Sherlock was trusting him, finally John would be open to the secrets of Sherlock. He would know his past and be able to help in the future, but now, in the present, he had to listen and comfort. John sipped his coffee and turned his head to look at Sherlock.

"I was 15, just started high school. I was homeschooled 'till then, so I didn't know anyone at all. I didn't know how to talk to people, how to make friends, what people would expect. Mycroft didn't really talk to me much, so I had no idea what people liked or did. It was a whole other world." Sherlock was looking straight ahead, holding his drink in his hands.

"Victor came up to me on the first day of school because he saw that I was lost. He was a ginger, freckled and shorter than me. I didn't know if it was normal to make friends in one day or whatever so I went with it. After about a month, Victor was failing all his classes. We weren't very close but he came over every once in a while and hung out at lunch. I was doing exceptionally well in school because my mom taught me at a higher level and Mycroft tutored me, told me it's boring when no one knows as much as him or something." Sherlock squinted his eyes and took a sip.

John stayed silent, attentively listening.

"Anyway he asked me for help, I said sure because he was my only friend and I didn't want to disappoint him. At first, I was just tutoring him, and his grades went up a little. Then he started getting mad that they weren't as high as mine, that I wasn't teaching him right. I was lost, I really was trying, I just had knowledge built up over years and he wasn't trying to learn it, wasn't putting in the effort."

"I trusted Victor, he took me to see things I never saw before. I stayed indoors mainly as a kid, didn't get out much. He brought me to the cinema, carnivals, the zoo. He opened my eyes to the wonders of the real world. Victor brought me to parties and introduced me to other people, helped me develop my social skills, all that." He took a deep breath.

"He was my closest friend, I'd made a few but only talked to them at school and the occasional outing but I don't think they really liked me. I was the 'nerd' and often felt like a third wheel or a tag-a-long. I don't fit in with many people. Victor though, I thought we connected. Over the summer I invited him over, but he always seemed to be busy. One time he called saying he was going to camp for a week so he couldn't talk, but I saw him and some of the other guys on TV at a concert. It hurt, more than I expected, not that he didn't invite me, but that he lied."

John nodded solemnly, wishing that the swings were closer together so he could comfort his boyfriend, shield off this awful memory, soothe his sadness but John was afraid that if he moved Sherlock would stop talking.

"As soon as we got back to school for second year he immediately came back to me, and I didn't have anyone else so I didn't mention the concert. I kept more to myself, wouldn't tell him what's wrong. He would guilt me into doing his work, and when he came back with good grades he would pat me on the back and hand me another assignment."

"Eventually, juggling two loads of work, pressure from my brother, the stress of being a teenager and frustration I cracked. I told Victor I wasn't going to do his work anymore. We were at my house." Sherlock's voice dropped quieter now. "He took his stuff. He walked out of my room, and… and before he left he said something."

John now didn't care if Sherlock stopped, he stood up and put down his now cold coffee, knelt in front of Sherlock's swing and gently took the cup from the boy's hand. Sherlock was clutching the paper cup so tight it left crinkles. John wrapped Sherlock's hands in his and looked up. Sherlock was still looking dazed, tears prickling the backs of his eyes, looking at nothing.

"He said… 'then what exactly is the point of you…" Sherlock said in barely a whisper, voice breaking on 'you'. A tear escaped, slowly rolling down his cheek.

John wasn't just sad now, he was mad. Who had the right to tell this amazing, intelligent, passionate person he was useless. Who had the right to use him, to victimize and traumatize him. No one, that's who.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry someone was so… evil to you. He doesn't deserve someone as amazing as you, and it's not fair that he just played with you. Your heart is precious, and anyone to betray it is a foul creature. I think you're brilliant, and loving, and sweet and perfectly flawed and I promise that I will stay, unless you change your mind and don't want me around, and I will try to prevent any harm that may come to you, and If I mess up I will be here to comfort you and help you and protect you." John let out a puff of slightly angry breath and softly wiped the tear from Sherlock's face with his hand.

Sherlock looked up at him with a vulnerable, soft gaze and smiled so lovingly John felt like he was going to melt.

"You're not going anywhere," Sherlock smirked then softened again. "Thank you," Sherlock whispered. Leaning forward to press his forehead against John's.

John squeezed the hand he was still holding and looped an arm around Sherlock's neck with the other. "No problem, thank you for sharing your story," He said, smiled and tilted his head up to make their lips brush across each other.

"Let's go home," Sherlock nuzzled his nose to Johns, who grinned and stood up, pulling Sherlock up with him by the hand and continued to hold his hand during the walk back.

….

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