The ceiling. That's all I could see. What I could hear was a whole different story.

Bastard child. A mistake. Unwanted in this family. No one cares. Faggot.

I supposed it was just kind of a day to day thing, being trodden on like a pile of shit. I guess I had grown used to it, kind of begun to believe that I deserved it too. Eventually, dad was eating away at me; slowly, but surely.

My bedroom was pretty basic back at home. A bed in one corner, a wardrobe in another and a desk with a laptop previously owned by my parents in front of a window overlooking the street below me; Glentworth Street, to be precise. That's where we lived.

For me, I guess this was a great place to live. Some say, like New York, if you can make it to London then the world is your oyster. There was a park to play footie in just around the corner and my mates didn't live too far away.

School was okay I suppose, the building was pretty posh really; Saint Bartholomew's, it was called, and it was a nice place to work; not that much of that went on. Well, nice as you can get in London without going private, and after spending the first twelve years of my life in the roughest part of Durham imaginable, I saw it as luxury to be honest.

First day and St. Bart's had been tough, yeah, first day at a new school always is, but the guys were cool there, they seemed to like me, and I guess I liked them too, but I just never felt completely comfortable there, like I didn't quite belong.

Greg was a good mate, Greg Lestrade. I'd met him in my first day there. One of the teachers had asked him to help me feel welcome and he did that I suppose. He helped me get where I am today anyway, and he knows things that only my mother, father, sister and I knew.

My sister, Harriet, open lesbian and likes to be referred to as Harry, although I still call her Harriet just to piss her off. But she's buggered off to university in Sheffield and left mum and me to deal with the monster living amongst us. Apparently she's off the drink to focus on her studies but I deem that highly unlikely to be honest. She had a girlfriend back then; she had many; and a serious one too, and I suppose in some ways, I'm glad that she got out when she did, but it made even worse for me really. It did her good though, university. I doubted I would go, after all, all dad wanted me to do was join the army; do one last thing to try and prove I was more than just a puff.

A banging on the door brought me back out of my thoughts.

"John! I know you're in there, you bitch! You agree don't you, with everything I've said, that's why you won't come out and fight like a man! Oh wait, sorry, fight like a faggot, my mistake-" someone interrupted him, I guess it was mum.

"James, stop this, he's only a boy-"

I heard a bang from outside the door. Wow, he really is mad tonight, huh. Wonder how much beer he's had, I thought, and anger began to flood my veins.

"Shut it Catherine! He's my son, and I'll treat him how I like! You hear that John, I'll treat you as I like!" I don't like to admit this, but a felt a tear roll down my cheek then; a big, fat, betraying tear, making me feel even more cowardly.

He went away then, and it stopped for a while.

I sat up on my old bed, staring at the opposite wall. Getting to my feet I heard a faint sobbing from the doorway; mum was crying again. I always regret not helping her like a son should, but my fear that he would get me if I so much as opened the door clouded my good judgment.

I sat down in the wooden chair at my desk and stared at the street lamp across the road; a constant emitter of light, it would have been nice to have one of those in my life. I lifted the lid of my laptop and logged in. The internet had been turned off, probably by dad to stop me watching 'gay porn', yeah because that's all I spend my life doing, drooling over male porn stars who are paid to have sex on camera; not that I have anything against them, just not quite my cup of tea that's all.

I shut the lid again, and sighed. I dragged myself back to my bad, got under to covers and attempted to forget, and ignoring the sounds of my mothers' sobs, I fell asleep into nightmares.

It's ironic isn't it really, how when you're at school, summer can't come quick enough, but when you're stuck at home all day with nothing to do than listen to someone scream abuse at you and ban you from the internet, your one contact with the outside world, suddenly you wished you were being grilled on the periodic table by some middle-aged teacher who settled for this job when their career evaporated into nothing in the early 80's and teaching was their only way out of the disease diagnosed as unemployment.

I counted down the number of days until term began again my school planner we got given at the start of every year; pretty common place things really, still got all of mine in a box under my bed somewhere. I'm not entirely sure how I made it through all those endless days of torment and waiting for dad to go out so I could go to the park or maybe get on the internet to contact Greg.

They were the only good days experienced in my teenage summers.

Dad had been called into the office early and mum said he wouldn't be back till late; even now I can see the happiness in her eyes as she said those words. I messaged Greg and pumped up my good old friend of a football and headed to Regent's Park, just round the corner. Most teenagers long to feel a comfy chair under their arses and a computer of some kind on their laps, but when you're cooped away like I was, fresh air don't half lighten you're heart.

I met Greg by the fountain, we exchanged a hug; manly of course, no one at school knew about my disinterest in boobs; and made our way to a clear bit of grass, where we proceeded to kick a ball between us for hours on end.

Until I heard him take a deep breath, and ask the dreaded question.

"Where've you been John, I've had no way of contacting you for weeks, mate. I know things ain't easy on your end of the line, but man, I can't go this long without seeing my best mate. I mean, it's summer, aren't we supposed to be going to parties, getting girls and getting pissed? We're sixteen for fucks sake, and all you're doing is sitting round, and all I'm doing is waiting for you to message and tell me that your free to not sit around for a day so we can come to the park and do the same old thing every time. Don't you just want to go out for once?"

I stood still. For a second, I wanted to say yes and say that I would stay over at his tonight and we'd go out on the piss and bring a few girls from school back and see where it went, and then I remembered what would be waiting for me when I got home, and how it would be so much worse than usual, for me and mum, and I couldn't do that to her; that was the least I could do to help the poor woman.

And then I felt slightly angry at Greg for asking me.

"Why are you saying this Greg, when you know that it's impossible and the only thing you're going to do is tempt me into doing something I'll regret. You know very well that I can't do that, imagine what would happen when I got-"I stopped myself. Greg may know that things aren't easy, but he couldn't know the circumstances. I couldn't tell anyone, and I very well knew that.

"What would happen, John? You know, for someone who claims to be my friend, you're extremely secretive" Greg fired his words at me, wounding. The words shouldn't harm, but they harmed me.

"Aren't I allowed to have secrets? I don't have to tell you everything you know, and there's hell of a lot of stuff that I've told you that I wouldn't even dream of telling anyone else! So you can shut it about me 'claiming to be your friend', because for once, I thought I'd found a decent one. So are you going to reassure my previous hope, or prove it to be naive, Greg?"

I walked away from him then. I know I shouldn't have. He was the only real friend I had, and if I wanted it to stay that way, I should've turned around and apologized, but know, stupid, ignorant me took my shitty football and stormed out of the bloody park like a complete knob on legs.

I didn't really know where to go, or what to do. I made a quick stop at home to put my football away and grab my iPod before I was roaming the streets with no sense of purpose to be anywhere.

I guess I just wanted to be alone. Another irony. I'd wanted to be with a friend all summer, and when I'd finally got the opportunity, I just wanted to be alone.

I started the madness album on my iPod and wandered slowly round the corners of the streets of London. Checking my watch, I saw it was lunch time, so I searched for a street sign, to see where I'd got to.

Baker Street.

In all the time I'd lived there, I'd never really noticed how posh Baker Street actually was; compared to my street anyway. The doorways had proper stone porches above the doors and each building had three stories, with a rooftop garden atop each residence. The windows were actually clean unlike most houses in our street and expensive cars were parked outside the houses with their own parking spaces; no parking on the double yellow lines the my dad used to. Looking back now, I think I was mesmerized. "By the houses?" I hear you mock, no not by the houses dumbass, by the young man that was opening the door and exiting the house three doors down from where I stood.

The door to 221B Baker Street.

Only a glimpse is what I had, but even a glimpse can feed the imagination. The tall, lean figure, dark hair and shining eyes were a permanent image embedded in my eyelids. Every time I so much as closed my eyes I was met with those burning orbs of blue and green as they turned to catch me staring at him.

He had narrowed his eyes and smirked slightly, before tying his scarf, turning up his coat collar and striding towards a car that was waiting for him on the street. I blinked myself back to reality, and after at least five minutes of being glued to the pavement by my boots, I carried on walking, in search of some form of food, muttering "man I'm so gay" to myself over and over, smiling all the while.

He must have a girlfriend or some form of relationship, I thought to myself, honestly not knowing what I was thinking of going after someone in that boy's league. I bet she's tall and blonde and beautiful and holds his hand and kisses those amazing cheekbones. I bet she can do it in public without people glaring and judging them, my mood has suddenly changed from dizzy attraction to slight anger. I was getting angrier by the day back then. Who could blame me, really?

It is an understatement to say that I didn't get any sleep that night. For once the house was peaceful; I guess a day actually working had tired the bastard out; but it was something else that was keeping me awake.

The mysterious boy from Baker Street; even then I had a feeling I'd be seeing more of him.

A/N: So, hello humans, and cats (I know how smart cats can be) this is my first story on this account. I hope you enjoyed it; I enjoyed writing it a lot. Please take time out of your oh so busy lives to review (that wasn't sarcastic).

Thanks for reading guys. Should be updated soon. At the latest this time next week.

Holly x