Sherlock didn't read much that summer. He figured he could catch up on his countless piles of novels during the school year.

And besides, John was far more interesting than books. John was anything and everything Sherlock could imagine. He was like ice cold pink lemonade on a ninety degree day, peanut butter and banana sandwiches without the crust, a dream that you never wanted to awaken from.

John, with his cigarette in one hand and Sherlock's fingers in the other, was definitely more fascinating than books.