John had spent almost the full weekend on tumblr, barely leaving his room. Greg had texted him at one point on Saturday and then came over to get him outside but they ended up not leaving John's room. John forced him to sign up for a tumblr account, and Greg promised he'd never do anything with it. Sunday John had been thrilled to see that Greg had a few posts on his blog after all, not many but even one was enough to make John cackle almost evilly.

He had stayed up most of Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. There had been more comments from different blogs and John had fun answering quite a few of them. But most of his time was spent chatting with both his anon and with cutesy-cats-loves.

Monday morning John made his way to school feeling exhausted but happy. His bruise was a week old and fading nicely so he spent more of his time looking up and greeting people. He closed his locker and turned around almost running into a tall boy who looked at first looked like he was going to ignore him, but then his eyes flickered to John's bruise.

John felt his face heat up at the look of some sort of comprehension lit up the boy's face. Before the boy could say anything John turned and walked quickly away, only calming down once he reached the classroom. That boy saw his bruise and knew. He knew what happened to John, or at least suspected. John sat at his desk and placed his hands in his face. He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He tried to think about whether he knew the boy. He looked vaguely familiar, but mostly just the sort of familiar where you know you've seen someone before because you go to the same school or something. He didn't actually know the boy and had no idea if the boy would do something or say something about his bruise.

After calming down, he realized he was overreacting. There was no way the boy could have known for sure how he got the bruise. It was probably a look of concern and he misinterpreted it. And even if he was suspicious, John had his story, and Greg would back him up. He had nothing to worry about. He let himself slowly go back to his happy mood just as class started and by the end of the day had completely forgotten about the incident.

Sherlock stared after the blond boy. His face going from recognition of the bruise to shock and recognition of the person. This was his blogger. He watched him flee from him and let his eyes wander over his hand-me-down clothes and cheap bag to his shoes that were not quite obviously female to anyone who didn't observe, but Sherlock knew they belonged to a sister at one point. And the bruise he had seen… there was no question. His blogger went to his school. He doesn't know if he's ever seen him before but he didn't need to. In fact the only reason he didn't skip classes completely was because of his idiot brother who would keep him from the internet.

He sat in class after class, not paying attention at all. He spent his time in his mind palace instead. He saw his blogger. His blogger went to school with him. His blogger also ran when he saw him. Why did he run? Did he recognize Sherlock as well? Sherlock felt himself panic slightly. That was what happened. Why wouldn't he recognize him, after all Sherlock had recognized bonds-companion.

But then Sherlock was different, and Sherlock had more information to go on than bonds-companion had of an anon. But his reaction definitely fit having recognized him and panicked at seeing a boy when he expected a girl. He scoffed at himself, knowing he was a fool to ever have started the conversations with him in the first place.

Halfway through the school day, having come to that conclusion, he left. It was always easy to escape the prison of a school. He went home straight away, knowing Mycroft wouldn't be home straight away and that it didn't matter anyway, he would know Sherlock wasn't at school.

He got on the computer, knowing full well it'd probably be the last time for at least a day once Mycroft dealt with him. He stared at John's blog for a long while, not scrolling, just thinking. He clicked the ask button several times, each time cancelling it. He had no idea what to say. He thought about apologizing for being male. But that sounded pathetic and sentimental.

He sighed and gave up, deciding a clean break was best. He'd stop sending messages altogether. Bonds-companion knew who he was now. He probably wouldn't respond anyway. And there was no reason that Sherlock would see him in school, as he hadn't seen him before. He closed his computer a bit more violently than he intended, but didn't care.

He spent hours between sitting and pacing the room, in his mind palace the whole time. Mycroft found him during one of his pacing moments. He merely raised an eyebrow before speaking "Caring is not an advantage." It infuriated Sherlock. He knew that, and besides that he hated how Mycroft always seemed to know, or at least made it seem like he knew. Sherlock knew he often grasped at straws, but they usually had enough resemblance to the actual issue that most were fooled into thinking he read minds. Sherlock knew better but still hated how nearly accurate he always was. He also hated his superiority complex and was in no state to deal with it.

"Piss off." He growled, not looking at him as he paced, not slowing down either. He kicked at the bedpost and was secretly glad that he missed before he turned in his pacing.

Mycroft stood in the doorway, unmoved. "Stop acting so childish. You have detention again, and I do hope you plan on going this time, or I will take further action." He said calmly.

Sherlock almost snarled as he spun to face him. "What will you do?! There's nothing you can do that will affect me!" Mycroft raised an eyebrow again as if to say 'we both know that to be false.' Sherlock huffed and turned away again. "You can do whatever you want to me. You already do, so why limit yourself. Now get out."

Mycroft continued watching him, completely unimpressed. He sighed dramatically. "You will be your own downfall. Stop with the strop, it gets tiresome." He then added before glancing out the window. "And your…/friend/ will be at the door in a moment. I'd prefer if I didn't have to answer it."

Sherlock's eyes widened and he turned toward the window expecting to see the blond boy. He felt himself crumple when his eyes met the feminine figure of Molly. He then berated himself for being so open. He risked a glance at Mycroft to see him give a knowing look before leaving the room. Sherlock threw himself on the bed in a mild tantrum.

He hated how affected he was. He hated the disappointment that boiled in him at the sight of Molly, and even worse the thought that bonds-companion could have shown up at his place. It's not like he knew where he lived. He groaned lightly as the door opened to emit Molly.

Molly gave a timid smile even though Sherlock wasn't looking at her. She knew something had happened to make Sherlock miss school. He'd been an almost perfect student since the last time Mycroft took away his internet and Molly knew why. But then half-way through classes he'd disappeared. Molly admitted she was a bit worried.

"Hey." She said softly, closing the door and walking over to the bed. Sherlock didn't bother asking how Mycroft reacted when he had to answer the door again. "You want to talk about it?" She asked, sitting next to him but not touching. All she got in response was a huff of air. She sighed. "Well throwing a fit isn't going to solve anything. So fine. If you want to play games, I'll play." She took a deep breath, wishing for patience, before speaking again "Is this to do with bonds-companion?"

She took the sigh as a yes and continued. "Alright… is it.. um.. I don't know, did he ask to know who you are again? I know he hasn't done that since the beginning.. but.. maybe?" She asked. Sherlock almost laughed in response. If only that was the problem, but then he still had the issue of being a man. He buried his face in his pillow. Molly sighed this time. "Come on Sherlock. You have to give me something to go on."

Sherlock mumbled something incoherent into his pillow, making Molly roll her eyes at his petulance. "Yeah. I hope you didn't expect me to understand any of that." She muttered back. Sherlock let out a long drawn out sigh and sat up, almost glaring at her. "I said I saw him. And none of it matters. He knows I'm a boy now. He hates me. Not that I expected anything different, or care for that matter." At her raised eyebrow he almost snarled for the second time that day. "I don't. He's nothing to me but a blog. He was an interesting experiment. Nothing more." He huffed, curling up on himself, back toward Molly.

Molly sighed softly. She wasn't good with comforting people. She lifted her hand to pat his shoulder before stopping with it in the air awkwardly. She wasn't sure he'd want to be touched. Would that be awkward? Would not doing anything be awkward? She finally pulled her hand away deciding that holding her hand in midair was definitely awkward if nothing else. She placed her hands in her lap and bit her lip. "I.. well.. I'm sorry.. I told you, you should tell him. But you know.. maybe it will be alright once it sinks in, yeah?" She asked, staring at the back of his head as she played with her fingers.

Sherlock didn't reply. He just laid there. Molly sighed again and stood. "Right.. well, I have to go, I wasn't supposed to come today but you seemed like you needed it. Sorry I was wrong." She said quietly, before leaving.

When Sherlock finally turned around to say something to her, she was gone. He let out a sigh and let his head fall backward, finding his pillow again, now laying on his back as he dealt with petty emotions.