A/N: Hello just thought I'd let you know that this is an updated version of my story. Chapter two will be update d as well because the same thing happened with that, as I uploaded them in the same few minutes. Thanks to an anon, I realized it wasn't my final copy of my story that I uploaded, but my first draft. That's what happens when you don't make sure you save it correctly. ANYWAY, here's the updated version. And to that anon: thank you, and I did read it before I decided to upload it, I just chose the wrong file. And the first draft is how I get my story going; I write words used in the series and then change them into my own.
John was a little less than eager to start at a new school. He wouldn't have any friends, his sister would likely miss a majority of it, and he had no clue what the teachers were like. But his father always said new experiences were a good thing.
His first day was rough. His teachers were all very nice, but the students weren't. The students were downright vicious. There were several boys who constantly picked on everyone, but especially one boy who John never heard speak. It was hard for John having to fight his way through the campus just to get to his classes. But after the first few weeks, he was starting to get the hang of it.
After school in his fourth week of going there, he'd waited on Harry for twenty minutes. After a while he'd started to walk home, thinking she'd left with some whore she picked up from the gym again. He was almost half way home, when he heard shouts coming from around the corner.
"Get 'im to shut up, will you? Someone'll hear!" someone whispered-yelled.
John walked slowly near the corner of the alley, trying his hardest not to be heard. He needed to see what was going on and who he needed to help.
He saw the boy- the one who never talked- on the ground covering his face with his hands. John knew it was him because of how skinny he was, and his curly hair.
"Oi! Get off of him!" John yelled running and pushing one of the other boys off of him.
"Who do you think you are, mate? Listen 'ere, you ain't got no right shovin' me like that, new kid."
"Well you haven't got any right to push him around! And 'ain't' isn't a word. Now get out of here before I call the police." John threatened, getting into the other's face.
The boy threw a punch, but thanks to Harry, John knew exactly how to dodge it and hit him directly in the dick.
"Ah, fuck!" the boy yelled, bending over. "You'll pay for that, dickhead!"
"Yeah, sure I will. Now I suggest you lot get out of here before I really do call the police and have you arrested for assault. Go on, get!" John said threateningly, almost advancing on the other two boys.
They grabbed their leader and ran out of the alley, slowing down once they got out.
John turned to the boy on the ground and leaned down, trying to turn him over and onto his back.
"Oi, mate, come on, turn over for me. Let me have a look at your injuries, I can help."
"No…I'm fine, just go, before they come back with more," the boy whispered.
"Trust me; they aren't coming back any time soon. Come on and sit against the wall for me so I can take a look, I'm good with bruises and cuts."
The boy obeyed reluctantly, sitting up with John's help, still looking down.
"Right then, I'm going to need a name. Mine's John."
"Boring name," the boy whispered, talking mostly to himself.
"Yeah, I know; Harry and John, the two most boring names in the world, chosen by my parents. What's yours then?" John asked.
"Sherlock Holmes."
John nodded.
"Cool name. Can you get your shirt off for me? I need to see how badly they were kicking you."
Sherlock paused, and looked up at John for the first time.
"I can't, not here. Someone will see. We can go to my home, I have bandages there." Sherlock said, already standing up. John could see the black eye and the scratches on his face.
"Follow me, I don't live far. We can walk there."
John nodded, getting up and following Sherlock.
They walked a good ten or fifteen minutes- John wasn't counting, too busy worrying about how Sherlock was even walking- until they finally got to Sherlock's home. It was rather small; John could tell there were no more than two bedrooms. The roof looked like it was about to cave in with a single drop of water, and the garden looked like it was rampaged by dogs.
"When you walk in, don't make a sound. I fear my brother may be home form University," Sherlock said, opening the door as quietly as possible."
They walked through the house like mice, not even making the floorboards creek. Sherlock grabbed John's hand, and lead him to his bedroom. After locking the door, Sherlock walked over to where he kept his experiments and medical equipment for when his experiments went wrong.
"Here, do what you must," Sherlock said dramatically.
John chuckled to himself, asking Sherlock once again to pull his shirt off. Sherlock did as he was told this time, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off gingerly.
There were bruises all up and down his torso, John could tell his ribs were at least fractured if not broken, and scars were running up and down his arms like zigzags.
"Dear god, Sherlock…" John whispered, touching the bruises gently. Sherlock hissed in pain, quickly covering his stomach with his arms.
"Alright, it's okay. Here, I'll wrap your chest and shoulders, and then I'll be off, alright?" John asked.
"Okay," Sherlock answered, moving his arms.
"Why were those boys beating you up, Sherlock? What'd you ever do to them?" John asked.
"They're just angry because their puny brains could never live up to full potential because they focus their energy on girls and who they plan to jump next rather than things that actually matter. Also because they don't like the fact that I'm gay, which, in no way has anything to do with them, so I don't understand why they're so concerned with it." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.
"You're gay?" John asked.
"Oh, not you too. Honestly, it isn't contagious, you aren't going to catch it or-"
"I'm gay too." John cut him off.
Sherlock paused, and looked at John.
"Sorry, hard to tell…"
"What do you mean, 'hard to tell'?" John laughed.
"I mean, judging by the way you dressed, I assumed you liked girls. Follow in your older- alcoholic- brother's footsteps." Sherlock answered as if it were obvious.
"My brother?"
"Yes, your brother. He must be an alcoholic, based on the smell of your jumper, judging by the way you walk, I'd say your dad isn't exactly happy with his life choices, and it affects you deeply for some reason. Mother's dead, died of some disease when you were small. Did I get that all right?"
"Well, for the most part, yes." John smiled, tying the bandage at the back.
"What? For the most part?"
"Well, I don't have a brother. I do, however, have a sister. Harry is short for Harriet, boring name, I know. Mom picked it out. She is an alcoholic, and she is actually very interested in girls; brings one home every night. Dad isn't proud of her life choices, got that right. And Mom died of lung cancer when I was about 3. So yeah, for the most part, you were right." John smiled. "That was really cool, by the way."
"…you think so?"
"Oh yeah, wish I could do that. I'm just good with injuries."
Sherlock smiled.
"No one's ever liked that I do that. Everyone else just gets annoyed."
"Well, I'm not exactly 'everyone else,' am I?" John smiled back.
Sherlock blushed and looked down.
Maybe he isn't like the rest, he thought to himself. But he'd have to spend more time with John.
Just to make sure.