Ch. 1
I try my best to smile as the camera flashes. My mum is clinging onto my arm, crying into the new jumper she bought me for school.
"My baby is going to school." She blubbers, and I give her a reassuring pat on the back, which my dad catches immediately with his camera.
I suppose it's natural for parents to cry on their kid's first day of school, but this usually happens when the kid is five. I'm 16, and until today, I was home-schooled. I know what you're thinking, home-school kids are freaks, or are super religious. But my family's not like that. We're pretty normal, except for the fact that I grew up in Afghanistan. My father was in the military, and so we spent the last four years living nearby the army base where my dad was stationed. But now his years of active duty are up, and we're back to living in London. Well, most of us. My older sister, Harry, decided to go to Uni in America.
A few pictures later, and the three of us are piled in a car on the way to my new school, St. Bart's Prep. It's only a few blocks away, but my parents insist upon bringing me there themselves.
"I know you'll make us proud, John." My dad says as they pull up in front of St. Bart's.
"Thanks dad. I'll see you guys after school." I say, getting out of the car, flinging my bag over my shoulder. I walk quickly to the school, avoiding the groups of people I see waiting on the lawn. It's not that I didn't want to socialise, I just wanted to get to my first class before school started.
It didn't take me long to find my first class of the day: Advanced Biology with Dr. Hooper. The classroom was almost full, and I looked around quickly, trying to figure out which seat to take. My eyes landed on the closest seat, and I made a beeline towards it.
"You don't want to sit there." I hear a voice say, and I looked for the source. Two guys a couple seats down were looking back at me with identical grin's on their faces. Both of them were brunette, but the slimmer of the two was already starting to go silver. "Sally Donovan sits there. It's right next to her boyfriend, Mark Anderson, and they spend their time getting to know each other better." The one with the brown and silver hair boy continued.
"Getting to know each other?" I was confused. Did they talk turning class?
"Making out." The other says with a hearty chuckle. I cough in mortification, heading for a different seat.
"Oh god, not there!" The brown and silver haired boy says. "Henry Knight sits there, and he has night terrors when he sleeps."
Sure enough, the boy named Henry looked as though he were about to doze off. I walk away from him quickly, choosing to sit next to the two boys instead.
"Good choice. My name is Greg Lestrade." The boy with the brown and silver hair said, a grin on his face. "And that's Mike Stamford." He pointed to the larger boy, who waved.
"Nice to meet you. I'm John Watson." I introduce myself, shaking their hands.
"You're new, aren't you?" Mike says, and I nod.
"Moved here from Afghanistan. My dad was in the army." I explain quickly, "We lived there for four years…so since I was 12."
"12? That means you're 16 now." Mike is clearly surprised. "What are you doing in an advanced bio class?"
"I've always been really good at biology." I say with a shrug. "Best in my class…then again, I was home-schooled." Mike laughs at my lame joke, which in turn makes Greg and I grin.
"Sorry to say you won't be the best anymore." Greg says as Mike calms down. "We've got a genius in the class."
"A genius?" I smirk. Clearly they're having me on.
"Yeah, his name is Sherlock Holmes. He's brilliant, and also a psychopath." Mike rolls his eyes.
"I'm not a psychopath, Stamford, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." A cold voice says from behind me. I watch Mike wince before I turn around to see the owner of the voice. He's tall, with pale skin and dark curls. What really catches my attention is his eyes. They're an impossible shade of blue, or possibly green.
"Hi, I'm John Watson." I say with a grin. Sherlock grimaces at me as if I've made a fashion faux-pas. Which I might have, I don't really know.
"Introductions?" He sneers. "How tedious. Another boring student in this miserable system our government calls education." He moves to the chair behind me, sitting unceremoniously.
"I'm not boring." I say, turning to look at him. "You don't even know me."
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Greg and Mike making faces. Apparently I've done something wrong, but I can't imagine what.
"I know you're a transfer student. Your father served in the military in either Afghanistan or Iraq. Unsure of which, but it doesn't matter at the moment. You're the second child, you have an elder brother who's already left for university, living far enough away that you rarely see him. Most likely out of the country. Your ambition is to be like your father, a hero in the army. Most likely a medical doctor out there."
My jaw drops, and I stare at him in amazement. An odd look crosses his face, as though he's preparing for me to attack him.
"That was amazing!" I said, laughing slightly. "You got everything right. How did you know all that stuff?"
Sherlock gives me a half smile before replying. "Your tan. It's dark, but it stops at the wrist. You weren't on vacation. Your bag, which is a military standard, has a name on it: 'Harry'. That isn't your name, unlikely your fathers judging by the writing style. So, elder brother. The way you walk also suggests youngest child, but you have a confidence about you that hints at only child. Therefore, your brother just moved away, likely to Uni. As for your ambitions, it's clear in the way you sit. It's influenced by the military. You had positive experiences. The medical doctor was a shot in the dark, but a good one. All your extracurricular classes point towards an interest in medicine."
"Incredible." I say.
"You think so?" Sherlock looks pleased.
"Of course it was incredible." I chuckle, slightly.
"That's not what most people say." Sherlock says, watching me as if he's revaluating my worth.
"What do most people say?" I ask.
"Piss off." Sherlock responds, a wry smile on his face. "So, was I correct about everything?"
"Nearly." I smile at the surprised look on Sherlock's face. "Harry is short for Harriet."
During lunchtime I found myself sitting with Greg and Mike at a table by the wall. They were currently going over where every clique sat, though I could hardly pay attention.
"Where does Sherlock sit?" I blurt out, causing both boys to look at me.
"Sherlock rarely comes to lunch." Mike says finally. "And the only time he does, he sits with the Plastics."
"Plastics?" I give Mike a confused look.
"They're the most popular guys in school." Greg explains, pointing over to a table where three guys sat. "They're on the rugby team, and whatever they say or do is basically law."
"The short, dark haired one is Jim Moriarty." Mike says. "He's super cute, and super dumb. He's from Ireland, though, so all the girls and guys like him."
"The tall blond is Sebastian Moran." Greg picked up, pointing to a nasty looking boy. "His parents are really rich. I think his dad invented a new bomb or something."
"And who's the last one?" I ask, pointing at the one whose name I didn't know. He had light brown hair, tanned skin, and bright, white teeth. He was about as tall as Sherlock, and just as handsome.
"That's Victor Trevor." Mike says. "He's the leader of their little group."
"And he's Sherlock's on-again off-again boyfriend." Greg says. "Victor is quite attached to Sherlock, so I wouldn't make any moves."
"Make any…no!" I go red from embarrassment. "It's not like that."
"Shut up, yes it is." Mike grins at me, and I toss a roll at his face.
"Just be careful." Greg laughs. "Victor isn't afraid to get dirty to get what he wants. I would stay away from him."
A/N: Oh my god, what have I done? I kept seeing Sherlock Holmes/Mean Girls gif sets, and I couldn't get it out of my brain, so I accidentally fic'd it. Oops.
If you read all that, have a cookie. You've earned it, you masochist, you.
All my love,
Robottko