A/N: Well, here it is! I don't know if the system Sherlock rants about is the same in England as in America, but if not, please be forgiving of my ignorance and enjoy. :)

John paced in front of the big oak door, nibbling on his thumbnail as he fought his internal battle.

You got him expelled, you can't go to his house so soon, one part of him protested.

He told you to do it and you had no other choice, another reasoned.

You're the adult, John, you should have taken the responsibility.

It wasn't only your responsibility to take.

Before the war could continue, the door opened and John jumped, flushing with embarrassment as Sherlock leaned against the doorway, a playful smirk on his lips. "Well hello, handsome. You're welcome to come in, it would be far more comfortable. Either that or take off a few layers before you get heat stroke. I'm very happy with the latter, of course."

"Is it really necessary for you to make everything so…dirty?" John mumbled as he slipped inside. When the door was closed, he turned around to face the boy. "Sherlock, we need to talk."

"Oh, most definitely. Now that I am no longer a registered student anywhere, we have no graduation to wait for, so I say we commence the ceremony immediately."

Before he could get too close, John gave him a stern glare and pointed to an armchair. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat in it, making a point to give his best Bored pose and expression.

John took a seat on the couch and placed his head in his hands for a moment before looking back at Sherlock, pain clouding his eyes. "Sherlock, I am so sorry. I've ruined your last chance at proper academia, I should never have let it get this far."

"Far?" Sherlock echoed. "Far? John, you won't even kiss me without a hard push, you didn't let anything get anywhere."

"Sherlock, don't—"

"No, you don't," he hissed, anger flaring up immediately, though neither of them were sure where exactly it was directed. "The system does what they decide best for everybody. They give standardized tests and make dozens of rules because that's what works and when it doesn't, they overlook it. They decide they've done the best they can with what they've been given and the hundreds of people for whom the system doesn't work get stepped on and no cares about them, no one. Ever. Cares."

As he spoke, Sherlock stood up and was slowly closing the distance between John and himself.

"What happens to those children? Some live wonderfully happy, normal lives, others go off the far end because they feel like a failure because that's all they've ever been treated as. The rest, it varies, but the point is that it doesn't work. Not for me. And I will not sit here and let some flawed system rule my life."

John stared up at the fuming boy in front of him as his brain tried to fit all the pieces together. He wasn't even sure he had grasped all of what Sherlock was trying to say; all he could focus on was that "No. One. Cares." that Sherlock had spat out so vehemently.

"Sherlock," he started slowly. "What do you think love is?"

Sherlock blinked, startled by the sudden question. He furrowed his brows and frowned. "A chemical defect," he grumbled, looking away.

John shook his head. "Let's go with a chemical reaction instead, but that isn't what I meant. Is the reason you want to sleep with me so badly because you think that's how I'll prove my love to you? Or vice versa?"

"That's ridiculous, John."

"Is it, though?"

Sherlock looked back at John, his tense form slacking just the tiniest bit. "Perhaps. But isn't that how it works? 'If you love me, you'll do this'?"

"God, Sherlock, no. That isn't love – that's pressure. That's a horny boy trying to take something that another person isn't ready to give." He stood up and took Sherlock's thin, smooth hands into his rough, meatier ones. "Love is what you did for me in that office today. You sacrificed your last chance so that I could still have mine."

"I wouldn't really call it a sacrifice, the education system is—"

"That's not important," John interrupted softly. He sat down, bringing Sherlock with him as the teen watched him curiously. "Sleeping with you would prove attraction, not love. And—" He put a finger up to Sherlock's mouth when the brunette was about to protest. "That doesn't mean I'm never going to sleep with you, because believe me, after all you've put me through I am going to pound you so hard you won't be able to walk for days." He smirked at Sherlock's lustful growl. "Just not now."

John stood up abruptly, a huge grin on his face. "First, I have to prove myself to you, and don't you dare protest. All I'm going to do is this." He pulled out his phone and searched through his contacts for a moment before putting the phone to his ear and heading into the kitchen with a greeting into the phone.

Sherlock frowned as he watched John talk animatedly into his mobile, unable to hear anything from where he was sitting. What on Earth made him think he needed to prove himself and what was he planning for it?

When John came back in a few minutes later, he was looking very proud of himself and Sherlock tried figuring out what was said. He drew a blank.

"Come on, lover," John purred. "I've got a surprise for you."

~o~0~o~

As John pulled up to St. Bart's hospital, Sherlock was still trying to figure out what exactly was being planned. By the time they got inside and John asked for a Mike Stamford at the front desk, he still hadn't figured it out. And when a fat man greeted John, all he knew was that—

"Friend from university, happily married with two kids, works in the morgue here and someone needs to tell me why I am here because I don't know and I really don't like not knowing."

John was about to give Sherlock a look, but to the pair's surprise, Mike laughed. "John warned me you were quite the interesting one. I think he understated. Come with me, we'll explain on the way."

"Mike and I were roommates in university, close as can be," John explained as they walked. "We still keep in touch sometimes and I remembered at some point you mentioned that you have so many theories yet no one to experiment on. So, I called in a favor and…" He trailed off as they entered the morgue.

Sherlock's eyes were wide as John leaned in close and whispered, "I don't quite know the legalities to it, but I won't tell if you don't."

As Sherlock was processing his surroundings (and God, the possibilities!) he was tapped on the shoulder. "What?" he asked distractedly.

"This is Molly Hooper," Mike introduced a young girl a couple of years older than Sherlock. "She'd pre-med right now, so I let her study here sometimes. It's the quietest place she'll find most of the time."

"Pleasure to meet you," the girl greeted, holding out her hand politely, dropping it in embarrassment when he overlooked her completely.

"Yes, yes, when can I start?" Sherlock asked Mike, barely able to contain the excitement that was practically dripping from him.

"There's someone in the other room. He's all yours."

~o~0~o~

"How'd you manage to do it?" John asked as he and Mike (and Molly, who snuck glances when she thought nobody would notice) watched the fascinated, focused Sherlock through the glass.

Mike shrugged. "I have my ways. Leave everything to me, John."

John just nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from this side of the boy. He was so…intense. It was—to put it in typical terms—just about the hottest thing John had ever seen.

John didn't know how long he had been staring for when he heard a chuckle beside him. "Wow. You really love him, don't you?"

The teacher gave a chuckle of his own and smiled. "He's brilliant, he really is."

"That's a cop-out answer, John," Mike teased.

John glanced at Mike for a moment before turning his attention back to the teen. "Yeah. I really do."

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