Chapter 2

This little paradise of ours.

Sherlock watched the boy he had been following closely as his demeanour quickly morphed from broken to mending in the space of a few seconds.

Though he was in obvious pain, he straightened his back, squared his shoulders and walked towards the boarding school, which was about to become his home for the next few months, with a determination that was rarely found amongst many.

Soldier complex then. Doesn't easily give in. Strong minded.

Sherlock hadn't seen a person worth his full interest for quite some time. He supposed this was why he was so intrigued by the boy with blonde hair. He had been so bored this summer, stuck at home alone with Mycroft babysitting. Father had been away somewhere on business and Mummy was unwell and so spent most of her time in her room.

Some days she would come out and go down stairs to join Sherlock in the garden while he was conducting some sort of extravagant experiment on grass. She wouldn't say anything, just sit with him and watch. She just liked to be with him, to feel his presence. It reassured her that she was still here, that life was still going, time was still turning. The disease she had attacked her mind, isolated her from the world. And being there with Sherlock reminded her that she was still a part of it.

Neither would speak, but both would know.

Sherlock enjoyed her presence too, his mother was different to other members of his family. She didn't bother or distract him during experiments. She wasn't nosey or prying, she simply observed and accepted what she saw. And Sherlock loved her for it.

He watched as John paused at the gates and turned his head around reflexively. He shot an accusatory glance around behind him.

Paranoid. Sherlock noted. Constantly aware of people around him, always watching his back. Obviously a side affect of an abusive childhood.

Sherlock wondered how hard it would be to cure someone of this paranoia.

I could do it. Distract him enough from his past. And it has been such an awfully boring summer, it would be an interesting experiment.

Sherlock decided that was the sole reason he had for following him but there was something at the back of his mind that was pulling him towards the boy also, only Sherlock couldn't quite figure out what it was.

Sherlock too paused at the gates. But he had stopped to get his pack of cigarettes out of his coat's inside pocket. He was heading into his fifth year now and yet the teachers were still just as keen to "save him from an early grave" but he simply saw their protests as a waste of his time, he supposed he was too far gone now anyway, there probably wasn't much to salvage regarding his lungs.

Therefore he resulted to slipping behind the little group of trees and bushes to the left of the school gates to have his morning smoke.

After searching for his cigarettes he looked up, trying to locate John again, only to find that he had vanished.

At first he was quite dissapointed but then he decided he would find John again later, now was time for smoking before school started.

Sherlock sifted through the trees expertly, making his way to his favourite spot; a little circle surrounded by trees, quite isolated but cosy all the same. It also had a small, slightly withered bench in the centre. It had been a small paradise for Sherlock throughout his years at Mythwater.

But as he approached the entrance to the little circle he heard something. Footsteps, like some one was moving around. The only other person who had discovered this place was Anderson, a foul boy who had followed Sherlock there hoping to find something Sherlock was hiding which might have been valuable.

Sherlock stopped suddenly in anger, then marched forward calling; "Anderson I told you what would happen if you ever came back here! I swear if you don't get out now I wont hesitate to tell Sally all about your bit on the side in fourth year-"

On entering the circle Sherlock stopped short, noticing that it was not Anderson who had found his hidden paradise, but in fact John.

"Oh. Sorry I - thought you were someone else." Sherlock said awkwardly.

"No - sorry I umm - I was just - I was -"

Sherlock looked John over quickly, taking in the red eyes and the single tear stained cheek which had also gone quite a violent shade of purple, just before he turned around hastily and wiped his eyes.

"Yes." Sherlock said, showing john he didn't need an answer.

John turned around again after a few moments and attempted a small, shy smile.

Sherlock couldn't help smiling back at him. They sustained eye contact for a few seconds before John looked away, slightly embarrassed.

"Sorry I should probably go. It's er, quite a nice little place this isn't it, feels sort of - I dunno - safe."

He made to leave but Sherlock stopped him before he could properly think it over.

"No, you should stay - I mean, school doesn't start for about another fifteen minutes - and out there's just filled with all these half witted, poor excuses for human beings, trust me, you're far better off here."

John just stared at him, eyes slightly wide. Sherlock held his breath, afraid he's gone too far and said something not good again.

But then John just started laughing. It was a high boyish giggle, that made him feel a lot younger and lighter with each breath that escaped his lips.

Sherlock stood there watching, quite shocked, then joined in with his rich baritone laugh.

When John finished he said: "Well you're nothing if not honest."

Sherlock smiled and gestured to the old bench; "Want to sit?"

"Sure."

They sat side by side on the small bench; John swinging his legs and studying the ground, seemingly deep in thought, Sherlock watching him intently.

"What are you thinking about?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"I don't know really, everything and nothing I suppose."

He let out a small laugh and turned to Sherlock; " I suppose you must think I am - well..."

"I think you're great." He spoke confidently and slowly, and surprisingly he meant every word.

John stared at him in shock. Then he smiled and looked down again saying; "You don't even know me. If you did I doubt you'd stick around to say that."

"You'd be surprised." Sherlock mused, more to himself. People had this assumption that if they did not voice their secrets and thoughts then they remained hidden. But they were wrong. People wore their thoughts like canvases, painted intricately for Sherlock to read.

"Why?" John asked, intrigued but also looking slightly worried.

Sherlock hesitated, looking at John intently. He was unsure of what Johns reaction would be if he did tell him all he knew. He would usually just go ahead with his deductions, never held back by something so fickle as peoples feelings. But there was something different about John, he didn't want to hurt John. And so he simply brushed it off, battling his urges to show John all he could really see when he looks at a person, and said "Nothing."

John shifted on the bench angling himself towards Sherlock, on doing so their thighs brushed slightly and Sherlock felt something lurch in the pit of his stomach, something foreign and frightening to him.

He looked at there knees which were now pressed together, then back up to John's eyes, which were looking into Sherlock's, eager.

"No, go on, tell me. I can see you want to say something."

Sherlock was looking at John slightly wide eyed like a deer at the headlights, still momentarily overcome by the strange new feeling John had awoken in him.

John was looking at him, not accusingly, but intrigued.

Sherlock hesitated for a second longer and then blurted out; "I know your name is John Watson, that you have a a deceased mother and an abusive father who blames you for her death. I know you blame yourself too, despite the front you put up, it is slowly killing you inside day by day. I know that although you despise your father, if the day ever came where he welcomed you with open arms you would willingly accept it instantly, after waiting your whole life for the love you truly deserve but were never given. I know that your sister is completely oblivious to your fathers bad habits of drinking and late night beatings but only because you make it so. Your father would never hurt her, possibly because she reminds him of your mother, possibly because he has his own moral guide lines which like many fools includes never hitting a girl, but everyone else is okay.

I know that you would never tell her either because you feel that in doing so, you would be endangering her. And as much as it angers you to see her treating him with such admiration, you would never put your own happiness or safety, for that matter, before another's. Its this martyr quality you have."

Sherlock paused to take a breath, but seeing Johns face; eyes averted, expression contorted in pain, he immediately stopped and looked at the ground, ashamed.

He waited for John to begin with the endless streams of abuse which usually followed his deductions. But he did not. He stayed silent. Looking up at a point in the trees.

Sherlock wasn't sure if this was better or worse. It didn't look like John was going to say something anytime soon, so Sherlock turned to him and said;

"Look, i'm sorry John, I shouldn't have said that. I just - do things sometimes without meaning to - I"

"You're right."

Sherlock faltered slightly as John looked back into his eyes and said again; "You're right. Right about my mum and dad and my sister and...me. I don't know how, but you're right and that was quite incredible."

He finished and smiled sadly at Sherlock, who just sat there staring at John, disbelieving.

No one had ever said that about one of his deductions before. Never. No one had ever called him incredible.

For some reason John felt no need to question Sherlock on how he knew all the things he did. He just saw his brilliance and accepted it.

It felt nice to be accepted by someone. Sitting here with John, on the old oak bench, among the cover of the tall trees, Sherlock understood Johns first comment about the place; it really did feel safe.

He had never thought this before on entering his little hiding place, nor had he ever thought he would crave this feeling of safety so much, until now, as he sat there with John by his side, and felt it.

And Sherlock, feeling the warmth of Johns thigh pressed against his as they sat in contented silence and listening to the gentle breeze as it whistled through the trees, realised that this truly was their own little paradise. Perfection wrapped up in a moment, and he never wanted it to end. But as the shrill ring of the bell sounded, Sherlock was reminded that nothing good ever lasts.

John stood and held out a hand for Sherlock, who took it and held it happily; standing. But when he was stood John slowly pulled his hand away, his ears going a slight shade of pink.

Sherlock felt slightly rejected at first, but quickly submerged it to a deep recess of his mind to contemplate over later.

They walked out of the hidden circle one by one as the entrance was quite small, then walked towards the school gates blending in with the sea of students flooding towards the entrance.

"So you are in Fifth year then?" Sherlock asked as they walked.

"Yes."

"Your first year here though I take it. I would have recognised you otherwise."

"I'm not very memorable."

Sherlock stopped and looked at him; "On the contrary, I think that you are very memorable."

John blushed slightly and smiled up at him.

"Well I'm glad one person thinks so." He said quietly, nudging Sherlock's arm with his own in a way of thanks.

The brush of john's arm against his sent a shiver through him and a rush of fire to his skin in tandem.

"Well anyone who doesn't think so is an idiot."

John laughed, "That must be it, yeah."

They began walking again, making their way to the reception to sign in and get there room numbers.

Sherlock, watching John walking happily beside him with their fingers brushing slightly every so often, had a feeling that this year was going to be a good one.