John pov

Anderson walked up to John and snickered, "Good luck working with him. That psychopath won't work anybody, he just look down at us like we're rats."

John sighed and continued working towards the door. He knew what Anderson saying is true, Sherlock's last partner in a group assignment almost dropped out of school. But he don't really have a choice here, he needed this grade, he needed a scholarship or else he can forget about going anywhere after high school. As much as he liked staying at home, he didn't want to just lounge around for the rest of his life.

"You're late, where have you been?"

"I was only late for 2 minutes, would you at least try to be patient?" John retorted.

"Time is valuable for me. I have things to do after this so don't waste my time." Sherlock proclaimed.

They were able to work without any major arguments for half an hour, Sherlock did make some snide remarks here and there but John tried his best to ignore them.

Sherlock seemed a lot more calm and peaceful than he usually is. Normally, he seemed to have this cold and harsh aura around him, a wall that blocked away anyone who even dared to get close to him. But now, he seemed relaxed and almost at ease. If this was the person Sherlock was when he's not around a crowd, John wouldn't dislike him as much.

Then Sherlock suddenly stood up and announced he needed to go, immediately. John wondered what Sherlock have to do that is so important to him. As much as he hate to admit it, he's curious about this dark and mysterious man with the unruly curls

Sherlock pov

Everyday, Sherlock go home at 4:00 pm, cleans the house, prepares dinner and wait for his father who returns home at 5:00 pm.

It was already 4:38 pm as he ran out of the library, leaving a confused John still sitting at the back table. Sherlock knew there wasn't enough time for him to even get half of his duties done.

Three minutes till 5:00, Sherlock managed to clean most of the house and fix up a half decent meal, but of course, it wasn't as good as the usual.

His father walked through the front door right on time, his face reformed to rage as he looked around the flat. "Sherlock Holmes! What is the meaning of this?"

"I-I'm sorry, I was out with a friend. I lost track of time." Sherlock stuttered.

"A friend? Like I believe that, you don't have friends. You don't deserve friends. You're nothing but a freak, you brought shame to this family!"

Sherlock tried to ignore the insults, but he felt a stab of pain at his heart. He knew he wasn't the most likeable person, to be honest he don't even like himself that much. The constant reminder from those around him just make the hatred more realistic.

Before he knew it, he saw a glimmer of silver in his father's hands. A cold feeling washed over his body. Then he felt a searing pain in his left arm. He used all the strength he had to punch his father in stomach and darted outside of the house.

He knew he would pay later when he returns. Sherlock needed help, fast. He was losing blood, a lot of blood. He didn't know where to go or who to go to. Nobody in this neighbourhood would help him.

His only hope now is John. Sherlock stumbled to towards John's house with his name ringing in his ears. He pushed himself to the door and rang the bell.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?" John questioned

"Help me, please." Sherlock managed to say before he lost his consciousness.