Dear acquaintance, Year ten is irrelevant to my overall knowledge. I find it unpleasant and have no desire to continue with it. I saw my old friend Jim in the cafeteria. He was kind to me in primary school and in the beginning of secondary school. We never became close, but we appreciated each other from afar. He was happier then; he works too hard to impress now. He's hard to deduce, but it's not unnoticeable that he doesn't laugh as much as he used to. Happily.

The only thing I tolerate about school is my English teacher. Brilliant man. A tad dense; though friendly. Dull and boring. Constantly bickering with his wife. They'll be divorced soon. Despite all these things, he is kind. Unlike anyone else here. He doesn't need to be. He said to call him Greg. He gives me books to read. I read them. Write essays. Turn them in in secret. We read To Kill a Mockingbird. I hated it. Stupid, irrelevant book. I need to read more.

Mycroft's got a girlfriend. She's got no hair. Shaves it all off. Must get cold in the winter. She resembles a man more than a woman. Not Mycroft's type. He doesn't even like women. Or men. Yet somehow he's got tonnes of friends. Acquaintances. His girlfriend, Anthea, gives him mix tapes. Mycroft gave the most recent one to me after Anthea left last night. They had watched a movie. James Bond. Tedious.

"Sherlock, would this...music be of your interest?" He said music like it was a curse word. I took it without saying a word. Incredibly bored. Decided to listen to it. Not boring. This song..."Asleep," it's called. If you like violin music you should listen to this. Well, I don't actually care whether or not you listen to the song. It hasn't even got violins in it. But I like violin music, and I like "Asleep." The two interests must be connected somehow. Remember: do a study on that later.

I told Mycroft about "Asleep." He did not care, but he politely thanked me when Anthea asked him what he thought of the tape. He described what I had told him. He's very good at lying and conjuring believable falsehoods out of nowhere.

Greg told me that my mind moves faster than a mouse. Irrelevant. Mice do not move at a measurable speed, nor do my thoughts. Apparently I write how I talk. Is that not the point of writing? I have no proble writing about the current event in my mind. Doesn't matter what others think.

I went down to the basement the weekend last. I must not have been observing closely enough. Mycroft was on the sofa, naked, and Anthea's pale nude legs draped over him like a curtain. It was a confusing and disturbing sight. Had I wanted to watch my brother get shagged I would not have come down to the basement. All I wanted was to watch some crime telly. Stupid, to be quite frank. I like solving the mysteries before.

18 September 1991

For some strange reason I signed up for wood shop class. I hate it. Tedious. But enjoyable. There is a girl there who makes it enjoyable. Her name is "Nothing." I knew it was fake, probably bully-induced, because hardly anyone would call themselves that; publicly downgrade themselves to a nonexistent object. "Nothing" is in year 12. "Nothing" got her name in the beginning of primary school. "Either you call me Harry or you call me nothing," she'd said. Or so the (incorrectly labeled) rumours state. Thus Harry was dubbed "Nothing."

I think I will stop putting quotation marks around Nothing's name. It is stupid and disrupting my flow. Hopefully your dull brain won't find this difficult to follow.

Nothing did a humourous performance in which she pretended to be our teacher, Professor Callahan. It was quite hilarious. Well, my peers were laughing. I wasn't. I found it mildly amusing. She had drawn Callahan's mutton-chop sideburns with a grease pencil. Quite the length.

Mycroft requested for his tape back. I returned it. He listens to it more than he cares to admit. It's alright. Everyone knows. Fat git.

6 October 1991

There was a football game Friday last. I was bored enough to go. I don't know why. Stupid. School spirit is irrelevant. Victor and I used to go to the games. Victor was exciting. Vacant head, but good interests. I was never bored. Jim would go sometimes. I once saw Jim and Vic kiss, hold hands a few times. Almost felt jealousy. Almost.

This was the first time I'd gone alone since Victor hanged himself. Jim doesn't say "hi" to me anymore. Not that I care. (Even though he's interesting.)

A girl named Clara was on the boy's football team. This was an impressive feat, being that' she's a girl. Not in a sexist way. I heard Nothing, from a few seats back, yell "C'mon, Clara!"

Normally I am socially reserved, aware of my boundaries and determined not to stretch them. Whatever possessed me to do this is still unknown to me, but in a strange way, I have no regrets on the matter. I made my way over to Nothing's seat and stood above her.

Her eyes brightened when she noticed me. "Hey, you're in my shop class, aren't you?"

I nodded. What was I doing here? I remember thinking, I should leave. Before I knew it, I was introducing myself. Confidently. But that's just my armour. "The name is Sherlock Holmes."

Nothing laughed. "And mine is Harry. And this," she said, pointing to a blond boy next to her, "is John." John waved at me.

"Hey, Sherlock." Completely stupid to notice such a thing, but as far as smiles go, John's was my favourite. Warm. Welcome. Friendly.

I was soon sitting next to them. Nothing Harry was a very enthusiastic football fan. Moreso than my own father. That is a far more impressive feat than a girl making the boy's football league.

John has blond hair and happy blue eyes. I don't know why I wrote happy. Eyes cannot display emotion. They can convey it. But not represent it. After the game, Harry and John took me to a pub. I can't legally drink, but they can. I was just pleased to be with them. The pub was called the Big Boy. Stupid name for a pub. Stupid name, actually. But I liked it. Harry and John didn't share inside jokes, but instead asked me questions. I found myself surprised that I wanted to answer them.

"How old are you, Sherlock?"

"Sixteen."

"What do you want to do when you grow up?"

"Solve crimes."

"What's your favourite band?"

"The Smiths. Their one song, Asleep I like."

"What's your favourite film?"

"Films are tedious."

They laughed. Then they told me their favourites. I cared to know the answers. They smoked. Actually, Harry smoked, but John didn't. John started arguing about health. He'd make a good doctor someday. All that worrying.

I had not spoken for a while. I found myself entertained by watching them together. Happy. They were happy. Maybe if John wasn't dating anyone, I might ask him out. When I can drive. Funny. Driving's never appealed to me before. Lots of things had never appealed to me before tonight. But I did not mind that he had a girlfriend, especially if he was happy, and it was Harry. Then I thought I might try to take part in the conversation. Though I knew the answer, the question seemed polite.

"How long have you two been together?"

They laughed. Hard.

I was no less than terribly confused, and that is not something that happens to me often. At all, really. "What? What did I say that you find so humourous?"

"John's my brother," Harry said, still laughing.

Funny. They did not look alike, but they were siblings. Not enough to be half-siblings. Stepsiblings then. That was the most logical assumption, being that Harry had moved here when her mother married another man. But I asked the question anyway. I was determined to please. "You don't look a like," I 'observed.'

They informed me that they were stepsiblings, much as I had suspected. I'm rarely wrong. But then I was happy, because I realised what this meant. I could ask John on a date. Easy to tell that he's interests for both women and men. Of course, he's got to have a girlfriend, he wouldn't wear those ridiculous jumpers on his own will. I hope. Ridiculous.

That night I had a dream. Never had a dream like this before, but it was oddly enjoyable. I was with John, and we were both naked. I had my pale, nude legs draped over him like a curtain on the couch in our basement. I conducted experiments a while ago to see if I could repeat a dream. It's possible, yet unlikely to happen. This was unfortunate to recall when I thought about my dream about John. I would like to have that dream again.