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Chapter 2 - Twisted every way

The corridors of the school were buzzing with the sound of pupils and Sherlock felt a migraine on the rising. The teacher had told him to show the new kid around, and being the silent student he was, he obeyed. At least the boy next to him was able to be silent. He watched him out of the corner of his eyes – it seemed his shoulder was bothering him more than in the morning. Maybe because of the chairs in the classroom – they weren't exactly comfortable.

The sandy-blonde hair was matted on his forehead, it was quite warm in the building and the smaller one had to almost run to keep up with Sherlock. Noticing this he slowed down a little bit. Not because he cared for the other, of course not. But it would be tedious to search for the new kid if he fell back and got lost.

John caught his breath, thank God, they weren't running anymore. It was rather hard to keep up with the tall boy and his shoulder had been worse today than the whole last month. This going-to-school-thing was more exhausting than he remembered. Under his lashes he studied his guide.

Sherlock Holmes, the teacher had called him, interested him. This guy was absolutely gorgeous and mysterious. He was sure, the stoic expression the other wore was nothing more than a mask. A good one, great even, but a mask nonetheless. And he was dying to know what was under that mask...

John hadn't seen him interact with anybody, not even the teachers bothered themselves with the boy. He was just... there. Nobody talked to him, although there were quite a few whispers in class, when he greeted the taller one.

"Hey, fag, got yourself a new pet?"

John flinched violently – how did they know? How did they find out? Who told them?

It took him a few seconds to understand the insult wasn't directed at him, but at Sherlock, who just ignored them and continued walking. "Don't you dare walking away from me like that, your little girlfriend isn't there to protect you, so you better do what I say.", the voice was rather close now, as far as John could see it belonged to a boy who was in their art class. A broad, dim-witted face came into view, blocking their way. The boy was as big as his guide but easily four times as heavy. "What now, I'm either a fag or I have a little girlfriend, even you should understand with that tiny brain of yours that it can't be both, Moore.", Sherlock drawled, smirking at the confused look presenting itself on the large face.

John winced, he was positive this wouldn't end well. He knew a bully when seeing someone, he had been on the receiving end far to often for his liking.

"Don't be smart, freak, or live regret it." the boy called Moore threatened. The bell rang this very moment and saved them. Sherlock and him made it to the class just in time, three seconds after them the teacher entered.

Sherlock wandered of this his customary seat in the back row, well aware that the new kid was still trailing after him. When they both sat, John once more right next to him, the smaller one again offered a weak smile. Sherlock digressed from him and stared out of the window.

John sighed. Well, at least now he knew the other one wasn't mute but could, in fact, speak. And he sure had a nice voice. Even though he only insulted the boy.

The rest of the day was surprisingly uneventful. School was over at four o'clock, he headed home the instant the bell rang. His father wouldn't be home before 8 pm, until then he was alone with Mary, his father's housekeeper. Mary was an elderly, stout lady who had been working for the Holmes family since always, coming over to the house three times a week.

Helena waited for him at the school gates, smiling at him the way she always did.

"Bye, Sherlock.", said a voice behind him, he grunted in response. Helena lifted one elegant eyebrow, but didn't say anything. That was until she searched for source of the words and found John. She turned as white as chalk and fixed her eyes on the ground, unconsciously pulling at the hem of her shirt's sleeves. Sherlock paused for a moment, observing her and filing her reaction away for later examination. He turned his gaze back to John – he had a similar reaction to Helena, every color drained from his face and he just started fidgeting.

Interesting.

"See you tomorrow.", John murmured - and bolted.

"Well, let's go, shall we?", asked Helena, still not looking into his eyes. Sherlock just nodded.

Helena's mindless babble was normally a nice background sound, it soothed him, although he couldn't say why. Typically he would tune her out after at least half of the way. But today she was unusual quiet. He didn't mind.

The evening wasn't as peaceful as the rest of the day. His father was already drunk when he came home. He was two hours later than usual, the dinner Mary made was cold by the time he arrived. Sherlock knew he would pay, it wasn't his fault, but then it nearly never was.

His whole body hurt, he couldn't even move. He didn't dare to. He was lying in his bed again, flat on his stomach and just wished he'd be somebody else and far, far away from London... Then he drifted away into the soft blackness of a merciful faint.

On the same afternoon, John had an appointment to attend.

The door opened after the second knock, just as it always did. John smiled as he saw a dark haired woman behind desk. The room was very brightly lit, plants surrounded the few small tables giving an appeasing atmosphere. The walls shone in apricot, dark brown chairs lined up along them.

"Mrs. Lloyd, hi." She looked up from the notes she was taking, smiling as she greeted him. "Hi! How are you? How's the new school?" He shrugged. "Just like any other school, I guess."

"Made some friends yet?", she inquired. A small smile graced his lips, his eyes lingered somewhere above the secretary's head. "I take that as a yes." He didn't bother to answer, but the his smile broadened.

"Take a seat, Miss Wilson has got an appointment, it will just take about five more minutes, then she is here for you." John nodded, making himself comfortable into the chair closest to Mrs. Lloyd. He took his french work book out – why did he need to learn this language anyway? It didn't even sound right. And it was ridiculously difficult.

Ten minutes later a girl left Miss Wilson's office. John didn't bother to look up, he never did. He knew some of her other patients, but he never tried to make friends with them. It would be easier for him if he acquainted himself with someone who already knew he wasn't normal. Or healthy. Or mentally stable. Or whatever.

"John?", Miss Wilson's voice startled him out of his thoughts. She seemed impatient, but then, she typically was. Unless you talked to her in the sessions. Then she could be the most patient person he ever knew. He packed his book away, and went into her office after her.

The room was as bright as the waiting room, the walls a darker shade of apricot and there were fewer plants, but it was still very nice. There was a large desk at the wall, right under the only window of the room. Alice Wilson sat down facing him. He slumped down into the chair across from his psychologist.

"So – how have you been since our last meeting?", she inquired.

"Ok, I guess. I've been sleeping better, since the change of medication."

"That's what I hoped for. What about the nightmares? Better?"

"Somehow. Slightly.", he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, avoiding her dark brown eyes.

"That means no."

"Not really. I guess it will take a while until the meds kick in?"

She nodded. "About three to six weeks actually. Since we just changed to something new, I guess it will be another month until we can say if they work. At least you are able to sleep now. How much do you take now?"

"150mg every morning."

"Are you ok with it? Do you want to try more?"

"No, the meds make me drowsy. It's hard to concentrate in school. I'm tired all the time. When I started taking them last week I fell asleep two hours afterwards. It was nearly impossible to stay awake. Maybe I could take them in the evening? Right before I go to bed?", he said, trying not to sound to hopeful.

"I don't know. Normally you should take them in the morning. Your organism isn't used to the new medication. Try it for another week. If you are still having problems then, we may talk to a doctor. Does that sound like an idea?"

He nodded reluctantly.

"Ok. So have you thought about continuing the art therapy? I know you're happy you are no longer in hospital treatment but I believe it would do you good, going on with the group. We can reschedule so it won't clash with school duties."

He simply stayed quiet. True, the art therapy had been fun but to go back there? It has only been a month since he got out of the asylum for good. He didn't want to go back. Not even for the 50 minutes of art therapy. He knew perfectly well that they wouldn't lock him up in there but... there was this fear. Irrational fear, yes, but fear nonetheless. Fear that they wouldn't let him go once they get hold of him again.

"John?", she asked, startling him again.

"Yeah, I thought about it. I'm not sure although. Is it possible to take part of the therapy even if I'm no longer in the ward?", he asked shyly. She wouldn't try and put him in there again, now, would she?

"That shouldn't be a problem since I know the guy who supervises the therapy – he owes me a favor. So would you like to go on? Should I tell him to expect you?"

Nervously he bit on his lower lip. "I think I could try. I mean I can stop if I don't like it, can't I?"

Alice Wilson, sensing his fear, nodded her consent. "Of course. Just say so and you don't need to go there ever more, ok?" She received a small smile for her reassurance.

"Okay then – about what do you want to talk today? How about your new school? It was your first day, wasn't it? You told me last time that you were nervous about the reaction your principal showed after seeing your file. Did he gave you a hard time?"

And with this his therapy session went on, Miss Wilson asking questions, he trying to answer them. Sometimes it worked sometimes – mostly actually - it didn't. It was just like the whole last year. His sister and mother paid the expensive bills in hope to get him better, but after all this time he wasn't so sure anymore if this would ever work out.

Miss Wilson was nice and surprisingly patient concerning him but he didn't tell her everything. He couldn't tell her everything. She knew he was skirting around some secrets, but she never really asked. She tried approaching his time in the juvenile facility once or twice but he dismissed it rather quickly. Miss Wilson knew there was something wrong, she just couldn't quite put her finger on it. But then if he didn't want to talk about it, she couldn't force him to do so.

But for all that, they were treading water and they both knew, for him to make progress, he needed to talk about whatever happened in the facility.

However she could remember very well how long it had taken him before he spoke about the reason he entered the facility in the first place. After all this harmless, innocent looking kid with the deep blue eyes and the sandy hair in front of her had killed another human being.

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