The first time, he brushed off as a coincidence.

The way Sally Donovans' lip pulled back in a stomach churning snarl the moment she saw his newfound flatmate. John had watched in awe, listening to the short and terse conversation between the man and woman. The kind of conversation John quickly ruled out as a norm for the two. And yet, her voice sounded so cold when the word 'freak' rolled off her tongue. John would have flinched if he wasn't too busy glancing at Sherlock for his reaction. Any rational person would have lost it. Would have spewed back a harsh insult. But instead; he was shocked by the way Sherlock only adverted his gaze to the ground and continued forward, muttering a witty comeback.

The second time, he picked out the similarities.

Sherlock was quick to introduce John to the business man Sebastian. Perhaps too quick; John had thought as Sherlock pointed out that they were friends. Because were they? They'd only lived together a short time, and the last thing he wanted was to impose on Sherlocks' life. Not that killing a man in the first few days they'd known each other was a tone setter.

"Colleague." He hastily interjected. And there it was again, the same downcast glance that left an uneasy feeling in the pit of Johns stomach. He didn't know where it came from or why it disappeared the moment Sherlock shrugged off the comment and focused on the case. But he was always happy to see moments like that pass quickly.

The third time; months later, he pieced it all together.

The duo ran the streets of London for what felt like the thousandth time. Johns breaths are uneven and ragged by the time they run into a darkened alley. The man they'd been chasing moments earlier having suddenly vanished. The night air was frozen from the winter conditions and as they paused John could do nothing but curse himself for not bringing a heavier coat. Glancing to the side, John noticed the detective frantically trying to retrace his steps, soft mumbling falling from his lips. Sherlock always seemed to get like that when something didn't make sense, and usually John had no reason to interrupt. But this time, he wasn't sure whether or not Hypothermia would begin to set in.

"Sherlock, it's freezing out let's just get back to the flat he's obviously-'' John tried to convince the other man, but his sentence fell short as a sudden rumbling noise interrupted the peaceful atmosphere. Quickly, John turned his attention to one of the alley walls as it began to move. Then in a flash it all clicked. There was a damn hidden garage. He froze in place as a bright pair of headlights surged forward in his direction.

When he woke again, his back was against the pavement and there was a sudden pressure on his chest. His head pounded and it took him a moment before he was able to remember what happened. He wanted to move, to get out of that cold place; but there's something stopping him. And only as a soft whimper made its way into his hearing did he realize that the thing was Sherlock. The younger man was clutching onto John for dear life, his head resting on the others chest while sobs racked his body.

Once again, John found himself frozen. He'd never once seen Sherlock in such a broken state. He'd never even seen the man cry. His pride wouldn't allow it. But there he was, hearing soft cries, pleads, echoing through the air and all coming from the great detectives' mouth.

"Sh-Sherlock.." John struggled to speak, his body aching in every way possible as the simple name left his lips. Secretly he was relieved when the other man hastily moved so that his panicked eyes could look into Johns hazed ones, making it so that he didn't have to speak anymore.

Warm hands cupped his cheeks and before he knew it Sherlock was speaking. "Please… Please John don't leave me. Don't leave me like all the others do. Don't leave me with all the others." He begged, his voice sounding small and broken. That was when John realized what he was saying. All the people who treated Sherlock like trash, like he didn't belong, like he didn't deserve to belong. Those were the others he was talking about. And it was the first time Sherlock had let it show that the cruel names and bickers did bother him. John was probably one of the only few who had never thought of the detective that way.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the sudden blaring of sirens interrupted him.

The fourth time, John didn't let it happen.

They were at another aimless crime scene when Anderson sauntered up to them, his eyes narrowing the moment he saw Sherlock. In a second the forensics captain went off. Telling the detective what he could and couldn't do, and spitting out the name 'freak' like it was the only word in the damn dictionary. It was like the first time all over again, but now; John knew what to expect.

The moment Anderson turned away, Sherlock moved his eyes to look at the ground, trying to hide any trace of hurt that could be lurking in them. But before he could put back up his shields and act like everything was fine, John held onto his hand. It was a small, simple gesture. But it made Sherlock look up at him in shock. Of course he did. John had been quite sure that by the time he'd been allowed to go home from the hospital Sherlock was convinced John didn't remember a thing he had said in the dark alley. But John had remembered everything. The way Sherlocks voice cracked when he spoke, the tears that fell from his eyes; and above all, his one plead.

Leaning in, he made sure that no other person scrambling about the crime scene could hear him. "I'm not going anywhere. It's okay. And you're brilliant." He softly spoke; comforted by the way Sherlock squeezed his hand in a silent thanks. And he would continue to do that. To remind Sherlock that even though others said differently, he was the perfect, incredible, fantastic Sherlock Holmes in his eyes. And nothing would ever change that.