"No, no! Detective, you don't understand!" Sherlock Holmes yelled into his phone, opening the dorm room door with enough force to dislocate his shoulder if he wasn't careful. "I can help - " The line went dead. "- you."

Cursing softly under his breath, Sherlock glared down at his phone, blaming it for other people's incompetence. Greg! His eyes widened instantly and an almost blinding smile appeared on his face. He grabbed his coat (more out of habit than necessity since Greg's room was only one floor down, exactly bellow Sherlock's) then ran out of the room.

The wind was suddenly knocked out of Sherlock and he fell backwards, letting out a rather embarrassing yelp as his back hit the floor. He stared up at the ceiling, squinting his eyes, briefly wondering why everything was suddenly spinning around him.

"Oh my God!" Someone close to Sherlock said. "I am so s-sorry! I didn't see you! You came out of nowhere!"

Bright blue eyes suddenly appeared in Sherlock's line of view, peering down at him worriedly. The sudden proximity took Sherlock by surprise and he pushed the other boy off of him a little too forcefully as he stood up. "I came out of my room. You," Sherlock looked down at the other boy, pointing an accusing finger at him. "should look where you're going."

The other boy had the good graces too flush and look mildly embarrassed and Sherlock did not, DID NOT, feel anything weird in his stomach. Not a thing. Nada.

There were a few snickers and whispers from all around them and Sherlock realized they've attracted an audience. The other boy must have realized it as well because his flush turned into a darker shade of red and he looked down at the floor, busying himself with gathering his books off the floor.

Sherlock turned, shooting a glare at anyone brave enough to meet his eyes.."What are you all looking at?" He barked and everyone, except for the blue eyed boy who was still moving about nervously, fell quiet; then, as if someone had turned a switch, people either looked away and pretended to have conversations or they walked away quickly, not eager to have the wrath of Sherlock Holmes a.k.a 'The Freak" turned onto them.

With everyone's attention off of them, Sherlock turned back around and looked down at the blue eyed boy. He looked flustered and Sherlock didn't miss the slight tremor in his hand, (possibly from nerves? He must be new here. Transfer student? Possibly. Need more data.) Sherlock froze. No, no more data. He should go, leave. Wasn't there something important that he needed to do? Yes! Greg! He must speak to Greg! About what? The case, of course! He shook his head and bent down to snatch his coat the exact moment the blue eyed boy decided to look up.

The boy's face decided to turn scarlet once more and Sherlock cleared his throat, straightening up, and dusting off his coat while trying his best not to get caught staring at the other boy. He had been told it could make people uncomfortable. And God knows, being even more uncomfortable was the last thing this boy needed.

Sherlock watched as he dumped his books and other belongings in a rather large box then he stood up, clearing his throat and taking a piece of paper out of his left pocket. Why was Sherlock still there? He tried to move (away or closer, he didn't know) but his legs didn't seem to cooperate with him.

The boy, whose name still eluded Sherlock, swallowed hard, unfolding the paper, his brow furrowing before looking up at Sherlock, almost shyly.

"Uh..uhm, excuse me." He started as if Sherlock was about to run away any second."D-Do you happen to know where the room 221B is? I...I might have gotten lost." He scratched the back of his neck, letting out a nervous chuckle.

"What?!" Sherlock's eyes widened, his whole body tensing as he snatched the paper away from the other boy to read it, angrily. The boy didn't flinch (like Sherlock had expected) but he did tense up at Sherlock's sudden outburst.

It was a confirmation slip. With the boy's name, John Watson, Sherlock noticed, what program he was in, his schedule, and last but not least, his room accommodations. 221B. Sherlock's room. No, no, no, NO! They promised! They promised this year would be different! No roommate!

Sherlock took in a deep breath, forcing his body and mind to relax. Other pressing matters took precedence at the moment. He couldn't let himself get distracted.

John was starting to look at Sherlock as if he had grown two heads and wasn't sure if he should stay or run as far away from him as he could.

Sherlock let out a sigh and fished a key out of his pocket then thrust it into John's hands along with the piece of paper. "I'll deal with you later." He turned to leave then stopped and fixed John with a cold glare. "Don't. Touch. Anything."

Confusion and weariness passed over the boy's features and he nodded silently, looking from Sherlock down to the key in his hand. The key had 221B engraved on it and while John turned away from Sherlock to look at the room behind him, Sherlock hurried away to find Greg. Then he'll have a chat with the principal. He hoped this John Watson would not make himself too comfortable in his room by the time he got back to, undoubtedly, throw him back out.

John Watson pushed the door open to 221B and peered inside. The place looked...Well, there was only way way to describe it. Cluttered. And even that was a possible understatement. Christ, where was he supposed to put all his stuff? Granted, he didn't have a lot of stuff. But this room looked, well, like there wasn't any space left for him.

"Hey, where - " John turned around and found himself alone, the other boy, John only now realized he didn't know his name, had taken off.

With a sigh and a soft grunt, John picked up his box and put it inside the room. He meant to put it on the side that wasn't the other boy's but...everything was the other boy's so he settled on putting it down right next to the door.

Only then did it dawn on him that the room appeared to only have one single bed. How the hell did he not notice that before?! Shaking his head, he closed the door, careful not to lock it in case his roommate came back, though he doubted it.

Then, having nothing else to do,(well that wasn't exactly true. Classes started in less than 48 hours, so he had a lot to do, but he was tired and lazy) John toed off his shoes and started towards the bed. He had a vague recollection of his roommate's glare and a threat not to touch his stuff or else; but John had no intention on sitting on the floor like a bloody dog until his...his master returned. So the bed it was.

Falling face first on his roommate's neatly made bed, John started moving around it messing it up. He grabbed the pillow and punched it a couple of times before settling back down, on his back, staring at the ceiling. He didn't know why but he had a feeling his roommate would hate the state of his bed when he decided to come back. And for some reason that made John smile.

One loud knock then..."Greg, I need to -" He stopped in his tracks, taking in the scene before him with obvious disdain before averting his gaze to the ceiling and letting out a loud sigh, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" Greg Lestrade jumped out of bed, surprise, shock and finally anger all morphing into one raging expression as he glared at Sherlock. "There's a shirt on the bloody knob for a reason! I explained this to you!"

Sherlock waved his hand, his gaze stuck on the ceiling. "Greg, please tell your lady...friend to cover up. At this rate I'm really going to hurt my neck and considering I need it to carry my head, I'm quite fond of it."

"Sherlock get out. Now."

The woman in the bed, much older than Greg, Sherlock noticed, covered herself up just as Sherlock turned to look at his friend. There was some more movement coming from that area but neither man paid it any attention.

'There's hardly any point for me to leave now." Sherlock said after a rather tense staring match. His eyes flicked over to the woman in the bed, now texting on her phone. Greg followed his eyes and sighed, his head falling forward, defeated.

Sherlock : 1 Libido : 0

With Greg off to take a quick shower. ("Why do you need a shower? All I want you to do is call -" "Sherlock, enough! You're lucky you didn't get punched. I'm going to have a shower and that's that.." "What am I supposed to do?!" "Sit down and shut up!") Sherlock was left alone with the naked woman. He sat down, tensely, at the desk, looking out the window. After five minutes or so, the woman pushed the covers to the side and got up, walking over to Sherlock.

Sherlock clenched his jaw, his fingernails digging into the palm of his hand hard enough to draw blood in order to stop himself from jumping up to his feet and getting the hell away from there, from her. The case was important. Definitely more important than his comfort.

"Something I can do for you, darling?" She reached out to touch his cheek and he had to use every ounce of his self control not to move away. Instead he looked up, his eyes focused entirely on her face.

"He knows, you know." Her smile falters just a fraction and her hand drops back to her side. That's all he needs. Pushing his chair back, he stands up and moves to the other side of the room, trying not to shudder.

If she notices his...discomfort, she doesn't let on. Instead, she sits down where he sat previously, crossing one leg over the other, smiling at him.

God, how can she sit there like that? Has this woman gone completely mad? Doesn't she care about germs? My god, what else did she touch that I've touched as well?

Sherlock's eyes traveled around the room until they settled on the doorknob. He couldn't stop the shudder then. Even though he'd used Greg's shirt when he opened the door, he knew that he'd spend the better part of the evening scrubbing himself clean.

"Your husband." Sherlock says suddenly, in an attempt to silence his thoughts. 'He knows about your...about this. What you do."

"Yes, he does." His words wiped that smile right off her face but she still seemed relaxed.

"He doesn't mind?"

"Maybe, maybe not." She chuckles, hoping it'd hide her discomfort. "What do you care, dear?"

"I'm not your 'dear', please don't call me that." Sherlock starts to pace around the small room, careful not to touch the bed, the door, or get too close to this...this woman.

Seeing that her advances on Sherlock weren't working, she stands up, in no mood for games any longer. "What my husband and I do is none of your concern, Mr. Holmes."

"You know my name."

"Please, " She scoffs, walking to the bed to(thank the heavens) get dressed. "Everyone on campus knows your name. Sherlock Holmes solving cold cases, doing weird experiments in the middle of the night, blowing things up because he's bored. I know all about you," She turns to look at him when she's done dressing, picks up her purse and jewelry then walks to the door.

"Your husband is a professor, here at the university." He turns towards her, his eyes trailing up and down every inch of her, taking in as much information about her as possible.

He can see the moment she freezer up, tensing, ready to run away.

"You made a deal with each other." He continues, his look one of detachment as he makes his observations. "He lets you...sleep around and you..." He frowns, narrowing his eyes. "You let him do whatever he want to you after, is that it?"

She says nothing, but even if she would have, Sherlock probably wouldn't have heard her. "Tell me, how long do you think a spanking or letting him choke you until you can feel the life leaving your body will suffice before he transfers to more...violent and permanent punishments?"

He walks toward her, stopping just behind her, pushing her long hair to the side, revealing large, finger marks. "He's gotten more rough lately, hasn't he?" He asks softly, watching her face intently. After a pause, she finally nods, swallowing hard but not looking at him.

"You used to like it. The possessiveness. It made you feel safe, wanted, loved, cared for." She nods again and he continues. "Then something changed. One day everything was fine and then the next, it was like he snapped. He started making you do things you weren't comfortable with. Things you hated it. It's why you...moved to younger men after a while. More inexperienced." He paused. "Well, some. More gentle. You're older so they're bound to let you have control if you wish it. Control you can't have at home."

He pushed back from her and took out a business card. "I want you to call this number when you feel you're in danger. Just mention my name, Sherlock Holmes, give your address and everything will be taken care off."

She turned around to face him, an unreadable expression in her teary eyes. He waited, patiently, his arm extended towards her. She must have seen something in his face because a second later, she took the card and ran out of there without another word, bumping into Greg in the hallway.

"What the hell did you do to her, Sherlock?!" Greg walked inside the room, closing the door after him.

"Saved her life, actually. If she does decide to call. It's fortunate they don't have kids..."

Greg frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sherlock shook his head and waved the question away. "Nothing." He grabbed Greg's phone off his desk and threw it at him. "Your brother's the detective working on the Doyle case, right?"

Greg rubbed his eyes, sighing softly. "I don't know, Sherlock."

"He is." Greg looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and he shrugged. "I checked. I need you to call in another favor. They won't listen to me. Even though they know I'm right. It's so obvious!"

Greg sat down on the bed and Sherlock sighed in relief that at least it wasn't that damned chair."Sherlock I had to wash my brother's car the whole summer for that bloody favor! I'm not doing it again!"

"I'll wash the bloody car!" Sherlock answered angrily. "A man's life is hanging in the balance and all you care about is what you'll have to do as punishment! You know they're considering the death penalty." Sherlock saw Greg's expression drop and he knew he had him. "You'll have that hanging over your head for the rest of your life. Just because you wouldn't wash a bloody car."

Greg glared at him. "I hate you." And called his brother.

Sherlock smiled, waiting impatiently until Greg gave David Lestrade all the details and just asked him to trust him on this one.

Greg and his brother ended up talking some more and Sherlock slipped out of the room just as Greg shouted at his phone. "I AM NOT DOING YOUR LAUNDRY FOR A FULL YEAR." A pause and then. "SHERLOCK HOLMES YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!"

Sherlock closed the door after him, a small smile playing on his lips. Of course, that was short lived once he remember his next appointment. The principal.

When Sherlock Holmes round the corner to the principal's office there are at least 20 or 30 people waiting in line.

"Oh for God's sake!"

He pushes past all of them, ignoring glares and protests until he got to the second person in line. A much stronger and bigger looking boy than Sherlock, certainly. He didn't doubt for one second that this boy could lift him up and throw him to the back of the line if he put his mind to it. Nevertheless, he refused to show fear so he stood his ground when said boy turned to glare at him, his mouth opening to possibly threaten him but Sherlock beat him to it. He leaned in close and whispered.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You will let me take your place or I will make sure to let your dear mummy know what his darling little boy has been up to. Doing drugs, drinking and most importantly shagging outside of wedlock would break your mummy's heart wouldn't it?" The boy's eyes widened in shock. "I'm sure she'll never forgive you or let you live it down; with her being religious and all..."

The boy simply stared at Sherlock, his skin flushed with anger and embarrassment since Sherlock spoke loudly enough for people behind them to hear. But he took a step back, letting Sherlock in his place.

"So glad we understand each other." Sherlock replied smugly as he stepped into the line.

" .Dead." A rather foul breath whispered in his ear a moment later and Sherlock rolled his eyes, tensing from the need to move away.

"If I got a dollar for every time I heard that..."

Before the foul mouthed boy had a chance to reply, it was Sherlock's turn to talk to the secretary. Her smile fell instantly off her face when she caught sight of Sherlock then she sighed. "Mr. Holmes. I don't know why I'm even surprised to see you here."

"I need to speak with the principal."

"She's busy." The secretary almost snapped, making her dislike of Sherlock quite obvious. Although, who could blame the poor woman. He had almost blown up half the school in his first year there...

"It'll only take a moment."

"Mister Holmes, please. I haven't the time to take care of your little quirks right now. The principal isn't in but I will make sure to let you know as soon as she's available. NEXT!"

Sherlock sighed and was about to leave when he noticed movement out of the corner of his right eye. He turned to see the principal's office door was ajar and...there it was again! Someone was in there!

He scoffed and started for the principal's office. Do they honestly think they can lie to me? Idiots...

Just as he was about to enter, the secretary noticed him and yelled after him. "Sherlock Holmes, you get away from there!"

Sherlock, of course, ignored her and pushed the door all the way open, standing in the doorway, looking inside. He was starting to regret taking his coat with him. He was growing tired of carrying it around all over the place.

Mrs. Hudson, the principal, was looking through some student files and when she looked up she didn't even seem surprised to see him. "Ah, Mr. Holmes. Please, come in."

"Mrs. Hudson," The secretary, slightly out of breath (due to her weight, Sherlock decided), glared at Sherlock and shot an apologetic look at the principal. "I told him you weren't in, I apologize..."

"That's alright, Miss. Umbridge." Mrs. Hudson walked around her desk, leaning against it, motioning to Sherlock to sit down while dismissing the secretary with only a look.

Mrs. Hudson waited until the door closed with a soft click before turning her attention to the student before her, looking at him with a fond but slightly exasperated expression on her face. "John Watson is staying with you, Mr. Holmes."

"But..!" Sherlock straightened in his chair, looking outraged.

"No buts, Mr. Holmes. I'm sorry, really but I simply haven't gotten anywhere else to put him. He transferred here at the last minute -"

"No!" Sherlock shot up to his feet, his hands clenched at his sides as he paced around the room furiously. "You promised! I was there when you made the deal with my brother! No more unauthorized experiments for the luxury of living alone."

Mrs. Hudson raised a single eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "And? Have you kept your part of the deal?"

"Yes, of course -"

"Don't lie to me, Mr. Holmes." She warned and Sherlock's mouth clamped shut. He huffed, his gaze shooting down to the ground. "A man's life depended on it. I had to -"

She held up her hand even though Sherlock didn't see it. "I don't want to know the details." She pushed up from her desk and walked over until she was standing in front of Sherlock. She had to tilt her head back to look at Sherlock properly and Sherlock couldn't help but wonder how a woman of her size could look so...intimidating.

"I'll forget all about your breach of our deal and you will do this one thing for me, Sherlock. Sound good?" When Sherlock didn't answer, she went on. "I'll allow experiments over the weekend?"

Sherlock didn't smile or jump up and down in excitement but the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were barely suppressing a smile and Mrs. Hudson knew she had him. "Off you go now. I've got paperwork to do and you've...well, you've got a new roommate to terrorize, don't you?"