A/N: Hi! I'm a day late (at least where I live), I just finished BBC's Merlin tonight, which is probably why this chapter is soo long and depressing. I apologize for no Sherlock, I got carried away, but he'll be in the next one for sure! Thanks for reading :)

Disclaimer:If you recognize it, it's not mine

John's first year of boarding school was miserable. Unlike the school at home, parental lineage meant more than any abilities you had. Thankfully, Mycroft watched out for Harriet, so John focused more on protecting himself. When Greg was around, nobody bothered him much, because his parents were incredibly powerful. John couldn't be around Greg 24/7 though.

A boy two years older than John decided the small eleven-year old could use some torment. Sebastian Moran followed him to all his classes, waiting for a chance. One day, just as John was going to phone home and talk to Sherlock, Sebastian reached out and dragged him aside.

"Hey nobody, what's a piece of trash like you doing at this fine establishment?"

John fought back nausea, memories he'd tried to forget resurfaced. Memories from before his parents died in a car wreck. Times when his father would rough him up for no good reason, blaming him for things that weren't his fault.

"Answer me kid."

"Because my family sent me here."

"Your family? You. Have. No. Family."

The sneer on Moran's face stung worse than the tightly clenched fist on his arm.

"They only did it for the publicity you know. They needed a good reputation boost."

John squirmed before shouting violently, "you're lying!"

Sebastian Moran responded with a powerful punch to John's face. He dropped on to the grass which was coated in a slight layer of snow, instinctively curling into a ball to protect himself. He felt blood from his cheek and nose making trails down his face as the bigger boy kicked him hard in the back once or twice.

"You're no good, kid and you never will be," Sebastian growled harshly before turning and walking away.

John lay in the snow, allowing tears to mix with the red slush under his head. He knew he should get up and care for his injuries, but everything hurt. John faded into memories of the darkest kind just as Greg dashed up to him.

Greg worried about John constantly. John was his best friend, practically his twin. That's why he went looking for John when the boy didn't show up ten minutes after he said he would. Retracing John's typical route, Greg scanned every bit of pavement and grass. Finally, he noticed a figure lying in the snow a bit off the path. He broke into a run shouting for his friend. The boy's prone form quaked, his eyes squeezed shut.

"John!"

Greg knelt beside his friend, noticing the bloody snow by his face.

"Please! Don't hit me again Daddy! I didn't mean to!"

The desperate cry sounded nothing like John's normal eleven year old voice. It was young and terrified. After sitting frozen for a moment, Greg wrapped his arms around John's shaking body and, with effort, lifted him out of the snow. He struggled back to their shared bedroom and placed John on the closest bed. The cries of fear faded to whimpers as Greg sat beside him.

When John finally snapped out of his nightmare, he pried his eyes open to see the concerned brown eyes of his friend staring into his.

"John, are you okay? Where are you hurt? Who did this to you? Your dad beat you up when you were a kid? How can I help?"

John blushed a bright shade of crimson before answering all of Greg's questions.

"I think I'm fine, I just have a couple bruises on my back, I'm freezing, and my face is bloody, a bigger boy with blonde hair who didn't tell me his name, yeah I'd rather not talk about it, and I hate to ask, but some dry clothes and a warm flannel would be wonderful."

Greg threw some of John's clothes to him and rushed down to the bathroom to get warm water and the cloth. When he returned, John cuddled down in the bed, which happened to be the right one thankfully, with his dry clothes on and an even more powerful blush on his cheeks.

"Let me wipe up your face John, you look awful."

John tried to protest, but Greg wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Greg, really, I can do it, I'm perfectly alright now, really."

"Stop, you'll split the cut again. I'm nearly finished."

John wrinkled his nose and fought the urge to squirm like a small child after a meal. Greg huffed in annoyance saying, "Now I understand the saying 'doctors make the worst patients!'"

John almost got away without Greg trying to check his back, but the heap of wet, blood-stained clothes reminded him.

"Let me see your back John."

"No! That's just weird Greg. They're just bruises, seriously."

"If our positions were switched, what would you do?" Greg asked with a stern look on his face.

"Greggg, really? You're pulling the logic card?" John whined in response, but he turned around.

Greg took one look at the bruises and sighed again.

"Just bruises? These are definitely NOT just bruises."

"Yes they are Greg."

"Just bruises don't bleed though."

John seemed surprised at this revelation.

"My back is bleeding? I didn't even notice."

"Well stop squirming, you can't see your back, it's behind you. Let me just get the blood off and I'll try to describe it for you, or take a picture or something."

John pouted slightly, but stayed still as Greg gently dabbed the blood away from the bruised flesh. Finally, he finished.

"Okay, let me go get my camera from my dresser and I'll take a picture to show you."

Greg quickly grabbed the camera and snapped the picture.

"Eww! No wonder they hurt so much!"

John's comment was accented with a yawn. Greg realized he probably should have checked for a concussion, but John hadn't shown any symptoms, so he didn't bother.

"You've just been through a lot, you should sleep. I'll just e-mail Sherlock and let him know you couldn't call, but you will tomorrow."

"It's only four, I'll wake up in the middle of the night."

"Then you can wake me up and say 'I told you so', but right now you really should sleep."

"I'm not a baby Greg."

"I never said you were, but you might be catching a cold, and sleep is good for sickness."

John yawned again and stuck his tongue out at his friend, then decided arguing took too much energy and settled into bed. Greg stayed in the room until John fell asleep, sent Sherlock a quick e-mail, and went to supper, being sure to smuggle several slices of bread and chicken for John if he needed it.