I'd finally managed to drag Sherlock down to the canteen, despite his disgruntled sighs and protests. I bought him a bread roll, much to his annoyance, and he left it uneaten as he took out his magnifying glass and started studying random fingerprints on our table. I put my sandwich down and leaned in, lowering my voice, "People are staring. Now is not the time for scientific experiments."

Sherlock ignored me, moving the tool across the flat of the table as he documented whatever the hell he was documenting.

"She's hot…" I said, deliberately trying to coax Sherlock out of his studies.

It worked. He looked up. "Hmm? What?"

I pointed. "Her. That blonde girl over there. She's gorgeous. What do you reckon?"

Sherlock didn't seem overly interested, but he lazily turned round and looked at the girl I was talking about. He rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to me. "She's dull, just like everybody else here."

"So you don't have an interest in any of the girls here? None at all?"

"No."

I waited for a moment. "Any of the boys, then?"

Sherlock huffed impatiently, throwing the magnifying glass down. "What point are you trying to make, John?"

"Nothing. Nothing. It's fine. It's all fine." I put my hands up as if surrendering, then pushed back my chair and got up to leave. It was only then, that somebody from Jim Moriarty's table shouted over, "Oi Holmes, is that your boyfriend? Is your boyfriend leavin' ya? Surprised he coped with ya for that long!"

Another boy shouted, "Freak!"

Sherlock cast his eyes downwards, a slight blush of humiliation rising in his pale cheeks. I grit my teeth together in anger and took Sherlock by the arm, dragging him away from the bullying bastards, my angry stare fixed on them the whole time as they burst into more laughter. Jim sat quietly in the middle of his friends, a smirk of satisfaction most certainly gracing his lips.

…

"Do people always treat you like that?" I asked, once we'd arrived back in our room. Neither Greg nor Mycroft had got back yet and I was thankful for that. I wanted time alone with Sherlock – to discover his thoughts, his feelings. He seemed so cut off from the world. But clearly he wasn't completely devoid of emotion - he had seemed a little bit hurt by the comments. There had to be a heart in there somewhere… somewhere behind the shimmering brilliance of his brain.

"People do little else," was his reply. He was sat on the edge of his bed, watching me. I felt awkward, stifled. I didn't know why. I found myself tugging at the collar of my school shirt.

"They're jealous. They must be. I mean, none of them are as amazing as you."

Sherlock flinched a little. "Amazing? W-Why are you saying these things?"

"What things?"

"Compliments. You're complimenting me. Why?"

"Because..." I was looking at him. He was looking directly back at me. How did he manage to make this so intense? Whenever I looked at anyone else, it was standard looking. But this… this was different. Those cold, icy eyes… they were curious. He really didn't understand why I was being nice. "...Because I like you. Because I wouldn't mind being your, I don't know… your friend."

"Friend?"

"Yes. You don't have to pull that face. It's good to have a friend."

He didn't argue, but he didn't seem that excited about the prospect either. He offered me a small half-smile. For him, that was positively unusual – but I liked it. I smiled back as he continued to look at me curiously, his lips parting as he did so. He was concentrating on something and I found myself feeling emotionally drawn to his strangeness and his beauty - like a magnet. It felt as though I were under a spell... utterly charmed by this extraordinary individual. I almost didn't notice Mycroft enter the room. He prodded us with his umbrella and his haughty voice broke the silence. "Am I interrupting a staring contest or are you two rehearsing for this year's production of Romeo and Juliet? I cannot tell."

I tore my eyes away and rubbed the back of my neck, embarrassed. I felt exposed. Christ knows why. Sherlock had only been looking at me.

...

I could understand why he didn't make friends easily. It was clear to see he wasn't a social butterfly. But something, something, told me that knowing him and being close to him would benefit me. And it would benefit him…