Sherlock is different. Society has an unfortunate way of picking out those who are different and throwing them overboard. Watching as the helplessly cling onto whatever scraps of hope they have left, trying to stay afloat. Sherlock is different. Therefore he became a target. I wait for Sherlock everyday, and everyday he exits the bus and walk towards me with heavy eyes and dragging feet. As the bus pulls away he collapses next to me and cries tears into my fur. I lick his hair and try to assure him that everything will be alright. " Redbeard I hate the other children they are all so dull." He whispers wrapping his arms around me. I don't know what to do so I just wait until his tears dry up then we walk home together and Sherlock retreats into our little red house. Everyday we repeat the process and I notice that soon the tears stop but the sadness in his eyes still remains however it is often cloaked in malice. Sherlock builds walls and hides his heart deep inside them. He rarely talks to anyone and when he does it is often a scathing remark. John still comes over everyday rosy cheeked and glowing. Sherlock will try to carry conversation but silence lapses between them. Sherlock's walls are final and he refused to see them break, even for John. John realizes this and his visits became less frequent. I watch helpless as both of their life's are torn apart, thread by thread all that was good and wonderful unravels. Until broken hearts and empty gazes are all that remain. When warm summer days fade, Sherlock's bright smiles and innocence disappear with them. Sherlock and John are growing up and growing apart.
