Chapter 1

The first time John laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes, the boy's teeth were sunken into another student's arm as he was being punched in the face repeatedly.

Struggling back from classes to get to his dormitory, John Watson had noticed the crowd gathered near the front gates of St. Bart's, and stopped to see what the disturbance was all about.

Bloody hell, he thought to himself. First day of classes and some bloke's already picked a fight.

It was John's first year at St. Bart's Academy, but being 17, it would also be his last. After a series of unfortunate occurrences at his former school (resulting in a bad limp and a horrific scar running from shoulder to abdomen), John's parents decided that it was best to send him away from home and the bad memories of the previous year.

John pushed his way through the crowd, enough so that he could see the two boys wrestling, both around his age. One was rather bratty-looking, middle-parted brown hair framing a permanently sour expression staining his features. Although it could have been triggered by the fact that he was being bitten viciously by another, lanky, boy with dark hair falling over the majority of his face.

The other students huddled around this display had been cheering and taunting, most of them in favor of Anderson, who John guessed was the short greasy one throwing the punches. The other seemed as if biting was his only defense, although it did seem to be inflicting some damage, John gathered from the pained look on Anderson's face as he tried to swat the enemy away.

John immediately noticed how Anderson failed to maintain a proper defensive stance. He was positioned in such a way that it would be easy for someone to aim for his lower abdomen and cause his body to crumple under the force.

The tall boy finally released his teeth, and drew back, regaining his composure, and standing at his full height to glance disdainfully down at Anderson just as his opponent attempted to deliver another blow.

At the last second, the boy ducked under Anderson's fist and swiftly shifted himself to end up behind the attacker. Anderson looked dumfounded, having just realized he'd swung past his skinny, vanishing target when he turned to meet the boy's long right leg extend upwards in a graceful high-kick, foot landing squarely on his chest and pushing him forcefully to the ground.

Many of the students were shocked, some had been capturing videos on their mobiles the entire time, while others muttered choice swear words under their breath and walked away. The taller boy stood triumphantly over his victim, sniffing in a dignified manner and straightening his school uniform before pushing his hair back from his sharp, pale face.

As most of the crowd dispatched, a black girl with a turned-up nose glared at the boy for a moment, before muttering "freak" and helping Anderson (who was now whining and making his best effort to restrict sobs of indignation) to his feet and leading him away.

John then realized everyone else had left, and he was standing alone with the strange boy who towered over him, icy gaze locked on John. He was completely silent, pale eyes observant and scrutinizing in a way that would make one uncomfortable. The boy's mouth suddenly quirked up into a half-smirk and John realized he'd been staring dumfounded this entire time. He quickly turned and hurried away, deciding it would be best if he wasn't left alone with this strange, possibly psychotic, other student.

-x-

John opened the door to his empty room, set down his books, and collapsed on the bed. Unlike most other aspects of his life, he actually lucked out registering for St. Bart's at the last minute. Due to everyone else already being paired off, he landed a room to himself on the far end of the school. A prodding roommate was the last thing he needed to deal with right now.

It's not that John wasn't social. He was, or at least, used to be. Among both playing for the rugby team and being involved in many school events, John easily fell into a large group of friends, although none were very close. He was admired for his loyalty and fierce determination, or so his therapist, Ella, always reminded him.

He didn't need a therapist, he knew that much. He wasn't weak, or emotionally unstable. Quite the opposite, actually, and that's what got him into trouble in the first place. But it was in, of course, his "best interests", just like transferring schools.

He remembered his parents saying goodbye yesterday before he boarded the train. He didn't expect to miss them, but he might get a call from Harry sooner or later.

John thought about his last therapy session. Ella asked him about his limp for the millionth time, then told him that they would check back in after a few weeks when he was better adjusted to the new school. She handed him a journal just before he left to record his thoughts in the meantime. That way, he could understand his "feelings" by looking over his "progress".

And a load of utter shit that was.

John hadn't even considered using the journal. But if there was anything he was willing to record, it would likely be the row he had just witnessed. Maybe something about that strange tall boy, or how he smirked maniacally when he and John were the only two left standing there. It was a story John was unsure of how to begin or end, and ultimately he decided against writing it.

He thought about asking around about the boy. From what John knew, he wasn't very well liked, possibly a delinquent, and an excellent (while eccentric) fighter. John didn't remember seeing him in any of his classes, but he wasn't paying close attention anyway. So far the only other people he really knew by name were Mike Stamford, who sat next to him in calculus and seemed nice enough, and Sarah Sawyer, the pretty girl he was paired with in chemistry. He supposed he could count Greg Lestrade, although he was the housemaster of John's dormitory. Lestrade met with all the newer students at orientation, so it wasn't someone he could consider a classmate. And then Anderson, who he had never actually spoken to, but witnessed getting kicked on his arse earlier that day, so not really someone he planned to make friends with.

Friends could wait, he decided. Besides, Ella had been telling him his own self-improvement would come before relying on others. Or so John remembered.