PREFACE

Title: My Fallen Angel

Characters: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

Rating: T (Mainly because of strong language)

Pairings: Sherlock and John:)

Summary: John is terrified. People will continue to hit, punch and beat him until he had lost all hope of ever finding someone who he can trust. But when he meets sociopath Sherlock Holmes, he learns that love can be found in the most unlikely places.

Author's note: I really hope you like this, so please review. If I get enough love I will write some morexD Any criticism is also welcome. Enjoy!

"You can't escape from us, faggot!"

And as the group of boys slowly surrounded John, all he could do was stand there, head hung, and wait for the fists to come slamming into him. Blood was already streaming from his nose and he felt light headed. This couldn't be happening. Not again.

For goodness sake, John. Don't give up now. You have to keep going.

Run, John. Run.

"Who is he?"

"He's mine!"

"Pfft, you are joking, right? By the end of today I'll own him."

"Will not!"

"Will too!"

Sherlock sighed as he continued down the corridor which was already flooded with girls trying desperately to flirt with him. Him. Sherlock Holmes, the sociopath. Sherlock Holmes, the worlds cleverest human. Sherlock Holmes, the first consulting detective to-be. He was not going to become distracted by these petty creatures. Idiots. He continued to walk along, the crowd parting to make a path for this god to walk on. Break is nearly over now, Sherlock. Just a couple more minutes...

"You bastard!" A screaming voice came from behind. Sherlock turned just in time to see a small boy come crashing into him. Sherlock staggered back, but steadied himself. He looked down to find the boy on the floor, wide eyed, looking up at him. His blonde hair was messy and clung to his forehead, which was dripping with blood, as if his head had been bashed non-stop against a brick wall. His nose was also dripping with the red liquid. Sherlock stared down astonished, and didn't have time to react before a gang of eight boys surrounded the small one and kicked and punched him. More blood dripped onto the floor as they shouted, "Gay boy!" "Faggot!" "Dickhead!"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He walked towards the circle of boys and elegantly pushed two of them into the walls on either side of him. The remaining boys stopped kicking and looked up at the tall, skinny, perfect figure which had appeared in front of them. His blue eyes looked as if they could see straight though them. Sherlock casually motioned with his hand for them to step back, away from the small boy. All did so except one; the tallest of them, well built, not at all good looking but definitely scary enough, who stayed glued to the spot, scowling. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" His voice was harsh and deep, the same one that had shouted, "You bastard!" at the poor boy who was now laying limply in front of Sherlock.

"Who do you think you are." Sherlock corrected the boy. He ignored the crowd that had built around them. "No need to swear. It shows me that you're deliberately trying to sound aggressive. Probably due to a lack of confidence. You don't think you're good enough. Which is true," he added, making the stocky boy clench his fists. "And you're terrified of people hating you." A smirk spread across Sherlock's face. "Tell me, out of all the people you could possibly want to beat up, why him? He posses no threat to you. Or does he?"

Creases had formed in the boys forehead. "I don't have time for this crap."

"So he does!" Sherlock's hands clasped together in delight. "Thank you."

"What you talking about? How could I be scared of him. He's gay!" The crowd laughed at the comment, encouraging the smirking boy to shout out to the crowd. "He's gay, everybody! The runt's g-"

"Exactly."

"W-what?"

"He's gay. So what? The only reason you're publicizing this is because it'll take all the attention away from you." Sherlock stalked over, smiling slightly. "You put product in you're hair."

The stocky boy pulled a face. "So?"

"I'm not done. There's also the tinted eyelashes. Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired, clubber's eyes. And then," Sherlock spoke up a little to let the flock of students hear, "there's your underwear. Visible above the waistline. Very visible."

Laughter spread among the crowd. The boy, red in the face, stared up at the proud Sherlock, who bent down to his ear and whispered into it menacingly. "Next time you try to pick on someone, gay boy," he mocked, "just know that you'll have to deal with me." He turned to the crowd, waving his hand absently in the air. "Oh, and could someone take care of the bleeding one for me?" As several girls rushed forward Sherlock Holmes marched through the gap the crowd of screeching girls had make for him to pass through and quickly stalked away.

When he could no longer hear all of the commotion, Sherlock allowed himself to slow down. The school bell rang.

God, he hated school buildings. Maths next. Where the hell was the room, M4? Sherlock sighed. It didn't matter anyway. He'd only be 'learning' something he already knew, practicing something he had already stored in his mind.

Sherlock smiled. The 'Method of Loci' that he had been focused on mastering for years was now working well. Soon he would be the cleverest of the human race... but first he would have to sit through maths. He had just noticed the M4 sign on the wall he was nearing. Sighing, he knocked aggressively on the blindingly-bright orange door. After hearing a muffled "come in," Sherlock violently knocked the door open, making the students jump. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, is it?" The teacher, an obviously boring old man with big round glasses and hardly any hair at all spoke softly. "You're half an hour late! Come in, come in. Ermm... why don't you introduce yourself to the class?" He gestured with his hands for Sherlock to step to the front.

Sherlock sighed. No need, he thought. Practically the whole school saw me at break today anyway. How could they have missed it. Sherlock unwillingly dragged his feet towards the front of the class, and turned to stare menacingly at the group of students, who squirmed under his gaze. "The name's Sherlock Holmes."

After around ten seconds of dead silence where nobody dared speak, the old man broke it kindly. "Err... very good... ermm..."

"Sherlock."

"Yes. I am Mr...Mr..."

"Mister," the children murmured quietly.

"Ah, yes. Thank you. My name is Mr. Mister." Sherlock rolled his eyes. This had to be a joke, else this was going to be a long thirty minutes...

"Now, how about you sit with John." Sherlock followed Mr. Mister's gaze to the corner of the room where the small boy from earlier was sat. He held a stained-red tissue to his nose. His forehead was still rouge, and he held an ice pack to it with his other hand. Sherlock obediently stalked to the back of the classroom and slid into the chair next to the boy.

"Okay, so now it's time to do some algebra on your own."

The class moaned. For the rest of the lesson the teacher snored loudly on his desk, the students threw paper planes they had made from their algebra sheets. Five minutes into the lesson and Sherlock had already finished the whole sheet. John was still working on his, but had to stop abruptly shortly after Sherlock did.

"Shit," John murmured to himself, as he put his still bleeding head in his hands and breathed heavily. Sherlock watched him carefully. Blood fell onto the desk, drop, by drop, and Sherlock could see that he was shaking. "John, are you alright?"

John quickly looked up. "What? Yeah, I'm fine!" He stared at Sherlock uneasily. "Listen, if it weren't for you I'd probably be... a lot worse off than I am now." He managed a half smile. "So thank you."

Sherlock looked surprised. "It's...fine." John smiled and looked down again, obviously trying to hide the pain he was in. "Look, John, if you want I can-"

"I really don't need help."

"You're getting blood on your sheet."

"Oh!" John sat up. Moments later he grabbed onto the table for support and closed his eyes. Sherlock sighed as he rummaged through his bag to find a pack of tissues. He ripped one out and wiped John's forehead with it. "Oww."

"Shh." Sherlock moved John's books to his side of the desk, then he got up and sat on the desk where John's book had been to face John. He took John's head in his hands and rested it just below his rib cage, and continued to wipe the wound. John seemed to tense up. "John, are you okay?"

"John, are you okayyy?" A boy's voice mocked from behind him. He turned to find that the whole class had stopped being idiots, and were watching Sherlock and John eagerly. The boys were giggling childishly, while the girls couldn't quite pick there jaws up off the floor. John, who had gone the same shade of red as the blood on his face, fought his way out of Sherlock's tight grip and sat, gaping for air.

"Pahaha!" Another boy shouted. "Look, John's gone bright red!"

"That'll be the colour of you when the boys finish with you tomorrow. They will sssskin you!"

"I hope they kill him!"

"Yeah," Sherlock heard several people agree.

John looked up at Sherlock helplessly, and then down at the floor while the classroom erupted into laughter. At that moment the bell rang, and the students ran noisily out of the classroom, jeering as they left. All was silent apart from the snoring of the teacher. After what felt like a lifetime of silence, Sherlock staring at him carefully, John slowly picked himself up and walked out of the classroom. "John." Sherlock called after him. "John!"

"Piss off, Sherlock."

"What? John, just five minutes ago you were thanking me for... oh, wait a minute." Sherlock sighed inwardly. "John, don't think you can fool me that easily."

"What?" John refused to look at Sherlock, who had caught up and was walking a step behind him.

"You're a nice boy. I'm the new kid. And so you think the best thing for me is to be as far away from you as possible. You're trying to chase me off," Sherlock stated.

"Yes, I am." John couldn't hide the pain in his voice. "Because I hate people. I want them to leave me alone."

"Hmm..." Sherlock thought. "Well, I'm not people, am I?"

John stopped dead in his tracks. "Fine, you want to hear the truth?" John turned around and looked up and Sherlock. "You're right, you're not people. You look like a bloody fallen angel!" John waited for Sherlock to punch him. When he didn't, John shouted at him as loud as he could. "See?! Any normal boy would have freaked out if I had told them that I thought they had the most amazing body I had ever laid eyes on, and yet you..."

Sherlock smirked as John went pink and hid his face in his hands again. "John, I'm flattered by you're interest, but I'm really not looking for any sort of relationship-"

"No! No. I didn't mean-"

"Good." Sherlock turned away. "I'll see you tomorrow, John. My car will be waiting outside. Oh, and I'll need your number."

"My number?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "To make sure you get home before you bleed to death."

"Oh," John blushed. He picked his phone out of his bag. "I'll save yours now-"

"I don't have time for this! Just say it!" Sherlock spat impatiently.

"077845234856"

"Right. Afternoon, John." Before John could reply Sherlock disappeared out of the doors. John was left alone and as he walked out of the school doors, he pictured the skinny, tall, dark haired boy with the beautiful blue eyes. And the perfect lips. And god, his cheekbones! John smiled. He felt happier than he had done for a long time.

No. John stopped himself. No. What the hell are you thinking? For you're own good, John Watson, don't you dare go falling in love.