Wow 20+ favourites, 30+ follows and 15 reviews, thanks! Keep it up! Sorry for the lack of update, I've been quite busy with summer and all... no I haven't. I've just been feeling a little depressed is all. Any ways This one contains a bit of bullying, and Sherlock being slightly self-destructive.

I do not own BBC Sherlock or its characters. *cough*Or The Hobbit...*cough*

After night had passed and day had come, John grew concerned when Sherlock started to act like everything was back to normal. Of course he's happy for him that he's not as afraid any more, but... it all seemed so strange and out of the ordinary. But then again, when was Sherlock ever ordinary? As for the wounds, they were still incredibly visible, some were even increasing in swelling. After Mycroft had heard that Sherlock didn't want to report anything, he paid him a visit along with a lecture, only to receive the same answer; No. Even Lestrade grew greatly concerned and had rang over, asking if he was absolutely sure if he didn't want to report. Again, the same answer.

It was when Sherlock hadn't eaten at all that day when John came to confront him.

"Sherlock," John started, taking a seat on the armchair in front of Sherlock's. "It's been five days."

"Since what?"

"Since you've last eaten."

Sherlock turned his head from staring at the fireplace (that wasn't even lit) to look at John. He cocked an eyebrow as he replied. "So?"

"So, eat now, before you faint of starvation."

"Oh please, John-"

"No, Sherlock, I'm serious." John said as he leaned forwards and pulled up a lecturing index finger. Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes as he got more comfortable in his seat.

"Eating's boring; slows me down."

"You're not even on a case!"

"Slows down my thinking." Sherlock mumbled in an emotionless tone. He held up his two hands to his nose, as if he were praying, while John finally stood up and stared down at him.

"I'm going to make you something to eat, and if I don't see it finished by tomorrow morning, I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I'll have to try to force you."

Sherlock just smiled at this, as if it were a good price of entertainment. "Is that supposed to make me afraid?" He responded, the smile still visible on his face as he cocked an eyebrow.

"It should."

The younger man watched as John stormed into the kitchen and began preparing a small meal for Sherlock; a sandwich, with eggs on the side. Sherlock sighed, he honestly didn't feel like eating, nor did he see the point to it.

"It's the Janitor! Obvious! Who else would be around in these certain hours?!" Sherlock raised his voice aloud. Lestrade had called the next morning for them to show up at a crime scene. His entire team had felt they lacked a large amount of intelligence (which Sherlock always said they did anyway) after the Consulting Detective solved the case within 20 minutes. "Are you all honestly that stupid? It must be so fun not being me." He added. None of the other police officers spoke up; already used to the Detective's insults toward others.

"Right, Sherlock thanks again for your help." Lestrade mumbled with an irritated look on his face before starting a conversation with John about nonsense that Sherlock didn't label as importance. He figured he'd wait outside until John was done talking to Lestrade about the subject with no import; the new Hobbit movie coming up, apparently. He had been telling the Detective Inspector that the actor for 'Bilbo Baggins' and himself looked startlingly similar. A few other police officers joined in agreement. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he walked out of the building and leaned against the concrete wall, watching the other police officers getting in their cars to leave.

"Oh, freak was already here." A voice was heard in the distance. Sherlock turned his head and immediately rolled his eyes as he saw Donovan and Anderson walking towards him.

Great. They saw him sneak into the stairwell and were now walking towards him. No, he wasn't scared of them. He was never afraid of them. You could probably say he felt more irritated of having to deal with them rather than feeling afraid.

"Hey hey, freak!" A deepened voice shouted as the door burst open. One, two, three... five students laughed aloud as they all began to corner Sherlock. Two of them were in the 12th grade, two others in the 11th, and one in the 10th. "Hey, freak."

"James." Sherlock replied, standing up straight like always, making himself appear as tall, although the others were far more taller.

"What happened to your face? Did someone beat us to you?" One of the 12th graders asked, pushing Sherlock against the tiled wall.

"Experiment. Wouldn't expect any of you to understand." Sherlock responded, staring up at the older boy. There was an uncomfortable distance between the two; if one of them had moved a bit closer, their lips would have made contact. The older one, who seemed like the leader of the little group, slammed Sherlock against the wall once again, his arm up against the younger's throat.

"Oh, how original." Sherlock sarcastically mocked. "What's next? Are you going to ask for my lunch money? If you're going to harass me, do please try and NOT be boring." He added, finding it harder to breath as the arm pushed more pressure onto his throat. Finally, he was released and thrown towards the floor.

"Oi, you mockin' us?!" The 'leader' raised his voice as he threw a hard kick towards Sherlock's stomach. The others began to join in, jabbing the younger with their feet and kicking as hard as they could as they laughed aloud. The 12th grader climbed on top of Sherlock and began throwing blows with his fist against Sherlock's already bruised cheekbones. The others snickered and continued jabbing the younger in the ribs. "Get up." The 'leader' demanded, not giving Sherlock a chance to get up anyway since he had been forced up by his collar. He was slammed into the wall once more. His nose was bloodied and his lip was split, as well as the side of his head, near his eye. "Your Daddy do that to you? You that much'a psychopath that even your own Dad-" The bully was cut off of his sentence when he was head-butted and sent backwards. Sherlock wasn't one to physically fight back, but something inside him clicked.

How... how is that possible that he knew?

But in fact, the group didn't know, it was just a level of harassment. Sherlock lost his temper and lunged forward at the 12th grader, forcing him to the ground and repeatedly slamming his fists against the other boy's face; not aiming for anything in particular, just whatever he could hit. Stupid move, he had later thought. The others watched in awe as the boy they were just cornering was beating their leader into a bloody pulp. Eventually his fists started to sting and he moved both his shaking hands to the other boy's throat and pushed down. Angry tears continued to flow out of his eyes as he watched the student beneath him struggle to release the grip, but failed as his muscles began to weaken. When he stopped choking up and when his eyes began to flutter, that's when the others went into action to pull off Sherlock. Sherlock must have realised what he was doing as well since he willingly let go as they yanked him off.

"James! James! You alright?!" One of them shouted as they tried to shake their 'leader' awake. Sherlock stormed out of the stairwell as he heard the older boy beginning to cough. He ignored the staring faces as he dashed through the halls and out of the school.

"Ah, Donovan, Anderson, here we are again." Sherlock spoke in an irritated voice as he turned to face Anderson and Sally's direction.

"I'm still not convinced that you're not the murderer in this case." Sally started, crossing her arms and tilting her head as she stared at the detective.

"Please, this killer's work in utterly unoriginal and boring."

"You sure you're not a psychopath?" Anderson added in.

"Anderson, do you mind keeping your voice down? You lower- what?" Sherlock cut himself off as he noticed Sally staring at him in great shock.

"What the hell happened to your face?" She asked in genuine concern, crossing her arms and eyeing the massive and unnoticeable (or rather, noticeable) swelling just around his left eye. Sherlock gave no reply and started to step away, but Donovan caught him by the shoulder and pulled him back. "No, seriously."

"Did someone beat you to us already?" Anderson budded in and spoke in an obnoxious voice that would have wanted to make anyone slap him upside the head.

Donovan laughed at his comment but quickly responded, "Shut up, Anderson. Now what did-"

"Someone... finally get sick and tired of you, freak? Or was it John? I knew he'd get tired of you at some point; everyone does." Anderson continued, staring down the detective and the detective staring back. "I mean, how do you know John isn't sick of you?"

He had a point, Sherlock hated to admit. Almost all of the people he knew gave up on him when they couldn't take it any more. All his former flatmates left once they found out how 'irritating' Sherlock actually was. Some of them left when they found out about the drugs busts, the experiments, the deductions, or even the fact that he talked to a skull now and then. Everyone left eventually... but no, John is different. John stayed even after the drugs bust, and the experiments. "Anderson, do shut up, you blithering-"

"Bet no one even tried to help you when it happened, your little, heh, beating. Understandable, since most people would pay to watch you be bloodied and broken," Anderson added as he interrupted Sherlock's incoming witty insult. Sherlock's shoulders tensed, as did his jaw. Things too small for people to notice, unfortunately.

But was that it? Maybe John had been watching me being beaten the entire time, for the fun of it. No, John isn't quite capable of being cold. But... it is a possibility. As I am aware that I am considered 'irritating' to most people, perhaps John is one of those people as well. It is possible that he may feel sympathetic for the broken... Sherlock hadn't realised that he was reacting in odd facial expression as he thought. From anger to sadness to hurt. Donovan suddenly had the urge to make the man beside her shut up, while Anderson took this as a bonus.

"Anderson, shut up." Donovan quietly spoke, smirking at the same time. "Anderson."

"What?! You've wanted to hurt the freak for how long now?" Anderson raised his voice to Donovan, causing a few nearby officers to turn their heads to the commotion. "How do you feel getting your little feelings hurt? Doesn't feel so nice, huh?" He turned back to the detective, who returned to his arrogant self, at least externally.

"Feelings. Isn't that what you ordinary people have?" Sherlock mockingly asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Psychopath." Appalling diagnosis, Anderson. Then again, it's no surprise.

Sherlock continued to turn and walk away, until he stopped in his tracks to another phrase that was let out of the Forensic's mouth, "There's no wonder John doesn't like him." The two must have noticed the detective stopping in the middle of the side-walk, Anderson stepped forwards as well, gaining more confidence to stare down the detective.

"John is my friend," Sherlock slightly squinted his eyes at the man in front of him, who gave an annoying smirk. "As I'm told, 'friends' aren't supposed to be cruel to one another."

Anderson laughed aloud, making Sherlock feel a bit more uncomfortable. "You don't actually think he's your friend do you? Why would any living human want to be friends with you?" He pointed a lecturing finger at Sherlock's face. "John's probably there for the flat. Once he finds a better person and a better place, he'll leave like everyone else. I'm counting on it."

Sherlock remained silent, actually not having an idea of what to say. But the idea of John leaving him, which seemed like a higher possibility now, triggered a confused and hurt look from the so-called 'emotionless' detective. Sally stood behind Anderson, a worried and uncomfortable expression on her face as well. She was boosting up confidence to say something, yet she wouldn't say anything at all.

"Nothing to say? That's a first. He'll leave and then what? Are you going to run towards family? No, no... not even they can actually stand to see you," The cruel being continued, smiling as Sherlock stepped back a bit. "He'll come to work with more bruises. 'Daddy beat me' he-" Anderson mocked a child-like voice before a violent fist was sent across his jaw.

"Oi!" Lestrade's voice was heard from a distance, John turning his head towards the commotion. Anderson on the ground, Sherlock aggressively kicking and Donovan trying to make it stop. The Inspector and flatmate ran towards the group, yanking the detective back. Sherlock let out rage-filled huffs along with tears that began to roll down his cheeks. Unfortunately, Donovan witnessed the crying detective, which triggered an over dramatic facial expression of shock. "Are you okay?" Lestrade said, kneeling down beside Anderson. John turned around, expecting to see his friend and flatmate, but instead he witnessed Sherlock getting into a cab, and the cab driving away.

"Sher- Oh God..." He mumbled, his hand over both his eyes as he was trying to process what had just happened.

"John," A feminine voice gently called from behind the ex-army doctor. He turned around once again to see Donovan. Assuming she was involved, his face fell into an angry expression. "I'm really sorry, tell him?"

John stepped into the flat, the room already filled with the sounds of a violin. He walked up the stairs and towards the living room to see Sherlock, violin against his neck and staring out of the window. The younger man turned around with false excitement. "Ah, John."

The ex-army doctor took a seat on the sofa and began to ask, "So, what happened?"

"Sorry what?"

"You... punched Anderson in the face. Lestrade is trying his hardest to not get you charged, or arrested." John didn't hesitate to go straight-forward with the problem, a pinch of frustration hidden in his voice.

Sherlock placed down his violin and bow, scowling and rolling his eyes at the same time. "He was being irritating." He replied, taking a seat on his black armchair and lifting his feet to lean on the table in front of him.

"So? Anderson's always irritating."

"No. It wasn't like that. He... somehow knew about the incident that happened two weekdays ago. Well, obviously he didn't know but at the time I had let my emotions get ahead of me so I assumed..."

John stared at his friend as he trailed off, worry spread over his face. "Well... what did he say?"

"Not important."

"Sherlock, I-"

"Not important."

After that, it became silent. Sherlock pulled his legs up to his chin and sat there like a sullen child. The former army doctor stared at the detective, waiting for a word, or just the slightest sound. What had Anderson said that caused Sherlock to act like this? Eventually, the clock that was once at 12:00AM turned to 1:00. John sighed and readied himself to get up from the sofa, but let himself fall back down when Sherlock started to speak up, "John."

"Hm?" He hummed, rubbing his weary eyes then staring at Sherlock in curiosity.

"We're... friends, correct?" Sherlock asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and avoiding eye contact.

"We're- Of course! Of course we're friends! Where did you even get that question?!"

"Oh. All right then."

"Was it something Anderson had said?" John asked, keeping his amusement inside as he saw his friend smirking to himself. What had Anderson said to him to cause such a question? God, Sherlock, I hope you're not taking any of his insults. "Did he say you didn't have any friends or..."

"I have friends, John, I'm not as lonely as everyone says."

"Oh. Well, who's that then?" His older man asked, genuinely curious. "Other than, you know, Lestrade, or Mrs. Hudson, or Molly, I guess."

"There's Sebastian." Sherlock responded, taking note of John's mouth slightly dropping in awe as he narrowed his eyebrows. Possibility that John doesn't take too much interest in Sebastian I suppose, understandable.

"Sebastian? Sebastian Wilkes? The... bastard banker."

"I believe that's what I said."

"You... you can't honestly believe that he's a friend." That came out more insulting than I intended. "I mean, he's a bit of an irritating dick, right?" John continued, Sherlock doesn't really believe that Wilkes was anywhere near friendly, does he? He was mocking Sherlock practically the entire that we were at the bank!

"Well, John, assuming you mean the word 'Dick' as the human male organ, then no, I do not see the similarity and comparison of the two. Unless you mean it in the terms of, what you ordinary people call a 'douche', then I can't disagree with you on that."

John slightly shook his head, incredulous of the subject. "Well then why do you consider him a friend, if he's that much of a bastard?" He wasn't sure Sherlock knew the true definition of what a 'friend' actually was. Well, maybe that is understandable, John struck Sherlock as quite a lonely man when they had first met.

"Well, he was kind at certain points at Uni."

"And the other times?"

"Nothing really, I presume. Only came to me when he needed something desperately. And sometimes he'd get me out of beatings, not that there were any beating at Uni..."

John stood up and massaged his temple, "Sherlock, he wasn't your friend." Was Sebastian really the closest thing Sherlock had to a friend, before me?

Sherlock suddenly shot John a confused look, as if he were not making out the words that John was saying. The emotions switched between the two, John being the admitting one and Sherlock being the incredulous one. "I don't understand."

"Me? I'm your friend. Lestrade is your friend. Mrs. Hudson is your friend. But Sebastian Wilkes definitely wasn't, from what you just told me, it looks like he just used you."

Sherlock stared at John for what seemed like forever, slightly squinting his eyes and trying to decide whether John was right or not. Which eventually he came to the sense that, he was. He almost laughed aloud, Someone so superior as myself gets tricked and used by an ordinary idiot? With that thought, Sherlock stood up and walked towards his trench coat, slipping it on and shortly after, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"Where are you going?" John asked, watching Sherlock leave the room and hop down the stairs. John followed him down, watching him open the door to the flat and prepare himself to walk out.

"Fresh air." He blatantly responded, closing the door behind him.

He walked along the side-walk, watching the vehicles drive by and the street lights flicker. He needed to think is all. John would he throwing useless and unimportant questions at him all night, and in his opinion, walking along an empty side-walk seemed more fun and appealing. But John was right, wasn't he? That Sebastian was a false friend. Some ordinary people are startlingly brilliant in sentimental situations. Sherlock turned the corner into a alley way. About halfway in, he felt a pinch on the side of his neck, and then everything went black.

Thanks for reading! Leave a review if you like.

Also, yes. I am fully aware that Anderson isn't that much of a douche bag but I needed someone to be and he was the one I thought of first. This one is a bit... dull and boring. And again, sorry for any typos.