Lonely, loved, betrayed.

Sit elit primum.

Week four, day one.

Johns been resting the last few days, and still no one knew what really happened that night. While John was resting, Sherlock would, unless asked otherwise, go to the forest and try to find something to tell him who it was. He would sing that song that was whispered in Johns ear, trying to remember. 

"This is what I get for caring, a clouded memory. I can't solve this with John on my mind!" he ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "But, I can't live without him. Damn it!" John would be awake in about thirty-three minutes, so he had twenty-nine minutes to keep looking. Not that it would do any good, whoever did this obviously had it planned and was just waiting for the right moment. The one moment that John and Sherlock weren'ttogether. Why John? He obviously didn't want to hurt John, otherwise he'd be dead. So, the target was Sherlock. But, how would they know that Sherlock loved him? Sherlock had only known it for a few days himself, and hadn't showed it. At least, he thought he hadn't. It was too late for Sherlock to go to his mind palace, not enough time. He had nothing else to do, so he walked back to camp. Most activities were cancelled, but just today they were enforced for everyone, except John of course. And, wherever John was, Sherlock was. 

Twenty-four minutes to go. He walked to the mess hall, not hungry but having promised John he'd eat. "I will never understand the human need to eat." he grabbed and apple from the fridge and went to that field that he and John went to before the bonfire. Tall grass that never see,ed to end, a small dirty but oddly beautiful pond. At this time of day, almost night, the sun was setting and the fireflies were just starting to show themselves. "I wish you could see this, John. It's something you would appreciate. Something I can't." fifteen minutes left.

Sherlock knew that every moment not spent trying to solve this case was another moment that bastard was walking around free. Free to do anything to John. There was nothing to be done. There was nothing that could be done. He didn't know anything, and he hated not knowing. 

"Sherlock." a voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Who the hell would be bothering him right now? "Sherlock, I don't believe we've had the opportunity to meet." oh, it was that Moriarty kid. What was his name? Jim? No, no that was his brother. Rick? Damn emotions. Richard! That was it. They looked so much alike, but there was always a difference between the two. Jim was left handed, Richard was right handed. It was a small difference, but easy to spot if you knew what you were looking for. 

"Richard, isn't it?"

"Rich, please." Sherlock simply grunted in response, throwing his apple into the air. "Aren't you going to eat that?" 

"Why would I?" without responding, Rich took the apple from Sherlock, who shot him a glare. 

"So, poor Johnny boy, eh?" 

"What do you know?" who the hell was this kid? 

"More than you do, it would seem. Johnny boy didn't just 'get hurt' out there, did he? No, because if he did, he would be out with the rest of the 'normal' kids, eh Sherlock?"

"Oh, I suppose you're not normal?" 

"Not even in the slightest. You see-"

"I don't have time for a background sob story." ten minutes. "Even if I did, I wouldn't waste it on yours. Your brother is a psychopath, and not the good kind. He's the kind that would murder just for the hell of it, just because he got bored-"

"You wouldn't? You're a psychopath too."

"No, I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research." 

"None the less, it takes one to know one. We both know you can't solve this case, Sherlock. You're so clueless when you're chalk-full of emotions, you couldn't even solve a simple break in with that boy around you, you bloody idiot." 

"I don't know who you are, or what you're talking about. But if I see you anywhere near John, I will end you. There wont be any way to discover how you died or who did it. No one will know, so back off. Stay away from me, and stay the hell away from John." five minutes. "Got it?" 

"Oh Sherlock, what a fun little game we have." he stood up and casually tossed the apple back to Sherlock, before walking away, whistling, as if nothing had happened. Sherlock looked down at the apple in disgust, but noticed there was something carved into it. Words? "Sit elit primum." Latin. Three minutes. He'd run out of time for now. John needed him, and he wasn't about to let him down. Not again. He put the apple in his coat pocket and walked to the cabin, the words never leaving his mind. Sit elit primum. Sit elit primum. Sit elit primum.