~Sherlock's POV~
I waited for Moriarty as usual behind the school. My cigarette was in its usual place in between my lips, and I had no doubt that this one would go to waste as he would be coming any moment. I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. Honestly, it was hopeless to run away from Moriarty. I was no coward, for one, he would only strike back harder tomorrow, two, and there was nothing to look forward to for the rest of my day. When I got home, I would hole myself up in my room again and test some unsolved theories, as well as scour the newspaper for any interesting news before making my own dinner at 7:30 and then entertaining myself with some acids I'm trying to create.
I heard footsteps coming toward me. I kept my eyes closed, trying to burn into my memory the tapping sound of his footsteps. So far, all I could deduce was that he was walking with no hurry, and with a purpose. "I told you I'd be back," a voice said. I opened my eyes, my steady blue one's meeting the excited dark ones of James'. "I waited," I said, taking a deep puff of my cigarette. I knew what was coming. James smiled happily. "Oh, you waited for me Sherlock! How very nice of you, perhaps I shall give you a compensation for your wait?" I closed my eyes and braced myself as he punched me straight in the gut. Pain exploded up my torso, and I spat out my flaming cigarette. His shoe was sure to put it out eventually, and if not, the smoke at least would provide me some solace from his beatings. I felt his hand yank my hair, forcing me to raise my head and look at him. I looked into his eyes steadily, my face a statue. "Will you give in to me today, I wonder?" he said amusedly. "No, not today, I'm afraid," I said with as little sarcasm I could muster. The corner of his mouth twitched; he had indeed noticed. I braced myself again as he thrusted his knee up to collide painfully with my chin, and I crumpled to the ground as he began to kick me. Last week, he said that he was going to kill me. I wondered vaguely, through my drugged and yet alert mind, whether this was to be our last fight.
"Stop!" I heard an unfamiliar voice cry. My eyes opened. Was someone here…was someone actually standing up for me…no, of course not, what was I saying. No one would stand up for me except for the principal, and that was only if… "Oh, what's this?" I heard Moriarty say. "A little hero of justice come to step up to the plate?" So the person was a male, and a short one. Judging by his voice he was around our age too… "Leave him alone," the voice said commandingly. I felt my heart skip a beat. It would be a miracle, if I did believe in miracles. But this voice was unfamiliar to me…I closed my eyes as my mind ran through all of the voices I had heard in this school. Everybody from the principals to the lowest janitors, every student I had heard at least a scrap of voice from. But none of them had this particular way of talking…with such immense bravery…passion…purpose. But before I could finish my train of thought, my eyes shot open at the sound of a punch. Who…was it the one who stood up for me? No…I tried to hold back a sneer as Moriarty said "I am only in the mood for hitting Holmes today, my pet" So Moriarty himself had taken the hit. Who on earth didn't know that man's reputation by this point…who, in this school, was around my age, unfamiliar to me, and unaware of how dangerous James Moriarty was? I felt a pair of hands grasp my shoulder and turn me until I was on my back. I looked up into his tired but concerned green eyes. Ah yes, my pulse quickened, this one.
"Are you alright?" he asked. Now that he was closer, I could study him more accurately. He owned no pets, had no mother, as far as I could tell, who lived with him, he had the fingertips of a typist and the calluses of a hard worker on his hands. He was poor, and he was rooming with an alcoholic. "Yes, I'm alright," I croaked, sitting up and straightening my scarf. My eyes scoured his. Concern, worry, alertness, and a brief flash of anger. So this man was on the side of justice. The boy cleared his throat, looking down at the ground. I must have been staring at them for too long. "I-I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know your name," he said. I nodded. Of course this man knew my name, Moriarty mentioned it to him at least 4 times in the brief time they had talked. But remembering proper etiquette, I reached out my hand. "Sherlock Holmes," I said. He hesitated before shaking my hand awkwardly. "Er, John Watson," he said. John, my mind echoed. Fitting.
We stood up, I brushing off the dirt from my coat as he stood, studying me. "You are new here?" I said in an attempt to break the silence which I could tell bothered him. He nodded. "Just moved here from Sussex on—" "—a scholarship, yes, I know," I said without thinking, before I froze and looked up at John, whose eyebrows were raised in surprise. "How did you know that?" he said. I could hear no trace of contempt of anger in his voice, unlike the others I heard. I shrugged. "You came in the middle of the year, your bag was stuffed with books for a year or two's worth, unlike everyone else who already finished most of their projects during the break," I continued talking, my mouth rambling faster than my brain could. "You had a paper letter stuffed in between an advanced medical book, a paper letter of the type only goes to ones with an outstanding establishment of some sort, the medical book was far more advanced than the ones normal students read, so I presume a medical scholarship." I studied his face intently. His eyebrows were raised so high they were nearly lost in his messy blonde hair. I looked down. There goes another one, my mind began to say, another person who will shun and tell you to go piss o—"That's amazing," he murmured, and my head shot up to look at him in genuine surprise. He too, also seemed surprised. "I-I mean, you're right," he stammered. But I had heard what he had said before, and my mind locked onto that. Amazing…and I was right? Nobody had ever told me that I was right before…John cleared his throat again, shuffling the bag over his shoulder. "I had better get going," he said regretfully "I have to watch over my sister at home…" I nodded. "I understand," I said, my face and voice once again impassive. "It was nice meeting you, Sherlock," John said, and he turned to walk towards his motorcycle. Just before he got on, however, he stopped and turned back to look at me. "S-Say," he said, "where do you usually sit during lunch?" I blinked, confused why he should ask. "Over by that wall, under that tree," I said. He nodded, setting his helmet on. "I'll join you there tomorrow," he said, before rearing up his engine and speeding off.
My mind almost reeled. He would join me there…where I sat during lunch…almost like a…"Stop." I said out loud. "John," I looked down and began my long walk home. "is not, and never would be, my friend."
A/N: Hello! Longest chapter so far, I hope you enjoyed it! ^^ please review! It makes me update faster!
Like I said before, I just LOVE writing Sherlock's POV :)