Authors Note: HEYO! XD Please tell me what you think; I would love to know XD I own nothing and no one, apart from the following: Fredrik Jones, Theodore Wells.

JUST SO YOU KNOW: This is my first attempt at Sherlock and Johnlock, so please be kind!

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ALSO: I made up first and middle names for certain characters, just so I had something to work with.

Chapter 1

Sherlock

Thursday, 28th August 2014.

A dreadful day, if I do say so myself. One mustn't...

Oh, fuck it!

I'm in my head. Mummy and Daddy can't berate me for not talking like a posh prat like Mycroft. I don't really see the point, to be honest!

If I ever had kids of my own, I was going to make sure they had such a better childhood than me.

Fuck being part of the wealthiest family in the country – not including the Royal Family! As long as my kids were happy and healthy, that's all I cared about.

But, first, there had to be someone who wanted to be with me.

That was why we were on the Watson Estate, heading towards the 'mansion'.

The Watson family were the second wealthiest family, after the Holmes family... Mother and Father thought it would be a great opportunity – one the just couldn't pass up, or talk to me about.

And, of course, Mycroft loved every minute of it.

"Now, Sherly, do cheer up." Mycroft (18) smirked, using the 'nickname' I loathed. "Mummy and Daddy have worked hard to arrange this."

"Just because I do not wish to go through with this Myc-y, does not mean I must pretend to show emotion." I spat. "My time could be spent better elsewhere."

Mycroft's grin only grew.

If I had my violin, I would have definitely used it to send him away. It was fairly easy if I deliberately misplayed chords.

But, for now, I just had to make do with tripping him up so he collapsed to the ground.

"Have a nice fall, brother?" I asked, suppressing a grin.

I may have walked faster so he couldn't get his revenge.

Of course, Mycroft would never do anything in front of 'Mummy and Daddy'. Oh no, never... I guess sometimes it paid off to have those two around. Not that I would ever say that out loud.

"Mycroft! Sherlock!" the two called from further ahead. "Stop dawdling!"

I repressed an eye roll, deciding that at this moment it would be better for all involved to just do as my parents said.

Nobody liked it when they got angry...

The mansion overall was fairly similar to ours in structure, of course the placement of the rooms were different. This was to be expected, of course.

The guy showing us towards the living area was Fredrik Jones. Fifty-two, working class family who had been working for the Watsons for generations. Two siblings: one older brother and a younger sister, the brother had died almost a decade ago. Limp caused by numerous hours spent on his feet, most likely started early in his life and was seemingly unnoticeable to him now. Happily married to his wife, had five children, six grandchildren, one great-grandchild on the way. Apparently doesn't hide behind a false cover – lucky man... – acting the way he does every day at work.

Dull.

Fredrik seemed like a nice guy... But you never could be too careful. I mean, if you didn't know them, my family could be nice. Of course, I – and some of the others who knew them – knew differently.

I think it was fair for me to be wary. Especially of people I did not know.

The living area – why couldn't people call it living room?! – was to the back of the house, overlooking the garden. I would admit that it looked lovely out there...of course, again, I would never admit that out loud.

The room itself was large – just smaller than ours – decorated simply. An open fireplace, large TV, books, ornaments, pictures...the works. Even flowers and plants were dotted around the room.

Homier than anything I had seen before.

Standing in view of the doorway were four people – Geoffrey (45), Philomena (44), Harriet (18) and John (17). Also known as The Watsons.

As my parents and brother went to greet the owners of the house, I hung back as best I could. Human contact and social whatever's weren't my thing. Never were, never would be.

I preferred being by myself.

And, hopefully, the Watsons would realise that and leave me be whenever I was dragged to their home or they came to ours.

Looking around, I could tell that the Watsons, even though their home was far more extravagant than the majority of people in the country, were simplistic people. Many of the things I had seen in the house were, obviously, family heirlooms and gifts from family and friends. They only spent money on things they needed and gifts for holidays, as well as other things that held sentiment for them. Many of the pictures around the house were of family, some painted by family members and friends, so they obviously didn't see the need for the dull art that were sold for a ridiculous sum of money.

I would have gone on with my findings, if I didn't realise at that moment that I was actually speaking out loud and not in my head. The wide eyed looks from the Watsons, the glares from my parents and the exasperated expression on Mycroft's face was enough to let me in on that little fact.

"Well, it is true." I muttered, clasping my hands behind my back, straightening my spine as I looked to my right and out of the large window.

With the amount of practise I had, it was as easy as breathing for me to act like this. To act like a cold, heartless machine. You needed that kind of front when you had a family like mine.

"I'm terribly sorry; Sherlock can be such a darling. Sometimes he just forgets himself and that it's not appropriate to act in certain ways." Mother – Wanda Holmes – apologised, giving me a hard look before turning back and smiling sweetly at the Watson's.

"He's a smart boy, of course. Some things escape his mind, on occasion." Father – Timothy Holmes – added.

And so it began.

While the parents talked, the four of us – Harriet, Mycroft, John and I – had been told to, basically, piss off. Of course the wording was far more sophisticated and polite than that.

That's how I found myself in the conservatory that overlooked a different part of the garden, with two people I did not know and one I despised. Of course, this didn't stop the eldest Watson from staring at me, not even trying to hide it. The youngest was far more subtle, though still obvious.

While John, attempted, to engage my brother in a conversation, I stuck with trying to keep myself as far away from them as possible, staring out of the glass with my hands clasped behind my back.

"So, you're some sort of genius?" Harriet asked, still staring at me.

"Yes." I replied, not glancing at her.

"How did you guess...?"

"I don't guess, I deduce."

In the reflection of the mirror, I noticed her thoughtful expression as she nodded a little.

Mycroft stayed surprisingly quiet, though there was no doubt that he would open that cake hole of his. Honestly, he thought that I wouldn't notice him breaking his diet, when it was obvious to anyone.

"Deduce me." she said, leaning back on the sofa she was sitting on, arms stretched across the back.

It was then that I noticed John had stopped trying to talk to my brother and was now listening intently to our conversation.

"Repeat that?" I asked, frowning, turning around to face her.

"Deduce me." Harriet shrugged. "I wanna see what you can do."

Well, that's a first.

Nodding a little, I let myself look over her.

"Harriet Amelia Watson, eighteen years old. I won't bore you with the obvious: siblings, parents, etcetera." I started, shoving my hands into the pockets of my trousers. "Light tan from a recent holiday, I say to Spain, but you stayed inside and out of the sun for the majority of the trip."

I noticed that Harriet and John grew more and more interested as I continued to talk – Harriet leaning forward in her seat, while John moved over to the sofa his sister was on and sat down next to her.

"You dance – break dance, hip-hop – nothing classical. I will agree it's very dull. No musical talent, not artistic, nor are you into writing. You prefer to read, funnily enough. Fantasy mainly, the common choice, easily identifiable by your earrings." I added.

Harriet's eyes grew wide, looking over to John before staring back at me. She nodded a little, swallowing and just continued to stare at me.

This was turning out to be even more interesting than I originally thought.

"Tomboy, obviously, which is why you prefer to be called Harry, also lesbian. Parents were surprised, but supported you anyway and you told your brother before them because you knew he would accept you, giving you the confidence and back up while coming out to them." I continued. "Clara, your girlfriend – obvious by the inscription on your phone case – is the opposite of you. She likes pink and the girly things, but that's one of the reasons you like her so much. The bracelet on your right wrist, the necklace you're wearing now and the scarf you have in place of a belt are all gifts from her, girlier than anything you usually wear, but you do because they're from her. When you find yourself fighting the call of too much alcohol, you look at or play with one of them to remind yourself not to drink, something you're doing right now. Even though you have a supportive family that are helping you, Clara is always the one who pulls you back from the edge. She really is special to you, isn't she? Hm, sentiment is a strange thing."

I was waiting for the inevitable. The moment of outrage where I would be told to 'piss off', like so many others had told me before.

Or a punch in the face, which some had tried – and failed – to do as well.

Of course, I wasn't expecting what happened next.

"That. Was amazing." John grinned, the words almost pulled from him.

Harriet, on the other hand, just left the room – most likely calling Clara, considering the way she was clinging to her phone.

"You think so?" I frowned, just as Harriet left the room.

"Of course it was." John grinned. "Extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

He laughed, still grinning away...

It was a strange feeling.

It was an hour, thirty five minutes and forty two seconds later when Mycroft, Harriet, John and I returned to the living room to face our parents.

Mother and Father were grinning, so obviously the Watson's had agreed to the 'arrangement'. I sighed, closing my eyes for a second, before straightening my posture and raising my chin, hands still clasped behind my back.

No matter how uncomfortable and irritating it was – being still was always the worst thing for me to do.

Mother, Father and the Watson's explained what would happen. Of course, I had already known. The arranged 'partnership' between John and myself – yes, they expected us to be together – was to proceed and we were, obviously, to get to know each other. This would happen by one of us living with the other family. They would then expect us to, in the future, be married...

This was only convenient for my parents and I obviously did not get a say in the matter. The Watsons were under the assumption that I had already agreed to this deal.

"Of course we'll visit you during the holidays and on your birthday, Sherlock." Father told me as the explanation came to an end.

"Oh, when is your birthday, Sherlock, dear?" Philomena – Mrs Watson – asked, smiling kindly.

Looking at each person in turn, noting the curious gazes of the Watsons and bored ones of my family, I sighed and stared at the floor in front of me.

"...Today... Today is my birthday." I muttered, already feeling the shame pool in my stomach.

"He's just turned sixteen, isn't that wonderful?!" Mother grinned, the joy on her face being that she got to get rid of me and nothing else. "Oh, look at the time, we're late. Someone will be by with your things shortly. Be good, Sherlock."

And with that the three of them just...left.

I stared after them, eyes wide, my shoulders hunching.

They said nothing about leaving me today! That wasn't how it happened!

But what could I do?

Bemused, I watched as Mycroft looked over his shoulder at me. For a moment, I thought it was going to happen; the old Mycroft would come back... But all he did was stare down his nose at me, following after Mother and Father like the 'good boy' he was.

Gritting my teeth and clenching my jaw, I glared at the floor, trying to hide and fight back the wave of hurt. I mean, I should be used to this already... I did have to put up with it for sixteen years of my pitiful existence.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed John looking at my left hand.

Glancing at it myself, I noticed that I did it again. I suppose it was a nervous habit, bunching up the end of my left sleeve and gripping it tightly in that hand. Mother and Father had always been annoyed at my doing so, couldn't stand it.

As soon as I noticed, I released the sleeve, gripping my hands behind my back again.

I heard the front door close, the sound notifying that my parents had left... I was alone with these people that I barely knew, stuck with them.

This was not going to go well...

Standing there, in the middle of the room, I didn't know what to do.

Being left here was not what I thought would happen today...

It wasn't the fact that it was on my birthday. We never actually celebrated the damn thing anyway, so why make a big fuss over it? Yeah, I knew sixteen was 'one of the big ones', but when you've gone your whole life with your birthday being just another day then you lean to just not care.

It was the same with Christmas and Halloween.

Risking a glance at the people I would now be spending everyday with, I noticed the contained furious expressions on Mr and Mrs Watson's faces... John and Harriet were surprised and shocked... Though there was something else mixed in with John's expression – something I couldn't identify... But I couldn't understand why. Well, I knew why, but I couldn't...you know?

Sighing, I folded my arms over my chest, backing up slightly.

I really did not want to be here right now.

Mr Watson cleared his throat a little, opening his mouth to speak. Of course, before he could say anything, the front door opened again.

"Hello! Anybody home?!" a familiar voice called.

Before I even realised what I was doing, I ran as fast as I could out of that living room and towards the entrance to the house.

The walls were just a blur of beige, the pictures and flowers a blur of random colours... A small smile slipped onto my face as I skidded around corners and dodged past a numerous amount if people on the way.

And then, just as I turned another corner, she was there.

"Mrs Hudson!" I grinned, running over to the slightly elderly woman.

"Sherlock?" she gasped, surprised, smiling all the same, placing her hands on my shoulders lightly. "Oh, look at you! All grown up! What are you doing here?"

"Mother. Father. Business. They left five minutes and thirty eight seconds ago."

"They did that business, on your birthday? You poor dear! Come on, I'll make you some nice tea. Black, two sugars?"

"You know me so well, Mrs Hudson."

At least there was a familiar face here.

Mrs Hudson used to work for my parents, in the house. She looked after Mycroft and me. Of course, Mycroft – after a certain point – didn't like that. I, on the other hand, was always quite fond of Mrs Hudson. She was the only one that cared. She would often make me tea and we'd sit and talk. Well, we'd sit until I couldn't keep still and then we'd walk around the gardens.

Mother and Father didn't like that was becoming quite close with her, saying that I 'should not be distracted by silly stories'. So they fired her and I was alone again.

I never knew where she went after. No phone call or letter that I knew of, though I could understand why.

But here she was, lovely Mrs Hudson.

So, now, Mrs Hudson and I were sitting in the kitchen at the table, cups of tea in front of us. I hadn't been so calm since she left.

"You're still far too skinny, Sherlock. And you look so tired!" she sighed. "Honestly, you need to take care of yourself, dear."

"The body is just transport for the mind, Mrs Hudson." I chuckled. "I don't need food or sleep."

"Sherlock Holmes, that is nonsense and you know it."

"Digestion slows me down. There are many things I could be missing out on doing – like my experiments – if I'm eating or sleeping. My way is far better."

"One of these days I will have you eating and sleeping regularly, just your wait."

I just grinned at her.

Mrs Hudson was the only person I really and truly felt comfortable with...well, a little, anyway. But she was more of a mother figure than anything... I considered her family, not a friend.

"So, they know nothing about you, huh?" Mrs Hudson asked, gesturing to the kitchen door.

"Of course not. Mother and Father just wanted rid of me ASAP." I sighed, grin dropping. "Though, the four of them are outside the door now, trying to get as much information on me as possible. But it won't work; they don't have my intellect to deduce what I can."

Mrs Hudson just shook her head.

"Mycroft didn't even care." I muttered, quietly.

When we were young – very young – Mycroft and I used to get along great. He'd stick up for me, and I him. We'd play together in the way brothers should. Mycroft used to be, what I thought was, the perfect big brother.

Then, as soon as he turned eleven – I was nine – Mycroft changed. He became the snooty, arrogant bastard he was now. He didn't have time to play nice with his little brother; didn't have time for me at all, actually. He became worse when his own arranged thing with Gregory Lestrade came about – but Mycroft and Gregory were dating before, so the arrangement between those two had to happen.

Over the years, I had learnt to be just as cruel back. Though I never did give up the delusion of, one day, Mycroft turning back into the brother I once had.

But I should. The Mycroft I once knew was never coming back.

The Mycroft I knew had been dead for seven years.

"Oh, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson sighed, sadly. "I can promise you that the Watsons are nothing like your parents. They're very nice people, you know. Would never treat anyone poorly."

"People change when you least expect or want them to." I mumbled. "It always happens."

Mrs Hudson and I spent a while catching up. We actually managed to stay in the kitchen, though I did have to get up and pace around the kitchen for most of it, just so I could then sit back down again.

It was a good thing Mrs Hudson was used to that.

"Feeling a little calmer, dear?" she asked, after we had finished catching up.

"A little." I nodded.

I leaned back in the kitchen chair, drumming my fingers on the surface of the oak table. I could never seem to be still, in for a few seconds. I always had to move some part of my body to try and release the horrible fidgety feeling.

Mother and Father really hated me being fidgety.

Mrs Hudson was the only one who could put up with it – Mycroft could to, before he changed... But I couldn't dwell on that now.

I had to put all of that behind me.

I sighed, slumping down even more, planting my feet further apart from each other to support the position.

"I don't want to be here." I admitted, staring down at the table.

"I know, dear, but believe me, you'll like it here." Mrs Hudson replied. "And you can always come and find me if you need someone."

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson."

The woman only smiled at me, getting up from her seat to make more tea, not bothering to ask if I wanted more – she knew my answer would be yes. There were four drinks that I would always say yes to having: tea, hot chocolate, coca-cola and apple juice.

I took this time to look around the kitchen. It was very modern, the counters made of black, white and dark purple marble, the cabinets above them made of the same. The handles on the draws and cabinets were thing long cylinders made of silver metal, the built in fridge and freezer the same colour. The floor was tiled, looking like wood, the lights above the table in the middle of the room a chandelier.

All in all, still very simplistic for people with as much money as them. It was a known fact that my parents went to every length to ensure that they had the best and the newest of everything.

When Mrs Hudson made her way back, placing the steaming cup of tea in front of me, she also placed a notepad and pen beside me.

"I'll be right back, dear. Just have to sort a few things out." she smiled, patting my hand gently.

"Make sure you tell them about my Mind Palace." I grinned, bringing the notepad and pen closer towards me.

She didn't need to ask how I knew what she was going to do.

Sitting there, I drew staves down one page of the notepad, splitting each one into four bars, placing a treble clef at the beginning of the first bar of every stave. There would be times, back at my parents' house – I had never called it home – where I would just lock myself in the room I had for hours each day, writing compositions for my violin – and guitar, since I also played that, but mainly violin. It was the only thing, besides my experiments and retracting inside my Mind Palace, which kept me occupied.

I never really stayed to the composition I wrote, only taking bits and piece before improvising the rest until I found the perfect combination of notes. There was not a single composition that I didn't change.

I could always seem to hear what I was writing down in my head, as if I was actually playing my violin... I guess that shows I play it a bit too much.

Mrs Hudson was the only other person to know that I could stay calm when composing. It was one of the things that kept me from fidgeting.

Out of all the people that knew me, Mrs Hudson was the one that knew me the best... Well, she only knew a little more than other people and even that wasn't a lot.

I had a sinking feeling that no one would ever know the real me. I would be forced to hide behind the mask I had built up over the years.

My composition had moved onto the second page of the notebook by the time Mrs Hudson came back into the kitchen, but, this time, the Watsons came with her. Anyone could have been able to tell – since the number of footsteps had increased, it was obvious.

"I look forward to hearing that, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson said, smile evident in her voice.

"I'd be delighted to play it for you." I nodded, keeping my eyes on the paper in front of me. "Once I've perfected it, of course."

"Oh, of course, dear. More tea?"

"Please."

The only sound I heard was Mrs Hudson moving around, meaning the Watsons hadn't moved from their current positions – two by the counter (Mr and Mrs Watson), one leaning against the wall by the door (Harriet), and one sitting on one of the chairs near me (John). They said nothing as I continued to place notes on the stave.

Sighing though, I placed the pen down for a moment, looking up and steeple-ing my fingers under my chin, elbows resting on the table either side of the notebook.

"I suppose I should mention, I play the violin when I'm thinking, so it's unfortunate if you don't like the instrument. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end; of course that is a blessing for most people." I said. "Mrs Hudson has probably informed you of my eating and sleeping patterns, so don't be surprised if I'm sitting somewhere playing my violin or in my Mind Palace. Oh, and don't disturb me when I'm in my Mind Palace, I find that extremely annoying and I don't like being irritable."

I noted that Harriet didn't look at me, keeping her eyes on the floor of the kitchen, clutching at her mobile phone; Mr and Mrs Watson glanced between us all... John was the only one – other than Mrs Hudson – to look right at me.

I stared back, my eyes and mind instantly cataloguing everything I saw and deduced. My head tilted to the side slightly as I glanced at his left shoulder and his leg longer than the rest of him, frowning slightly.

As I looked back to his face, I noticed that John had taken to staring at the table.

"Interesting." I muttered to myself.

"What's interesting?" John asked, slowly, unsure if he wanted to know what I had found.

But, before I or anyone else could speak, there was a knock at the door.

I knew that knock.

"Of course, they'd send Wells." I spat, eyes narrowing as I stood up.

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