Author's Note: Thanks for still reading, special thanks to my one reviewer! Reviews help give me inspiration to continue!

Sherlock's last lesson was French, but he was in a different class to John. That made the lesson very dull and Sherlock decided to pass the time by deducing everyone in the room, twice, because he did it so quickly the first time. Eventually the class was dismissed and Sherlock left to go and meet John by the bike racks. He turned the corner and was ready to smile at John but instead scowled when he saw his older brother.

"Ah, Sherlock. Finally. Did you forget how to walk with speed?"

Sherlock crossed his arms casually.

"You've only been waiting for five minutes, Mycroft. Is the extra weight you gained this week too heavy?"

His older brother frowned and turned away. Mycroft was in the Sixth Form, four years above Sherlock. He was allowed to wear his own clothes instead of uniform, as long as they were smart and he was allowed to drive to school, privileges only the older students were allowed. Mycroft lifted his umbrella and poked Sherlock's arm with the tip.

"Let's go, I need to give Greg a lift home."

Sherlock looked up at Greg; he wasn't as tall as Mycroft and was stood there, fidgeting. He smiled awkwardly and held his hand out towards Sherlock.

"Greg Lestrade, pleasure to meet you."

Sherlock shook his hand and forced a fake smile.

"Likewise."

He quickly turned away and scanned the crowd for John; he should be here by now.

Sherlock stayed put as Mycroft poked him again.

"Let's go."

"I need to wait for John; we're going to walk home together."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, then his face turned to annoyance.

"So I didn't even need to wait here for you after all? For goodness sake Sherlock…"

Mycroft turned to leave.

"Wait."

The older Holmes turned back to his younger brother.

"Why, I thought you were waiting for John?"

"He's not here yet, I might still need a lift if he doesn't turn up."

Mycroft sighed. He couldn't just leave his younger brother there. Mother had always told him to never let Sherlock walk home alone. He huffed and leant against one of the bike racks.

"We wait five more minutes, if he's not here by then we're leaving."

Sherlock nodded, and continued to scan the crowd but he couldn't see John anywhere. He must be waiting somewhere else. Sherlock took off and walked towards the school gates. Mycroft tried to call out to stop him but instead just groaned and followed. Sherlock checked the gates, the wall and the field but John wasn't there, no-one was really around now, just a few kids were leaving having obviously been kept behind in detention.

"Sherlock, he's not here. Let's go."

Sherlock frowned. He was worried. John must have walked home.

"Mycroft, we need to stop off at John's house, to check he got home safely."

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Why wouldn't he have got home safely?"

Sherlock pursed his lips.

"I sort of… got him in a bit of trouble with some lads…"

Mycroft tutted. As inhuman as he tried to be, the older Holmes couldn't refuse his younger brother's first act of affection.

"What's the address?"

"His name's John Watson. You know the file of everyone in the school Mycroft."

Mycroft took a few seconds then smiled.

"43 Harriers Park. Sorry Greg, do you mind?"

The other boy shook his head.

"No problem."

He smiled as they got into Mycroft's gleaming black Rolls Royce. The journey was only ten minutes, but Sherlock fidgeted the whole way, peering out of the window intently. The sky was beginning to go dark and street lamps flickered on. Harriers Park was a very run down road, with litter on the streets and about five boarded up houses. 43 was just as bad, with an unkempt lawn and roof tiles that were hanging off. Sherlock was out of the car before it had even stopped and was up the steps to knock on the door. A tall, well built man opened the door an inch, peering down at Sherlock on the step. The boy could smell alcohol and took a hesitant step backwards, clearing his throat.

"I was wondering if John Watson was in?"

The man looked Sherlock up and down.

"Who are you?"

The man's voice was harsh and raspy. Sherlock knew this was John's dad and wondered how the man could be so horrible when John was so nice.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, a friend of John's. Is he in sir?"

John's dad opened the door a fraction more.

"Nah, he 'aint here. If you see the faggot, tell him he's in for a bollocking when he gets here. He didn't get me any more beer."

The man slammed the door and Sherlock walked slowly down the steps. Why wasn't John home yet? A panicky feeling rose in Sherlock's stomach as he slipped back into the car.

"Was he in?"

Mycroft looked over his shoulder into the back seat where Sherlock was.

"He's not home yet. We need to retrace the route he takes to get home."

Mycroft sighed and considered giving up and going home, but one look at his brother's face told him he couldn't. Sherlock looked anxious; it was an expression Mycroft had never seen on his brother before and although he pretended to not care, he didn't like his brother looking like that.

"Fine, let's go."

Mycroft drove slowly along the streets; Greg was peering out of one window while Sherlock was practically leaning out of the other. After four minutes there was still no sign of John and Sherlock's leg began to shake up and down rhythmically.

"There! Stop!"

Mycroft pulled over and looked around for what his younger brother had spotted. Sherlock was looking at a boy, in their uniform, stood awkwardly outside a dark alley. Sherlock recognised him as Pete, one of Anderson's mates. Sherlock squinted to see down the alley and could make out the shadows of four people. That tall one was definitely Anderson and… Sherlock's breath hitched as he saw John, being lifted into a bin. Sherlock didn't need anymore time to think. He was out of the car like a rocket and past Pete. Mycroft and Greg called after him, making their way out of the car to follow. Sherlock ran into the alley like an enraged bull and swung his fist to meet Anderson's face. The bully fell to the floor as Sherlock screamed and punched Pete, who had come running in. Sherlock turned but stumbled backwards when Michael hit the side of his head. He threw himself forward and pinned Michael against the wall but Sherlock was pulled backwards and bent over double as Anderson hit him in the stomach. Sherlock didn't stop screaming as he was restrained. Anderson looked ready for murder but stopped his advancing fist when he heard a different voice.

"I wouldn't if I were you."

Mycroft stood calmly in the opening of the alley with Greg, twisting his umbrella. Anderson's face flushed red.

"What you gonna do about it?"

Mycroft took a step forward to put himself between the bully and his brother, who was breathing heavily.

"Well, Phillip Anderson. I know that your father works in criminal forensics and your mother is a teacher. I'm sure if they were to find out what you've been up to they wouldn't be best pleased."

Anderson's fist was lowering slowly. Greg stood beside Mycroft.

"And my dad's a policeman, who works with your dad. I'm sure he'd have a lot to say about it…"

Anderson swallowed weakly. He nodded to his mates, who let go of Sherlock's arms.

"Let's go."

Anderson kept his head down as he passed Mycroft and hurriedly walked out of the alley. The boys hadn't fully left before Sherlock was in the dustbin, pulling John out. His breath caught as he lifted John into the light. His face had blood all over it and his eyes were closed and bruised. There was a cut to his temple that was still bleeding and his wrists were red from the rope. Sherlock gently placed him on the floor and he carefully removed the ropes. Mycroft and Greg stood by, watching closely. Sherlock took a deep breath and lifted John, who slumped into his chest. John's unconscious weight was heavy and Sherlock struggled.

"Do you want some help?" Greg offered but Sherlock didn't reply. Instead he began to walk to the car with John's head bobbing softly against his chest.

"It'll be alright John, I'm here, I've got you. It's ok." Sherlock muttered. Mycroft helped Sherlock lay John down across the back seats.

"We should take him back to our house, Mother can clean him up. We can't take him to his house." Sherlock stated without looking up. His eyes were fixated on John's face as tears began to form in his eyes. This was my fault. I shouldn't have provoked Anderson. I should have been there for him. It should have been me in that alley… Sherlock's eyes didn't leave John's face the whole journey. Mycroft and Greg sat in silence, listening to Sherlock mutter encouraging words to John. Sherlock ignored the throbbing in his head, he ignored the pain in his stomach and ribs, but he couldn't ignore the pain in his chest. It was a pain he'd never felt before, his heart ached. Sherlock lifted John's hand and held it in his own.

It was my fault, I'm sorry John.

John flickered his eyes open slowly. His head felt heavy and groggy and the light hurt his eyes. He blinked heavily and turned his head to look around. His head swam as he moved so he squeezed his eyes shut until it passed. Upon opening his eyes, he could see a very opulent but messy looking room. He could make out a periodic table on the wall and a desk full of science equipment. John lifted himself slowly and took deep breaths to get rid of the sick feeling. He propped himself up against the pillows but winced at the sharp pains that hit most of his body. John glanced around the room and looked to his right, where he saw Sherlock sat on a beanbag. His head was leaning on his shoulder and he was asleep. John smiled and looked down at himself. He was dressed in dark blue silk pyjamas that were quite big for him, his right arm was back in a sling and he could feel his head was wrapped in a bandage, causing his hair to stick out weirdly at the top. His left eye was swollen and his nose hurt. John lifted the pyjama top and inspected his stomach, which had mottled purple and black bruises over it. There was a particularly large bruise over his right lower rib and he drew in a sharp breath as he poked it, realising it was probably fractured. John lowered the top and couldn't help looking over at Sherlock, who was still sleeping peacefully. John thought how restful he looked when he was asleep, opposite to his usual manic personality. Sherlock's eyes flickered and opened slowly, John looked away to try and disguise the fact he'd been staring at Sherlock for five minutes.

"It's rude to stare you know."

Sherlock's deep voice punctuated the silence. John turned to look at him and smiled. Sherlock stood up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

John swallowed and realised how dry his mouth was, his voice came out raspy.

"Not too bad. Where am I?"

Sherlock looked around the room as if it was an obvious question.

"My room, in my house."

John nodded and took a deep breath as his head span again.

"Do you want some water?"

"Yes please."

Sherlock got his phone out and texted someone before turning his attention back to John. Sherlock coughed and John looked up at him, noticing a bruise forming under his left eye.

"What happened last night?" John asked hesitantly.

"What do you remember?"

John cast his mind back. The memories seemed blurry.

"Um, well… I remember walking home, and seeing Anderson and his mates. I remember it being really dark and having a bit of a fight. After that, nothing really."

Sherlock nodded.

"I waited for you at school, but then you weren't there, or at your house either so…"

"You went to my house?"

John looked confused and Sherlock nodded.

"Yeah, Mycroft knows the address of everyone in the school. Your dad was there, he said you hadn't come home yet, so we drove the route you walk home and saw Anderson and his mates in an alley, so we… intervened."

John took a second to process the information.

"Who's Mycroft?"

"Oh, just my older brother. And his friend Greg Lestrade helped too."

Sherlock looked down and fiddled with his thumbs as John studied his face.

"How'd you get a black eye?"

Sherlock looked up at John and faintly smiled.

"I tried to take on three guys at once; turns out learning Tai Kwon Do when you're five doesn't really help…"

John laughed and then coughed and winced at the pain in his stomach. The door opened and a tall woman walked in holding a tray. She had long black curly hair and was wearing a long blue dress.

"Oh, John. You're awake. Wonderful! How are you feeling sweetie?"

The woman put the tray on the bedside table and Sherlock moved back onto the bean bag.

"My head hurts and my nose, and… well most of me hurts really but I'm alright."

The woman nodded and passed John the glass of water and two white tablets.

"Here you go lovely, these painkillers should help. I'm Mrs Holmes, Sherlock's mother. Give me a shout if you need anything."

Mrs Holmes smiled and turned to her son.

"Keep on eye on him Sherlock. Is your head ok?"

Sherlock's mum stroked her hand down the side of her son's face who nodded quickly.

"I'm fine mother, thank you."

The woman smiled and left, closing the door softly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, just my mother…"

John took a sip of the water and shook his head.

"It's fine, she's lovely. Thanks for bringing me here Sherlock and looking after me…I… it wouldn't have been… if… if I'd gone home…"

John cast his eyes downwards.

"It's alright."

John took another sip of water and placed the glass back on the table.

"Sherlock… I have a question…"

Sherlock moved the beanbag closer.

"Yes?"

John avoided eye contact and look down at his lap.

"Will you answer honestly?"

Sherlock nodded and looked at John's eyes. John swallowed and looked up at Sherlock.

"Who put me in these pyjamas?"

Sherlock looked confused. John continued.

"Well… I mean I was in my school clothes and have been unconscious the whole time… I just mean…"

John changed to a whisper.

"I have different underwear on so… someone has… you know…"

Sherlock giggled and caused John to smile widely.

"It's not funny Sherlock I'm serious!"

Sherlock laughed some more and looked back at John.

"It was my mum, don't worry. She's a nurse so she's seen it all before!"

John smiled and seemed relieved. Sherlock looked confused at John.

"Why, did you think it was me?!"

John giggled and went a bit red.

"I thought it might have been! It would have been a bit awkward!"

The boys laughed and John coughed and they laughed some more. They were interrupted when Mycroft walked in.

"I heard you were awake. How are you feeling John?"

John looked up at the older Holmes and realised how much he resembled Sherlock.

"Better. Thank you for helping."

Mycroft nodded.

"No problem. We've notified the school that you both won't be in today, and I will be having words with the head teacher about Phillip Anderson and his band of idiots."

Sherlock and John smiled. Mycroft remained emotionless.

"Focus on getting better."

The older Holmes walked back out of the room and closed the door. John raised his eyebrows at Sherlock and smiled.

"Is he always that impassive?"

Sherlock nodded.

"He thinks emotion is a weakness. Anyway, we have a whole day to fill. I have the Lord of the Rings Trilogy on DVD?"