John's POV
The bell rang too soon. I lifted up my head and, careful to avoid the boy's puzzled expression, wiped the globs of tears off my face with the sleeves of my jumper. I shivered, although my jumper was thick and usually so warm. James's eyes just did that to me, I suppose. I stood slowly and quietly, still trembling. My every breath was exerted shakily as I picked up my backpack and started for the door.
But something cold met my shoulder.
I jumped, startled, and my teeth began to chatter. I turned, shivering, to see who had touched me. It was him, staring at me with a look of bewilderment, mingled with a bit of sympathy. His eyes bored into me, and he forced a weak smile. I tried, but I couldn't seem to get the corners of my lips to curl upward. Instead, I stared at the floor, half expecting James to show up and taunt me, half expecting for this boy to turn into another James. I shuddered and clutched my smelly backpack against my chest, breathing in the smell of rubbish. The boy didn't move. He was still staring at me.
"What?" I snapped, more viciously than I intended.
"You're still not all right," the boy observed. A smile played on his lips. "D'you want to sit with me at lunch?"
Stunned, I gaped at him. "Wha-" I sputtered.
"You heard me."
"Yes," I uttered weakly. I finally managed to smile. And then I did something I never thought I would do again. I grinned. "Oh god yes."
The boy grinned and, swallowing back my trepidation, I followed the boy into the cafeteria.
Sherlock's POV
I was internally screaming with joy as the boy followed me to the cafeteria. The lunch line wound insanely around the entire room. It was pizza day. The boy found a table in the corner and sat, wrapping his arms around his chest. He was still trembling, his teeth chattering. I wasn't hungry, either. I took a seat across from him.
"Are you all right?" I asked, though I knew the answer even before it was uttered from his thin lips. I just wanted to hear his voice again.
"No."
I slapped my chemistry book onto the table, and, ignoring the bewildered look he threw my way, I picked it up and began to flip through the pages, in search of something I didn't already know. Nope. Nope. Nope. Boring. Dull. Stupid. With an agitated sigh, I slapped the book back onto the table, folded my arms, and leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes.
"What's your n-name?"
I jumped, my eyes flying open. He had spoken voluntarily again. I grinned and tugged at the collar of my Belstaff coat. He watched me expectantly, his eyes hovering on mine for a second before flitting to the chemistry book.
"The name is Sherlock Holmes," I said, ruffling my curls. "And you're..." I leaned over and searched his bag with my eyes, and, finding nothing as to indicate his name, I let out an exasperated sigh. "I have no idea who you are," I finally admitted ruefully.
The boy laughed, but it was more of a cold, sarcastic one than a genuine one. "John Watson. And you're stuck up." He grabbed the chemistry book and opened it up, his eyes scanning the pages at an alarming rate. He shook his head and set it gently on the table, not nearly as careless as I was. "I hate chemistry," he said.
"You wish to be a doctor," I said, smirking.
"What? How did you-?"
"In class, I saw a book sticking out of your backpack," I admitted. "Simple deduction, made difficult in your average little mind." He glowered at me. "Sorry," I said, shrugging.
"I need to go to the...." He didn't finish his sentence, just stood and left, nearly running to the nearest restroom.
