As I left for school the following morning, I found my heart to be beating shockingly fast. For some reason, I was nervous about seeing John. With ridiculously limited knowledge of relationships and human emotions, I felt trapped in my own mind and confused in countless senses.

Nevertheless, I was able to power through my first three classes. With lunch came more stress than I'd like to admit I felt over my ‘friend,' but I was still able to purchase my food and enter the library's bathroom in record time.

Lunch was nearly halfway over when John finally slipped in to join me, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. He took a seat across from me on the cold (and most likely completely filthy) tile floor, setting his tray in his lap.

He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Hello, Sherlock."

"Hello, John."

I could almost feel the discomfort in the air around us. (Of course, I'm aware that emotions cannot be felt as a breeze can. I'm not an idiot. It's figurative language.)

Finally, he spoke again. "Have you found anything else out on the murder case?"

I shrugged. "Not really."

He cleared his throat again after a few moments. I hoped he wasn't sick. "I could help you some more on it. If you wanted me to, of course."

Even after the events of the previous afternoon, he wanted to be around me? I was entirely perplexed by John's emotions. I, a man of studies, thoughts, and predictions, seemed to have fallen for the most capricious boy in all of London.

He had caught me completely off guard with the unexpected question. "No, no, that would be... Yes, I mean, of course you can... Please do. Yes."

John laughed quietly, and I felt us shift back into ourselves, rediscovering our friendship. "Is that your final answer?"

I chuckled, more amused than embarrassed. "Yes, it is. Please help me with this case."

The blonde shook his head, still laughing quietly. "It's funny how someone as brilliant as you struggles to find your words around someone as simple as-"

He was interrupted by a loud clang, as the door to the bathroom was flung open. The loud clatter made my ears ring temporarily, and I was distracted enough by this that I hardly noticed who had entered until he had taken a seat with us on the tile.

I cleared my throat, recovering. "You don't seem to have ever heard of knocking."

Finally taking a look at the boy, I realized that I'd seen him around before. He was one of the many boys who took a borderline-obsessive interest in making my life a living hell (and you can bet that he succeeded in doing so). What would he want with us? This was my safe place.

John glared at the visitor. "I know who you are. You're in my math class."

When the boy spoke, his voice was smooth and almost seductive, as though he was perpetually flirting with someone. His eyes were the kind of brown you can only find within the wrapper of a dark chocolate bar, but they weren't warm, tasteful, as chocolate was. Despite their charming color, they were fixed everlastingly into a cold stare. Did he ever blink? I couldn't know. But I definitely didn't like him.

The bully ran a hand over his overly-gelled mass of dark brown hair. "The name's Jim. You can call me Moriarty. Or not. I can't say that I really care at all what either of you think of me."

I laughed coolly. "That's not the best attitude to have when attempting to make friends."

Moriarty giggled. ('Giggle' is not a term I like to use, as I find it to be ridiculous and hyperbolic. However, when this new boy laughed, I could find no other term to sum it up as completely as 'giggle' does. It was high pitched, outlandish, and completely, horrifically annoying.) "I'm not here to make friends with you boys."

John rolled his eyes, obviously sharing my cold feelings towards Moriarty. "So what do you want from us? Are you just here to admire our incredible choice in hangout locations?”

Moriarty waved away John's facetious accusation. "Maybe another time. For now, I have some business with the two of you."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? I would have thought you to be far too witless to do business of any kind."

Despite my comment, Moriarty's toothy smile remained pasted onto his face. "Business with you doesn't require much thought anyways, Sherlock Holmes."

Ouch.

Moriarty continued to speak. "I've heard from at least six people today that you two are trying to figure out who killed Molly Hooper. And I want in."

This was why he had interrupted our lunch? I rolled my eyes. "Why would we ever let you help us? You've been an ass to me for years on end! Besides, having an idiot like you around would slow us down entirely."

The rat of a man giggled again, his eyes growing even harder, colder, than they had previously been. "And yet, you let this cripple hang around you. Open your eyes, Sherlock! You're wasting your potential!"

John's face was reddening. "I am not a cripple."

Moriarty pulled a false offended face. "Would you be offended if I said you were? John hates the disabled!" He was shouting now. "Ladies and gentlemen, John Hamish Watson hates disabled people!"

I stood now, towering over Moriarty. "Fuck off, alright? Just leave us alone."

The boy stood to his full height, and I found myself to be a mere four inches taller than him. "Gladly, Sherlock. Everyone already knows how much you and John just want to be alone." He smirked, and blew me a kiss, walking towards the door. "Consider my offer if you ever want to succeed in anything within your lifetime. I'll talk to you later, lovebirds!"

With that, he exited, the door shutting loudly behind him. John stood up, throwing away both of our empty trays. I sighed. If people already knew that John and I were on this case... How many more of them would pester us like this?

John stepped towards me, facing me from a distance of six inches. "How about him, fellow lovebird?"

I laughed. "He's definitely a character, lovebird."

The blogger smiled up at me, and suddenly, I felt a feeling of safety wash over me. John was here, so no matter how many people knew about us on this case, or even knew about our confusing feelings for each other... Things would be okay. John made things okay.

I kept these thoughts running through my head for the rest of the day, until the final bell rang and we were excused from our classes. I met John at the front of the school, and we began to walk back to my house. It was a few miles away, but we had many things to discuss, and I was pleased to be in his company.

We walked a few silent blocks before he finally took a deep breath. "So. Molly's gone."

I shrugged. "It happens."

He turned to look at me, squinting, trying to read my face for emotions that I simply didn't show. "Don't you think it's kind of sad, though? She was so young, too, and a good person, really."

"Good people die. We all do, in time."

John shook his head. "It's still a terrible way to go. To be murdered, at what? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"Life isn't about how or when you go, though. It's about how you spend your time alive. If you make your mark through good actions, meaningful things, you're never really forgotten- at least, not by those who truly matter. That's life, John. It’s all just about making a big memory, for the world to cherish over time.”

He stopped walking, and I slowed down to stand with him. After a few seconds of staring, I grew slightly uncomfortable. "What?" I asked.

"I just never realized that you actually have a heart."

I smirked and continued walking, grabbing his hand and giving it a quick squeeze before letting go as he limped along next to me. "I only seem to have one when I'm around you."

John laughed lightly, comfortably. "What can I say? I bring out the best in you."

"No wonder you find me irresistible."

We went on like this until we reached my house. Mycroft was standing on the sidewalk in front of it, smoking away from the watchful eyes of our sweetly worrisome mother.

He raised a single eyebrow upon seeing John and I. "Welcome, Sherlock and friend."

John gave a small wave. "Hello, I'm John."

Mycroft took a drag, exhaled, and spoke coldly again to John. "Hello, I'm aware of that."

The blogger had no response, so he chose instead to awkwardly stand by my side and nod his head towards my older brother. I quickly led my friend inside, away from the judgmental glare of my sibling.

We clambered up the stairs and entered my room, pulling papers and folders from backpacks as we went along. After taking seats opposite each other on the bed, we began to do math homework. (Having moved mid-semester, John understood almost nothing from his class and it was up to me to save him from a failing grade.)

When we finished, we stayed seated for a while, staring at one another until it became awkward. At that point, I moved away to shift all of our papers into our respective backpacks.

John stood. "So, should I leave, or...?

I shrugged. "You don't have to. My parents are extremely relaxed when it comes to my having friends over."

In all honesty, I wasn't sure how my parents would react. I'd never had a friend over before, and I could only hope that neither of my guardians would have heart attacks upon sighting an actual acquaintance of mine in the flesh.

Rather than taking a seat on my bed, the blogger lay down on the bed. I reclined as well, putting my arm around his shoulder. He curled up against me, and I feared that my heart would burst, it was beating so fast.

"What are we going to do about Moriarty?" John mumbled. I felt his breath against my skin, warm, as enticing as its owner was.

"For now, we ignore him, and hope he doesn't have the nerve to bother us again."

"And if he does?"

I sighed. "The problem is, he truly is an intelligent kid. And if we turn down someone who could legitimately help us find this murderer..."

I felt John shudder in my arms. "What?" I asked.

He shifted so he was even closer to me, and I began to wonder if John had cuddlier, more catlike qualities than I had expected. (Not that I was complaining, of course.) "It's just all so freaky."

"You're scared of the murderer?"

He exhaled, making my skin tingle once more. "Aren't you? After seeing Molly like that... I can't imagine what else that murderer could think up, and I don't want to see it demonstrated on anyone."

Suddenly, I was hit with the image of John in Molly's place, suspended by fishing lines in a badly-lit classroom. I felt protective of the blonde. "We're going to stop this, alright? We'll find out who did this, and we'll make them stop. We have to."

"Is this all my fault?"

The question surprised me. "What?"

"I move here, I meet you, and just days later, someone is brutally murdered. Is it my fault that Molly is dead?"

I kissed him gently on the top of his head, running my thumb through his hair. I remembered the medical file, the details of the crash that seemed to be undoubtedly true. I didn't want to believe it, but it felt like John really had brought a kind of danger when he moved here.... "I don't know. But we'll find out, alright?"

He was quiet for a few minutes before sighing sleepily. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you." His breathing slowed as he fell asleep against me.

In that moment, I said nothing, but I felt everything.