Chapter 1

JOHN
'crap, crap, crap' the word drummed through his head with the rhythm of his feet hitting the gravel track. Late, on his first day?! His parents were going to kill him. The pain of the early rise still weighed him down, and it was an awful long way to walk, well further than down the stairs certainly. He knew why this year had to be different of course, he had to take exams, and he couldn't do that at home; all the same, he wasn't enjoying it much so far. John Hamish Watson kept on running.

The red brick building loomed up ahead of him, the few windows shut tight and the yard was almost silent, only 3 student where left outside. The boarding house was just visible in the distance, clouded by fog. John lowered his head on approach and stopped running. Apparently, that wasn't a done thing, as the older kids boys looked at him mockingly and laughed to themselves, very loudly. Overall, not a very friendly image.

"Hey, gay boy!" John looked round, where they talking to him? "Yeah, you, what are you doing here?"
"I, umm, I go here, to this school," he really hoped they didn't here the waver in his voice, he wasn't scared, just uncomfortable. This had never happened at home. well, a bit…
"Haven't seen you 'round, you with the freak? You'd make a good couple" a rousing chorus of laughs and "gay boy!"
"No, I, excuse me" staring right at the ground John walked forward as fast as he could without running.
"Hey, come back! We're not done with you." He burst through the doors and breathed a sigh of relief. Wow. School sure was turning out to be a bundle of laughs.

SHERLOCK
Late. Again. But why did it even matter? Why did they care, really, surely it was the mind that mattered, not the stupid rules. Oh well, it looked like Mr Morris had turned up late again too.

He took his usual seat near the back of the dull room and bent low over the desk, pulling his hair down over the black eye. Only 3 more days and the bruise would start to go down. He'd read about it. He'd read about everything, nearly. It wasn't exactly a hero's battle scar.

The peeling door opened and Mr Morris, the head of history entered the room. Tall, overweight and frowning. Still hasn't marked last terms papers, Sherlock sighed, probably because he's so busy with his wife, oh, or not. Tut tut sir, he smirked, playboy, really? And to take it into a class in a brief case? Without a lock?! Why couldn't some people just think?

The teacher sat down giving some awful excuse as to his time of arrival and began to take a register. Sherlock mumbled "here" when his name was called. I mean really? Didn't Mr Morris have eyes? Could he not see who was here?

A sudden loud bang.
"I am so sorry, Mr... Urm, sir, I, umm, couldn't find the classroom"
Everyone in the room looked up, a boy stood in the doorway. Short, blonde and looking very confused. Home schooled, Sherlock muttered.
"Take a seat," Mr. Morris looked like he was about to explode, but he was clearly agitated and wanted to get on either the lesson.

JOHN
Mortified, John walked slowly to the back of the class. There was only one empty desk. The teacher had gone back to the register and was getting out a folder, probably full of marked papers. John sat down, not understanding what was going on, he turned his attentions on his fellow students. Mostly just a blurred mass of the backs of heads and grey blazers, but a few stood out. A petit girl with a long blonde plait down her back; two boys who looked like twins who sat at the front; the girl in front of him with mousy hair, parted in the centre, wearing her green and red tie over her collar at the back. Somebody should tell her.

However, her wonky tie couldn't interest him for long, prehistoric medicine didn't much either, his attention was caught by the boy sitting two seats away to the left in the row in front. His dark, curly head flat on the desk surface, which was scratched and had all sorts of graffiti on it. A scarf poked out of his blazer pocket and that seemed to be it. No bag, no text book, not even a piece of paper. John was no expert, but he was pretty sure they were required to take notes...

SHERLOCK
Sherlock had looked up the minuet the door opened, hastily flattening his hair back over his left eye. Usually the other students in St. Benedict's didn't pay him any attention and he returned the favour, they were all boring anyway. But this new boy seemed interesting. An outsider, like him.
The hairs prickled on the back of Sherlock's neck, he could feel a pair of eyes boring into his back, but he daren't turn around, Mr Morris would probably use it as an excuse to pick on him for answers, which was easy enough, if you'd been listening to the question. He didn't want to relive the last experience, his parents had not been happy with a less than perfect report from their youngest son.
He'd have to ask him after class.

The bell rang and Sherlock sprang to his feet, sweeping forward down the ailes between desks and towards the desk.
"Not you, Holmes, we need to talk,"
Great. Again. Mycroft was going to have a field day.

JOHN
Upon leaving the class room, John had no idea what to do next. He knew no one, he didn't know where anything was, where to go next. He didn't even have a timetable, let alone know how to find his room later. He stood outside the door, alone on the sea of people, trying to pluck up the courage to say "excuse me".

"Hello." John gasped and turned around
"God, you scared me half to death,"
"Oh," awkward silence followed.
"Sherlock Holmes." he extended a hand.
"John, Watson, listen, you don't, by any chance know, I, uh, where I need to..."
"Home-schooled", it wasn't a question.
"Uh, yeah, how did you..."
"I noticed. We have maths now, up stairs." and that was it. He was gone as quickly as he appeared. 'What?' John thought to himself 'is wrong with him?' then again, he was the only person who had spoken to him all day, well apart from the older boys.

"there he is!" a loud shout of meticulous glee sounded from upstairs, john looked up at the ceiling.
"Freak. Given up on carrying stuff round with you, scared we'll rip it up like last time?!"
"No. I don't need to."
"Need to what? Get some friends because I think you do freak, really you do"
"No. I don't need to take notes, I have a memory longer than that of a goldfish, you see."
John took the stairs two at a time, he heard a loud a crash and jearing.
"Pity that, your massive brain couldn't help you there!" slam. "Oh, and you were just about recovering weren't you, from last time, shame." slam.
A bell sounded. The corridor emptied surprisingly quickly, until it was just John, Sherlock and the two older boys. "I'll see you around freak, homo"

SHERLOCK
Lungs. Skull. Fibula. Suspected bruising ad minor sprains. David Dilworth really did know something then. Sherlock closed his eyes tight; maybe it would all go away.
"Are you alright?" he didn't move
"Sherlock?" he opened his eyes a little and moaned.
"Do you have a school nurse of something?"
"I'm fine," he tried to get up but winced.
"No you're not, come on, my dad's a doctor, I can help,"
"That doesn't give you any qualification. I'm fine." Sherlock turned and walked away, Mrs Higgs was not going to be happy. None of the teachers seemed to be today.
"Sherlock, you're bleeding, wait!" a trickle of blood was running down his high cheekbone. He pulled out the scarf and pressed it hard against his face. I don't cry, I do not cry he thought over and over.