John Watson sat solemnly, frowning at his laptop screen. The title of the essay flickered rudely in his face:

Describe what you did over the summer.

"I did fuck all" John sighed as he slumped down on his chair. What kind of a stupid essay title was that anyway?! And to get homework on his FIRST DAY at his new school! How ridiculous! He only agreed to go there because Harry had persuaded him. She said it was full of kids with 'high intellects' whatever that was supposed to mean. He remembered her thrusting the prospectus into his face the other week: "John! Look! There's this school down the road I found and it's really posh and all the rich kids go there but you don't have to pay, you just have to be clever and pass some exam thingy and then you'd go and it'd be awesome!"

John groaned. Why had he agreed? He could have just gone to the local secondary school, kept his head down and got no homework. But no. He had to go and pass the bloody entrance exam, be accepted to 'Chesterfield Academy for Boys' and get a stupid essay from a stupid teacher who he didn't even like. John leant back in his chair, unclenched his fists and took in a deep breath, thinking.

Right, calm down. It's not the end of the world. The school isn't too bad. You haven't even given it a chance yet, you haven't had a chance to meet anyone and you only just moved to this area last week. It's only a pathetic essay, just make it all up. That'll be easier…

John sighed heavily, wishing his mum was here. She'd have calmed him down. Sometimes he just couldn't control his anger. Especially since…

No.

John suppressed the thought, trying to covering up the fresh wound that had torn his heart apart. His mum was… she was… John covered up a sob and frantically wiped tears from his eyes.

"John, I'm sorry but… your mother is dead…"

He squeezed his eyes shut, fresh tears running down his face as he relived that moment.

"The car that hit her was going over 60mph, she died instantly."

John's body shivered and he shook his head in an attempt to shake away the memories. He attempted to forget that stone face that the policeman wore, his dad's animal like howls of sheer disbelief, his sister's arms pulling him into a sloppy hug, his tears that rolled silently down his pale cheeks. He tried to forget, but he couldn't. It had been two months since the accident. They had moved away from the area, got a small shabby apartment in Bickenhall Street in London and John had started a new school but the memories were still so fresh. He couldn't write about his summer in a pointless essay. What was he supposed to write?!

Oh my summer was spiffing, my mum got hit by a car and died so then my dad started drinking loads and Harry got arrested for underage drinking, now she has to do community service while I had to move house, leave behind all of my friends to go to a pretentious school where everyone wears a bloody waistcoat as part of their school uniform!

John closed the lid of his laptop. I'll do it tomorrow, he thought. No point trying now, he was too upset. John stood up and grabbed his jacket and mobile, he dodged past all the unpacked boxes and walked quickly down the creaky wooden stairs.

"Harry, I'm going out for a bit!"

John shouted back up the stairs. He paused in front of the door. No answer.

"Suit yourself"

John muttered. Of course she wouldn't care, she was too busy texting her girlfriend. And his dad wouldn't care; he was probably passed out drunk somewhere. John pushed the door handle and stepped out into the fresh evening wind, pulling his coat up around his neck to minimise the chill. His breath plumed out from his mouth in the cold November air and the frost on the grass crackled under his trainers as he walked.

It was only 7.30pm but the sky was dark, only illuminated by the bright lights of London. It was a bit different from the old quiet town of Witham where he used to live. John wasn't complaining, he loved the fast-paced buzz of London; it gave him a pleasant distraction. His mind could wander anywhere as he walked the streets, watching people hurry by, wondering why they were in such a rush. He liked to glance at the different people in coffee shops, chatting and laughing and all the cars roaring past. He liked the cold chill on his face and the humming of an animated city, it made him feel alive, feel like he wasn't just sitting in some dark and dank house, cleaning up empty beer bottles and tucking his own father into bed. John breathed in the musty air, relishing in the varied smells he acquired- the chicken shop, fish and chips, the odour of the old man who just brushed past, car exhaust fumes, something burning… wait… burning? John stopped and sniffed the air again. There was definitely a burning smell. But where had it come from? John wasn't all too sure where he was. He had let his mind wander; he hadn't registered his footsteps or even how long he'd been walking. John looked around at the surrounding buildings. Ok so there was a bank, fish and chip shop, chicken shop, a few clothes shops, a derelict building and an antiques shop. Wait… John squinted to the roof of the derelict building. There was a thin trail of smoke rising from the top of the building and… John stopped. He leaned closer, squinting his eyes to see against the dark backdrop of the clouds. There was… a figure. A boy. He was quite a tall boy, dark curly hair, wearing a long coat. The boy was just stood there. Staring straight ahead. Staring straight at John. John immediately averted his eyes, suddenly quite self conscious and concerned. Why was there a boy on a roof with smoke rising from it? John took a few paces forward, then glanced a look back to the building. The smoke was still rising but… the boy was gone. John shook his head, it had to be his imagination, it had to be! John double checked, triple checked but from where he was the boy had just vanished. John was going to ignore it, try and find his way home as it was approaching 8pm, he had heard bad stories of gangs in London and wasn't very keen on investigating those stories further. But he couldn't ignore what he had just seen- where had that boy gone? What was the smoke? John crossed the road and examined the derelict building. The windows were boarded up and a large red sign marked the door:

DO NOT ENTER. UNSAFE STRUCTURE.

John assessed the building and shrugged. Who cares if there are a few loose floorboards, it's all part of the adventure! John pushed the door but it wouldn't budge. He tried to remove some of the boards off the windows but with no luck. John began to get impatient. The longer he spent out here the more likely it was for the boy to have left. John tried the door again and it gave a little creak. He looked around him, no-one was watching, they were all too busy in their own lives. John leaned his shoulder against the door and with one small sharp shove, the door buckled inwards. John smiled to himself, all those years of rugby did pay off, being small didn't mean you weren't strong. John closed the door and giggled but stopped abruptly as he felt a cold weight pushed against the back of his neck.

"Don't move."

A soft deep voice commanded. John croaked "ok" and put his hands up beside his head, that's what people did in films wasn't it? John's mind was racing. It had to be a gang, a London gang, oh god he'd heard about initiation tests, Harry had warned him of the things they did… John slowed his breathing down, he couldn't risk a panic attack, he wasn't sure he had his inhaler on him. John jumped when the voice spoke again.

"What do you want?"

The voice sounded inquisitive, John couldn't tell if there was a hint of threat in the deep tones. His mind was still counting the possible ways he was going to be mutilated. He replied weakly,

"I was, just… uh… investigating…"

His excuse even sounded pathetic to him and his breathing quickened ever so slightly.

"Investigating what?"

The voice had lost the air of threat, instead it sounded… intrigued? John wasn't sure.

"I saw some smoke… and… well I was checking there wasn't… well, you know… a fire…"

John screwed up his face. Keep calm John, you'll be fine. You know your way around a fight. If they try anything…

The deep voice had got a slighter lighter tone.

"So, you weren't investigating the murder?"

Oh god, oh god, bloody hell they're gonna murder me. I'm gonna die in a crappy building in London, shit.

John took a breath and his voice pitched higher.

"Murder?!"

John's tensed shoulders were aching, his sweat was starting to soak through to his shirt collar and his hands were trembling. Then, the deep voice laughed. John opened his eyes in confusion. It was still laughing, giggling. His shoulder's dropped slightly as he felt the cold weight be pulled away from his head but jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. Instinctively John turned, the anger had built up and his fist swung round. Bring it on! He thought as he smacked the guy's face. He fell to the floor as John squared up, ready to take on the other 20 men. Wait… John looked around. The building was empty. He looked down; a figure lay on the floor in front of him, clutching a bloody nose and moaning. John's adrenaline faded, he staggered backwards and stood panting.

"What was that for!?"

The figure pushed himself up slowly off the floor. John looked at him in the darkness. He was tall but was still young looking and very skinny. He had black curly hair and a long coat… John stopped, it was the boy. The figure he saw on the roof! How was he so stupid?! The boy was stood clutching his nose with one hand, holding a thick stick in the other hand.

"Nice to meet you to!"

The boy exclaimed sarcastically, wiping blood from his upper lip. John looked incredulous.

"Well you were the one holding a gun to my head! What was I supposed to do?!"

The taller boy sighed, muttering to himself- Too much stupid in the room,

"I was holding a stick to your head. A stick! Where would I get a gun from for God's sake I'm 14! It worked though, scared you witless!"

The curly haired boy giggled and tossed the stick aside, holding his hand out to John, who was doing a very good 'fish out of water' facial expression.

"Hi, I'm Sherlock Holmes. You must be John Watson. I saw you at school earlier. You're new aren't you? Just moved to this area, judging by your clothes and the fact you were out 'exploring' the area."

The boy smiled and turned to retrieve something from the floor.

"Hydrochloric acid."

Sherlock held up half a broken test tube.

"I was testing how it reacted with different parts of a frog's body to measure the decomposition rate of an eyeball. The guts were the best, exploded my test tube though."

Sherlock frowned as he put the broken glass back on the floor, crouching down to study something else he seemed to have noticed on the dusty surface. John came to his senses and shook his head. A minute ago, he thought he was going to die, now here he was listening to a skinny curly haired boy discuss decomposing body parts!

"Sorry, what are you doing?"

John took a step forward and peered cautiously over the boy's shoulder. He looked up and grinned.

"I'm solving a murder. You wanna help?"

Sherlock returned to studying the floor, which as far as John could see had nothing on it.

"Who got murdered?"

The boy frowned and stood up, removing a pair of latex gloves from his pockets and pulling them on.

"Peter Carlton went missing. People say he ran away from home but I know he got murdered"

Sherlock crouched to the floor again and picked up a pinch of dust, sniffing it.

"How do you know?"

Sherlock stood up, pocketing the dust and the gloves.

"I just know. The same way I know that you recently lost someone close to you which is why you moved to this area. I'd say your mum by your choice of clothing. Your dad has begun drinking more and your sister is following suit, recently arrested if the dent in your finger is anything to go by, you didn't want to move here and are nervous about fitting in at school, mostly because you fear you aren't clever enough and probably because you were bullied at your previous school however you have a strong moral character and inquisitive nature, for a 14 year old you are strong and enjoy rugby and your father used to be a military man by the way you hold yourself. You show little fear in the face of danger, or the face of a stick and are naturally sociable, although you don't like to admit it. How am I doing so far?"

John stood with his mouth open. Sherlock looked at him for approval, eyes glimmering in the dull light.

"Uh… that was… incredible!"

John's face broke into a smile as Sherlock's changed into confusion.

"Really?"

John nodded.

"Yeah! How did you know all that about me?!"

Sherlock's lips turned into a slight smile.

"I just observed. Obvious really."

Sherlock looked at John quizzically. This boy was the same age as him, shorter but with a stockier build. He'd had enough courage to enter an abandoned building in the night and was brave enough to start a fight (as Sherlock's nose reminded him by throbbing continuously) yet he had this shyness about him.

John looked at Sherlock. He hadn't remembered seeing this boy at school but based on what he had just said about John he wouldn't be surprised if he had only passed him in a corridor. He was clever, immensely clever and had been solving a murder and doing chemistry in an abandoned building. He was a puzzle. John saw Sherlock wrinkle his nose and felt guilty for hitting him. He looked down at the floor.

"Sorry about your nose."

Sherlock chuckled.

"No problem. You weren't to know I wasn't a gang leader who was going to murder you and cut your arms off."

John smirked.

"I still don't know if you are…"

Sherlock grinned and stepped towards John who screamed in mock horror, creating a cross with his fingers as if Sherlock was a vampire. Sherlock stepped back and pretended to melt to the floor as John doubled over with laughter.

"You're mental!"

John strained out between giggles. Sherlock chuckled.

"Nope, I'm just intelligent."

The boy's giggled and stood, staring at each other awkwardly in the darkness. Sherlock turned and walked towards the door.

"I'd better be going, watch out for evil vampire gang leaders…"

John smiled.

"Watch out for hydrochloric acid and frogs guts."

Sherlock grinned and stopped opening the door halfway.

"Did you, maybe want to help me? Like investigate the murder and stuff? We could walk here after school together?"

John nodded. He realised he hadn't made a friend and definitely wanted an excuse to be out of the house. Sherlock seemed nice enough.

"Sure. I'll see you tomorrow, at school."

Sherlock smiled and turned to leave.

"See you tomorrow."

Sherlock opened the door and started to make his way out but felt something press against the back of his neck.

"Don't move."

John said in a deep grumbling voice, giggling afterwards. Sherlock's nose twitched as if to remind him of its discomfort. Sherlock's lips turned into a mischievous grin, he turned, punching John hard on the nose. John staggered backwards, holding his bleeding nose. Sherlock patted John's back smiling.

"Now we're even, see you tomorrow John Watson."

John stood up straight, wiping his nose and grinning as Sherlock walked out of the door.

"See you tomorrow, Sherlock Holmes!"