"Boring."
He meets Sherlock Holmes the day they move in. Mister Mycroft Holmes decides to make him his brothers one and only friend, to make sure that he doesn't fight alone with that Moriarty kid- Mycroft doesn't go to school anymore, he's just too old.
So he acts normal, says hi, shares his biscuits and asks him to come over. The Holmes' house isn't big, but it isn't small either. So he talks with Mycroft, talks with their mother, -their father isn't home, unfortunately,- then he meets the younger brother.
"Hi, I'm John." he says slowly, shy enough to call himself respectful. Sherlock just watches him, stares at him, like he's exploring an island, his eyes wide enough to scare John.
"Boring," he shrugs, then walks in his room.
John just stares at the door, then looks at Mycroft. Mycrofts eyes are full of apology, then he sighs.
"Sorry John. He's just not.. Sociable." John nodds. He smiles weakly at Mycroft. He's boring, isn't he? Sherlock Holmes just said that. He mumbles a goodbye, and walks out, running to their house.
No one had told him that he was boring. Sherlock Holmes is the first.
He likes him. He's different.
"I'm a consulting student."
"Hi," John says, he's getting out of what- biology? He didn't listen anyway. He doesn't care. He's going to be a Doctor and well, he knows the Human body more than anyone in this school.
"Watson," Sherlock nodds over him, is this a greeting? He's still different, of course, what was he expecting from Sherlock Holmes?
"You can call me John, you know." he simply shrugs. "Where are you going?"
"I need to solve cases. Hollie says that her rabbit shines in the dark. She's a little girl. Mom says I should help little girls."
"Solve cases? Who are you anyway?
"I'm a consulting student, John. The only one in the world."
And then he leaves, but John is very sure that there's a smirk on his face. He chuckles.
Because it's the first time he calls him John. He still likes him.
"I don't have friends, John."
It's the thirth month of the school year, and he has a friend. His name is Sherlock Holmes and he's so, so brilliant.
"But you have to talk to someone about Moriarty, you know." John insists, shrugging. He sips his tea. He likes tea.
"James Moriarty is not a problem, John." Sherlock is getting angry, he knows, he can still see the anger under all the brilliance.
"He is. He says that you're a consulting nerd, and he fights with everyone, he even hurt Molly the other day, I punched him in the face."
"I don't care about Moriarty, John. I've got better stuff to do."
"Better stuff? Throwing pens on the wall? Really, Sherlock? As your friend, I need to protect you and Moriarty hates you-"
"I don't have friends John." Sherlock mumbles under his breath, John stops.
"Oh." he says, then shakes his head. "Whatever. Mom's waiting me for dinner."
"I've just got one."
He cries all night. He doesn't know why, because the very clever Sherlock Holmes does not count him as his friend? He shouldn't cry like a baby. He just shouldn't.
He hears his mother open the door, she laughs and he hears someone else, he doesn't care who it is, he won't leave his room.
He hears a knock on his door, then sighs. He's polite and he knows it, he just shouldn't be too polite right now.
He opens the door, and there he is, red eyed Sherlock Holmes.
Has he been crying?
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I didn't mean that. I don't have friends. I've just got one."
And he knows that Sherlock Holmes is the most perfect boy that he's ever met. He's his best friend.