He's arriving today.
- R

I know, I'm ready.
- JM

I can't wait to take a bite out of him!
- JM

"Alright, John. Today is the big day," his Mother said, driving her son to the private school that would become his home for the next four years. She glanced at her rear view mirror, to see her son silently tapping his leg to the classical music playing on the radio. As usual, her son was actually miles away, his eyes blank. Whether he was dancing to jazz in New Orleans or admiring Chinese tea, he was never in England. She cleared her throat and continued, "They have nice rooms there at the school. Everything is clean and tidy. The teachers are pretty good too, made sure to do background checks on all faculty, not a single speck of dirt. Your studies will be good there."

"That's nice," John replied quietly. He changed his slouching position and sat upright on his seat since Dad would have scolded him if he slumped, always said it kept you short and stout.

They arrived at the Wakefield Private School, and its tall buildings intimidating all below it. It was full of intellectuals, he could feel the majesty of the school as the car entered its parking lot, and as of now he had to keep up with expectations as a Wakefield boy. He felt the twinge of a smile on his face. At least he would have some freedom being in this magnificent boarding school, maybe make a friend or two and have a close knit group of friends. Yes, it was just what he needed—

"John, help me with your bags. You can daydream later."

The headmaster at Wakefield greeted the Watsons with the best fake smile he could muster, and introduced himself as John Hardwick. Hardwick and his Mother laughed and smiled at each other, each exchanging polite conversation with one another. Hardwick was a friend of his Father, although "friend" would be really stretching what nature of their true relationship.

"General Watson still has that mean old voice of his?" Hardwick joked, glancing at the clock once in a while.

"He's still as tough as ever, John," she replied with a smile. She turned around to her son. "Didn't mean you, dearie."

John smiled back. "Of course not, Mother."

"Such a good boy," Hardwick commented. "How old are you, lad?"

"Sixteen years old, sir. My birthday was two weeks ago."

"Charming," the headmaster replied. "Time to complete the paperwork so it'll be done and ready to go, Clara. We have to set your son up with a 'roommate', as the boys call board mates these days."

"I thought there would be some individual rooms, John," she said, her smile now a tight line across her face.

"Those privileges are left to the graduating class and for an extra fee," he replied, "If we let the lower class of students, freshmen and sophomores, to have their own rooms, they would have those terrible parties. The more mature and sophisticated junior and senior year students deserve more room to concentrate and stress for their bright futures ahead of them."

"Alright then, let's carry out with the paperwork," she replied. Clara Watson, as usual, was not quite satisfied. "Stay here, John. Read your novels in your bag if you wish."

Two hours and an interesting 135 pages later, Clara Watson and Hardwick finally exited the office, with Hardwick holding a stack of papers secured with a large black clip.

"Well John, Mr. Hardwick says he's gotten everything taken care of. People will escort you to your new room, and you'll meet your 'roommate' there," Clara quickly explained. She glanced at the clock, 10:15 AM. "Your Father should be done with his surgery now. I must get going. I'll write to you every week. It'll be like we never separated."

Clara kissed her son on the forehead and left after saying a cheerful goodbye to Mr. Hardwick. After the short and fat John Hardwick waved back, he turned to the young lad beside him.

"Molly should be escorting you, Watson. I'll be in my office."

And with that, Hardwick went back to his office, slamming the door.

Jolly old fellow, John thought.

"Are you John H. Watson?"

John turned around to see a girl his age. She was a little shorter than him, and had large brown eyes and a pale face, with straight hair in a neat ponytail. She wore some lipstick, perhaps she was trying to catch someone's attention, John noted. "Hello there, I'm John."

"Very well then, let's get started."

John rolled his luggage across the administration building and into the dorms' location, with Molly's fast explanations as commentary.

"You must be thinking, 'Why is there a girl here?', well if you weren't thinking that, then I suppose I should explain since that is what guides do, right? Explain? I work for the office on weekends. I help with the paperwork sometimes, file the medical reports once in a while. My Mother is the biotechnology and toxicology professor here, and sometimes I like to help her with experiments," Molly said as fast as she could, twiddling with her hair. "Am I boring you? I am sorry if I am, I can't help but be excited when we get new students here. You look... really kind, after all."

"You barely know me, Molly," John replied quietly. "It's not good to make assumptions so fast."

"I know. Doesn't mean I'm not entitled to an opinion, especially if it's a fact, John."

The two approached finally approached the room he was to stay in, room 225B. Second floor, second corridor, fifth room, right side. Molly explained that boarding was a little complex in Wakefield, but you would learn to navigate the rooms soon enough. She told him that he was lucky to have only one other person living with him, as the people in the first floor were in groups of threes and fours.

"You're a fortunate person," Molly noted. The two were still standing in front of the room, and John was still spacing out from her long intricate explanations, but like instinct, he came around when something important was about to happen. "Although I have to warn you, the person you'll be living with is a little—"

"Handsome?"

Molly and John turned around to see a tall, lean boy. His face was pale, but his eyes looked almost like the night, cold but inviting. He wore a smirk on his face, and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. He was wearing a well-tailored suit and red tie, and his shoes looked so well-polished that John could see his own reflection.

Molly took a step back. "Wouldn't really quite agree with you there."

"I beg to differ," he said calmly. He walked towards her and laid his hands softly on her shoulders. "You're wearing the same lipstick you wore that night we snuck out into the field. I remember that distinct shade of red. You buy it at the outlet mall three miles away from here, close to your home. However, you're wearing tennis shoes, something you wouldn't even dare to put on. It looks a little worn. Perhaps you walk to the outlet mall and rush back before mummy notices. Although I must applaud you, Molly, it looks pretty, and very cheap. Cheap enough for you to afford it with your own pocket money, I suppose. Don't want to worry mummy about boys and lipstick."

He then leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "You've been trying to impress him for weeks since the semester started. You haven't made much progress, so I reckon that you give up before someone tells Professor Hooper that you use tongue."

Molly gulped. The tall boy was satisfied with her reaction; he knew he always got in spot on. The poor girl was like a picture book, her eyes told you everything. He kissed her lightly on the forehead to add to his victory, and he saw a faint but distinct blush against her cheeks.

Bashful as ever, how cute, he noted.

"You're not going to hurt me again, James. I'll make sure of it," Molly threatened, glaring at the boy with an intense hatred. "I'll make sure you don't hurt them either."

"Them?" he asked. "Wow, I never knew you could become so interesting."

"You can go rot in Hell," she spat. Molly turned around to see John, looking straight at them, probably wondering what on earth they were talking about. She said in her sweetest voice, "I think you'll be fine with him here, now. Call me if you have any trouble. The Directory book is right next to the bedside table, every student and staff member is listed there."

Molly left John Watson and the tall boy behind, walking as fast as she could out of the area. She felt her heart racing at the fear of the danger brewing. She needed to act quick, before that monster rips them to shreds with his teeth.

John stared at the mysterious boy, how he analyzed Molly Hooper just from her lipstick. He wondered if they were friends, of if they dated once in the past. The latter must be correct. The boy had this certain atmosphere, almost as though his mere presence could reel you in but crush your insides the moment he was dissatisfied, but it still managed to reel you in.

"Forgive me, John. I was hung up with Molly," the boy said, turning around to see John staring at him in a mixture of admiration and fear. The boy took out his hand from his pocket. "Nice to meet you, I'm James Moriarty. Call me Jim if you'd like."

"Alright," John said, "Jimmy."

"I see you are a man of humor. I like that. Please come inside, make yourself at home," Moriarty said, rolling John's luggage inside their room. "Although I have to warn you, I bite a little."