The next day went too slow for my liking, as Saturdays do. Being a student, I had no real work to do, no mysteries to solve. The only things I was able to solve were the pointless, uninspiring questions that I was forced to answer for the good of my grade- yes, homework. Of course, trivial matters like homework only took a few minutes for me, giving me more time to consider all of the things I could be doing (but, of course, none of the time needed to accomplish such tasks).

This weekend was only a little different, because along with the multiple complaints about my current lifestyle, my mind was also crowded with thoughts of John. Had I really become lucky enough to make a new friend? Such things never seemed to happen to me, as I was always drifting about alone, preferring to spend my time in my mind rather than face the real world. But this John seemed to have the power to pull me from my own mind, even to make me enjoy real life.

It was thoughts like these that raced through my mind as I ate my Shreddies (2.5 cups. 300 calories) Saturday morning ('morning,' of course, is a loosely used term here, as I was a teenager at the time (and, I suppose, not completely abnormal). A weekend 'morning' for me was really about one in the afternoon). These racing thoughts, however, were quickly stopped when my father entered the room and gave me the task of going to the corner shop to pick up a few groceries. Happily, I obliged, as anything was better than sitting around in the old house.

The corner store was about a mile away, but I chose to walk rather than ride a bike. Exercise has never been my forte. The bell over the door jingled loudly as I entered the small, cramped, place and the single cashier (43. Unmarried. Lonely. Cat lady) greeted me with a welcoming smile that I made no attempt to return.

There were only four aisles in the place, and each of them was equally small. There were far too many goods on the shelves for them to look at all orderly, but I didn't mind. The store had a cozy feeling to it, and, being familiar with it since childhood, it was a comfort.

Of course, the downside of a small store is the difficulty of avoiding someone you see there. This was a problem especially on that day, for as soon as I'd seen Molly Hooper, I knew that she would quickly notice me and make an attempt at conversation. Again.

I was proven correct (as usual), for as soon as she realized I, too, was shopping for groceries, she hurried over to me. "Sherlock? What are you doing here?"

I kept my attention on the collection of different cleaning sponges in front of me, trying to figure out which one would be best for getting rid of bloodstains (experiments were a messy job, but they provided the entertainment that was so difficult for me to find in any other subject). "Certainly not grocery shopping or anything."

From the corner of my eye, she looked taken aback, most certainly out of the surprise that I had actually acknowledged her. She soon seemed to realize the stupidity of her question, and quickly tried to recover what she must have imagined to be a cool, collected attitude.

She shifted around next to me, definitely nervous. "So... Have you done the science homework?"

"I don't care much for homework. Better things to do."

I selected a type of sponge, confident in my decision. My bedspread would be bloodstained no longer. I swiftly walked to the next aisle over, moving to my next task of picking the most energy-efficient light bulb.

Molly, like an awfully confused puppy seeking nothing but love and attention, followed. "But I thought- people say- well, aren't you like, really smart?"

"'Really smart' does not mean I do my homework."

"But, you know... People call you like, freaky smart."

"I'm quite aware of what people call me." I walked a few feet down the aisle, now searching for canned soup. She followed, again, to my dismay.

"But if you don't do homework, how will you get into university? You're wasting your genius!"

I stuck my tongue into the side of my mouth. "University is unnecessary."

I didn't need to look at her face to know that pasted upon it was a look of utter confusion. "But Sherlock, you need university to get a job."

After sighing and adding a few cans to my basket, I finally looked at Molly. "No, you need university to get a job."

She set her hands on her hips and stared me down (this, however, wasn't very effective, as I was a good nine inches taller than she). There was an aggressive glint in her eye. "What job do you plan to take, then? Without university?"

"Consulting detective." I turned and walked away.

Again, she followed. How many hints did she need? "But... That isn't a real job."

"Not yet," I muttered.

She tightened her ponytail. "Well, I plan to be a forensic pathologist."

I looked up from the detergent I was inspecting, feigning bewilderment. "That's funny, I don't recall asking you."

Molly looked puzzled for a moment before finally realizing that her company was unwanted. "Well, Sherlock, I, uh... I better go. See you Monday?"

I gave no response, suddenly appearing to be completely captivated by the detergent label. I kept my eyes glued to the container until I heard the ring of the door that confirmed Molly's departure. With a content sigh, I wrapped up my shopping and headed to the register.

The lonely, cat-loving cashier began to scan my items. She had a slouch that would imply sadness, but she smiled at me throughout the scanning process. "So, you know that girl?"

"No, actually. One of my favorite pastimes is befriending horribly annoying people in cluttered grocery stores," I snapped sarcastically.

"Horribly annoying?"

I could hardly bear her stupidity. "Obviously. Some people should seriously consider throwing themselves off a building."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, smile quickly fading from her face, and finished scanning silently, speaking only to tell me the total. I quickly paid and left the store in an angry rush. How dare that cashier eavesdrop! What a terribly impolite thing to do!

I steamed unreasonably all the way home, and dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter for someone else to put away. I stomped up the stairs. "MYCROFT!"

He stepped calmly out of his bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. "William, you are rather noisy. If you're capable of it, please, at least attempt to act your age."

"I need John's number."

Mycroft smirked. "That's funny; it almost sounds as though you're asking a favor."

I sighed. "Alright, what do you want?"

He smiled. "Remove the tongues from the freezer. I'm fairly certain they're illegal."

"But those are for-"

My older brother raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted John's phone number?"

I groaned, but hurried downstairs to throw out the severed tongues. John's number was much more important than having one more experiment on the waiting list. When I came back upstairs, Mycroft had a small strip of paper in his hand, which he gave to me.

"If I see any more illegal tongues in this household, I promise to rid you of your own, little brother." The man returned to his room.

I quickly entered the digits written on the paper into my phone and headed into my room. Once safely in my private domain, I gave John a call.

He answered on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Yes! Hi, John, it's-"

"Sherlock?"

"Yeah, yeah, I uh-"

"How did you get my number?"

The question took me by surprise, but I played it off easily. "Weird brother. Anyways, do you want to-?"

"You have a brother?"

"Yes. Idiot."

"I'm sorry?"

"No! I mean he's an idiot, you..." This wasn't going nearly as smoothly as I had expected. "You aren't an idiot. Anyways, do you want to, uh, get coffee somewhere?"

John hesitated, and my heart felt as though it had stopped (it hadn't of course, as it would have taken a much greater shock to physically stop someone's heart. Simple medical logic). "Sure, I'd love to."

I smiled, greatly relieved that he had accepted. "Great. The Attendant, three 'o clock?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Alright, see you then." I quickly hung up and found myself out of breath. Sure, it was just a friendly cup of coffee, but it was a friendly cup of coffee with John Watson. I set my phone down on my bed, heart racing. I checked my digital alarm clock (53 scratches. 7 years old.) to find that it already read 14:25. With the slightest of gasps, I pulled on some clean clothes, ran a hand through my hair, and set out- the Attendant cafe was quite a ways from my home.

I reached the small, subway-tiled coffee shop just on time, and found John already sitting comfortably on a tall, green stool. He hadn't yet bought coffee, so we ordered before taking a seat.

"So," John started, "what's up?"

I shrugged. "Lonely. Saturday. Boring. Decided to call you, brighten things up a bit."

John smiled. "Brilliant."

I took a sip of my coffee (Black. Mug surprisingly well-cleaned. Several scratches on the side. Porcelain. Precisely 2.78 cups of coffee). "I ran into this one girl at the store today. Molly Hooper."

"Oh, I have a few classes with her."

I was struck immediately with a pang of jealousy. Even just one class with John would make school bearable, and this girl had a few? How unfair! Still, I kept my cool. "She's terribly annoying."

"Is she really?"

"Yes. Acted like a Labrador throughout my entire shopping trip. She followed me despite my constant hints that any form of company was absolutely and completely unwelcome."

He shrugged. "She doesn't seem so bad."

I snorted. "Really, just try to keep up a conversation with her. Everything she says is just completely unnecessary." I took a swig of my drink.

John fidgeted with the tag from his tea bag. He looked rather uncomfortable. "Do you judge everyone so harshly?"

I furrowed my brow, taken aback by the sudden question. I'd never really considered it. "Everyone judges me harshly. I'm just returning the favor."

"Everyone, Sherlock?"

Shrugging, I took another sip, finally daring to make eye contact. "Not you, I guess. But- and this sounds a bit pathetic- you're about as far as my circle of friends reaches. All of my other peers see me only as a moving target for spitballs and insults."

"I know how you feel."

This drew my attention. "How could anyone hate you? You're- well, you're you!"

John chuckled. "They hated me- they made fun of me for my limp. At my old school, I mean. Because I still wanted to do sports." He gave a little laugh. "I was rubbish at them anyway, even before the accident."

I was completely bewildered. How could anyone hate John? His beautiful eyes, blue, grey, and brown all at the same time (it seemed he had central heterochromia, but I couldn't be certain). He was positive, kind, and tolerant. Why would anyone do such a thing?

I shook my head. "That's awful."

He laughed. "A childhood without football wasn't that bad, Sherlock."

"No, no, I mean the other kids."

John waved it away. "I'm over it. This leg has gotten me out of so many gym classes; I'd be nothing without it."

I laughed. We made small talk (which, though usually completely boring, John made interesting) until about four, when John had to leave.

He turned to look at me from a few paces away after we exited the coffee shop. "Sherlock?"

I looked up from the cracks my eyes were assessing in the pavement. "Yes?"

The boy smiled. "We should do this again sometime."

With those few words, he left. Butterflies flew straight into my stomach. I grinned, and began the trek home, my heart feeling lighter than it ever had before.

I'd never met someone so amazing in my life.