Author's Note: Sorry for the wait… *Hides*

John swallowed, licked his lips nervously and his face flushed an even deeper red. His blue eyes glanced up and met Sherlock's green.

"I just… I love you too."

At first, Sherlock wasn't sure how to respond. He remained crouched in front of John, holding his hands and staring into his soft blue eyes. So many mixed emotions overcame Sherlock: protectiveness, loyalty and love. It was a weird kind of love. It wasn't like the love he had for his family, and he supposed it wasn't like the love you'd have for a friend, not that he'd ever experienced having a friend before. Was this what it felt like to have a friend then? Sherlock didn't really know what was acceptable. He loved John, yes. Love is defined as having 'a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection' and he always felt a happy, safe feeling when he was with John.

John's emotions were mixed as well; he never thought he'd feel this way about a boy. He'd always fancied girls, but he'd never felt this way towards another person, ever. Love can mean 'to need or require', and that was true. John needed Sherlock to keep him sane; Sherlock seemed to have a calming effect on him. It may not be traditional love, involving kissing and hugging, but it was a level of love they both shared. A love that meant they were both comfortable, safe and happy in each other's company. For both boys, that was enough.

Sherlock pulled himself out of his thoughts and smiled at John, squeezing his hands.
"We should go and get your knee sorted out. Sorry for distracting you on the pitch." Sherlock said, in a regretful tone.
John smiled softly.
"Don't worry about it, although apparently your good looks are a hazard." John said with a chuckle. Sherlock helped John to his feet, who grimaced when putting weight on his leg. He slipped John's arm over his shoulder and took most of the smaller boy's weight, leading him down the hall behind the nurse and headmaster.
"I saw that you managed to get back at Anderson a bit…"
John nodded.
"It turns out I'm not that bad at rugby." He changed to a whisper. "I managed to give him as good as he deserved."
Sherlock grinned at his friend, but his grin quickly changed back to a worried expression as he realised what he had said in front of Anderson.
"You know, I admitted my love to you in front of Anderson. He's never going to let that go…"
John shrugged.
"So be it." He said and smiled at Sherlock. They were in this together, they were no longer alone. It was just the two of them, against the rest of the world…

As soon as they reached the nurse's room, the headmaster sprung back into 'official annoying adult' mode and forced Sherlock to go back to class, much to his annoyance. John gave Sherlock a warm smile, and assured him it would all be fine, and to enjoy Chemistry and try not to blow anything up. The headmaster returned to his office, leaving the nurse to prod and poke John's knee, concluding that luckily it was only bad bruising and John would get away with just a bandage. He'd be limping a bit though, but at least he didn't need crutches. The cut to his head wasn't too bad either, and just needed a quick clean up. John thanked the nurse and returned back to the rest of his lessons, getting away with not having to see Helen because his 'Sherlock therapy' had seemed to do the trick. The rest of the day seemed slow and dull compared to the exhilaration of being with Sherlock. Anderson was in John's maths class last period, and gave John a menacing and dangerous look. He didn't care. Anderson could call him what he wanted, could do to him whatever he wanted but John knew he had Sherlock. He was all that mattered now, John knew that if Anderson's focus was on him, Sherlock wouldn't get hurt, and that was the most important thing for John.
The end of the day arrived and John got a lift home from Mycroft, on account of his limp. Mycroft had frowned upon hearing what Anderson had done, and swore that 'the twat would pay one day.' Sherlock and John had giggled in the back at Mycroft's attempt to be scary. The street lights were just turning and they sky was fading towards black on as they reached John's house. The smaller boy thanked the Holmes' brothers and limped into his house as the black car pulled away. The house was dark and musty, the curtains were drawn and Harry was asleep on the sofa. John wasn't sure if she had passed out drunk or was just asleep; she was breathing though, so it was fine. John made his way to the kitchen where his mother was stood at the counter, red and puffy eyed. She sniffed and her face turned to an expression of concern as she saw John limping.
"Oh my baby, what's happened?"
His mother wrapped her arms around her son and stroked his hair tenderly.
"We did rugby in PE. Anderson stood on my knee." John said, indifferently. His mother pulled back from him, holding his head in both her hands and looking deeply into his face, as if studying for more injuries.
"Was this the boy who hurt you before? Did he do it deliberately?"
John shrugged, not wanting to tell her the truth but not wanting to lie either.
"Well, kind of…"
"Oh John… Honey, I'm sorry…"
John pulled away slowly from his mother's hands.
"It's hardly your fault." John said as he made to turn around, but his mum took his hand.
"We should ever have moved here. If it wasn't for your father…" His mother stopped and swallowed, taking a deep breath before continuing.
"We… I've decided that, after all that's happened, we need a fresh start. I discussed it with Harry, and we think that we should move away from London for a while…"
John took a step back in shock, out of his mother's reach.
"John, we think it will help to move on from what's happened. You can make some friends when we move, try to stay out of the way of bullies…"
John swallowed around a lump forming in his throat.
"But I have a friend here…" John's voice squeaked out. His mother's face looked regretful.
"But I don't think it's safe for you here. Not with that Anderson boy around…"
John tensed up and clenched his fists.
"But Sherlock…"
John's mum patted his shoulder and looked down at him, unintentionally condescending.
"You can make new friends…"
John moved harshly out of her reach, tears threatening in his eyes.
"I don't want to move… I don't want to!"
His mother looked pained at his reaction.
"We don't have a choice John, I can't afford it here and you're not safe…"
John cut her off.
"I don't care! We can't move… I can't leave Sherlock…" John's heart started beating faster, his breathing quickened and his hands began to shake.
"Oh god…" John mumbled. Not again. Why couldn't he control this? John knew a panic attack was imminent. His mother stood there, offering reassuring expressions but John wasn't listening. White fog seemed to swim in his head and his heart had definitely moved up to his throat.
"S… sorry…" John stuttered out before turning and running out of the door. The cold air hit him and took his breath away slightly, not that it could do much seeing as his breath was so irregular. The sky was dark now and the streetlamps highlighted the thin drizzle of rain that steadily came down. John turned and ran down the street, making his way towards the main road, his breaths coming out wheezy and quick. His hair was beginning to plaster to his head as the rain soaked his uniform and chilled his extremities.
"Sherlock… Sherlock…" John murmured as he ran. A few people passed by, looking oddly at the small boy running and panting down the street. He didn't stop. His breathing was getting worse and he knew if he didn't control it soon, the lack of oxygen could make him pass out. He needed it to stop. He needed Sherlock- Sherlock kept him right. He could stop the panic attack with his green eyes and dark curls. John kept running towards the Holmes' residence, white spots began to cloud his vision and his chest felt as though someone had clamped his windpipe. Almost there John. Almost there. The spots swam in his vision as he raced up the steps to the door; he knocked frantically on the wood before sliding down onto the concrete, gasping for air. The door opened and John faintly heard Mrs Holmes exclaim something in surprise before lifting John to his feet and half-dragging him to the sofa inside. John wheezed and coughed, tears were involuntarily rolling down his cheeks and his eyes were wide in fear. Mrs Holmes shouted something but John couldn't hear past the rushing of blood in his head. Another person appeared; John looked past the spots swimming in his vision to see Mycroft, looking concerned at his mother, who was frantically telling him something. Mycroft nodded before hurrying out of the door. Then Mrs Holmes was talking to John, her soft face in front of his. John shook his head and squeezed his eyes. He couldn't hear. He couldn't breathe. Mrs Holmes touched his shoulders gently and John looked intently at her lips as they moved. He couldn't work out what she was saying. Mycroft re-appeared with a blue device in his hands. Mrs Holmes took it off him, shook it and quickly put it to John's lips. John tried to breath in the air that came out of the device but he couldn't take a solid breath. The blood seemed to be clearing from his ears but his vision blurred.
"John… I… this… please…" John managed to catch a few words from Mrs Holmes as his eyes started to droop and roll. Hand roughly patted at his cheek and John opened his eyes again.
"Take a deep breath…Inhaler… breathe…." John managed to catch. The inhaler was place in his mouth again and John tried to take a deep breath, some of the air went in but John spluttered. Another puff. John's head spun. Then he was there. Sherlock was there. His hand was on John's cheek, his face in front of his. John's head thumped. Sherlock was holding the inhaler. John tried a deep breath, his lungs burned but some air went in. The pounding in his ears was fainter. Sherlock's voice filtered through the chaos.
"John. Look at me. Focus on me." John blinked furiously to try and get rid of the floating white spots; he stared at Sherlock's eyes. His green eyes. Safe. He was safe here. Breathe. It's safe. John's breaths became longer and he was able to draw in more puffs of the inhaler. Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock. Safe. John's eyes stayed focussed on his friend and the tightness in his chest was getting better with each shaky puff of the inhaler. Sounds were returning to his ears, light was coming back to his vision and the white spots were fading. Breathe… breathe… God his chest ached. John's breaths were shaky and a bit wheezy but they were regular. Mrs Holmes sat beside John on the sofa and rubbed his back gently as Sherlock crouched in front of him, staring calmly into his eyes. Mycroft was stood in the doorway, the expression of worry slowly fading back to cold indifference. The world was slowing down for John. He could breathe. The panic was over. Sherlock was there. The youngest Holmes' voice was a deep comfort as he spoke.
"Ok now John?"
John nodded slowly.
"Sorry…" he rasped out. Mrs Holmes ordered Mycroft to fetch some water as Sherlock moved to sit the other side of John on the sofa.
"What's wrong?" Sherlock's voice was full of concern. Mycroft returned with the water and John sipped tentatively from the glass. The burning in his throat was soothed and he coughed.
"Sorry…" Was all he managed again. Mrs Holmes smiled gently.
"Don't be silly dear. Take your time."
John took another sip of water.
"Mum says we're moving away."
John's heart rate threatened to pick up again but Sherlock's hand squeezing his was enough to prevent it. John continued.
"She says we need a fresh start. But I don't want to go."
Sherlock looked down at his lap, and back up at John, in slight confusion.
"Why don't you want to go?"
John looked at Sherlock's eyes and sniffed back tears.
"I don't want to leave my best friend…"
Sherlock's chest went warm and fuzzy with those words but was dampened by John's pained expression.
"I'm your… best friend?" Sherlock asked, quizzically.
"Of course you are…" John said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Mrs Holmes watched the exchange and decided to step in, before John's emotions threatened to overrule him again.
"Listen, you've had a very bad panic attack John. It sort of transposed itself into an asthma attack as well, which didn't help. You need some rest and you need to not worry about moving away. I'll have a word with your mother about what's happened but I don't want you to fret about it. Whatever happens, it will be fine. Ok?"
Mrs Holmes voice was calm and comforting; John could see why she was a nurse. He nodded and allowed himself to lay down on the sofa as Mrs Holmes placed a blanket over him. She turned to her youngest son.
"Sherlock, I think you ought to give John some space. Let him rest."
Sherlock shook his head and pulled the armchair over beside John.
"I'm not going anywhere."
John smiled at Sherlock's stubbornness as Mrs Holmes sighed, gave in and walked out of the room to make a phone call. Mycroft also left silently, leaving the two boys alone. There was a comfortable silence. John was breathing steadily and Sherlock was transfixed by the crackling fire in the fireplace. John's broken voice filtered through the quiet.
"Thanks again Sherlock. For saving me."
Sherlock nodded and continued to stare at the fire. Both boys sat in silence, and although the original storm had died down and stillness was upon them, there was an eerie sense of apprehension.
John still dreaded how he'd cope if he had to leave. And although Sherlock was putting on a brave face for John's sake, inside he felt horrible. John couldn't leave, he needed him. He loved him. Sherlock Holmes had never needed anyone in his life before, never cared for anyone in his life, but he knew one thing for certain, and though he wasn't sure why, he cared for John Watson, and would do anything in his power to help him stay.

Author's note: I don't think this chapter was any good… feedback?