Chapter 4

SHERLOCK
Wednesday mornings, didn't they just bring joy to your heart? The prospect of a whole school assembly followed by double history was just too much fun for him to bear! Sarcasm, some said it was the lowest form of wit, but they were probably being sarcastic. Cheek, they had called it, talking back. Yet another reason they hadn't wanted him.

The assembly hall was a sea of bodies, crushed together in a grey mass. Currents and tides that buffeted you this way and that, crashing against the walls. Desperately trying to keep authority over this mess was the head, Mrs Blackwell. Eventually, when she had shouted herself horse and her height prevented her entering the crowed, Mr Morris stepped in.
"Shut it!" he yelled over the rabble "take your seats."
"Hi," Sherlock felt someone squeezing onto the bench alongside him, turning to look he saw the round face and oversized uniform of his only friend.
"Hello," he was about to continue but Mrs Blackwell interrupted him. There was no stopping her now, she had started to drone. Welcoming them back, welcoming any be students and reminding them all that their ties were an essential part of uniform that distinguished their houses and therefore were mandatory and should be worn properly. After that, Sherlock didn't hear anything. He was whizzing through the long white corridors and lavishly furnished rooms of his mind palace, beautifully organised, pristine, no clutter, the only place where he felt at home.

JOHN
The silence as they walked to double history was not as awkward as some he had endured, but all the same, he felt pressurised to break it.
"You don't like history?"
"Obviously."
"Right," John paused as he noticed their footsteps were in perfect time. "Why?"
"Is that not also obvious? The subject is completely unnecessary and because Mr Morris is an incapable imbecile who cannot teach me any better than reading the text book can." pause "and he's cheating on his wife."
"How do you know that?!"
Sherlock scoffed and kept walking, turning up the collar of his blazer.
"Stop." John almost walked into the other boy's outstretched arm. "Let's go the other way."
"Why?"
"John, please? Let's just go around."
"But this way is shorter... Sherlock what's..." but he was interrupted by a loud whoop from the end of the corridor.
"Found yourself a little boy friend have you freak?" turning, Sherlock grabbed the leather strap of John's satchel and pulled him back around the corner.
"Just keep walking."
"Hey! Don't walk away when I'm talking to you!"
"Keep walking John." but two more of them were waiting at the end of the hallway. They were trapped.
"Wouldn't Mr Morris be annoyed if he found out neither of you had written that essay? It would be such a shame if you had nothing to hand in." a pair of large hands grabbed John from behind and pulled him back against the wall,
"Get off me! Sherlock, what, leave me alone!" a small crowd had gathered now, people who would rather watch a fight break out than be on time for lessons, a sea of unfamiliar faces, and Molly Hooper. He caught her eye and felt relieved, Molly could do something. But she shrank back out of sight, back along the corridor.
"What exactly do you want from me?" Sherlock's voice brought John back to his situation.
"Certainly not the same thing as your little buddy over there wants from you!" an appreciative cheer made John's denial as fruitless as his struggle, no one heard him over the noise.

SHERLOCK
"Yes, but what do you really want? Are you lonely, seeking appreciation? Are you abused at home? Hardly likely. Covering up? Hiding something? Or just jealous,"
"JEALUS!? Why would I be jealous of you freak?"
"Is it not obvious? It must be so boring in your tiny little mind." a sharp pain shot through Sherlock's back and his head throbbed. The loud slam of his body hitting the locker rang in his ears. All he heard was laughter and his own bearing heart.
"Stop it!" John's voice sounded clearly over the crown this time. Sherlock recognised it even in the mess of voices. Silence fell as everyone turned to look at his friend.
"Or you're gonna do what, homo?" his voice was quiet but dangerous. No one spoke; you could have heard a pin drop. A sudden noise broke the silence, the crunching sound of bone against bone, and David Dimmock was stumbling backwards, stubbed and clutching his face. John looked just as surprised as the bully, he stood motionless, then realising what he had done ran forward, pulling Sherlock to his feet. God that hurt, he thought, they should really consider putting padding on those locker doors. The two of them ran together back along the hall and up the stairs towards room 22, dreading the moment when they would have to enter and face Mr Morris, but glad to be anywhere but the corridor they'd left behind.
"Thank you." the words felt strange, his tongue hardly new how to form them, "what you did... That was… Good." John looked up at him for the first time since they had been cornered.
"That's ok, it was... its ok." he pause then stopped before he opened the classroom door, "Are you ok?"
"I'm fine."
"Seriously, Sherlock, are you hurt?"
"Might ask you the same question." John's hand was bleeding a little and he seemed reluctant to put weight on his right leg.
"I'm fine, it's just a bit of blood, I've seen worse," he wiped his knuckles on the edge of his shirt. "You?"
"I suspect minor bruising but, well, I can deal with that. In used to it." the black eye was almost faded, but it still hurt to touch. John nodded and together they pushed open the door.

JOHN
Their hands brushed as they both reached for the handle, John almost gasped but Sherlock didn't seem effected. But their short moment alone in the corridor was bot to last; Mr Morris looked like he was about to explode. He shouted himself hoarse for about 10 minutes before he bellowed at them to take a seat.

John winced as he sat down, the knuckles of his right hand still smarted. He didn't care. Staring around the room he caught Molly's eye again. She looked away quickly, ashamed to meet his gaze.

The roman public health system was not something that John would say captivated the imagination of the learner. Resorting to staring at Sherlock seemed the only escape. He lay, again, almost flat on the desk, pale fingers drumming out a steady rhythm on the desk. The white sheet of paper in front of him was covered in doodles, well, scribbled words and symbols, something that looked like a chemical equation.
"Watson," John's head jerked up of his arm to find the whole class and Mr Morris staring directly at him. Oops. "Could you please read your answer about 'the extent to which the roman public health system benefited everyone' to the class?"

On the way to their next lesson, they stopped at the bathroom. As John was waiting outside, Molly ran up to him. Scowling, he looked a way, refusing to give the curtsey of eye contact.
"John..." she was twisting a handkerchief in her fingers. "I understand why you're cross with me, but you know there was nothing I could do..."
"That's exactly what you did do, nothing."
"No one ever does! You know I'm no match for Dimmock!"
"I did something." his voice quavered slightly but his hands, unlike hers, were perfectly steady. A rose red blossomed in her freckled cheeks, spreading gradually to her ears.
"I know. I heard. It's... It's amazing, John, I..."
"Not really. Self-defence." she raised her face for the first time since she had approached him.
"You weren't just defending yourself," she paused, "I've seen the way you look at him." John opened his mouth in confusion
"What?! No, Molly, it's not like that! I've known him for three days! I just, well, I had to do something, didn't I?!" but she just smiled knowingly, walking slowly away from him.
"Of course you did."

SHERLOCK
An engine, racing out of control; a rocket, trapped on the launch pad; a wiring clockwork masterpiece with no hands of time to turn. Bored, bored, bored, bored! Good god, what were they running here, a school or a prison? Wasn't learning supposed to stimulate the mind!? He supposed it did for the more placid ones, John, Molly. Poking his curly head out of the door, he peered up and down the corridor. Even at lunchtime, not an incident in sight. No theft, no mystery, no nothing. Hateful.

"Ummm, Sherlock, what are you doing?"
"Bored." he muttered in reply.
"Sorry?"
"Bored!" shouting this time. "Nothing, John, nothing. Peace and quiet." he still looked puzzled
"What would you prefer?"
"Something, anything! A case, a puzzle, something to do." John laughed
"What? Like a murder mystery?"
"Murder would work as well as anything." He raised one eye brow in consideration, "More interesting than theft anyway." John's mouth fell open in disbelief.

The sound of the bell at the end of the day was music to his ears. Sherlock sprang from his desk and, pulling his scarf around his neck, walked quickly towards the door.
"Sherlock!" he turned to see John trotting after him, weaving between the desks, his satchel swinging behind him. They had only walked a few steps together when a figure stepped out from behind a row of lockers. Sherlock let out a groan. Mycroft.
"So this is your" the older boy coughed mockingly "friend."
"Yes." John's head was flicking between each of faces, as though he was watching a tennis match, mouth slightly parted. "Sherlock, what..."
"Brother," Sherlock sighed exasperatedly.
"This is your... brother?!" Mycroft raised one eye brow questioningly.
"What's so supposing about that?"
"Nothing! Nothing, no, I just, I, uh, never mind." Mycroft looked Sherlock straight in the eye and gave him the 'ugh, ordinary people' look.
"Don't give me that look Mycroft." He's not like the others.
"Oh, in sorry, was I doing a look?"
"You know what look you were doing." it was hard to keep the anger out of his voice. John still looked as though he was trying to understand the first few sentences,
"Sorry, what look?" he chimed in.
"Nothing." Sherlock tried to brush it off, "look Mycroft, unless you have anything of value to say, I would prefer if you left us alone." Mycroft gave him one last disapproving look, then smirked and turned away.

After a few minutes of silence, Sherlock finally broke the ice. They had reached a fork on the path.
"I go this way." he tried to sound as though it was more than an I've breaker and a simple fact, but he didn't really do a good job. He guessed he hadn't had a lot of practice.
"Oh, right, well umm, bye." John seemed as reluctant as he did to take their separate ways. They paused for a few long seconds, then turned together and walked down the opposite dirt paths.