John's POV
Internally, I was screaming. Outwardly, I was recoiling from dangerously close elbows and backpacks that were threatening to collide with my face.
I stumbled about the throng of giddy students, gritting my teeth and clutching my own backpack, the fear of meeting James Moriarty in the hallway pulsating through my skull and making my head throb. I nearly tripped over a girl's outstretched foot, and her giggle worsened my headache. My stomach twisted in knots. Almost, almost.....
But my wish wasn't granted as a broad chest rammed into my face. I stumbled and attempted to regain my balance, but, of course, was unsuccessful and ended up toppling over a freshman. I heard a grunt and the freshman shoved me off, and to my great vexation, he was much larger than me. I heard a deep chuckle overhead. I winced at its coldness and forced myself to stand, although I wanted to simply curl into a small ball like an armadillo. I've always been fascinated in armadillos; they can just curl up into a small, armored ball and hide. I gripped my backpack and met his ice-filled eyes; well, not truly human eyes, but merely the eyes of a serpent....cold, dark slits that seem to bore into you.
"Pansy," James remarked, nodding his head.
"Hello, James," I muttered, averting my eyes. I could almost feel the smirk creep across his face. Humiliation, frustration, and trepidation welled up inside of me and forced a rosy tint to creep into my cheeks. I lowered my head more, hoping James wouldn't see me blushing.
"Humiliated, pansy?" James asked, grinning nastily, resembling a wolf baring its teeth at its prey, perhaps a small rabbit. He reached for my backpack, but I turned so he couldn't get to it. He chuckled darkly. "Oh, smart, Johnny Boy." I winced as his sharp fingernails dug into my skin and forced me to turn. He snatched my backpack and held it up high, far from my grasp. I felt tears welling in my eyes but forced them back into my head. I'd learned to do this many years ago when I first met James. I shuddered as I recalled my first meeting with him.
"I suppose this should be put away," James said, "where it belongs." He turned on his heel and began to march off, and I ran after him, not realising my mistake until two of his most reliable cronies snatched up each of my arms and held me back from their leader. James grinned and, as I gaped at the trash bin a few feet behind him, hurled my backpack into the bin. I groaned and James's cronies released my arms, leaving indents of their fingernails in my arms. James snickered and knelt on one knee so his face was even with mine.
"Stay away from me, all righty, Johnny Boy?" James said, a grin spreading across his cheeks. He flicked me in the face with his forefinger and thumb, stood, and hurried off to first period, leaving me to stand there, alone. Stifling tears, I shuffled slowly and quietly to the trash bin, ignoring the bewildered looks I received as I neared the bin. I reached into the bin, unable to see over the edge, wrinkling my nose as my fingertips met trash. My fingers met fabric, and I pinched the fabric between my forefinger and thumb and yanked my backpack from the pile of rubbish resting in the bin. My backpack now smelled of banana peels and old pizza. I picked a banana peel from my backpack and slung it over one shoulder, not wanting to touch the spot on my shoulder where James squeezed it. I could feel blood trickling down my arm.
Sherlock's POV
Everyone resembled slugs that morning. They all moved so sluggishly, so slowly, I was unable to pass by and had to reside to short, baby steps. The crowd was unbearably enormous, some students having to press themselves against the walls to regain the required amount of oxygen. The corridor smelled of overdosed perfume, cologne, cigarette smoke, and beer. Obviously there had been a party the night before, judging by how sluggish and out of it some people seemed to be, shuffling at an alarmingly slow pace across the corridor, their words slurred, some grinning like the foolish morons they truly were. I pushed past these people and pressed myself against the wall, relief washing over me like a shower as I breathed again. I hated crowds, the way they pressed into you and decreased your oxygen intake. I pushed my ebony curls from my forehead and continued, ducking around everyone until I finally arrived at my locker.
And then I saw it.
A few feet away, a boy rammed into James Moriarty's chest. I wanted to avert my eyes, knowing there wouldn't be a good turnout, but I couldn't seem to look away. The boy, trembling, turned away from James as he lunged for the boy's backpack. James, though, wasn't one to give up without a fight. He squeezed the boy's shoulder until the boy winced, then turned the boy right round with very little force. He snatched the boy's backpack, and the boy went after him.
"Wait, don't-" I began, but the boy didn't hear me. James's two biggest admirers, Johnathon Meyers and Timothy Peterson, each grabbed one of the boy's arms. James tossed the backpack into a nearby trash bin, and the boy gaped in horror. James knelt in front of John, uttered something inaudible, and flicked the boy in the face....then he simply left.
The boy ran after his precious backpack as I watched him with a feeling I didn't understand welling up inside me....was it sympathy?
I turned back to my locker.
