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Sherlock's got his foot on the gas, arm around John-- radio turned up high. John's laughing, the wind whipping through his golden hair. Later on, Sherlock will run his fingers through it, feel the soft strands underneath his fingertips. John will lean into the touch, maybe even give him that doe-eyed look he has a habit of giving, and ask Sherlock to kiss him.
Sherlock won’t say no. He has a habit of not being able to say no to John.
John shifts closer to Sherlock, presses his face into Sherlock's shoulder. They both could die today. Together, like this-- John wearing Sherlock's leather jacket, Sherlock with a fag between his lips, the car going too fast.
If they crashed, they'd die on impact.
Elvis sings a love song on the radio, John hums along. He Knows all the words. Probably has this album. It Wouldn't surprise Sherlock if he did.
“Mom wants me home by eleven.” John says to Sherlock, over the sound of the wind and the radio.
Sherlock smirks at him. “So obviously you'll be home by two.”
John rolls his eyes, smiles. He smiles a lot when he's around Sherlock, not so much when he's at home with his Mama and his sister. He doesn't smile much when he's hanging around with his friends at school either. Sherlock likes to think that most of John's smiles are reserved for him, that only he deserves them.
“I have to be home by eleven, Sherlock. It is a school night.”
“I'll have you home by eleven, then.” Sherlock tells him, scowls. School. Boring. It's a waste of time. John wants to be a Doctor though, he wants to save lives. Good, pure, compassionate John. Lives are meant to end eventually. Every one dies.
John bends up, presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. A soft, shy peck. Sherlock looks at him out of the corner of his eye and sees John smiling. He knows Sherlock is sulking. And he finds it funny. John is the only one who finds his temper amusing.
“Twelve then.” John says and Sherlock sighs, nods his agreement. That's all John will allow for tonight. One more hour of his time. One more hour Sherlock gets to spend with him. To memorise him. To catalogue him. It isn't enough time. There won’t ever be enough time. He could chain John up in his room and stare at him for days, years, and it still wouldn't be enough to memorise all of him.
"Stop it.” John murmurs, kisses Sherlock's neck and brings him back from his brooding.
Sherlock pulls the car over and turns the engine off. He turns in his seat to look at John.
“Run away with me.” He whispers and he means it. They could go now, never look back. No one would find them. Sherlock would work. He would find a way to enrol John in a school so that he could continue his studies. They could leave it all behind and just be together.
John smiles, and runs a fingertip down Sherlock's cheek. “Not yet, not now. I will, one day. I'll leave this place with you. And we can just-- be, but not now.”
Sherlock knows why John can't leave now. And he feels selfish for asking him too. John thinks that Harriet needs him. He doesn't know how much more Sherlock needs him. He can't ever know. Sherlock is meant to be the strong one-- the thinker, the brain. John is the caring one-- the soft one. The one Sherlock needs to take care of.
“Promise?” Sherlock asks.
John leans forwards, and kisses Sherlock softly. “Promise.” He whispers back.