A/N: I am on a roll today! Okay, this is a sequel/second chapter that I had not originally planned. I woke up this morning with ideas and so I wrote it and now it exists. I hope you like it though! Please review or something, anything really. Send me a telepathic message with your comments and concerns. (Personally I think a review is easier but feel free to experiment.) Enjoy!

Sherlock got to school before John every morning, just so he could gather his thoughts for the day. The way the morning sunlight reflected off John's dirty blond hair as he walked up had nothing to do with it. Sherlock brought tea. He had always brought tea. Ever since the two boys had become friends, Sherlock brought two to-go cups of tea, one with milk and three sugars, the other plain.

The repetitive nature of their mornings helped the new tension Sherlock had been feeling. Mornings were always the same and he knew how they worked. Nothing had to be said. Last night didn't have to exist, at least not for a while.

Getting ready to hand over the tea, he meant to say, "Morning." Sherlock could have said anything. His first choices were:

"How are you?"

"Did you see Haley Topman's shoelaces? Someone's been cheating on tests."

"This week's tea isn't as good. I suspect the bees."

Of course, he didn't say any of those things. He didn't greet John at all. Sherlock tried so hard to say anything at all. Instead, he pushed the cup into his hands and bolted through the school doors. Today was not off to a great start.

Later, in the Chemistry lab, Sherlock thought about his actions. Nothing was being solved by his inability to communicate like a human. Something had to be done. Either Sherlock plunges into the unknown and lets go of his secret, or he swallows the urge like he always does and waits it out. It's a tough decision, but he makes it swiftly.

Telling John now is like ripping off the band-aid. It hurts a lot now but later on he'll be thankful. He will be turned down, the friendship is over and they can both move on. Sherlock survived without John before, he could do it again.

(Except he doesn't really think so. John has become such a staple that he doesn't know what he'll do. John is to Sherlock what tea is to England, they can't live without it.)

The last step was the biggest. How? How does Sherlock bare his soul in a situation this important? He's read books, seen shows and even heard a few second hand accounts, but none of those seem his style. Maybe primary school holds the answer. After all, Sherlock does seem best on paper.

"There is a very strong possibility that this could go horribly wrong, but I've consulted reliable source material and this seems to be the best option.

I like you. Do you like me? Check Yes or No

Sherlock"

John looked down at the piece of lined paper thrust upon him during passing. He didn't understand. Did Sherlock really like him? That was a real surprise. The other-worldly boy hadn't seemed interested in anyone, much less John himself. Unbelievable. Who knows how long this had been going on without John's knowledge. There was only one way to respond. He set to work right away, ignoring his teachers for the rest of the day, frantic thoughts swirling.

Sherlock walked to his locker with slumped shoulders. Surely by now John had read the note and run away as fast as he could. He sighed. No one could say Sherlock Holmes didn't at least try.

When the locker opened, something white fluttered to the ground. It looked like a note, but why would someone put a note in his locker? Sherlock picked it up and opened it. Another piece of paper fell out. So far this note business had caused more mess than answers.

He looked at the first piece, leaving the other one on the ground. It was the note he gave John, but instead of an answer there was an arrow next to words written in blue pen.

"Depends: See second note."

Sherlock bent to pick up the second note.

"Turn around"

What kind of ridiculous notion was that? Nothing special had been behind him before. John was just getting a head start on the bullying that was sure to come. Sherlock turned around just to satisfy the almost taunting words on the page.

Surprisingly, the space behind him had changed. John was standing there with a white sheet of paper.

"Angelo's 7 o'clock?"

Silence filled the hall. Everyone had left except Sherlock and John, presumably while he was reading all the other bits of paper. Sherlock, stunned, could only nod.

John Watson was the most unpredictable boy in all of England.