John's POV
I felt warmer with Sherlock at my side, as if he was a sort of portable lamp. We shuffled down the corridor, pressed against lockers and walls by the crowd of students. I groaned as backpacks and elbows smacked my face as my classmates passed by. They didn't seem to notice little Johnny. I hung my head and continued, trying to keep up with Sherlock's quick, long-legged gait.
"Most people would tell people off," Sherlock remarked in front of me, not bothering to turn. His velvety baritone somehow sounded loud and out of place in the crowd of giddy, yelling students.
"For what?" I asked, smirking. He stopped for a moment, and, with a quick sigh of relief, I caught up with him. He slowed his gait and I walked beside him gratefully, taking in his eyes and inhaling the smell of lavender and cigarettes.
"For slamming their school supplies and elbows into your face," Sherlock replied, his backpack swinging at his side as he walked. "I wouldn't, but that's only because I prefer not to draw attention." He smiled. I found that hard to believe, but I didn't say anything, just kept walking beside my new friend....or were we even friends yet? I'd never in my life had a friend, so I couldn't possibly fathom when someone was your friend or simply just an acquaintance.
"Sherlock," I croaked. My voice wasn't as strong as it had been only a moment before. Sherlock, puzzled by my weak voice, looked at me immediately, his eyes scanning over my face in worry. He realised I was all right and smiled wearily.
"Yes, John?"
"Are we...." I wrung my hands and stopped walking. To my surprise, Sherlock hung back as well. He stared at me expectantly. "Are we friends?" I blurted, grateful to get the words out without stuttering or biting my nails. Sherlock beamed, obviously thrilled by my question. Was that a yes or....
"No," he replied, grinning. I hung my head.
"Oh. Sorry."
"I believe the term used for this sort of acquaintance is 'best friends'." He gave me a nod and continued slowly. I ran up to him.
Best friends. I repeated the words in my mind until I felt warm for the first time in years. My jumper was much too warm now. I rolled up my sleeves.
Sherlock's POV
He positively beamed when I told him that. His eyes shone and brightened, not as dark as they had been. His skin seemed more colorful, his hair more gold than before, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He beamed. I was nearly blinded by his sudden brightness. He grinned at me as we turned a corner and walked down an empty corridor, the sound of his quick, exhilarated breaths the only thing I heard in this vacant hallway.
But he dimmed when a dark-haired, scrawny figure strode from a classroom and began shuffling down the corridor, his beady eyes on the floor. I nudged John in the side, trying to catch his lost attention. If I could somehow break him from his trance, I could steer him into a nearby restroom or classroom and hide him. But no matter how much I nudged him and whispered in his ear, he didn't move. He was a dark statue, chiseled with the finest tools, but beginning to crumble of age and stress. He finally moved. He gave me a look that practically broke me as well. We were both crumbling together in the nearly empty corridor, James's demented face the only thing we could see. I could hear his breaths, emitting in puffs. I grabbed his wrist, but he didn't notice nor acknowledge my hand in any way. His pulse had elevated. He was collapsing in on himself.
"Hull-O, Johnny Boy," James yelled. He was only a few feet away. He held up a hand and waved it vigorously. John flinched. I gripped his wrist so tightly my knuckles turned white. James wouldn't hurt me....but he would hurt John. I realised now that no matter how close to John I was, I couldn't press charges unless I was hurt....and James was too merciless to do that. "Heading to class, yeah?" He eyed me coldly, a smirk playing across his pink lips. I glanced at John, who licked his lips and gulped. He gave James a deadly glare.
"Yes," I said, breaking the awkward silence like a thin sheet of glass. "Just...heading to bio. If you don't mind, we'd best hurry, we're doing an experiment today." James grinned nastily.
"Oh, no, I believe you're working from the textbook today, Sherly." I winced at my cruel nickname. James stepped directly in front of me, though he was only as tall as my lips. I looked down at him furiously, hatred boiling in my stomach. "Johnny, come here. I'd like to tell you a secret." John didn't move. I squeezed his hand. He squeezed my hand back. I held my breath.
But before I could do anything, James threw his first punch.
John's POV
I stood as rigid as a statue as James's fist swung at my face. I didn't duck, I didn't block it, I didn't fight back. I simply stood there. I wasn't about to play games with him. He could beat me, he could even kill me for all I cared, but I wasn't going to be like him, ready to hurt people for fun. I closed my eyes as his bony knuckles collided with my eye.
But, to my surprise, I managed to stay standing, only stumbling a bit when I was hit. I heard Sherlock yell beside me, but I paid him no mind. I knew he wouldn't be able to sue James if I was attacked. Better me than him. I clutched the hem of my shirt so tightly my knuckles turned white. Don't hit back. Don't duck. Don't even move. The second punch collided with my jaw this time. I fell onto the filthy marble floor, but I just sat there. I did groan, however, when he rammed his heel into my ribs. I wheezed, trying to regain air. He kicked me in the arm, then the leg, then the face, and repeat, until he was panting and roaring with anger and I was lying, limp, on the cold floor. The coldness seeped through my clothes.
I was cold again.
