Author's Note: Hello everybody. This fic has been in the pipeline for a while and I finally had the courage to upload it. Just so you know, I do not advocate corporal punishment under any circumstances, it just seemed appropriate for the time period of this story. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

I don't own Sherlock but I do own a lot of merchandise if that counts?

Jonathan Watson sat at the desk with his arms crossed and shoulders hunched. His face was set straight and his eyes searched the study floor to avoid looking upwards. There was an interesting spot on the carpet next to his left foot which he scuffed intermittently. He thought it was perhaps a tea stain. Or maybe it was coffee? John wondered if there was a way to tell without smelling it because that would seem weird. Not that it really mattered, his reputation wouldn't change anyway. At this school, John was the weird one, or the small one, or the queer one- a variety of names had been created by his classmates and they never improved in their creativity. None of them were really true, except maybe the 'small' one; he was quite small for 14, and he was generally a head smaller than the people in his year. This didn't help when it came to confrontation, which seemed to happen a lot to him. He never provoked anyone, never did anything to cause his relentless torment- except maybe that time when he called Billy a bastard in a moment of uncontrolled anger. John sighed and lifted his head slightly. The Headmaster still sat across the desk, arms gesticulating wildly in time with his words, shouting at John. He wasn't really sure what for, he'd blocked out Headmaster Stafford's voice about 10 minutes ago when he'd started going on about the 'Gentleman's Code of Honour'. John glanced to his left; Mrs Reynolds, the school nurse looked ready to fall asleep on the sofa. John thought how funny it would be if she did and a small smile came across his lips.

"Is something funny boy?!"

John jumped and looked up at Headmaster Stafford, who was now stood in all his 6ft splendour, glaring down at John.

"N… no sir…" John managed to stammer out. He tended to stumble over his words when he got nervous.

"Good. Because I don't find anything funny about fighting. Do you understand me Watson?"

John nodded.

"Yes Sir."

The Headmaster sat back down, slid his hand over his bald head and then clasped them together in front of him.

"You're lucky you're not getting the cane boy. You will lose your free time this evening as your punishment instead. Stand up."

John did as he was told and stood, tucking the chair in beside him. There was no use arguing with the Headmaster. John could argue back and say that he wasn't actually fighting- fighting would involve being able to punch back. He could say that Billy started it by grabbing his shirt and pushing him against the wall. He could say that in fact he showed great restraint by not punching Billy on the nose when he hit John in the stomach. John could say all of these things, but he knew there was no point. The Headmaster wouldn't believe him; he'd only punish John more. Billy got away with everything anyway, being the Headmaster's son. Of course a teacher had to walk round the corner just as John pushed Billy off him and on to the floor- that's just the way life was, well, John Watson's life anyway. Never fair.

"Straighten your tie, boy. Dismissed back to class. Off you go."

John brushed his blue and white striped tie down his crumpled shirt, adjusted his navy blazer, brushed down his shorts and pulled his socks up to his knees.

"Put your cap on Watson."

John picked up his school cap from the desk and pulled it onto his head. The headmaster nodded in approval of his appearance and John shuffled out of the Headmaster's study, closing the door softly behind him. His class was in the west-wing, at the other end of the school. Great. John sighed and trudged along the hall towards his lesson. He had science now, which he didn't mind to be honest, he particularly enjoyed Biology. He thought perhaps he might become a doctor one day, if he was clever enough. In the evenings, during free time, he enjoyed sitting in the library with a good book about human anatomy or a good fantasy novel. Then free time would finish at 8pm and he'd go back to his dormitory and hide in his corner while the other two boys, Mark and David had a pillow fight. That was better than them hitting John with the pillows, or throwing shoes at him. That was the downside to a boarding school; John didn't get a lot of time to himself except in the library. Then again, he wasn't sure the situation would be any better if he were still at home with his dad drunk most evenings, his sister following suit and his mum not being there. John didn't mind about his mum that much, she died in an air raid when he was four so he didn't know her that well, he just wished that there was a figure in the house that could actually talk sense besides himself. St Peter's Academy wasn't too bad, he liked the lessons and most of the staff, but because it was a school for 'troubled' kids there wasn't often a lesson that wasn't disrupted by something. John also hated the fact that the school was pioneering weekly one-to-one counselling sessions. He didn't want to talk to a random adult about his dad's PTSD and alcoholism. He didn't care. Not that he could do anything about it. John would usually just sit in silence and not say a thing, much to the concerns of the counsellors. One counsellor was convinced he was mute. He didn't mind Mrs Hudson- the Head Counsellor- though, she seemed nice and sometimes he would have a pleasant conversation with her about biology, or rugby or something that had been in the newspaper. She seemed to recognise that John didn't want to talk about his past, so she didn't pry. In the four years John had been at St Peter's, the most he ever talked was with Mrs Hudson. He kind of assumed that she was his only friend, seeing as no-one else would be seen around with him. Gregory Lestrade was alright. He sat next to John in History and seemed civil; John reckoned he didn't go around with him outside of the lesson for fear of being victimised, like John was. Not that he really cared, having friends was overrated, but then again friends do tend to stop you from being beat up on a regular basis. John considered learning self defence or something, but to what use? He'd just get into more fights and probably get excluded. At least he had half an education at the moment. John turned the corner into the west wing and walked quietly into his Science lesson, Mr Griffiths took the note that the Headmaster had given John and peered at it over his glasses, nodding when he realised John's lateness was valid. John took the corner seat alone, opened up his human anatomy book, blocked out the rest of the classroom and started reading about the different bones there are in a human hand. He'd been reading for 20 minutes before Mr Griffiths came over and made him copy out of a different book. Luckily John was a fairly fast writer from all of the times he had been made to write lines, and he was back to his book within a few minutes. He went unnoticed the rest of the lesson, because there was a scuffle between Steven and Charles at the other end of the room, two counsellors were called and they were taken away. Just business as usual, John thought. The lesson ended and lunchtime began. The class filed out of the room towards the cafeteria, but John ducked away and through a door, instead making his way to the library; he wasn't particularly hungry and at least the library was quiet. He often got away with sneaking back into the cafeteria just before the end of lunch and rejoining the lines to walk back to class. He'd been caught in the library a couple of times before though and lost his free time as a result. John preferred the library; the librarian was an old woman who didn't seem to realise he wasn't supposed to be there at lunchtime, she welcomed him. He could also sit on a soft chair there, so hopefully the pain in his stomach from Billy's punch might ease. The library was empty as usual. The librarian, Mrs Turner greeted John with a warm smile which he returned. He made his way to the children's corner to claim a soft chair but stopped when he saw that someone had beaten him to it. He'd never seen this boy around school before and stood dumbfounded for a few seconds. The boy was leant back on one of the chairs with his feet up on the other, his face buried deep in a thick and complicated philosophy book so that only his curly hair was visible. The boy's shoulders rose and fell smoothly with every breath and for a moment, John was transfixed. The way the boy breathed seemed relaxing. John shook his head to snap himself out of it and took a step towards the mysterious boy.

"Um… s…sorry… to bother you… I was… w… wondering if I could borrow one of… t… the chairs. You seem to have two." John spoke nervously with his head down. He never usually asked for anything, it's just his stomach really hurt from his run-in with Billy earlier. He half expected the boy to beat him up for asking, Billy would have. Instead, the curly haired boy looked up with bright green eyes and nodded. He removed his feet from the chair and nudged it towards John, then spoke with low tones.

"The pain will subside by this evening, just bruising. No internal damage. A hit any higher would have cracked a rib. Consider yourself lucky."

The curly haired boy leant back and his face was back inside the book. John stood for a moment, processing what the boy had said. How had he…? John carried the chair away slowly and sat across the other side of the children's area. He put on his glasses and tried to become immersed in a new book about pirates: 'Treasure Island' by Robert Louis Stevenson but kept getting distracted. He continuously glanced over at the other boy and noted everything about him. He seemed strange, new and different. He was wearing a long black coat over his uniform and his thick dark curls hung messily over his head. And the green eyes. The boy hadn't looked up since John had spoke to him, and for some reason, John found himself wanting to see the green eyes again. The whole of lunchtime, John kept looking at the strange boy until the final 5 minutes when all in a flash, the boy got up and drifted gracefully out of the library. John almost didn't see or hear him go. He followed him with his eyes until he was gone and for a weird moment wondered whether he had seen a ghost. No, that would be silly, John thought. He'd never really taken interest in any other person before, as most of them were horrible to him but this particular boy seemed different. John had a feeling inside of him that this boy wasn't like the others and that intrigued him. He got up and walked over to the counter. Mrs Turner looked up from organising some papers and smiled warmly at John.

"Yes Darling?"

John passed the pirate book across the counter for him to take it out on a lend. The librarian stamped it and passed it back. John turned to go but looked back at Mrs Turner.

"Um, s… sorry to bother you. D…do you know who that boy was? Sat on t…the other chair just now?"

Mrs Turner seemed to consult her brain for a moment and returned with a shake of the head. John's shoulders fell slightly and the librarian spoke up quickly.

"Oh, but he did sign a book out. I'll have his name on the register here… let me see…"

Mrs Turner scanned down the page and proceeded to point triumphantly to one entry.

"Here we are… 'A Study of Tobacco Ash' was the book he took out… uh… Sherlock Holmes. That was his name. Does that help sweetie?"

John nodded.

"Sherlock… Holmes."

He ran the words over his tongue slowly, and the librarian seemed surprised at his interest in the other boy. John smiled gratefully at Mrs Turner and walked out towards the cafeteria, sneaking in successfully. Sherlock Holmes. That's an odd name, John thought. Interesting though, and different. John liked things that were different, like him. John elected to find out all he could about Sherlock Holmes, at least that would distract him from the boredom that was Physical Education which he had next. He didn't mind rugby, but other sports were just tedious. John walked into the changing room and groaned as he heard his teacher shout.

"Football today chaps! Get changed, get a move on!"

John hid himself in the corner and changed quickly into his PE kit. He'd never liked his body; he'd always considered himself slightly on the chubby side. Not all that much, but enough for Billy to take the mickey out of him, but then Billy would take the mickey out of him for anything. John had the pleasure of sharing his PE class with Billy Stafford. Wonderful. The boys all got changed and made their way out on to the cold field. Billy was made captain of one team, obviously, and Joseph was the other.

"Right, pick your teams lads."

John sighed and knew he would get picked last. To his surprise, 6 people in he heard Billy call his name.

"Watson."

Most of the boys threw confused looks at Billy, 'what are you picking him for?' John trudged towards Billy's team and thought for a moment he actually might be appreciated, that was until Billy spoke again.

"Watson can shove his fat body in goal, he'll cover the width alright but he won't be able to stop any goals above him!"

The class all laughed and John sunk his head down whilst the laughter continued. Even Mr Jennings, the PE teacher smirked. Great. The game started and John was put in goal. Footballs were fired at him from all angles and mostly very powerful. He managed to save a few by fluke but let in about 8. Billy only managed to score back 4 so they lost. John didn't really care, but apparently the rest of the team did. At the end of the lesson, the boys all walked back into the changing room, John slid to his corner, ready to change in silence when he looked up. Billy was stood directly in front of him, with all of the other boys surrounding in a semi-circle. John stepped backwards and pressed himself against the wall as the circle closed in. There was a deathly silence which was broken by Billy.

"8-4. Couldn't your fat backside save anymore Watson? Or were they all too high for you to reach?"

The group of boys sniggered and John melted further into the wall. Billy continued.

"I heard you've got isolation this afternoon for fighting. Tut tut tut Johnny, you should know better."

At that moment, John's focus was distracted by a figure that walked into the room, behind the group of threatening boys. John noticed the dark curls immediately and wondered what he was doing there. The boy stopped and peered at John over the crowd of heads. John suddenly felt very self-conscious. Here he was, pressed against a wall about to be pummelled half to death by 15 bigger boys and he was worried about what one boy he'd met for 2 minutes thinks! A sudden surge of confidence overcame John; he stood up straight and looked Billy in the eye.

"If you weren't such a rubbish striker then maybe we wouldn't have lost."

John swallowed as the crowd 'oooh'ed and he immediately regretted saying anything. It was an awful comeback anyway, what was the point? He was outnumbered 15 to 1. Did he want to show off to the curly haired boy? He didn't know and didn't have a lot of time to think about it before Billy swung his fist and met John's left cheek with a painful crack. John's head flew sideways and he managed to stay upright with a supporting hand on the wall. He wasn't stood up for long as an unidentified boot dug into the back of his knee and he fell forward, another boot hit his already tender stomach and John moaned. He curled up into his defensive ball, his hands covered his head and he prepared himself for the rain of boots and fists.

But they didn't come.

John opened his screwed up eyes and glanced up warily. There was a cry and a lot of commotion, some boys were on the floor and Billy was bent over in a headlock. John squinted to see who had him there but they quickly moved and within a minute the changing room had been deserted by Billy and his gang. John lifted his head from the tiled floor and felt his left temple softly. There was something sticky there. John frowned and felt a hand slip under his arm. He tensed up but the hand pulled him slowly to his feet and sat him down softly on the bench. John looked across the bench and saw the curly haired boy sat beside him, fumbling in a pocket for something. He soon found it and produced a silky white handkerchief. The boy draped it over his fingers and moved his hand towards John's head. He flinched and pulled back.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I just need to clean up that blood on your head. Can't have you getting your uniform mucky."

John stayed put and the boy dabbed the cut softly. John winced at the stingy sensation but got an even weirder feeling with the boy sitting so close to him. There was an awkward silence that made John want to shiver so he spoke.

"It's Sherlock, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded.

"And you're John Watson?"

"Yes."

John didn't know what else to say so he remained silent until Sherlock had finished cleaning his cut.

"There you go. Don't go saying stupid things to stupid people John; they'll only ever use violence to retaliate because they don't understand how to function their own brains."

Sherlock stood up and made to walk out of the door, John stood up and ignored the nauseous swaying feeling he felt in his head.

"Sherlock? Did you take on all those guys alone… and win?"

A faint smile seemed to flicker across Sherlock's face but disappeared in an instant.

"No John. You took them on alone; I merely gave you a helping hand. Take care."

With that, Sherlock swept out of the room, in a way that John thought you might see in a dramatic opera. John changed into his uniform and smiled to himself. Sherlock was an enigma- Who was he? Why was he here? Why did he help John?

John had too many questions and his head hurt too much to think about them right now, but as he made his way to isolation he knew one thing for sure: He was going to make sure he would see a lot more of Sherlock Holmes.