Chapter Four! Woooo! Enjoy everyone!

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Sherlock or any associated characters. A fangirl can dream though, right?

Chapter 4

The first breakfast at camp was uneventful, and now Cypress cabin was going swimming.

John had read up on all the activities when he decided to come to camp here. He wasn't thrilled about arts and crafts, but it was swimming he was dreading.

The website had read:

St. Barts is home to both a pool and a beautiful natural lake. Campers will have the opportunity to go swimming at least four times a week in their DRA's. (Daily Rotational Activities) The lake is home to "The Blob" - part trampoline, part catapult, this lake activity is a favorite, and campers of all ages look forward to their turn.

Since the accident, John had avoided swimming, but it was unavoidable now. John silently cursed his bad luck.

The other boys were thrilled that they got to be the first to go swimming. After breakfast they all rushed back up to the cabin to change and grab towels, and stories of past years were exchanged as they got ready to go.

Before the accident, John would have joined in, telling them about how he loved to swim. The water was one of the few places John had felt free. Lying at the bottom of the pool, with the water surrounding his body and protecting him, John had been able to relax. The light reflecting through the water twisted in fantastic shapes that caught his imagination and erased his worries. It had been liberating, calming.

He would stay under until his lungs burned and his body screamed for air, then he would come bursting to the surface spraying water droplets in every direction. In his memories, as John came up for air, with water streaming down his face and his hair plastered against his forehead, there was a gentle lilting laugh. A laugh that now sent a wrench of grief tearing through John's gut.

A shuddering breath forced itself from between John's lips, and he dropped his head into his hands. Moisture leaked from the corners of his eyes. Why was it still so painful? When would he be able to live a normal life, without these moments of unexpected weakness?

The laughing voices of the boys in his cabin penetrated John's thoughts, and John felt a moment of anger directed towards them and their happiness. They were all so lucky.

It was too soon for swimming. There was too much to hide now. A scar that disfigured and pained him, inside and out. It was just too soon.

A weight sank into the bunk next to John. He ignored it, head still in hands, hoping against all reason, that whoever it was would just go away.

A hesitant hand touched his shoulder. "John. Are you alright, mate?" The voice belonged to Mike. Well, if it had to be someone to see him like this, Mike was not the worst option.

John waited a moment, but the weight did not move, so he nodded, removing his hands as he did so, and wiping the wetness from his face. "mhmm… Just something in my eye is all." He scrubbed at his eyes as if rubbing out a piece of dust, but the excuse was a weak one, and he knew Mike would see right through him.

Mike's eyes studied his face, as if searching for something. John stared at his hands, wondering if Mike would call him on his lie. "Yeah. That's always a pain. Makes you look like you've been crying or something." Mike offered John a comforting smile. "If you're sure you're alright, I guess that's good then. You do look a bit pale though." Giving John a second chance to talk if he wanted to.

John didn't want anyone here to know. He was trying to get away from his past, so opening up to Mike was not an option. He forced himself to give a small, mirthless laugh. "Ah well, you know. New place, not much sleep. Just a bit tired is all. Anyways, swimming has never been my favorite."

"Well, if you're sure then." Mike did not look convinced. "I know I haven't known you long, but you can talk to me whenever. We are bunkmates after all."

John nodded in thanks, partially admitting to the fact that something really was wrong, but fully deciding in that moment not to let anyone at St. Barts ever know.

"I guess you are not the only one looking a little off today." Mike said, nodding his head in the direction of the door. John, more than happy to change the subject followed the movement to see Sherlock. He was sitting on the top bunk, eyes closed and head tilted back against the wall, exposing a strip of pale white flesh above his collared shirt. Gangly legs clothed in dark dress pants were sprawled across a navy blue comforter and shiny black shoes were dangling off the edge. Odd attire for a summer camp.

"Then again," Mike added. "I think he always looks that way."

Sherlock's hands were positioned in front of his face in the odd thinking pose John had seen last night. They hadn't talked since; Sherlock hadn't even shown up for breakfast. John wondered what Sherlock had done while they had all been gone. Probably sat there and read. The boy was obviously a genius.

"He's certainly an odd character isn't he?" John agreed.

"I think he's one of those genius types," Mike said, echoing John's thoughts. "I mean, I guess I'm smart, make good grades and such, but he's different. I can just tell. The other guys, they aren't sure what to think of him. After he barged in here, acting all arrogant and insulting, I think they decided just to give him his space. I have to admit though, it was a bit amusing to see Lestrade looking so shocked." Mike laughed quietly. John smiled in memory of the tall boy's dramatic entrance.

"I tried to approach him this morning," Mike said. "But he completely dismissed me. Said he had no use for 'people like me'. I guess he doesn't want friends, and I don't think it's going to be worth anyone's effort to even try. If he's trying to intimidate us though it's not working. No one's impressed."

"Sherlock's a mystery all right." John said with a nod. For some reason John couldn't explain at that moment, he didn't tell Mike about the night before. It seemed like a secret somehow. Like Sherlock had let John see a different side of him, and that to tell Mike would be to betray his trust. It was irrational John knew, but it made sense its own way.

Water lapped against the dock as John watched the boys of Cypress Cabin play on the blob. The website hadn't lied; they were certainly having a lot of fun.

When John had first sat down on the pier to watch, all the boys had tried to cajole him into getting in. They had jokingly made fun of him, bribed him with their extra dessert, and several even tried to push him in. John though claimed exhaustion, from a long trip to camp the previous day and a lack of sleep the night before. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth, and John wasn't sure what he was going to use as an excuse the next time. He had two days to think of something.

Eventually the boys had given up, casting him curious glances as they swam away. Mike sat with John for a few minutes, but eventually asked John if he would mind sitting by himself for a while. John had told him to go ahead, and to not miss out on the fun on his behalf. Mike had stripped off his shirt, revealing a torso that was just as skinny as the rest of him, looked closely at John to make sure he really was alright, and jumped in. He hadn't been back since.

The truth was, just sitting this close to the lake was hard for John. Echoes of his past burst into his thoughts, and John had to push them out. He pulled on the hem of his shirt, as if to ensure that it was still there, covering the truth that he was not ready to reveal. Probably never would be ready.

Slowly, lulled by the warm sun on his back and the sound of dock creaking beneath him, John relaxed. Rather than gaze out at the lake, he stretched out full on his back and threw an arm across his eyes, blocking out the light. As long as he didn't have to get in the water, he could manage the lake. It was just a few days a week for a few hours. He would be fine.

It was ten, maybe fifteen minutes later when John felt a presence looming over him, but in his drowsy, comfortable state he was loath to move his arm and open his eyes. The presence persisted though. With a groan, John sat up blinking in the sudden shift to brightness.

When his eyes had adjusted enough to see without being blinded, he looked up and was unsurprised to see the lanky form of Sherlock standing beside him and observing the boys of Cypress Cabin play on the blob. Somehow Sherlock must have heard John move, for he spoke now in his rich baritone voice.

"I have just been informed, by our idiotic counselor Larry, or whatever his name is." Sherlock waved an arm through the air. "That attendance of all camp activities is mandatory, and that I am expected to be present for all of them." Sherlock looked positively appalled by this idea, and he continued talking, condescension dripping from every word. "I really don't see the point when I could be accomplishing so much more reading inside. My book on quantum mechanics was a bit elementary, but it was at least more entertaining than watching this pathetic lot jump up and down on a sac of air looking like a bunch of hooligans."

John couldn't help it. He let out a snort of laughter and once he started, he couldn't stop. He bent over his knees trying to stifle his mirth, and when he finally got control of himself, he looked up to see Sherlock standing stiffly above him.

"I'm sorry Sherlock." John managed to get out without relapsing into laugher. "Its just you, you looked so serious standing there in your dark clothes, that when you starting talking about hooligans jumping on sacs of air, I just couldn't stop myself. You just sounded so silly." John grinned up at Sherlock, expecting to see Sherlock nodding in understanding as any normal human would, but instead the expression on his face could only be described as one of hurt.

"And I'm sorry for thinking you could possibly be any different than the group of idiots down there." Sherlock spat out. "Look at the stupid genius. Laugh at him. He doesn't know how the real world works. He's so silly." Sherlock glared at John and spun on his heel.

John scrambled to get up. "Wait, Sherlock!" He yelled after the tall boy's retreating figure. "I wasn't trying to offend you! I didn't mean to hurt you! What do you mean, I'm different than them?" John took a few steps after Sherlock, but stopped as he heard his next words.

"You're not." Sherlock tossed over his shoulder. "And you didn't hurt me. I am Sherlock Holmes, and no one has that power."

John watched until Sherlock's angry form disappeared down a bend in the path.

He was confused. So very confused. Sherlock had thought he was different than everyone else? But they had hardly even spoken to each other. Just that once the night before. How had Sherlock decided that he was different? He certainly wasn't more than average intelligence.

Maybe Sherlock's bored mind was just intrigued by his confused past. John certainly was a bit of a mystery, but, no, that couldn't be right. Surely, there were lots of people out there with pasts more interesting his own, and Sherlock had spoken like John was some sort of exception. But he wasn't. His was just the simple story of a traumatized boy haunted by his own memories.

And whatever Sherlock had just said, John did not believe that he hadn't just hurt him. He hadn't meant to, and he wasn't sure how, but Sherlock had definitely been hurt by his laughter. Look at the stupid genius, Sherlock had said. He doesn't know how the real world works.

So that was it. Sherlock had probably revealed more to John in those words than he had meant to. John imagined Sherlock as a child, excluded and alone. Not understanding why the other children didn't like him, and trying so hard to fit in. He must have sealed himself off; shut down his emotions and locked them away.

And then he had met John and decided that John was different. Had decided to come down and talk to John. There was no doubt that he could have convinced Levi that he should be allowed to stay in the cabin, so coming down to the dock was a choice. He must have known somehow that John wouldn't be swimming.

Sherlock had tried to talk to John, and what did John do? He laughed like all those children had before, and that fragile decision where Sherlock had decided to try once more to make a friend was shattered to pieces, and it had hurt him, and John had caused it.

But that just brought John back to his original question: why did Sherlock think he was different? He supposed now that he had driven off the reluctant advances of the broken boy, he would never have the opportunity to find out. And why was Sherlock's pain causing himself so much pain right now? They hadn't even been friends, so why was John so worried about the fact that he had hurt him. It made no sense.

And now who knows where Sherlock had disappeared off to. The thought made John nervous and he had half a mind to follow the boy, but something made him stop. Sherlock would probably want to be alone right now. To shut down his emotions again, and lock them away.

John realized though that he didn't want that to happen. He didn't want to let this boy he had just met hide away his emotions never to be seen again. He had caused Sherlock pain, and at that moment John decided that he would fix it, no matter the cost to himself.

Hope you liked it! Please, please, please leave a review with any thoughts, questions, or criticisms. :) They make me happy.