Prequel

John fidgeted nervously, and looked up at Harry. The door to his new classroom seemed impossibly large, and he could hear the voices of the other children inside. Harry had hung up his jacket for him on the shiny new peg with his name- at least Harry said it was his name- written on a piece of paper stuck below it.

He wondered if the other children could read already. They had been at school for a year and a term now, but this would be his first day. Harry said it was his first of a million days. That sounded bad.

"- And try not to fight with the other kids, John." Harry advised. She looked bored, and was bobbing on the balls of her feet, eager to get away.

"Hey, Harry!" A voice called from the other end of the corridor. John looked up to see who it was, and saw Harry's best friend Clara waving enthusiastically.
"Good luck John!" With that she gave him a gentle shove towards the door. John tripped on the hem of his new- and far too long- school trousers, and stumbled into the door, which swung open at his touch.

He landed in an untidy heap on the floor. He lifted his head to find a classroom full of kids staring at him in silence. John got to his feet, ears burning, and stared at his shiny new shoes in quiet terror.

There was a slight rocking sound from the other side of the room, and everyone's heads turned to see who was making it. A tall, thin boy with curly dark hair was perched precariously on a chair, wobbling as he tried to balance a lemon on top of the whiteboard.

John temporarily forgot his embarrassment as he stared in confusion at his new classmate.

"The Lemon is in play." John jumped as an unfamiliar voice spoke from beside him. He turned to see a boy, about the same height as him, with a smile on his face. "It's a game we play," he continued, pointing at the lemon, which was now sitting on top of the board. "We try to place the lemon in plain sight without Mr Lindenberg noticing it." John nodded uncertainly and the boy carried on. "We were on a streak before the break- almost three weeks without him seeing it. It's a school record." He boasted. He held out his hand. "Jim Moriarty. Hi!"

John smiled, and shook Jim's hand hesitantly. "John Watson." He was a little taken aback by his seeming acceptance.

John glanced around at the other children, who were now chatting amongst themselves. They seemed to have forgotten all about him. He saw that the curly haired boy who had placed the lemon on top of the board had retreated into the corner. He was reading, John stared in amazement at book- tiny writing he couldn't even hope to understand.

"That's Sherlock." Jim said helpfully. "He doesn't have friends." John frowned, not lifting his gaze from the book in Sherlock's hands.

"Why not?" he asked distractedly. Jim shrugged.

"He's a little… different." *

Of course the teacher chose this moment to enter and all the conversations stuttered gently to a close. All the kids took their seats, leaving John standing awkwardly at the front of the room. He scanned the desks for Jim, who nodded to the seat beside him. John hurried over and slid gratefully into the offered chair.

John breathed a sigh of relief. He looked towards the teacher and noticed Sherlock sitting alone at the table in front of him, still clutching his book. John was about to mention this to Jim when Mr. Lindenberg spoke.

"Is John Watson here?" he asked, peering at the rows of students, trying to see an unfamiliar face. John raised his hand uncertainly, feeling the stares of the entire classroom focused on him- other than Sherlock, who was staring intently at the wall as if it had sprouted legs.

The teacher smiled welcomingly. "Any relation to Harry Watson?" he asked in interest. John nodded. "Oh god, not another one." Mr. Lindenberg muttered under his breath. "Well, good to have you all back." He said briskly, making his way to the whiteboard as he spoke. "Lets see what we remember about spelling."

John nudged Jim. Having got his attention, John whispered quietly. "I can't read yet." John confided. Jim raised his eyebrows, but then his face dimpled and he smiled.

"Lets see what I can do."

John followed Jim out the door as the bell rang for break.

"So what do you think of Bergie?" Jim asked.

"Who?" John frowned, trying to remember a 'Bergie' in Jim's brief introduction to his new classmates.

"Mr. Lindenberg." Jim clarified. "Everyone calls him Bergie."

"Uh. He seems nice?" John grabbed his coat and they stepped outside. There was a cool breeze blowing, so John shrugged his coat on over his fluffy cream jumper.

There was a shout and John spun round to see a crowd of people gathered around two figures. John ran over and shoved through the crowd in time to see a stocky, sandy-haired boy knock Sherlock to the ground.

Sherlock started to struggle to his feet, but the boy- who John now recognised as Sebastian- lunged forward and kicked Sherlock. He crumpled back to the ground, letting out a quiet yelp.

John rushed forward and placed himself firmly between the two boys. John glared defiantly at Sebastian, daring him to continue the attack. Sebastian blinked at him, astonished, as if no one had ever stood up for Sherlock before. Sebastian looked over his shoulder at the crowd that had gathered, all with looks of equal astonishment on their faces. He shrugged and turned around, disappearing into the crowd, which dispersed, leaving John standing protectively over Sherlock.

"You alright?" John questioned, reaching his hand out concernedly. Before Sherlock could reply, Jim appeared at his side holding a dark blue scarf. He handed it over wordlessly and Sherlock grabbed it, wrapping it hurriedly round his neck. Sherlock ignored John's outstretched hand and got to his feet in one fluid movement. He started to walk away.

"What, aren't you going to say thank you?" John called after him.

"What for?" he turned back to face them, frowning.

"For helping you!" Jim chipped in.

"I don't need help."

"You sure about that?" John asked pointedly, gesturing to the grazed knees and split lip that Sherlock now supported.

"From a boy who can't even stop his own father beating him and one who's clearly only standing up for me to stay in my big brother's good books?"

John reeled, hurt. "How did you know about my dad?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, disdain obvious. Jim grabbed John's shoulder and spun him round. "He's not worth it, John." Jim said pointedly, steering John firmly away from Sherlock.

John could feel his ears burning and the urge to turn around and punch Sherlock's knowing smirk right off his face. Jim led John to the swing set and sat him down, taking the other swing for himself.

John scuffed his shoes into the woodchips, avoiding eye contact.

"If it's any consolation," Jim began, "he does that to everyone."

John ground his toe into the chips, swinging slowly. He stared at his feet, sighing. There was a pause, and then John spoke hesitantly.

"What did Sherlock mean? About you trying to impress his brother?"

"You mustn't believe everything he says." Jim smiled. "What he said about your dad wasn't true, was it?"

John was silent, and Jim looked up, concerned. "Just promise me." John said after a moment, voice quiet. "Just promise me you won't ever hurt me like that. Please."

Jim's eyes widened in earnest. "Promise."