A/N: Alright, readers, I know exactly what I'm doing! No, I don't... Writing this as I go, and I hope you like it. I know I love Sherlock and John being... well, teens. XD

I've Got This Friend

One: Curiouser and Curiouser

(First Person/ John's POV)

"I'm sure you'll make some friends," she reassured me, smiling and clasping a hand loosely to my shoulder.

"Yeah, no. Everywhere we go, people harass me for my opinions. So maybe if I don't express them, I can be left alone," I plucked her fingers from me, and let her arm fall to her side. "I'll be back in about an hour, Harry. I'm going for a walk," I nodded and turned towards the new door to our new flat. It was small, hellishly so, but at least we could afford it, my parents, I mean.

"Alright," Harry sighed, "I'm going to make dinner before Mum and Dad get back, be sure to be home for it," she explained. But I really didn't want to be back. Harry was an a amazing cook, but she had already started drinking. It was light, and she wasn't even buzzed. But by the time dinner's over… Yeah.

But, "I'll try," I said before opening the door, the knob feeling new in my hand, knowing I'll have to get used to it, though. And I walked out to the shining afternoon sun, the light coming from the window in the hallway that lead to the stairs. I wonder what she's making that'll take all afternoon, but it's Harriet, who knows? The only thing I know is that it'll be good.

But I walk out, closing the door on the now solitary person left in the flat. I could practically hear her sigh as my Vans covered feet shuffled down the carpeted hall and to the flight of stairs. I'm so glad we live on the second floor, it makes for less effort when walking down them. I stopped to observe myself in the mirror at the bottom of said stairs.

Was there something wrong with my band tee (Evanescence, God do I love her voice. And this shirt, the simple one with the red tree behind the Band's name), my black and faded vest? The pierced ear I have, (just a simple black stud), the worn out jeans and my Vans?

I never thought so, but I guess other people did and still do. Harry secretly loves the way I dress, she said so. Though she doesn't dress like it herself, for fear of turning out like myself: always picked apart about it. My hands ended up in my pockets as I shrugged, walking out the main door, hearing it close behind myself and wondering how the hell London could be so fucking hot when it's usually raining, or so I've heard.

I sighed, oh well. At least I can get some air, instead of being stuck in the flat all day just waiting to be able to go to school tomorrow. I can't wait to make straight As. Mum and Dad were always ahead of things, registering us for school before we move, as we do it a lot. Mum's a business woman and Dad's a mechanic. Usually we move cause of Mum, and wherever she goes we follow. Ugh, it's annoying, but at least I know I won't have to stay in one place for too long.

I started wandering, down the sidewalk and sometimes peeking into alleys, just wondering what could be there. I've been to many cities, all over the place. Even a few in America. And let me tell you, Americans just… They're harsh, a lot more than any others I've come across. They don't care if they don't know you, the way you dress apparently says it all to them. At least in Germany, people actually tried to get to know me instead of just blowing me off. And even then, those people were slim and next to none. I looked like the bad boy idiotic type, apparently, as one of my friends had explained to me.

I miss Mike. He didn't judge me, and Mary, she was lovely. But like I said, we had to move, and that, my friend, isn't fun. Even though I had blown Harry off about finding friends, I do hope I can find at least one. Someone like me, perhaps. There has to be more like me. I know it, I just never met anyone. Well, there was Sarah and she was interesting, but whatever. She was a bit too much into other things to let me talk to her about what I liked. I listened to her babble one, but she didn't let me say a thing.

And then there was Jeanette, Jesus Christ she was annoying, I have no idea why I ever tried. She liked me, I was her type, apparently. It took me a few weeks, but I had finally got her to stop clinging to me like she was lost without me. I bet she was, but I really don't care. She was annoying, and I didn't like her after I first talked to her. I was just lonely and she was right there. That was the worst mistake, she wasn't even any good in bed.

Oh, you thought I was a virgin? You're sorely mistaken, I'm sorry, but you are. I haven't been around a lot, but I am definitely not so innocent. I guess that comes with being an outcast, we tend to take as much as we can before it's gone. That's why I loved Mary, she was easy to love, and I didn't need to take anything from her, she gave herself to me. I hated moving and leaving her. She suggested long distance, but that always ruins a couple. And no offense to her, but if I can't touch her, hold her, kiss her, I can't do it.

I can't see someone's face or hear their' voice without wanting to see them. She calls me sometimes, but I just can't stand it. Mike calls as well, but not so much anymore. Usually it's when he's feeling lonely or is drunk. That boy, I swear, he's sixteen and parties like he's twenty. Though, I can't blame him much. I did, too. Though I didn't drink, not as much anyway. Harry's too much for me. I'd also hate to have to depend on someone else if I get hammered.

There were a few times, but never again, especially not after the hangover. I shook my head at myself, Listen to me, I'm an idiot. Surely, you think so, too. At least I'm not talking to myself again. I never knew who I was talking to, I just did. Sometimes not even at myself, just aimlessly forming words. Guess that's what happens, though, when you end up not talking to anyone for weeks. Just shutting yourself up in your room and blasting the music as loud as possible to ignore the words of others.

That's my main reason for listening to what I do, it seems to understand me more than anything else. I don't understand how one can enjoy someone talking, not singing which I hate rap for, about sluts and the cash they throw about. Well, I don't hate rap, but like, fucking Flo Rida, yeah no. I like things like Linkin Park or the little bit that good Charlotte does, they're pretty good.

And all of my thought were interrupted by the faint sound of something I swear I knew. It was music, but I couldn't place my finger on what song or the band, even. It sounded to be just ahead, but farther away than I wanted. So I sped up a bit, wanting to know who was playing it. And once I got closer, I finally recognized the band, oh how I love Bullet 4 My Valentine. I don't much like screamo, but the way they do it is just… fantastic.

I was getting closer and I heard one of the lyrics clearly, saying: Is what you've seen too much to take, or are you blind and seeing nothing? Oh! I love Hand of Blood! I listen to it so much I know it by heart by now. It's a bit messed up, but the beat just loves to consume one like myself. And I just kept getting closer, step by eager step.

It got louder and louder, but almost like it was only coming from headphones, (heh, leave it to me to notice something like that), and not a speaker or something. But once I realized it was coming from someone in another alley, I sucked in a breath, looking to the building on the other side of the alleyway, the shadows consuming a lot as I peeked around the corner.

At first, I was confused, and stepped out to look again, and then there he was, just sitting there, looking interesting. The smoke from the cigarette propped in his mouth wafting as he had just lit it, sliding the lighter back in his pocket.

I took one good look at him, and I knew he was like me. The dark curls that framed his face but was greased back on one side, letting his ear show and his sharp cheekbones that made his pale skin bend around themselves, making him look attractive, and I'm a male saying this, mind you. That makes him drop dead gorgeous, a straight man saying so, I mean.

His eyes seemed to study me a bit, the blue mixing in the grey that was light from the sun reflecting so much light from them. And I took advantage of my view as I examined him as well, taking in the leather jacket with the wide lapels that were folded over headphones that the music was pouring from. The lapels that also had a zipper's track on them and the belt buckle wrapped loosely around more to the bottom leading my eyes look to the black jeans that looked tight, but not uncomfortably so.

Hanging a bit over the waist band of said jeans was a shirt that was completely black, interestingly enough, displaying the letters that spelled Seether, the one with the skulls painted below that made me jealous because I don't have that one… yet… Which led back to the midnight black jeans. His legs were fucking long, making him look as though he was tall, completed by feet covered in Converse that were a bit uncharacteristically a dark blue, but somehow it matched with the laces being black. I looked back up to those eyes, staring at me as well, taking in my features.

The blond hair I hate sometimes, the blue eyes that were dark usually, but probably lighter in the sunlight. The lyrics from my favourite song fading now, and him standing, using his hands to balance himself out temporarily on the bricked wall behind himself, I took a step back. A pool of smoke gathered at his lips, then flitted about into the air before disappearing. I wanted to tell him that would kill him earlier than later, but I said nothing, wondering which song he had playing next.

What music he listens to interests me, oddly enough. But I was caught looking at those lips. How were they so full and looking so soft, almost like silk on a male? I've no idea and I think my brow crinkled in thought, because I raised both of them when he stepped closer, the cigarette pointing up as he looked down on me.

There were new lyrics now, ones I barely recognized as that piercingly enthralling gaze took hold of my attention. Three Days Grace, I knew, and the new lyrics said to us: Tonight my head is spinning. And it took a bit more for me to realize that it was Break.

But that doesn't have my attention anymore as he stared at me, not saying a word and his hands doing something at my waist but my eyes couldn't move as he just stared more smoke pouring from his mouth and floating from the end of the cigarette I so desperately wanted to rip from his luscious mouth.

But I did nothing as I felt my mobile slip from my back pocket. And it was in his hand, as I was about to yell at him, but all he did was turn it round and round in his hand and make a deep humming sound that made it seem as though he was studying it, as he had studied me. He had the same glare about it, anyway. Then he opened it, fingers pressing about a bit before typing a quick message. And shoving it back in my hand as he finally removed the cigarette from his lips, the grey rising from his lips as he turned around to walk away.

I was about to ask what his name was, or something, but he said nothing, giving me a two finger salute with the fingers that held his cigarette and turning back round and walking down the sidewalk, popping the cig back in his mouth and shoving his hands in his pockets.

The music faded as did he, and I wondered who the hell he could be. I also wanted to applaud him on his choice of headphones, though. The electric blue was stunning against his skin and I love Skullcandy's headphones. I have a pair of earbuds that went through the wash and still work as if nothing had happened.

But he was gone before I could even look up again from the phone he had left a message for me in the draft form of a text. See you at school, nerd, was all it said, and now I really wonder who that boy is. But now I really wanted my own music to play, and after listening to Three Days Grace from that twig of an idiot, I want more. So I shut down my phone, not wanting to be bothered for a while and pulled my IPod from my other pocket.

The phone was a gift, the IPod was bought with my own money, and I'm glad it was. My parents would have chosen some colour like green or something stupid for a case. The one I have is simply red, but dark and I like it. Red is my favourite colour, and not blood red, either, which was what the case was, but I don't mind. The red I love is like the sunset, dark but amazingly pretty.

Anyway, music. I turned it on, placing my earbuds in and wondering if I'll need to hear anything or not. Nah, I'm good, and I found a different song to play as it filled my ears and I loved it so much more than the cars and people. I finished my walk, though somehow wandering to a coffee shop and wondering what London's coffee tastes like. But that's an adventure for when I feel like it. Maybe before school in the morning? But I guess I should head back home now, as it's been a while and I'm getting bored.

So I backtracked, my legs aching a little when I opened the door to the flat again, but I'm fine. And I could smell and feel (it's fucking hot up in here) what was cooking before I saw Harry standing over the pan. I removed the headphones, the music still being able to be heard, which surprised me, but oh well.

"Fried chicken?" she grinned, and I smiled. Harry had promised she was going to cut back on the drinking, and she was actually doing it. Last time she didn't, or the time before that. But I guess she really wants to change. I had expected to find her slurring a bit by now, but she was perfectly fine.

She smiled back and I nodded, "Smells good," turning off the IPod and shoving it back in my pocket as the headphones simply hung from my neck. So this is what's going to take her about another hour? I hope Mum and Dad like it. I will, I know that. Fried chicken, macaroni and cheese with mashed potatoes? Oh hell yeah.

"Well, I would hope so, but it's hot. Could you open the window, John?" I nodded again, walking past her and opening the window in the kitchen, on the wall beside the fridge that was hugged between said wall and the counter that lead to the stove at which Harriet stood.

I was just barely tall enough to reach it. "Thanks," and I walked away, still grinning and Harry was as well. But I left back the hall, closing the door to my new room, and I set to work moving in. I still had a few things to put away and posters I want to try to put up somewhere.

But for now it was plain, boring, the bed was tucked against the wall, boring blue colours for sheets and a blanket covering the pillow and the window was at the foot of said bed, ajar and letting in the cooling air. The closet was beside said window, on a wall itself, not exactly a walk in, but spacious, I guess. Sliding doors, though. Boring. I had boxes in the middle of the floor and I dug through them, wondering where exactly to put things. The table placed by the closet was deemed worthy, but meh.

This is still all very boring, as I haven't made friends yet. And the weird person that liked staring at things doesn't count, or well, not yet at least. It's obvious from the message that he goes to school. Dinner was nice to look forward to, though. Sitting around the old table we always bring with us, round and fitting all four of us easily. I loved being able to eat in silence, but not having tension.

But Dad broke said silence, looking to Harry, "Thank you for this. It's delicious," he said and she blushed, nodding.

"I like it, figured it would be good for just moving in. Plus, I promised I would let up on drinking, and why not make dinner? I'm sober and feel so much better already," she smiled, and Dad smiled back as Mum grinned. I just shrugged, eating the deliciousness that I could eat all night. But dinner did end, with small talk and crap that could bore anyone.

I excused myself, going to just lounge around on my laptop, stripping my shoes and relaxing on the bed, propping my feet up on the chair I used to write at my table with, and leaning against the wall. But Facebook bored me as well and all I could interest myself in was my writing websites. I didn't get much praise, but I happily grinned at all the reads and some of the comments.

People say I'm weird, but oh well, at least other weird people like my stuff. I have one person that I message all the time, giving them my ideas and letting them criticize me when they beta my chapters and such. I like them, not knowing whether they're female or male doesn't matter much to me. Hell, they could be fucking fifty, I don't care, they like my stories and I love theirs.

I'm a bit jealous, as they're a better writer than I could ever hope to be, but that's why I love them, because they actually give advice instead of just shoving things down my throat and telling me I'm doing it all wrong. Haven't messaged them in forever, though. I think they understand, as I told them I was moving yet again, but still.

I sighed, The internet has more of a life than I do…

There you are, the first chapter. :-) And if you're wondering, yes, all the chapters will be this long, maybe longer. Until next time.