Another day had been spent with the police ignoring Sherlock, as they so very often did. They saw him as nothing more than a pesky wanna-be, and even when he offered logical advice, Sherlock was brushed off like an annoying fly.
He had utterly seethed while riding a cab back to the university's dorms, well aware it was a certain inspector's know-it-all son that had particularly fueled the entire police force's discontent with Sherlock wanting to help them solve the death of a fellow student. Even when Sherlock made logical arguments in the case, Inspector Anderson's son always passed Sherlock off as a raving lunatic.
Oh, how he had stormed up the stairs to his room, his trench coat whirling around him in a dramatic black blur, flapping in the breeze, giving him a theatrical air of malice. He flung open the door, eyes hardened into steel chips.
"I hate this entire place!" he shouted to no one in particular, though his dormmate was the only one there. "I hate this city! I hate this country! I'm moving to France tomorrow, I swear it, I am! The police refuse to investigate further! I don't think they even preformed an autopsy on him!"
John barely looked up from his laptop at Sherlock's anger. The death of Carl Powers had shaken up the entire campus, and Sherlock swore he knew it was a murder, and refused to accept the decision made by the law. "Calm down, get yourself some coffee, and just let it go. You weren't there, you can't prove it, and the case is closed. Get over it," John muttered, making his friend at least drop the volume of his ranting. "There's nothing you can do."
"Carl Power didn't drown or have some freak accident. I know he didn't. If only I had been there, if only I was old enough for them to listen to me..." Sherlock rambled on, pretending he hadn't heard John at all. "Why were there no cameras next to the pool? I'd have to go back in time to prove it-"
"Maybe you should be a psychic then," John practically shouted, just trying to get Sherlock to shut up. He didn't mean it, and thought Sherlock wouldn't take it seriously, as much as the dectective-to-be frowned upon such things and didn't believe in them.
When the taller man's blue eyes lit up with the spirit of a maniac, John regretted telling him of that silly idea. "Sherlock," he started, a worried expression covering the former annoyed one. "You wouldn't really do this, right? Right?"
"If they won't listen to me, then I just might! They'll never know it! My deducing skills are rivaled by none; they'll think I know everything about them at a glance. Which, in fact, I would, actually. But they won't know how, other than my 'magical' powers!"
The medical student felt a quiet groan escape his lips at his own stupidity as he watched Sherlock spin around and practically dance to the kitchen for coffee. He slowly closed his laptop and hung his head. When his doormate returned, John did nothing to resist his Dell being whisked away and listened as Sherlock quickly typed up his master plan.
Note: I got this idea from Tumblr user Awesomemaple. She wanted someone to write this story, and I thought it seemed like it would be fun. Go check out her blog!