my lab partner is?" John frowned, "You're not in the class."
"I don't need to be," Irene said. "He won't shut up about y-"
"Irene!" A deep voice interrupted, making both John and Irene jump. They both swivelled to see Sherlock standing there, his back ramrod straight. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, having a chat with everyone's favourite rugby captain," Irene said, looking like the cat that got the cream.
Sherlock cheeks flushed as he pointedly looked everywhere but John. "You promised."
"Are you alright, Sherlock?" John asked.
Sherlock continued to ignore John, focusing his attention on Irene.
"Promises promises," Irene said. "You'll never believe the gossip I just got from John here!"
"Now hold on," John interrupted quickly. "You can't just-"
"But I can," Irene cut John of with a wave. "I'm not going to sit here and watch you two dance around each other like some tacky rom-com."
"What are you talking about?" John demanded, his gaze darting between Irene and Sherlock.
"John here has a big fat crush on his lab partner," Irene said pleasantly.
John froze, his mouth hanging open in shock. His skin prickled with embarrassed heat, and his stomach felt like it was full of ice. He should have been more careful, especially around Irene Adler. He should have known not to trust her with such an important secret.
"But...I'm his lab partner," Sherlock's deep voice swam through his consciousness, and he looked up at Sherlock from where he was sitting.
"Yeah, you are." John confirmed, feeling miserable. He had only gotten to have a handful of conversations with Sherlock, and now he would never want to speak to John again.
"Stop looking like you're being sent to an executioner," Irene said with a roll of her eyes before addressing Sherlock. "Now you, tell John who wrote that lovely note on The Wall."
Sherlock looked over at John for the first time since he had entered the library. "You...you have a crush on me?"
"Of course I do," John said, clutching the confession picture in his hands as he tried to ignore his instinct to flee.
"Why?"
"Why not?" John shrugged. "You're brilliant, charming, and handsome. I know you don't really like me all that much, so I won't take it personally-"
"What do you mean, I don't like you?" Sherlock asked in confusion.
"You've been pointedly ignoring me for about two years now," John replied. "How else am I supposed to interpret that?"
Instead of responding, Sherlock reached over and snatched the confession picture out of John's hands, the corners ripping slightly. He took out a pen, scribbling something on the paper before handing it back to John.
John took the paper, blinking down at it. In fresh ink, just below the snapshot, was a familiar sentence.
I'm gay and hopelessly in love with the rugby captain.
The handwriting matched perfectly, and a brief flare of doubt washed through him (what if Sherlock was just really good at mimicking handwriting?), but soon elation left no room for doubt.
"Wait...really?" John asked, grinning up at him.
"Obviously." Sherlock tried to sound impassive, and failed miserably. "That's why I dropped all those books on your head. Normally I'm very composed."
"Oh, you are, are you?" John grinned, standing up so he could walk closer to Sherlock.
"Of course. You were so attractive, and you were right there, and I..." Sherlock trailed off, looking unsure.
"Maybe I like you a little less composed," John said.
"Ugh, gross," Irene interrupted, unable to keep a smile off her face. "Wait until I leave before you start to snog each other senseless."
Sherlock snorted out a laugh before turning to John. "May I? Kiss you, that is."
"Oh god, yes."
John grinned as he looked at his graduating class, amazing at how different everyone looked after only 10 years. At first, the idea of a 10 year class reunion seemed a bit ridiculous.
"I don't know why you insisted we attend this, John," Sherlock said, his right hand laced in John's left. "It's an event for people to pretend that they're doing better than everyone else, and to lie about their accomplishments."
"Maybe I wanted to show off my boyfriend a bit, hm?" John asked.
"You did plenty of that when we first started dating," Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he was unable to keep a pleased smile from tugging at his lips.
"Actually, I had something else in mind," John said, giving Sherlock's hand a squeeze. "Follow me."
John led Sherlock through the corridors of St Bart's, taking him on a familiar path to a familiar landmark.
"Why are you taking me to The Wall?" Sherlock asked as they strolled.
"I'm just curious what sort of gossip kids have these days." John replied.
"You're 28," Sherlock snorted. "I hardly think we qualify as old geezers."
"Still, it'll be fun."
"Why would it-oh!" Sherlock gasped when he saw it.
The Wall had been freshly painted for the summer, the blank expanse still a surprising sight, even though they hadn't seen it in 10 years. But there was already something written on the wall, a stark black sentence in John's familiar handwriting:
I'm bi, and desperately want to marry the world’s only consulting detective
John lowered himself to one knee, unable to keep the grin off his face as Sherlock turned to look at him once more, his eyes shinier than they had been a few minutes ago.
"So, what do you say?" John asked.
Sherlock glanced around the corridor before spotting the sharpie John had used to scrawl the message. He darted over, picking it up as though his time was limited. Quickly, he scrawled a response on the wall before practically throwing himself at John who was still kneeling beside The Wall.
Yes!