The smashed carton of milk had a few small tears, causing for the white liquid to slowly ooze out and onto the floor. It began to create a small puddle that soon trickled off onto its own path. The trail was slow-but productive-as it dripped down one or two steps from the staircase, finding its way next to a pair of well polished black shoes.

Those shoes belonged to a boy, a small boy whom was still attending elementary school. His blue eyes looked over to the milk, carrying a sadness deep within them. It was as though a fogged cloud was hiding whatever happiness he was to feel, with a sense of calmness along side it. His gaze was still on that carton, but began to look off to the other food splattered all over the gap between the two staircases. All of that food, wasted. The young boy's school uniform also had a bit of the macaroni and cheese splattered on his vest, but that didn't seem to be the cause of the dull feeling aching through his body.

No, instead it was the cruel laughter that echoed through his mind. The laughter of the children that had done this to him. His very own group of bullies. What a pleasure.

It was sadly nothing new. This was a pain he had been enduring since he got out of kindergarden. For some apparent reason, children find it strange when young Sherlock pulled his simple little deductions. Like when their teacher was sad, he was able to tell it was because of some fight with their spouse simply on the fact that the teacher wasn't wearing their wedding ring that day. It wasn't as though he was purposely showing off, but little things like that would get him into trouble. Especially since he could never learn to keep his mouth shut. He just couldn't, he had to share his knowledge with someone.

Too bad no one he's ever spoke to has ever shared a since of friendship with him.

Is it because he's too straightforward? Or maybe because he insults their intelligence too often? Sherlock wasn't very sure, but whatever the reason may be, it ended in disaster every time. At least, the sort of a disaster a small boy may expect at his age; such as being tossed in a garbage can, being pushed around, etc.

It was hard to tell whether this sense of observation was a gift or a curse, but either way loved to deduce everyone around him. It gave him a sort of pride that he never felt too often, it made him feel special. Sadly, the children thought of him as a freak because of it. They would call him names, barely ever speak to him, make him feel as lonely as ever. This school wasn't very large, but it felt like a horrible and awful jungle to him.

Was this what life was going to be like?

The small and frail young boy tried to fight back his tears, seeing as though the lunch money he had brought was basically wasted. He was a very pale child, who never ate much, but always enjoyed the cafeteria food for whatever reason. It was really the only thing he liked to eat, aside from fresh biscuits and some hot tea.

Pushing back his dark curled bangs to be out of his eyes, it was clear to see that he was a bit over-due for a haircut as well. But that could wait until told to go by an adult.

Finally standing up, the young Mr. Holmes sniffled silently, surveying around to see if any of his food survived. Of course, the answer was no. Sighing, Sherlock bent down to grab his bag, and swung the strap across his chest slowly, hoping that maybe while taking his time some teacher could walk by to see his distressed situation.

They never walked by when Sherlock needed them, though. It reminded him of a time when he heard a man complain on the streets, saying how policemen were never around when needed. Was this really what life was going to be like? Did he have no one that he could rely on?

Apparently not. Everyone was their own sort of idiot.

Brushing off the wet noodles from his chest, he began to turn off down the empty hall just in time to hear:

"W-what happened here?"

The voice was unfamiliar to him, and sparked a large amount of curiosity. Gazing back at the mess, he saw another small boy stopping in his steps down the stairway, staring wide-eyed at the scene around him. The boy was shorter than Sherlock, with short blond hair, and a cast on his right foot. Naturally—because of the cast—the newcomer also had a crutch under his arm to keep any weight off of it.

He had never seen this kid before, but suppose the school was large enough to hide anyone in the crowd of children. Sherlock took a moment to gaze at the boy, taking in every detail about him. It was less than a minute before he couldn't help but to mutter:

"You would think you'd learn from your clumsiness not to go down the stairs again..."

The blond boy blinked, having a sort of innocence—like a pup—and tilted his head towards one side. "P-pardon? ….Are you referring to my leg?" He asked, uncertain of what the raven-haired boy was referring to.

"Of course I was, isn't that obvious enough?" Sherlock asked back, averting his gaze away before starting to walk down the hall again. Oh, why does he even bother? It's clear that no matter who he meets, they're all the same: mean and over-sensitive.

"W-wait a moment!" The boy called out, the sound of his crutch and good foot echoed down the hallway as he went to catch up to the other. "Are... are you okay? You have food all over you... did you fall? Did someone else do this? W-why... why are you..." his voice became a bit stutter-y, trying to find the right words. "W-why do you-"

"Why do I WHAT?" Sherlock couldn't help but to suddenly bark, quickly facing the crippled other with tears in his eyes. He couldn't stand the fact that this boy was following him, asking such questions, all he could feel at the moment was hate and sadness built into one large cluster in his chest.

"Why... why do you look... so sad?" The boy mumbled with a frown, having his brows furrowed down out of such sympathy as he hobbled next to the taller boy.

Sherlock began to stop in his tracks at those words, trying his hardest to hold back such frustrated tears. His eyes remained on the blond's face, seeing a true sense of worry in the boy's eyes. What was this stranger so caring about? He had never seen this other before in his life. This isn't something that Sherlock would have predicted to happen.

"What's your name?" He finally questioned, trying to keep his shaken voice even so that he could appear more tough and sturdy.

"J-John... John Watson..." The boy replied, cracking a kind and shy smile. Although Sherlock's sudden shout nearly scared John to death, he still wanted to seem nice. Maybe this poor soul was just having a bad day. "What about you...? I-If you don't mind me asking..."

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes." He stated back, thinking over the name John Watson. He really HAD never heard of this student before. "Are you new?" The boy asked as he started off down the hallway again, having the other limp next to him.

"I-I am... just started last week... don't really know anyone." But he knew that name: Sherlock Holmes. This was the man that he heard children all around snicker about. They would say such rude things behind his back in whispers, saying how freakish he was to always point out everything about everyone. Guess that would explain how he knew about John's fall down the stairs on his first day of school. "... Do you mind me asking why there's food all over the place back there?"

"Yes, I do mind."

"It wasn't that James kid, was it?" John asked with such concern. "That boy really isn't nice... why... on the first day, he grabbed my pack and tossed it in the toilet. All of my books got damaged and soggy." He frowned at that memory before eyeing back up to Sherlock.

Suddenly the taller boy stopped, looking to John with such a serious expression. "Listen, we did our introductions, I've deciphered your leg, now aren't you suppose to go off and join the others? Make fun of me? Laugh right into my face? Because I do think it's about that time. You don't have to play nice anymore."

"B-But... I'm not playing nice..." John looked away for a moment. "I actually think it's really cool... can I ask how you knew about my fall?" He questioned.

How he knew? Was this other actually being serious? Feeling as though he was surrounded by just another idiot, he sighed out. "You have concrete burns on your hands, I'm guessing you tried to grab for the railing on your way down the stairs, missed it, and instead slid on the ground below you."

"... just because of those burns, you knew that it was the cause?"

"Obviously." Sherlock muttered, knowing that now was the time to be judged. Now was the time to lose yet another person he would never converse with again. But, suddenly those thoughts became a bit less-likely once he began to notice a large smile forming on John's face.

"Why... that's brilliant! Genius, even!" He exclaimed with such excitement. "I would have never expected you to be so cool!"

"Cool...?" He repeated, raising a brow at the blond. "You're just a moron for not observing what's around you. If you and everyone else would just pay attention, perhaps I wouldn't be so different."

"Yeah. I suppose that does make sense..." John nodded at those words, thinking them to be true. "Still! You should be glad that you have this gift! It's a wonderful thing! It really is!" He smiled happily, patting Sherlock on the shoulder.

Suddenly, the bell rang. Lunch was over and school was about to start up again. Realizing this, John began to pull his hand back and support his weight fully onto one crutch. "Ah, blast...Well, it was nice meeting you Sherlock... maybe I can find you again for lunch tomorrow." He said as a friendly suggestion.

"Doubt it."

John just laughed at those words though "Gee! You really need to loosen up some. Anyway! I'll see ya' tomorrow!" He waved before heading off in the other direction.

Sherlock stood there for a long moment, thinking over the phrase 'see you tomorrow'. That was something he never heard before. That idiot was actually happy about seeing Sherlock? What was wrong with him? And to think his deductions were so amazing...? Well. That was just another idiotic statement.

Though, for some reason, Sherlock couldn't keep a smile from his face as he started to head off to class. His head was lowered so not many would notice such a rare moment, but he felt happy; flattered.

Could he have possibly just made a friend?