Lost. Befuddled. The smell of spring caressed his olfactory cells, triggering memories of love once had, love now lost. His heart pounded thunderously against his chest as shooting pains assaulted his heart. He knew it was all chemically driven, he could almost hear the man's voice, a jeer "It's all in the brain, there is no emotion that will cause your heart to feel pain." And yet, as he clutched his shirt, his left hand resting above his heart, he could not breathe, could not move. All he could feel was his brain telling his heart to shatter as the smell of pine burned his eyes and caused his knees to grow weak. In front of the park, on his favorite bench, John Watson broke down.

Chapter 1: Manners

It was only a matter of time before he was shot. He had served in the service previous but had decided to stay a few extra years. Constant stress, adrenaline, being instructed what to do. He was the perfect soldier, obeying orders and being able to cope under the line of fire but one bloody shot and he was sent away back to his home, the home that never existed.

There he stood, outside his parent's house. It was small and barely kept, the grass looked tangled and thorns rushed out to claw at his trouser legs, as he walked to the door. The paint was badly chipped; robin egg blue had become a dead faded sea foam like green. The blinds on the windows had been badly mistreated, some of the pieces falling off. He pressed the doorbell but it did not make a sound, the battery had died months before. He then knocked on the door and waited a few minutes but no one opened the door. John pulled out his phone and began to text a simple message.

'I'm home. Where are you? JW'

Not even a minute of waiting, the door swung open.

"JOHN?"

It was Harriett, his one and only sister. The two embraced and laughed. She ushered him inside and took his one bag only to drop it unceremoniously on the floor.

"What are you doing back so early?" She eyed the phone in his hand and smiled.

"How's that piece of crap treating you?"

She walked to the kitchen and grabbed a whiskey bottle off the table. He could smell it on her when she had hugged him, he had hoped it was a something, anything else, but he knew she was still addicted to the drink. The kitchen was small and surprisingly clean, it reminded him of the younger days when things were…easier.

"Harry, it's 11am, are you sure you should be drinking?"

She glared at him before taking a swig.

"Mind your own business, you can be such a tit sometimes."

John sighed and looked around the house. The couches in the living room were new but everything else in the house felt ragged and old. He could smell the must of the house and crinkled his nose as the smell of mold lingered in the air.

"Why didn't you answer the door Harry? Didn't you hear me knock?"

Harriett put the bottle back on the table and sat down on the dining room chair. It creaked under her weight and John was worried that the wood would break.

"The family has been having some trouble lately and it's hard for us to pay bills. I thought you were a debt collector."

She put her head in her hands, worry lines striking her face. John finally noticed the wrinkles, the way her eyes were hollowed out. He walked over and put an arm around his sister.

"Why didn't you send a letter?"

She smiled sadly; her idle hands beginning to play with the bottle.

"To ask for what? More money? I lost my job a few months back and we've just had a hard time. Things will get better. The money you sent us is at least keeping the house from being taken from the bank."

John shifted uncomfortably at the thought of his bank account. He stayed with the military because they were paying him. Because he could send money to his family and just do what he did best, listen and take orders.

Harriett looked up at John and informed him that 'Mum' would not be home until after 6pm. He nodded and gave her a swift hug before grabbing his bag and reaching the door handle.

"Where are you going?" She asked suddenly, rising from her chair.

He gave a light wave before opening the door.

"Don't tell mom I came back, I will come sometime to surprise her. Besides, I can't stay here, we only have 2 rooms and I need a place to stay. The military isn't going to take me back." The last part was low and quiet.

He heard her sharp intake of air. She knew exactly what was going on in John's head. There was no more money, no more backups.

"I need to find another occupation. Then, I'm going to find my own place, Lord knows I can't be living with my parents when I'm 25."

He tried to laugh, to be cheerful for his younger sister but even to him, his laughter was fake, fragile, dying. He quickly walked out the house and closed the door. In the military, you didn't need to be fake; this new world that required a mask was difficult. He did not understand completely yet just how to be social. He strode forward and walked toward the city, he could feel Harriett's eyes on him through the kitchen window as he walked away.

The city was bustling as usual. Hot dog stands around every corner and large buildings that loomed over his head. At first John was uncomfortable, there was too much noise, too many cars, it was unbearable. His hands clenched together as he walked forward, constantly forward. His knuckles were white and he could feel his skin on his palm, beginning to give way as his fingernails began to dig into it. Then he realized this was like the battlefield without the guns and explosives. The cars were tanks; the people were his military unit, very similar but not the same.

John did not realize that his feet had taken him to the middle of the city until he accidently bumped into someone.

"Excuse me." He said.

"Watch it." Was the snarky reply. John could tell this person was a student by her backpack and the fact that, even when bumped, she did not lift her head from her notes.

John had never gone to college; he went to the military right after high school and honestly, had never thought of coming back, let alone moving towards a higher degree. He stepped away from the school and smiled sheepishly to anyone that was looking at him strangely, as his stomach growled loudly. Head down, he quickly walked into a coffee shop to order something, anything to satiate his hunger. There were many students speaking softly about exams, some sleeping in the comfortable armchairs and many on their computers, probably on Facebook, or Tumblr. The smell of coffee and tea electrified his nerves as he remembered he had not had his normal cup of the day. He ordered a large cup of Earl Grey and a bagel before finding a seat in the corner next to the window.

"Need to find a place to live…and a job."

He mumbled to himself as he grabbed a newspaper from the racks. He had some money in his bank account that would keep him alive for the next few months. However, it was only a matter of time before his money dwindled into nothing. He checked his phone as it buzzed. And turned it over face down. Another text from his sister, he didn't need the stress right now of being polite and sociable. He knew that she would ask him to spend a few nights at home until he found his feet. He knew there wasn't room for him, it was cramped already.

"I don't want a maid." A loud exasperated sigh reached John's ears before another man in a smooth, almost cogent voice interrupted the first man's tantrum.

"A maid will be able to assist you in times of when you are required to take your medicine."

"Mycroft, maid's touch my things. I don't want them touching my things." A scorn, a cup being placed back onto the table. John could almost feel the younger man's face frowning as he said this.

"But that's what maids are SUPPOSE to do. Clean." The older man's voice was full of exacerbation. The image of this man in an Armani suit throwing his hands up in aggravation came to mind.

"Besides, most maids are trying to get me in bed." That arrogant voice again. A swig of coffee. " The last one tried to 'wake me up' by climbing into bed with me and offering her 'services'." He said this while using his hands to quote the air.

John could feel the tension in the air as the people around the two men gave them pointed looks. They were being too loud for a coffee shop; this was a place of studying, relaxing, not discussing one's sex life.

"And did you assent her services?"

The pale man smirked. "Of course." A dramatic pause surrounded them as he could almost hear the chairs creak toward the two in hopes to hear more in detail. It was like a drama series in real life.

"I told her to fetch my dry cleaning, to clean my room and clean the kitchen after I was done with it. I left her a nice mess after I forgot the fire had been left on 'high' while I was cooking my marinara sauce. I had become intrigued with a program on the telly; it was about trees. Didn't realize that marinara had exploded until she came in and screamed about the mess I had created." Eyes rolled. "It is her job to clean, right?"

Blue clashed with brown and John felt his breath hitch in his throat. He coughed before looking at the newspaper again. He hadn't realized he was staring at the two men. He tried to focus on the words but felt as though he wanted to see that blue again. It wasn't a bright blue like a sapphire or the old paint on his parent's house it was cloudier, mistier color. He sipped his tea, bitter. The tea bag was in too long; it was strong. Maybe granite blue… gray? He gulped another swig of tea. Lukewarm at best. He couldn't decide on the color, he needed another look.

"Are you a maid?"

John looked at the classified section for an apartment near the campus, it was nice, and maybe he could afford to take a few classes. 'Doctor' sounded fun. He took a bite of bagel. Too much bread, not enough cream cheese. He suddenly felt a presence close to him, a warm body standing a little too close, an intoxicating smell entering his nostrils. John looked up, his mouth full of bagel and found those gray eyes boring into his.

"ahm thowy?" (I'm sorry?) His mouth was dry; the bagel was too much as it made it difficult for him to get the words out properly. He held up his hand before taking another drink of tea and chewing quickly. An amused look from the curly haired man.

"Are you a maid?" The same words directed towards him. The man was dressed well; he was groomed, made of money. His perfectly dark curly hair framed his pale face, making his eyes almost glow. His black dress shirt was prim and ironed. Slacks fitted to match the curves of his body. John shook his head 'no.' He was definitely upper class.

"Then, stop staring at me and hunt somewhere else like a gun store or an army surplus store, I'm sure they will appreciate your history." John's eyes widened in surprise then came down in anger.

" I wasn't staring." What was wrong with his brain, his mouth? Why was he standing up for himself over something so trivial and why was he not asking about how this man new about his past?

"You've been looking at my brother and I for the past 3 minutes. Eavesdropping, I'm sure." John cringed in a guilty way. "Unless you have some important business with us, I suggest you stop listening and pay attention to your project of job searching at hand."

John looked at him confused. "Do I-"

"No, you don't know me, why would you know me? I don't know your alcoholic brother either, if you are wondering. I just know that by the look of your bag, hair, and clean shaven face, you've recently come from the military. You don't usually eat bagels from that large bite you took and you are looking for a flat or/and a job considering that you've been looking diligently, when not drooling over my brother and I, at the classified page. Now, bugger off."

The rude stranger began to walk away toward his rightful seat.

John looked down and grew angry. He was tired of this man insinuating he liked men. He had only dated women. He clenched his teeth.

"Sister."

Scrape of shoes on the floor.

"Excuse me?"

John dared to look at him directly in the eye and said through clenched teeth.

"My sister. I don't have a brother."

The older man in the chair smiled as the younger male looked upset, bewildered.

"Sis…ter."

The man named Mycroft, looked at his watch and stood up. His classy, most likely expensive Italian loafers, made an almost acoustic 'clunk' on the wood floor as he uncrossed his legs.

"Sherlock, the driver is waiting, it's time for your class and my business meeting."

Mycroft walked over and steered the pale man by his elbow. "Pleasant day." He said to John as the younger man continued his onslaught of internal turmoil inside.

"Sister! I had assumed the whiskey during the day and engravings on the phone. Harry! Short for Harriet, of course, of course!" He continued to mumble to himself as Mycroft pushed him out the coffee store. "Always something wrong…Always something."

John watched through the window as he was ushered into the black car, Mycroft close behind him. He watched until they turned a corner, away from sight. John sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He could feel many of the coffee shop's customer's eyes on him, watching him, seeing how he would react. He told himself to relax; he was never going to see that man again. He opened his eyes and felt everyone's eyes suddenly move away, pretending to be doing something important. He sighed and looked through the classified section, again.

'Sherlock… What a prat.'

Please tell me what you think (:

Chapter 1 and chapter 2 are setups for chapter 3 on. 3 is when things really start to unravel. So please hang on!

I unfortunately do not have a Beta tester and am unsure of how satisfactory the grammar and spelling is.

Thanks so much~~ Rini

Disclamer: I don't own any part of Sherlock. But they are amazing!