More cuts this time and an experimental slice on the thigh. Sherlock breathes deeply before drawing the blade across another time.

So much blood.

He finds himself staring as the vividly red water swirls down the drain. That was certainly one of the best parts. He had overcome his ill episode at school and was now back at home, back to the release. He still found himself keen on cigarettes and would light one and draw occasionally. These habits suppressed a whole other emotional side clawing from the inside out. He pictures the sandy haired boy for the 2nd time this weekend and feels ill all over again. He needed not to speak to him ever again. But his heart rattles as he remembers how John had helped him up and slowly walked him to the sick bay.

He shudders and slices diagonally this time, you mustn't Sherlock. But it's too late as the student a year older than him had already began to occupy his mind. Why had he taken an interest? Perhaps a future joke was to soon be played in bad taste. He had to be on guard, to expect more humiliation. He couldn't handle anymore.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft tests outside the bathroom door.

"Yes?" He answers calmly, the blood still leaking from his thigh.

"There is a student outside our apartment seeking your guidance on a particular topic at school.

"Right, I-I-I'll be down in 10, offer him tea won't you." He tries to sound relaxed, natural if you will.

"How'd you know it was a he?" Mycroft questions, the surprise clearly audible in his voice.

"I know him, said he was coming around for help." Sherlock had no idea this was going to happen but considering last week's event, the only plausible answer is that it had to be the blond haired boy 2 lockers down from him.

"Very well then." Mycroft slinks down the stairs and Sherlock listens very hard.

"What was your name again boy?"

"John, John Watson Sir." Sherlock chokes back a gasp, he had known that boy was going to pursue contact with him, he had, had that feeling. You know the one that makes your toes curl and your stomach flip. John fucking Watson what the hell are you doing?

Sherlock scrambles from the tub blotting his thigh with a burgundy towel. We have a stalker now. He wraps the towel around his waist and darts down the hall. He throws on black jeans and a navy long sleeved shirt. He pauses at the top of the stairs ruffling his curls and cracking his knuckles nervously before heading down. He was prepared to scare this obnoxious boy away. It's a feat he has never struggled with before.

"Ahh Sherlock!" His brother stands at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him.

Sherlock glares at John as he glides down the steps, and Mycroft nods in encouragement.

"A friend? He questions. "How splendid Sherlock! John would you like a cuppa?"

"That would be lovely." John smiles.

"Sherlock, one for you too?"

"Fine." He rolls his eyes at his brother who totters off and then refocuses his attention back to John.

"What in the world do you think you're doing?" Sherlock hisses, he draws closer to the boy in front of him closing the distance and creating a more intimate space between them. John laughs then curls his hand behind his neck knowingly.

"Knew you where gonna be like this." He mock punches the thin boys arm. Sherlock holds the spot where John had gone for.

"Boys tea is on the table." Mycroft yells from the kitchen.

"Right." Sherlock glares and makes towards the kitchen a laughing John following on his heels.

When they turn round the corner Mycroft is placing the ceramic mugs on the table. He looked weird though; the expression painting his features was unique. Ahhh of course, he looked pleased, Mycroft looked exactly like that whenever he got a promotion.

"Do you take sugar John?" He asks the boy politely.

"No sir," John replies.

"Please, Mycroft will do, no need to call me sir, it make me feel like my father.

"Of course." John smiles and except the tea being presenting to him. Sherlock grabs his own cup and adds a teaspoon of sugar.

"I'll be upstairs if you boys need me." Sherlock groans and Mycroft walks out the room.

"Sherlock listen." John traces his cup handle nervously.

"I uh- I know you are, well actually, I've come to see how you are feeling you know after last week and all… I.

"John. Please." Really there is no need."

"I know but, I'd like to be your friend, if that's not to bold." John looks up at the skinny boy. "I assume you'll say no but hear me out, I need help with biology and in return I can get you into the kitchen, you can scrape anything you want in that place, if you'd like." Sherlock gapes.

"You've been at Harrow how long? And you're already watching me! Is that not stalker like behaviour John?"

"You are an idiot, I've tried to introduce myself to you multiple times during my first week, but you'd always turn away."

"I do not need to know someone like you."

"Perhaps not, but I'd like to know someone like you."

"I umm." Sherlock reddens, his face on fire with this expression of interest from another human individual. He tries to talk but feels like someone is crushing his windpipe. He clears his throat.

John eyes him, Sherlock's face was pink from his neck to the very top of his forehead. He feels his own cheeks redden in sympathy. Never before had he received a reaction like this from someone.

"John we will be acquaintances and nothing more." Sherlock's voice breaks the air.

"To start of course." John replies through a smile, amused this boy had no concept of what it was like to have human individuals talk and be available to him. And John wasn't like other individuals. His appreciation for unique people was always present and Sherlock was no exception. That aside, Sherlock looked wasted and sick all the time John had a gut instinct to get to the root of this boys problem, not because it was his business but because he found Sherlock fascinating. He little if not at all expressed completely abnormal human behaviour.

"John I thinks it's best you go."

"Wait, Biology chapter 3 cell development. Can you help? Sherlock nods.

"We can pick a time and place later, but right now I need you to get out."

"Very well," John gathers his backpack and heads towards the door.

"See you on Monday mate."

"Fine, fine!" Sherlock sees John out. He watched the sandy haired boy jump down the steps and walk down the street, trying to hail a cab. He turns around and walks back to the stairs and clambers to his room, Falling in a heap over the crumpled covers he groans out loud. This kid was the first person other than his parents and Mycroft who wanted to befriend him, what scary thought, he would frighten this boy away within a week, no doubt about it.