(A/N)

Yes hello there. Thank you for actually taking your time into reading this. Erm I deeply apologise for any tears shed, pervy giggles, and possible squealing in public. I also warn you that I don't even know if this is considered a good fanfic or not bc idek. I'll probably take any criticism or whatever bc I want to improve it but yes enjoy it anyways.

Sherlock's POV

Their words began echoing through my head.
"Freak"
"Smart arse"
"What a fucking loser"
I felt my eyes getting blurry.
I struggled to scream for them to stop, but no matter how hard I tried, nothing came out of my mouth.
Nothing but pathetic gasps for help.
They continued laughing and pointing.
I scanned through the crowd, glancing at the familiar faces; Sally, Phillip, and even Mycroft.
Rows and rows of well-known kids circled in front of me, cornering me into the lockers.
Panicked, I hit my back against them and observed that everyone stopped laughing and pointing.
My eyes widened. Shit. What did I do now?
I was flustered and stood there awkwardly amidst the rest of the students. I tried shifting my feet, for at least one clue of what was going on. With that, I heard the sound of plastic against the unswept tiles of the hallway. I looked down alerted, to see that I just kicked an orange pill bottle towards a stout little boy. I hit my locker.
Frantically, I backed away to see that I was standing among several empty pill bottles.
My heart sank.
Fuck. Now not only are you a freak, but you're also a druggie. Great fucking job, Sherlock.
Something slowly tapped my shoulder, causing me to almost jump.
I turned around to see the boy. He was at least a head shorter than me, so I had to glance down to look into his eyes. He was holding up the pill bottle that rolled to his feet.
He didn't say a word. He just looked at me with his big, bright eyes. He didn't seem like everyone else. His looks were much more melancholy and serene.
Hypnostised by his daze , I reached down to claim the bottle he held in his hand.
That's when everything got dizzy. I lost my balance and tried hard to reach the patient boy.
Everything got blurry and unclear as I found myself desperately gasping for breath.

I woke up in my own sweat. A nightmare. Again.
Nightmares are just dreams that occur during REM sleep that can affect the victim with a feeling of anxiety, paranoia, and/or stress. Waking up from these nightmares often leads to an increased heart rate.
I recited this in my mind. I also recalled that nightmares are just ideas that most humans have no control over because of the thoughts in their brains that overrule the urge to fight against it.
So, clearly, despite my pulse and current anxiety or confusion, I was never affected by these nightmares.
I sighed and rolled over to see Redbeard sitting beside me with concern. I gave him a hug that may have comforted me more than it comforted him.
Hesitantly, I slipped out of bed to hear the voice of my annoying brother.
"Oh, Sherlock!" He yelled from downstairs. I was usually forced to sleep in the attic, but I was isolated, so I never complained. "You're going to be late for school again!" He said sarcastically as he headed out the door out to his stupid private school.
I groaned in reply and changed into our school uniform. As I fixed my tie, I thought about the boy in my dream. I hadn't ever seen him before and he was never part of that reoccurring nightmare. I concentrated on the image of him in my head. He had fairly large eyes when he looked up so solemnly. That was basically all I got to see of him in the dream. It was basically almost impossible for an unfamiliar face to occur in a dream. However, I had never seen this boy in my life. I was sure I had never seen him. I see everybody. He couldn't have just slipped away from my sight so many times. So why was he in my dream?
I sighed and walked out the door, grabbing my bag as I went.
Mum and Dad were rarely home so I didn't need to deal with being forced to eat breakfast and dinner. Eating was boring and it slowed me down. I had been approached several times just to be asked whether or not I was anorexic. One girl, Molly Hooper (age 14, uninteresting) had been oddly interested in me. She probably fancied me too. It was quite unnecessary to feel an emotion of love. Especially in the first year of high school. I classified myself as aromantic because the boring people didn't quite understand that their idea of "love" was just a concept made up in their minds. However, Molly still often asked me how I was, despite my effort to ignore all social interactions.
That didn't quite matter at this point after I deduced that her boyfriend had cheated on her with her best friend. I don't believe she has ever talked to me since. Or maybe she has. I may have just stopped paying attention after she went on and on about her dull life.
The bus halted to a stop in front of me. The chaos and roughhousing immediately ceased after I boarded this crappy excuse for a school bus.
Everyone stopped and stared, waiting for me to sit down. I paid no attention to them and sat in my usual seat up front.
I felt them all glaring from behind me. I sighed and turned towards the window, impatiently waiting for the bus to finally get to school. As the bus jerked to continue on its route, I noticed a distant figure running up from behind it. I sat up straight to get a better view of who it was. I was always the only person who waited on this bus stop. He was an awfully fast runner and almost caught up with the bus's speed. He was wearing a pale beanie that looked like it was going to slip off.
"Stop!" I found myself shouting to the driver. Reluctantly, the bus halted, pushing me back into my seat.
The bus driver (his name was Joseph) had to obey me, for I knew he used to be a rapist. Of course, the ordinary people just think I was going to use their secrets against them. I really couldn't care less.
The boy finally caught up, surprisingly not out of breath. He wore baggy jeans. Or at least they seemed baggy because of his height. He was about 15, so I expect he's a new student, considering that I'd never seen him before.
He calmly walked into the bus and awkwardly sat next to me. I hope he doesn't expect us to be "friends". I shuddered at that word.
I glanced at him, trying to deduce more about him. I caught myself staring into his eyes. His eyes. They were round and gloomy. Gloomy, yet hopeful. A loud gasp escaped my mouth. He was The Boy. The Boy from my nightmare.