Tell it to the stars

Chapter 1

The sun was streaming into the small , cluttered room when Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. He lay there, staring dejectedly at the ceiling as his mind ran through the events of last night. He found it strange , the boy,John, talking in such a way though they had only just met. Talking like he cared.
Sherlock sighed, climbing out of the bed and slipping on some clothes for the day. He looked idly at himself in the closet mirror, at his smooth satin shirt and black trousers ,that would look out of place on most boys his age but somehow suited him.
He slammed the door shut , slinging a pristine grey satchel over his shoulder and carefully creeping down the stairs. He sped out the the door, successfully avoiding his mother who was sat in the marbled kitchen.
He began his walk to school, not noticing any of his surroundings or their occupants. His mind was whurring and he hardly noticed when he arrived at the cast iron gates.
His eyes darted around, surveying the grounds for threat. His body relaxed as the benches were vacant, barring the few dedicated academics eager to begin study. He might actually get to form unscathed this morning.
He reached into his satchel, pulling out a starkly contrasting , tattered leather notebook. He sat down at one of the steel tables, carefully smoothing out the yellowed pages and beginning to write.
The notebook was packed with non related words and phrases, descriptions. To anyone else, the book was nonsense, but to Sherlock, it was his heart.
This collection of prose held Sherlocks innermost thoughts and emotions, the ones he wouldn't allow himself to feel, for fear it would make him weak.
He pulled out his pain and slid it between the many thin pages in order to forget. He fished a pen from the bag and carefully began to write. Today's page was the usual hopeless yearnings for personal peace, but he noticed a few new, unfamiliar words littered throughout the paragraphs.
Golden. Red shoes. "I want to know you. "
Sherlock stared down at them for a few moments, before shaking his head frustratedly. He slammed the leather cover shut and pushed it back into the immaculate satchel.
Glancing quickly at the the clock on the wall across from him, he stood up and made his way out of the building. It couldn't do any harm to be early?
Or could it?
As he rounded the corner of the art block , he heard a familiar snicker. Sherlock froze, standing stock still on the pavement and willed it to be that he'd heard it wrong.
"Morning Sherly. "
No such luck.
He felt a hand grab roughly at his shoulder, twisting his body round till he stood face to face with Phillip Anderson.
He was tall, and though not as tall as Sherlock, he packed a nasty punch in his swing. He had cold eyes, that bubbled with a sick sort of excitement when offered a violent situation.
Behind him stood the other members of his gang, Sally , Irene and Sebastian. Each revelled in the daily taunting a as much as their leader.
"Did you really think that you could avoid us?" Anderson continued, his vice like grip on Sherlocks shoulder keeping the boy in place.
"Don't worry, we can always make time for you , freak. " Sally spat, leering at Sherlock but still staying behind Anderson. Coward.
Sherlock began to shake , terrified , as the group came forward, seemingly waiting for him to respond.
He took a deep breath, lifting his head up to meet their eyes and stuttered  "Do your worst. "
A twisted smile. A fist swinging. Eyes shut tight.