John took his time walking to the park, relishing in the quiet night air. It was a rather beautiful night, a full moon lit up the sky, surrounded by billions of stars. One could get lost looking at the sky. It was a long walk, the better half of 2 hours but John didn't really mind. It was a peaceful night. The moon was well above John's head by the time he reached the quaint park in the middle of a suburb. As he walked towards it, reels of his memories played through his mind

It was the middle of summer. John was 7 and Harry was 9. Their parents were together, happy, sitting together on the bench watching their kids compete to see who could swing higher. Screams of joy and laughter echoed out into the warm clear day. John's hand slipped on the chain and he flung forward off the swing, scraping his hands and knees on the rocks. He started to cry, but Harry and his parents quickly rushed over and put on a couple Band-Aids, hugging him and telling him he was strong, he'd be fine.

John didn't realize the tears streaming down his cheeks until a cool wind blew against his face. He was all alone now. The swings were squeaking, gently swinging on rusty chains. Graffiti stained parts of the playground. The bench looked cold and lonely. John exhaled a puff of breath and sat down on the bench, putting his hands on his knees and breathing steadily. A few moments passed before John pulled out the small bottle from his pocket, emptying the contents in his hands.

John held the speckled pill up the light of the nearby streetlamp, squinting at it. Seemed legit enough, for a black market. With trembling hands, John brought the pill so it was touching his lips.

"I don't think that's healthy." A baritone voice vibrated into the night, startling John. John curled his hand around the pill protectively, it had cost him four months' worth of saving and starving. He turned around slowly, spotting a silhouette against the trees. Sherlock. "And why would that matter?" John asked. Sherlock came to sit next to John on the bench, the light illuminating half of his sharp handsome face while he talked to John. "I can't allow you to do this." Sherlock responded. "What makes you the ruler of my life?" John asked, gruffly. "I may not be known as a nice person, but I am a decent human being."

John chuckled. "Go, please. You don't understand." "Then make me understand," Sherlock said while staring intently into John's eyes. "I'm fine, really. It's for the best. I have nothing, no friends, no family, I'm failing school, please. Go." He was starting to cry again. Sherlock placed his hand on John's back. "I'll be your friend." John stifled a laugh through his sobs. "Thanks but really, who would want to hang out with me?" He became increasingly aware of the warm hand on his back. Sherlock held out his hand. "Give me the pill, John." Realizing there was nothing he could do, John reluctantly caved, putting the pill in the bottle and surrendering it. "Live for Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock whispered in John's ear before disappearing without a trace.

John spun around on the bench, searching for Sherlock, but he was gone. John wondered if he just imagined it all, but the bottle was missing. Cold and alone with nowhere to go, John curled up and closed his eyes on the uncomfortable wooden bench. The only reassuring factor being that nearly a decade ago his parents were in the exact same spot, alive and happy.

It was morning, yet the sun had not yet risen. Straightening up, John stretched his arms above his head, working out the knots from sleeping on a wood bench. "Live for Sherlock Holmes." The words echoed in his head as he walked back to his underground space to get ready for school. How had Sherlock found him at that time of night? Why did he care what John did?

John's mind couldn't clear on the walk to school either. The heat of Sherlock's hand still warmed an imprint on John's back. "I'll be your friend." He'd said. But why?

John walked into his first period class and sat in his normal seat. Sherlock came in, but Molly wasn't with him. Sherlock beckoned for John to join him in the middle row. Now he wants to sit together? John sat on Sherlock's right and the other boy turned and smiled at him. Something seemed a bit off, there was a solemn look in his bluish grey eyes and his curls didn't have as much bounce. "You alright? Where's Molly?" John asked.

"Me? Fine, she's, uh, sick." Sherlock stammered. John had a feeling he was lying, but happy not to be alone for once, he kept quiet. In science Sherlock asked John to be his lab partner, and before class was over Sherlock looked John in the eye and slipped a piece of paper in his hand.

"I'm a good listener. Come whenever." He whispered and glided out of the class. John stood, a bit frozen at the brush of their hands, and unfolded the ripped piece of paper. An address was written in scrawny cursive. John chuckled to himself and left the lab for his next classes.

The final bell rang at the end of the day, and John walked to his 'space'. He left his bag and unnecessary clothing in while he went to the nearest public center to shower. The soap there smelled awful, but it was better than dirty. Feeling fresh, John walked into his work and asked his boss for the night off. Since John was a good employee, he had no trouble. John's stomach clenched as he walked over to the address, weighed down with his bag. He could tell Sherlock's parents that they were doing homework or something.

He knew the real reason in his heart though. He was hoping Sherlock would give him a sofa to spend the night on. Something, anything.

An hour and a half later, John had worked up a sweat under the beating sun. He walked up the dirt driveway to a cozy looking farmhouse, exteriorized with a cream colour and deep red accents. This wasn't what he expected for someone like Sherlock, who dressed well and had a 'higher authority' aura. Inhale, exhale.

John walked up to the front door, put on a charming smile and knocked on the neatly painted wooden door.