Sherlock had attached himself like a limpet to John since their first meeting. – He was a listener, not a speaker, and he appreciated how talented his friend was. As Sherlock put it, most people just said 'piss off' in response to his rants. Not John.
The first word he spoke when he had fully recovered happened to be 'incredible'
Their lessons happened to be almost the same; except John was taking Biology, and Sherlock, Further Psychology – it was something to take up some time.
Study periods were spent doing the opposite – in John's room/ Sherlock's lab. John sat and listened to Sherlock's conversations over how his tutor was incompetent, and his lessons must've been prepared for primary school children. He listened to his friend play the violin beautifully – his fine, thin fingers holding the bow with such extravagance, no one could compare.
More often than not, John would find himself skipping lessons to go to town, or just to see Sherlock, whether it be to talk of how much milk would be needed for the next experiment, or just to sit, in silence. Not awkward silence that you see in films, comfortable silence.
Meal times consisted of forcing Sherlock to eat, or bringing something back for him if he was already knee deep in an experiment.
John headed towards room 64, Sherlock's Maths room. He found him standing outside, analysing a tall, strong boy, maybe a year or two older, but 3 or 4 times the width. He was being forced into the locker by this boy, but his detailed examination didn't trail off. John's rage for his friend began to build.
Finally, Sherlock managed to push the limit.
'…and you're obvious usage of the word ''poof'' and the slight bend in your index and ring fingers show you are as straight as a clothes hange…' he was cut off with a sharp blow to the face.
He closed his eyes, expecting another hit. He opened them when it didn't come.
John was pressing the boy to the ground, his whole weight needed purely so he wasn't thrown off.
He was slamming the now limp head into the ground with such force that he had passed out within seconds.
Sherlock reacted almost immediately, more worried for the consequences if his roommate got caught in the act. He pushed through the small crowd that had gathered around the two squirming bodies.
'John' he shouted, trying and failing to pull his friend from the floor. 'John stop, you'll kill him!' John stopped and looked at Sherlock, then looked at the still body beneath him.
His eyes widened, the horror of what he had been minutes from doing, flooding into his face.
As they both stood up and turned to run, a wide body stopped them in their tracks.
'With me, you two.'