"It's been a while, what's been scaring you away?" Mrs. Hudson wondered finally, closing her computer as if she was not entirely dedicated to this conversation and setting her nice container of salad on top of it. Sherlock just shrugged, thinking very quickly about any possible excuse that might be made.
"Oh I've been doing some homework over lunch, a project for English with some, well I say friends." Sherlock sighed heavily. Mrs. Hudson nodded, taking that as a satisfactory answer and going back to her salad. She had been a bit obsessive about eating healthy these past couple of months, something about her cholesterol or something, or an excuse to start gardening. She liked to talk to Sherlock about all the little things that happened in her life, which in all honesty wasn't that much, it was simply the sad fact that she was just as lonely as Sherlock. Her husband had died a while back, which from what Sherlock was able to tell wasn't all that much of a tragedy, and without any children Mrs. Hudson was left alone with her cats and with whatever friends she could struggle to make. At least Sherlock had Victor, while Mrs. Hudson had no one. Maybe it was good that they had each other.
"Have you been making any new friends?" Mrs. Hudson asked almost hopefully, for she had his best interests in mind of course. Sherlock just laughed, taking a bite of his sandwich and shrugging carelessly.
"No of course not, but what do I need them for?" Sherlock insisted with a laugh.
"Well, I know that you don't think humans have many advantages, however social skills will be a skill you need to know when you get to college." Mrs. Hudson warned, talking like the old, knowledgeable woman she was. It was annoying when she was right.
"If I even get to college." Sherlock murmured miserably.
"Oh stop that talk, you're smart enough to get in on scholarships." Mrs. Hudson assured.
"Well yes, I'm smart enough, but how many schools are willing to offer kids like me that kind of money? Victor didn't get in with enough; they wanted him to still pay ten thousand a year." Sherlock pointed out.
"I refuse to see another smart boy get wasted in a technical school! Now I know that Victor's probably very good with whatever he's doing there, but that boy could've been a mathematician, or a professor, there's no need for him to get his hands dirty with a brain like that!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.
"Well sometimes things are just out of our control. Maybe when he gets some money we can go to school in a couple of years." Sherlock shrugged hopefully. Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily, obviously she was thinking on how tragic this whole situation was, genius gone wasted to poverty! And yet what were they to do, what were all of them supposed to do? Money was hard to come by, and a brain could only get you so far.
"How is Victor?" Mrs. Hudson wondered, finishing off the last of her salad by spearing a cherry tomato on her fork and making a bit of a mess as it burst under the pressure of the tongs.
"Oh you know, same old Victor." Sherlock shrugged.
"Well that's good then." Mrs. Hudson decided with a smile, a smile that was soon returned.
"Ya, it is good." Sherlock agreed quietly.
"Anything exciting happened while you were gone?" Mrs. Hudson wondered. Sherlock just shrugged, trying to think back to anything that might have happened to him however he was drawing a blank, well...almost a blank.
"I went over to my neighbor's house for dinner the other night." Sherlock offered, not finding much interesting about that at all. However it was conversation, and they both appreciated something to talk about rather than just silence.
"Well that's nice, anyone I would know?" Mrs. Hudson asked. Sherlock sighed, thinking back to John Watson and trying to decide whether or not to disclose his identity. It wasn't that his neighborhood was supposed to be kept a secret or anything, he just didn't really want many people knowing that there was a behind the scenes relationship between the two of them. They weren't really supposed to be friends, so it would probably be looked upon as sort of peculiar should anyone discover that they've had a conversation or two.
"Oh the um, the Watsons. I imagine you know them both, John and Harry?" Sherlock guessed finally, deciding finally that Mrs. Hudson really didn't have anyone to tell. Everything he had ever disclosed to her had been shared in complete trust, and nothing had ever leaked out before, so why should it today?
"Yes I had them both, John's in your grade am I right? And Harry, a year older." Mrs. Hudson murmured.
"Yep that's them. We used to be pretty close when we were kids, but we sort of drifted. Anyway it was kind of awkward, you know, to go over there? They are so well of, even now, it's like nothing changed for them." Sherlock admitted glumly.
"I never knew you were friends with John Watson." Mrs. Hudson exclaimed with a smile, sitting forward on her desk eagerly and pushing her cucumber slices aside. Sherlock just smiled, shaking his head as it insisting that she had misheard him.
"No, no see we're not really friends. We're just neighbors." Sherlock assured quickly, to which Mrs. Hudson just smiled widely, almost as though she were formulating some sort of something in her head.
"He's a nice boy, I had him for class. In fact I think you might have been in that class as well." Mrs. Hudson remembered, thinking back to those years when Sherlock was just a little, terrified ninth grader. And to think that the immortal John Watson was once just as small.
"He's nice, but we're just so opposite you know?" Sherlock sighed, shrugging and poking around at the bag of popcorn he had packed for his lunch.
"Well sometimes opposites aren't a bad thing." Mrs. Hudson assured with a smile, going innocently back to her lunch as if pretending that she wasn't implying anything.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock challenged.
"Nothing, just maybe that you should try to talk to him in school. Maybe you could be his friend." Mrs. Hudson offered innocently, looking as though she were a bit too scared to voice her opinion when Sherlock was looking so suspicious.
"That's a horrible idea, I can barely stand that idiot when I'm not in school, and to imagine what his friends might say..." Sherlock started, to which Mrs. Hudson just shushed him, as though she didn't want to hear such nonsense.
"Now Sherlock you're a very likable boy, you just have to let them know the real you. Kids really aren't as bad as you think they are." Mrs. Hudson assured.
"Oh come on Mrs. Hudson, you only see them when they're in class on their best behavior. You got to remember that the hallways are anarchy, they're always trying to laugh at me, and taunt me, they don't like minorities." Sherlock pointed out miserably.
"Then make them appreciate you! You're a great person Sherlock, they'll learn." Mrs. Hudson assured.
"Well maybe the girls will. But I'm quite sure John Watson wouldn't breathe in my direction without a gas mask." Sherlock decided flatly, however even as he said it he was kind of unsure about that. John was surprisingly likable when they had dinner, almost as if he wasn't afraid, almost as if he was actually kind of...acceptant? Sherlock just shook his head, letting Mrs. Hudson argue with him all she wanted; she wouldn't change his mind now. He had been in school with John for eleven years, what on earth would convince him to change his ways, and to destroy his reputation by simply being in five feet of the school freak? No it would never do, not even if Mrs. Hudson insisted it was possible. She was a lot of things, but a miracle worker was not one.

John POV: It was Harry's complaining that drove John to the porch, her screaming and quarreling with the family made it nearly unbearable to stay within those trembling walls, and so John sat swinging very lightly on the porch swing, his toes just able to brush along the deck and ease him to and fro at his leisure. It was a nice peaceful Sunday afternoon; the spring sun was high in the sky, illuminating the grass that was just beginning to turn green and the buds on the trees that were only just beginning to bloom. It was a gentle anticipation, where John liked to simply sit back and try to appreciate all that was beginning as it did every year, appreciating the recession of winter's chill and noticing the ever looming presence of the springtime. Out here on the swing he felt but a mere breeze, and his simple sweatshirt was enough to protect him from any discomfort. It was very nice. His solitude was interrupted when the door of the house across the street flung open, and with a burst of yelling it spit Sherlock Holmes out onto the sidewalk, stumbling out the door and pulling it shut tightly behind him, looking every bit as exasperated as John had been not moments before. The yelling had sounded like his mother, which really was no surprise, a harsh feminine voice that may have once been beautiful before it donned that horrible tone. Sherlock sighed for a moment, unaware that he was being watched, and sat down glumly on his front steps, that same position he had taken when John had watched him from the window the day of his father's funeral. Maybe those were his thinking stairs, who knows? Maybe it was just his favorite spot on his front lawn, considering that the only chairs that now occupied his porch were just flimsy lawn chairs, accompanied by a couple of numerous ash trays set out strategically on the railing as if Victor was ever going to be considerate enough to go outside to do his smoking. John considered the opportunity of leaving Sherlock be, and honestly he wasn't going to make any sort of move to announce his presence. However his intended observation was interrupted by a horrible squeak in the chain of the porch swing as it swung too far back, and John yet out a bit of a yelp of surprise, worried that it might snap. The chain remained stable but his cover was blown, when he glanced back over at the boy sitting on the stairs those green eyes were fixed on him. John sighed heavily, however he held his hand up in greeting, a sort of neighborly exchange he saw his parents do when they used to be out doing yard work while the Holmes were getting in their car to go shopping or something like that. Sherlock didn't seem to understand, however, and instead of waving back he got heavily to his feet, finally having gone back to his normal black jacket, and started across the yard. Maybe he thought John's wave was an invitation? Or maybe he wanted to talk? John straightened up in anticipation, scooting over so that there would conveniently be enough room for Sherlock to sit on the porch swing, should he even want to.
"Hello neighbor." John muttered as Sherlock ventured near his porch stairs, as though waiting for an invitation. Sherlock looked almost a bit uncomfortable, almost as if he was somehow under the impression that he was the one that had been summoned, and not the one who had just made the perilous journey across the street on his own accord.
"Hi John." Sherlock murmured, standing very awkwardly on the stone walkway.
"You can come on the porch if you want. What are you doing out here?" John wondered politely, rocking himself very carefully with his toes so that the chain creaked ever so lightly in some sort of false reassurance of safety.
"Oh it's my mother; she's being unreasonable this morning. Again." Sherlock admitted, easing himself onto the porch only to lean against the banister, glancing nervously up the road as if he was expecting a car to come collect him.
"Ya me too, except it's Harry, whining about college again. You know that college applications are due May first for next year, right?" John wondered with a sigh.
"Well...no. But for the sake of the plot, go on." Sherlock assured with a bit of a smile.
"Ya well they are, and May first is only like four days away and she hasn't even researched any colleges. Says she wants to be an artist." John said with a laugh. This was hysterical for him of course, since he was sure that Harry couldn't create anything beautiful even if beauty hit her in the face, quite literally.
"Well an artist is a rather difficult choice of profession, however I'm sure if she's dedicated enough..."
"She's not, that's the issue." John pointed out immediately, to which Sherlock just nodded quickly, as though John's quick change in tone worried him just a bit.
"Well I guess that's none of your business anyway. You'll be out of here in a year, will you not? We both will, as long as I can get the scholarships I need." Sherlock muttered with a sigh, putting his hands in his pockets as though they were cold, however John was sure that he just wanted to hide them to prevent himself from fiddling with anything unnecessarily.
"Ya, I guess so." John agreed. He didn't like thinking of the future, he didn't like thinking that there might be a wall between his life now and his life then, a wall that would cost him somewhere around one hundred thousand dollars, only to throw him back into the world without any real purpose except to start his own life and be responsible. It was a hellish doom, however all teens had to face it somehow, someday. Responsibility and the job search was a very looming presence, and he could only imagine just how terrifying it might be for Sherlock, whose family probably didn't have enough money to send him to the schools he would benefit the most from.
"Victor's in school now, technical school. He works on cars." Sherlock admitted glumly.
"That's pretty cool." John lied, staring a bit blankly at his front yard while keeping Sherlock in the corner of his eye, an excuse to look at his neighbor while looking all the while indifferent of his presence. What was Sherlock even doing here, was he lonely? His eye seemed to be pretty much back to normal, except for some discoloration it seemed that a week had made all the necessary changes to his complexion. He was back to his normal distinction to a Greek sculpture, chiseled and crafted of only the most beautiful of marble.
"I don't think it's interesting, in fact I think it's a shame. He's really smart, he should be a business man or a scholar or a scientist. He's just looking for a career that he can start now, he said he wants to open a mechanics shop one day." Sherlock admitted with a little smile, as if he was imagining his life married to some mechanic. Living in the room above the grimy, oily shop while his husband meandered around downstairs yelling at his workers to get moving, the chorus of drills and cranks replacing the music of the violins Sherlock had loved so much when he was young, well it wasn't all that romantic. However it seemed to make him happy, somehow.
"What do you want to do when you're older?" John wondered. Sherlock just shrugged, staring a bit blankly at the house in front of him as if he didn't really want to admit such a thing.
"Oh I don't know, government? That's what Mycroft's doing; he said that's where the most money is. Maybe I'll do something around Victor's shop; I'll be his accountant or something, or his attorney." Sherlock shrugged carelessly. He acted as though he didn't have a calling; however he was obviously smart enough to do anything he wanted with his life. He really shouldn't just be an accountant.
"You seem rather undecided. Are you sure you don't want to be an artist?" John asked with a laugh.
"I'm not rich enough to start out with nothing." Sherlock murmured, almost sounding as though he thought the Watson family was rich.
"Neither am I." John assured in a desperate attempt to be humble. Well in all seriousness there really was nothing he couldn't do, at least now. He had a good family, a moderately wealthy family, with a long strand of relatives that would take him in if he needed it. He could go to college and live with some distant relative until his debt wore away, and then he could enter the job field whenever he was ready, whenever he felt like it. John had never really appreciated his own situation until he heard of the worst case scenario, the very scenario Sherlock and Victor were experiencing right now. There was an almost teasing smile on Sherlock's face, almost as if he knew that simply wasn't true. Their conversation was interrupted by the little sputtering of a motor down the road, and suddenly Sherlock got to his feet, looking very quickly at John in horror as the car pulled up next to the porch. He looked about ready to make a run back to his house, just so that there was no suspicions, however the car pulled to a stop and the window rolled down, and as promised that frowning face of Victor looked out with very suspicious eyes. John sat up straighter on the swing, feeling some sort of protective tendencies when he saw Sherlock start to quiver, and yet Victor's harsh glare wasn't anywhere focused on him. In fact, John was quite sure that Victor hadn't even noticed Sherlock was still on the porch, for those blue eyes were strained so intensely on John that he almost felt the need to shiver back into the swing and pretend he didn't notice.
"Victor what are you doing here?" Sherlock wondered in a rather timid voice, as though he wasn't expecting Victor to come to his house today. Victor just sighed, finally taking his glare off of John to gaze with a much softer expression at his boyfriend, who still stood rather nervously near the banister.
"What, do I need a reason?" Victor wondered with a little smile. There was music playing from his car, not terribly loud from here but most likely deafening from where the boy sat between the two speakers, some sort of heavy metal music that John didn't recognize.
"Well of course not." Sherlock assured with a timid little smile, glancing over at John, who was still watching Victor with every bit as much suspicion as was being returned. He couldn't help but theorize that it had been Victor that had left that bruise on Sherlock's face; however their relationship seemed to be pretty intact, pretty respecting. It was an enigma to be sure.
"John Watson, right?" Victor wondered, finally turning off the music so that they could talk from some distance. John nodded, stilling himself on the swing as if the gentle rocking would somehow make him appear any more intimidating.
"Ya." John agreed when Victor didn't continue the conversation. Victor nodded, letting his arm dangle out from the car window for Sherlock, almost as though he were summoning him wordlessly. Sherlock obeyed, walking quickly over to the car and taking Victor's hand, the two of them muttering some things before finally Sherlock nodded, glancing over at John who was still watching from afar, not entirely sure what to do with himself. However they seemed to have come to a decision, because Victor smiled up at him and leaned his head out of the car window, the two of them shared a quick kiss (John looked away for that, although he was sure that it was intended to be some sort of statement) before Sherlock, wordlessly, ran around the front of the car and got into the front seat. Victor turned the music back on and glared at John for a moment longer, almost as if waiting for him to ask where they were going and if he could go along. John wasn't that stupid of course, and so he just smiled and nodded his head in farewell, not getting any sort of response except the closing of the tinted window. The car engine reeved, and just like that it shot off down the road with its precious cargo, disappearing before John could even appreciate its presence.