Imaginary Pictures

There's a new boy in class and everybody likes him.
Not that Sherlock would care, as long as 'John' leaves him alone...

I bring my attention back to read through the notes I’ve taken.
“Why do you always sit alone? Don’t you have friends?”
I circle a random word (which doesn’t mean anything, but he wouldn’t know) and ignore him.
“You don’t, do you?” John presses on.
I scratch a few numbers next to my writing, “Alone is what I have, alone protects me,” I say in the end.
“This is rubbish,” he huffs. “Everyone knows that Friends protect each other!”
This stills my hand and I look up to glare at him, “If it’s not too much to comprehend for your little brain: I’m busy,” I tell him, using the coldest tone I can muster.