When he entered the room he found Sherlock sitting at his desk writing up something on his laptop.

"Hey," John said cheerfully. Sherlock grunted in return.

John sat down on his bed and contemplated on how he was going to tell Sherlock to treat his mates better.

"What is it?" Sherlock hissed, his blue eyes piercing John with a heavy stare. John was once again taken back with Sherlock's uncanny ability to see through him; he answered in a small voice.

"Well, I was talking to my mates and they…" John trailed off, how could he say what he wanted without sounding like he was giving Sherlock a scolding?

"They wanted you to tell me to mind my own fucking business?"

"No, not exactly, just, look, we can't all be Einstein here, but don't give Mikkel shit about being stupid. He isn't! And telling him to play with Lego's that was low Sherlock! I'm not telling you to be all Susie high school, but do try not to make everyone hate you within the first week of term aye?"

"He messed up the experiment. He used the wrong solution of sulphuric acid, if he had poured it in the whole bleeding lab would have exploded!" Sherlock let out exasperatedly.

"Yeah, well, try to tell him in a friendlier way next time." John sighed in resignation; he knew he'd never beat Sherlock in this discussion—or any other for that matter. He decided to take another approach to Sherlock.

"So, how are you faring here at Bart's then Sherlock? Besides making sure the rugby team and the exchange students don't like you?" John chuckled a little and Sherlock looked—really looked—at John's face, then his contorted.

"You, you genuinely want to know, your face doesn't show signs of discomfort or forced politeness, why?" John was taken back.

"Why? Well because I want to know Sherlock! If you haven't noticed I am trying to be friends with you, but you're making it so fucking hard to initiate any form of conversation. It's like you're desperately trying not to make friends here; what about your old school, your mates there? Don't you miss them? Miss having someone to talk to?" Sherlock winced at the tone of John's voice.

"My old school," Sherlock gave a small laugh, "which one? This is the fifth school so far that I've been placed at. Friends? Really John, do I look like someone who had a ton of friends?" Sherlock shook his head, "If you must know John, I do try to avoid petty things such as friends or sentiment."

"Why? Friends are what make school survivable! No wonder you seem so bloody miserable all the fucking time. You don't have anyone to share a laugh with, to muck about with?" John was dumbstruck at this; he wouldn't have survived school without the lads, let alone the exams.

"You ask a lot of questions John; can't you just let me fucking be?" Sherlock yelled.

"No I fucking well can't! The school has trusted me to see you settled in and I bloody well won't disappoint them!" John was fuming with rage. Sherlock sighed and turned to face John, his face buried in his long, white, spiderlike hands.

"If you must know John, people don't seem towantto spend time with me; they call me a freak and run away. My brain, John, it works on another level than yours, I think fast, act fast, and won't be slowed down by anyone. I'm driven by my brain's needs not by body's or heart's." Sherlock lowered his head and ran his fingers through his long, dark, curls. "You wouldn't want to be my friend; I'm not worth your time or your compassion."

"Hey! I haven't run away! I haven't called you a freak!" John wanted to make Sherlock feel better; at first he didn't think the wanker deserved his friendship or his compassion, but then he remembered what his Grandma had told him once—she had told him to treat everyone like he wanted to be treated, that sending good out into the world made it a better place. John sighed; he missed his Grandma so bad, she had died a year ago from breast cancer. Sherlock looked up at John, taking his unusual pending silence.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"What? How?" John shook his head; once again astounded by Sherlock's omniscient abilities.

"Your face, it was showing sorrow; someone close to you, not very recently gone, who?" Sherlock's eyes softened and John didn't know what to do be more surprised by, the deduction of his Grandma or Sherlock's expression.

"My…my Grandmother, she died of breast cancer a year ago; she told me shortly before she died that I should treat people as I wanted to be treated. That's why I am not giving up on being nice to you Sherlock, Granny wouldn't have wanted me to break my promise." John turned his face and wiped a tear off his cheek.

"I'm, I'm sorry for upsetting you John, it wasn't my intention." Sherlock looked down on his shoes.

"Doesn't matter Sherlock, just don't tell the lads I was sobbing like a little girl aye?" John chuckled.

"I promise." Sherlock joined John's chuckling.

"Hey we should be heading down to the dining hall, it's almost dinner time." John smiled at Sherlock and rose to leave.

"You go, I'm staying here." Sherlock then turned his attention to his phone.

"Sherlock you need to eat? And by the way, do you ever eat? I never see you in the dining hall."

"Eating slows me down, I need to think, my body, it's just transport." Sherlock huffed, looking up from his phone.

"Sherlock! You have to eat for god's sake! Come, let's go!" John grabbed his arm and dragged him off his bed. Sherlock rose unwillingly; he attempted to shake his arm from John's grip, but to his surprise it was incredibly strong.

"Oh no you don't, you are coming down to dinner and I won't rest until I see you eat something, anything. They only thing I've seen you take is coffee and that can't be a healthy diet!" John was dragging Sherlock halfway down the corridor when Sherlock finally succumbed and went willingly. When they reached the hall it was already packed; they were standing in line when Greg passed.

"Hey, I thought you weren't coming, we're saving you a seat mate."

"That's alright Greg, Sherlock and I have some things to discuss do I'll just sit with him if that's alright." John tried to send Greg an apologetic look and smile.

"Hmm, suit yourself mate." Greg walked down to the lads with a slightly angry expression. Sherlock and John had gotten their food and found a vacant table by the end wall.

"Why did you dismiss your mates? You clearly made them angry by sitting with me, would you rather not be with them and let me sit here alone?" Sherlock looked at John with something that could be confusion.

"Oh no, they'll survive. I want to make sure you eat something. You are not getting away from me that easily." John laughed as he grabbed a large forkful of spaghetti. Sherlock tried to follow suit and began eating. They didn't talk much; John didn't know what to talk about with Sherlock and Sherlock didn't seem like the type of bloke that made small talk.

"If you wish to initiate a conversation with me feel free to do so, but do keep in mind that I am not accustomed to small talk." Sherlock huffed between bites of spaghetti.

"Okay, where are you from? How about your family?" John tried to ask the basics, Sherlock gave a slight chuckle.

"So predictable Watson; I'm from London, but Mummy resides in our country estate. My brother still lives in our London house, it's more convenient since he works in the city."

"Oh, what does your brother do then?" John was rolling a meatball around his plate.

"Well, he's pretty much running the British government." Sherlock laughed.

"Blimey! Then he must be much older than you!" John gasped and nearly dropped his fork.

"He's ten years my senior." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"Well, I've got mum and dad, and Harry. That's to say Harriet, my sister. I've never really been to London, too expensive, my mum and dad always said. I've been on school trips but never longer than a couple of hours." John sighed; Sherlock looked at him.

"When you speak of home your face contorts. You clearly don't like it there, is that why you came here?"

John sighed and shook his head. "Just amazing Sherlock, how you can deduce that just by looking at my face still amazes me. Yeah, mum and dad fight, Harry drink because they fight. Then they fight because Harry drinks, and you know, usual family drama." John looked into Sherlock's piercing blue eyes and saw nothing but curiosity. Sherlock looked down, it seemed to John that Sherlock wasn't accustomed to reacting to such personal things; John appreciated his silence.

"I guess we should be heading down to English then, now that I see you've been fed?" John said as Sherlock reluctantly finished his plate of spaghetti. Sherlock nodded; they exited the hall and headed towards English together—in silence. As they entered the classroom John saw that Greg and the lads already arrived. John looked at them and then at Sherlock, did Sherlock expect him to invited him over to sit with them? Or did he expect him to join Sherlock in the corner? Sherlock broke the silence.

"You go over to your mates, you clearly wish their company and you don't owe me yours. John believe me, I will not be angry or disappointed."

"Cheers. See you later then." John smiled and went over to sit with the lads.

"Oh, I see his majesty has the kindness to bestow us his presence." Oliver bit out sarcastically.

"Oi, hear me out before you get mad aye? It isn't that I don't want to hang out with you guys, it's just that Sherlock hasn't eaten dinner since he got here; so, since the school has given me the responsibility to make sure that he is settling here, I thought I had to make sure he ate." John tried to send them all an apologetic smile.

"Whatever mate." Oliver looked away and John huffed.

Mr. Roberts finally entered the room; John looked at him. Today he was wearing brown suede trousers with a white shirt with the three top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. His brown hair was ruffled in a Tenth Doctor sort of way and his sideburns ended in a trimmed five o'clock shadow. John couldn't stop looking at his teacher—he mesmerized John in a way he hadn't experienced before.

As Mr. Roberts turned to write the lesson on the blackboard John's gaze paused at his teacher's well trimmed bottom. It was a while before he noticed that his class was rising. He finally came back to reality when Mikkel shook him.

"Oi daydreamer, we have to do this assignment."

"What, sorry, I, I didn't sleep well last night. Must've dozed off a bit there, what are we supposed to be doing?"

"We are to translate this Shakespearian sonnet into modern day English; we have until next time to do it." Mikkel sounded slightly annoyed at having to tell John.

John read the sonnet, it was the eighteenth, Shall I compare thee to a summer's day; great, some romantic hogwash, just what he needed. He rolled his eyes and began the assignment with Mikkel. John peeked over at Sherlock, he was sitting with one of the lads from the rugby team. He hoped Sherlock wouldn't do something idiotic again.