Sorry guys. No problem had come up when I posted.

John had no idea where he was. He had to look for.. Miss Patricks? No.. Miss Uh...shit how am I supposed to find a teacher when I don't even know her name. Walking around the corner he saw a door with 'MISS FITZPATRICK MUSIC' written on it. Well that's convenient. He thought as he knocked on the door, no answer, he went in and, damn it! No one was there. Wait what's that noise? It's a violin John honestly. Shaking his head he walked towards the room at the back, the violin was slightly louder but not enough that it would distract a class, soundproof.

He figured that Miss Fitzpatrick would be there. Well unless Miss Fitzpatrick is a silver off six foot tall and has the most unruly hair in the world, I really doubt that would be her. Then he recognised the music, Vivaldi, impressive. Then the stranger started to dance to his music, ballet John thought. Not a note out of place as he moved with grace, John was entranced. The boy stopped, tensed, then whirled around, shock was evident on his face. "It's open." The boy stated and then turned his back on him. Ah yes I had a teacher to find. He opened the door but didn't step in, "Sorry, uh, I was just looking for Miss Fitzpatrick." The boy side eyed him, saying nothing, John felt as though he were under a microscope. The boys eyes were travelling down, not leering, just studying.

OK now this is uncomfortable. "Hello?" the boys eyes snapped up to reach his. Oh now that is fascinating, John thought, looking at the boys eyes he saw that they weren't just one colour, they were blue, green and grey all at the same time. "Free class. Try the staff room." he broke eye contact and then faced away from John. Wh- oh the teacher. "Um thanks." he shuffled a little to reach the door and then softly closed it.

Well that was odd.

It took him ages to find the staff room and still she wasn't there, it wasn't too important so John decided it would be best to leave it until tomorrow. He didn't have class right now so John went to the gym for an extra workout session. 97, 98, 99 -
"Hey mate. John right?" came a voice from behind John. One more pull up 100 then he jumped down onto the ground. "John. John Watson." he said hitting the other boys outstretched hand in an informal hand shake. "Greg Lestrade. You're the new guy, saw you at one of our practices. I think you have good potential mate." John definitely wasn't expecting this "Well, thanks." John was slightly speechless. "Mind if we join you? We can get you caught up on what's what." John looked around the empty gym, "Well help yourselves."

OK so these boys weren't so bad. Greg was funny, bit of a git but isn't everyone this age. Just typical 17/18 year old guys talking about girls, cars, parties. They spent an hour just working out together, talking and joking. One of the guys piped up "So John what classes are you taking?" John stopped the treadmill and picked up his water bottle and spoke slightly out of breath. "Uh, P.E* Biology, Chemistry and Maths." Everyone just stopped and looked at him. "Are you trying to bury yourself in work?" Greg chuckled. Then one of the guys piped up, a different one this time, "Wait, guys he's got three classes with that Holmes kid." Who? John thought, murmurs were heard around the gym.

"Who's the 'Holmes kid?'" Greg waved his over to the space in the middle of the gym and sat down, everyone else did to. Greg spoke up "Sherlock Holmes, very...weird, most people call him a freak." John felt a bit of sympathy go out to this kid. "Seems a bit harsh if you ask me. Why is he a freak?" Another one spoke up, Frank I think his name is, "He knows things mate, like about everyone, without you even saying a word he'll know what you've been doing and even what your thinking."

John chuckled, "Oh come on. That's impossible, without even speaking to them?" Greg shook his head "No mate, I've heard him do it. I think it's pretty cool to be honest, others don't take to kindly to it, call him a freak, rough him up a few times." The thought that someone just beat a guy up just for knowing things made John angry. "You'll meet this guy soon enough anyway, you're in three of his classes. Try not to punch him in the face though." John scoffed "He can't be that bad."
The bell went so they went to the showers and got ready for class. "I have Chemistry now. Sure I'll tell you how it goes. What does he look like?" John asked Greg who just laughed, "Trust me, you'll know him when you see him, the kid sticks out."

He was a bit late, the teacher would understand, he is new. He knocked and stepped in but before he could say anything the teacher spoke "Ah yes, I was told you would be coming. You can sit down next to Sherlock there at the back." the room went quiet and everyone was looking at John. He looked at the back of the room and, to his surprise, saw the boy from the music room, the one playing the violin. He didn't seem so bad when I first saw him. He started to walk to the back of the room and could hear quiet comments being thrown his way such as "good luck mate" and "unlucky." The boy, Sherlock, moved his book over so he had room. Well that is polite. John pulled out the stool and sat down nervously, he didn't pay John any attention, just kept reading. Be polite John. The class was no longer looking at him and the teacher had carried on so he turned slightly to the left and held out his hand slightly.

"John Watson. Nice to see you again."

(Sherlock)

He stared at the boys outstretched hand for a moment, he turned and shook his hand slightly. Firm grip. Definitely a military background. "Sherlock Holmes." "Now then, for this task I want you to work with your partners. Sherlock make sure John gets caught up on this weeks work. The project is due on Monday. You can start now."
Then of course the sniggers came from around the room, all muttering "the fag will love that." in some way or another. Don't listen to them Sherlock. Don't. Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP. He didn't realise that he had balled both of his hands into fists and was now shaking. "Are you alright Sherlock?" John looked...concerned. That's new. "Fine."

Just be forward but not too forward. You can do this. "I'll uh... be in the here after school if you want to work on the project together with me." 'Together with me? Really Sherlock?' He didn't think John noticed and if he did, he's not showing it. Thank god! "Sure." he smiled and Sherlock couldn't help a small smile appear on his face. "Oh look here guys. The fag is smiling. Must be crushing on the new guy." and the class laughed.

THAT'S IT! Sherlock stood up quickly and his stool fell backwards, he grabbed his books and his bag and half ran half stormed out of the class but before the teacher could say anything the bell went.

Running into the boys toilets he went to the end and locked the door. He took off his coat and hung it on the door then closed the lid on the toilet and sat down, he unbuttoned the shirt cuffs and carefully rolled up the sleeves of his grey shirt he examined his arm. His arm was covered in scars, healing cuts and fresh cuts. Straight white lines covered his skin from his wrist down a quarter of his arm, the healing cuts, lines that are scabbed over and bumpy, covered the middle section of his arm. Then from the middle up were fresh cuts, this morning to be exact, still bright red, stinging, yet calming.

He leaned forward and stuck his hand into his pocket pulling out a small clear bag. Where he keeps the blade to keep it clean, he loves the shine on a clean blade being tarnished by his blood. Sherlock smiled. He lifted out the silver object and put the bag back in his pocket. Look at you Sherlock. Damaged. Ruined. A Freak. Alone. His eyes already blurry with tears, he took the blade in his right hand and rested it at his wrist putting the tip to his skin. Leave. Me. Alone. With a slight pressure he dragged the blade across his skin and everything turned to slow motion. The blade making a small incision and for a small moment everything was still, almost perfect, that was what Sherlock craved. But it was quickly lost and then small a thin line of blood came slowly pouring out of his skin.

No! NO! I need that again. I need it! He moved down his wrist creating another line, feeling that moment of perfection, bathing in it and just like every other time he lost it as soon as he got it. Worthless. Disappointing. Stupid. Freak. FREAK! The tears streamed down his face, one dripped and landed on one of the open wound. It stings but Sherlock doesn't mind, he just needs to feel that moment of security he doesn't notice the 5 cuts seeping blood, running down his arm, down his hand. "Shit" he muttered and carefully placed the blade on his thigh, grabbing some tissue he started to try and control the bleeding. After a few minutes, that felt like hours, he had wiped up most of the blood and they had stopped bleeding. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to make the tears and redness go away. Now he was just dying for a smoke. Carefully he pulled his sleeve back down, cleaned his blade, put everything away, put on his coat. Stuffed the biology book in his bag and made sure no one was in the bathroom when he left.

Sherlock made his way through the empty hallway, turning corners without even thinking, before he even knew it his feet had dragged him to his favourite place in school. Around the back where the trees are, the middle one is Sherlock's tree, it's a blind spot, somehow none of the rooms can see this one tree and Sherlock likes that.
He lifted out the packet and shook one out, putting it between his lips and lighting it. The first drag of a cigarette is Sherlock's favourite. He throws his head back and blows out the smoke into the chilly air. My my little brother, skipping class already. It's barely been a week." the disappointment coming from Mycroft is nothing new, even if it is just in Sherlock's head.

He closed his eyes, feeling the cool breeze run through his hair. He smoked until the end of school, by which time he had gotten quite cold. He finished his third cigarette, letting it fall through his fingers to the ground and stamping on it. He put his bag over his good arm and up his shoulder, careful not to brush his arm against anything. He took a deep breath and starting walking back towards the school, his coat tails fluttering in the wind behind him.