A/N: I'm back! I'm sorry it took me so long to update! Writer's block + no time .

Anyway, thank you to everybody for following my story! As usual, reviews are greatly appreciated and make me write faster, I promise!

Note: Year 11= junior. I don't really know if the school systems work the same way as they do here in 'Murica, so I just googled it and stuff~

Oh, and a disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock

John's POV

The next week, I arrived at school earlier, in hopes of catching Sherlock at the front of the school again. Sure enough, by the time I pulled up at the parking lot, Sherlock was leaning by the wall again, smoking and watching me through the shadows. I smiled, walking over to him, and waved slightly. "Hello, Sherlock!" I said cheerfully, noting how his eyes lit up just a bit, seeing me. He glanced around, as if making sure I was talking to him. I smiled, leaning against the wall beside him. "Good morning," he said emotionlessly, but I noticed that he put down his cigarette as I came over.

"A bit chilly this morning, isn't it?" I said, trying to make conversation after a sort of silence came over us. He nodded, his dark curls falling into his eyes slightly. "Indeed, it is," he said, the chill in the air making his breath fog up in the dark sky. "10 degrees Celsius, 8 degree winds, quite a normal temperature for this time in the morning, especially since there is an approaching rain from the east." The words seemed to flow out of him naturally before he caught himself, his ice blue eyes glancing at me.

My mouth dropped open slightly in surprise before I grinned, pushing his arm slightly. "It's too early in the morning to be acting so brilliant," I said good-naturedly. He appeared to be slightly surprised, clearing his throat and smiling the smallest bit. "There's nothing particularly brilliant about it," he said nonchalantly, sliding his face a bit further into his scarf.

I smiled. "Everything's brilliant about it, I've never seen someone able to know the exact temperature of the day, nor the bloody wind for that matter!"

A silence overcame us again, and I thought about more things we could talk about. "What year are you in?" I asked him. "11," he said. "So am I!" I said, surprised. He was so tall; I thought that he was older. Oh well, it is rather hard to tell nowadays.

He checked his watch, a small line appearing between his eyebrows. "Expecting someone?" I asked him. "Should I leave?" He hesitated for a moment, appearing to think. "I think you should leave," he said, and my heart sank. Perhaps he did not want to be my friend as I had thought. "But only because I wouldn't want you getting into a fight this early in the semester." "Why do you say so?" I said, interested. He thought for a moment before speaking.

"Do you remember the boy you fought yesterday?" he asked me. "Well, every day at 7:25 exactly he comes and…gives me his standard greeting." He grimaced slightly. It was quite obvious what he was implying, and I bristled at the thought of Sherlock being hit again. "I'm staying, then" I said "and I'll fight him if that's what it takes for him to leave you alone." Sherlock sighed, looking down at the ground. "I wish it were that easy," he said quietly. "But that's not the way that Moriarty does things."

I opened my mouth to speak again before a sickly obnoxious voice came from around the corner wall from which we were leaning against. "Good morning Holmes," he said, turning the corner. His dark, malicious eyes lighted upon me. "Oh, you again," he smiled, sliding his hand out of his black blazer pocket to stick out to me. "I don't believe I had the pleasure of introducing myself," he said, his thin mouth curling up into a sneer-like smile. "Jim Moriarty, Year 11, it's a pleasure to properly meet you."

I didn't shake his hand. Eventually he cleared his throat, tucking his hand back into his pocket, that sinister sneer still pasted upon his face. "John Watson, is it?" he said. "My jaw still aches from time to time with the hit that you gave it." I glared at him. "Leave Sherlock alone," I said. Jim smiled wider. "Oh, straight to the point now, are we!" he cried, clasping his hands together. I simply glared back at him, my fists beginning to clench together.

Jim smiled. "It is rather profound that our little Holmes finally managed to sneak somebody onto his side, isn't it? Especially given with all of his…traits." "Sherlock is a brilliant bloke who doesn't deserve to be beat up daily by the likes of you!" I said, shoving my hands inside my pockets to try and prevent my punching his square in the eye. Jim sneered. "Surely you know what I mean, don't you?" I felt Sherlock stiffen beside me. Jim turned to Sherlock, surprise on his face. "Don't tell me you haven't told him yet!" I looked at Sherlock. "Tell me what?" Sherlock's face was stonier than usual, and he refused to meet my eyes.

Jim's smile grew until he laughed, clapping his hands in the silence that had fallen between us. "Oh, this is fantastic!" he cried. "Come on now then, Holmes," he sneered. "Now is as good of a time as any to tell him." Sherlock remained silent. He appeared to have even stopped breathing. "If you will not, then shall I?" Jim asked happily. Sherlock turned away, his dark hair and clothes blending in with the shadows of the wall we were standing against to create an effect of him not being there at all.

Jim sneered, turning back towards me. "It appears to me that our little Sherlock refuses to tell you himself," he said. "Tell me what?" I commanded. This was ridiculous. Obviously if Sherlock didn't want to tell me then I didn't have any business to know. "Oh trust me," Jim laughed. "You'll want to know this," he said. I started, unpleasantly surprised at how he had read my thoughts. "For you see, John, take these last few moments of ignorance. Cherish them, while Sherlock is still known to you as a friend. For the next few things I say will make you forget all about ever standing up for Sherlock ever again." "There is nothing that you can possibly say to that effect," I growled. He smiled at me, his dark eyes clashing against my green ones. "What about the fact that, Sherlock Holmes, your friend, undesired son to one of the most prestigious families in all of London, younger brother to one of the most high-rated and honored students in the school, outcast to every bloody student here from day one, has been hiding the true fact, that he, Sherlock Holmes, is a homosexual."