Chapter 1

A/N- I love teen!lock. XD

Anyway, things you need to know. You'll figure out most of it along the way, but most of the students are in their Junior year, Sherlock is about a year and a half younger than John. I used quotes from the show and altered them to fit the story line.

Part 1

January

John leaned against the office wall of St. Bart's High, patiently waiting for his father to finish talking with his new principal. His ocean eyes flickered to his cane positioned in his right hand, secretly hoping he wouldn't get teased too much when others caught sight of it. He had already earned a few stares, considering he was officially the new kid- he was nervous, worried that this school would be just like the last after...the incident.

"Stop fidgeting, Johnny." his 14-year old sister ordered with an annoyed tone- when wasn't she annoyed, though? Harry hated him. But then again, she hated the world- as a Freshman, she had already been drunk and snuck out of the house multiple times. She was innocent enough from afar, with ever-changing hazel irises and blond hair that was cut short in the back and gradually became longer in the front, tips ending below her chin. She wore John's old cameo pants that no longer fit him, a black, long-sleeved shirt, and forest green Converse. But once someone got close to her if she let them, Harry was far from sweet and innocent.

"Shut up, Harriet." he spat in return. She grew closer, attempting to tower over him menacingly. Even though John was short for his age, she wasn't taller than the near 17-year old. "Harry. Don't call me Harriet." she corrected her older sibling.

"Don't call me Johnny." John retorted, not bothering to stand taller. Harry opened her mouth to insult him, but their father returned, looking extremely tired and stressed. With a weak grin that John could tell was forced, he and his sister were handed their schedules.

"Kids." he warned without much enthusiasm. Or care. He hasn't slept in a while, John noted, Maybe nightmares of the war. Maybe fighting with Mom.

"Sorry." both siblings muttered, not truly meaning it.

"Be good." And with that, Mr. Watson left them alone.

No surprise there...

Harry sighed, and John could tell she was upset. "Harry..." he tried, but she glared at him with dagger-like eyes for sympathizing and stormed away. John sighed himself, rather heavily, and peered down at his schedule. It was 3rd period, and he was to be in Chemistry.

As he made his way down the crowded hall, everyone seemed to stare at him. He quickened his pace and ducked his head, blond hair spilling over his eyes.

He was short for a male, and he honestly hated it most of the time. But now, it was a Godsend. Being shorter would attract less attention to him, as people could easily look over him as he got over his title as "the new kid."

Luckily, he was well-built, even with his break from working out, and that made up for his height. It wasn't noticeable with his attire, though- a soft, beige jumper over a plain white T-shirt, jeans, and brown leather shoes hid his well-built body.

He ended up late to class after getting lost and attempting to use the stairs, and all but ran into the room, 221B, which interrupted the lecture. The class stared at him with wide, curious eyes, silence enveloping the room. John flushed with embarrassment. "I-I apologize. I...I got lost." he admitted. Only a few laughed at his misfortune, but he supposed getting lost was rather ridiculous.

The teacher smiled at him warmly. "Do not fret, Dear. You must be John Watson. I am Mrs. Hudson. Welcome to St. Bart's." She picked up a binder and flipped through pages inside it, checking role, and available seats and partners. "We finally have an even number in here!" she informed him happily. "Your partner for the year is Sherlock Holmes." Suddenly, the class erupted in whispers and giggles. Confused, John searched the room for his partner, wondering why everyone was reacting in such a way...then he heard the words "freak," "insane," "mad," and "psychopath."

Oh, lovely.

"Quiet, class!" Mrs. Hudson ordered, and they settled. She rolled her eyes slightly and then called, "Sherlock? Could you raise your hand for John?" But no one moved. John eyed his teacher, suddenly wondering if she was the mad one, and she began to get annoyed. "Sherlock Holmes! Show John who you are!" Snickering started up again, but John finally heard a deep, unenthusiastic "Here." He limped his way towards the back, finding his new partner. Sherlock was studying something through a microscope, clearly not interested enough in John to even take a peak at him.

But that didn't mean John wasn't interested- Sherlock's skin where he could see it (hands, neck, face) was ghostly pale, almost pure white. In stark contrast to it was his hair, ebony curls that shone a slight red from the lights. His cheekbones were high and prominent, and he dressed nicely- a deep violet dress shirt, black trousers, and polished black leather shoes. John noticed his height by the awkward placement of his legs on the stool he was perched on, and how thin he was as well.

Other than his coloring, deathly thinness, and odd behavior, he seemed alright.

As John sat beside him, his phone fell out of his pocket and onto the floor. He quickly gathered it and examined it, carefully checking for any new scratches. Finding none, he placed it on the table without another thought. Sherlock glanced at it for a brief moment, and then went back to studying. "Did a bully shoot you or someone close, someone you could call family?" he finally spoke, without even looking in John's direction. John jumped, surprised. How the hell did he...?

"Sorry?" he managed, voice choked.

"Which one is it?" Sherlock pried. John forced his answer out of his throat, right passed the lump. "Both." Wait, why was he so open about it to a stranger when he couldn't even talk to his therapist? He sent him a strange look. "Sorry, how did you-?"

Mrs. Hudson then resumed lecturing, interrupting John's curiosity. Instead of listening to reactions between elements, he pondered over the possibilities. Had Sherlock talked to any of his old mates? Any of the kids that went to his previous school?

Maybe he could read minds?

No. Impossible. That's absolutely insane.

After a while of teaching, another instructor stepped in, and ushered Mrs. Hudson out into the hall. As she complied, Sherlock questioned John randomly. "How do you feel about Chemistry?"

John jumped once more. Why was he so jumpy? Sherlock didn't frighten him. Much. He just made him curious. And shocked him. And somewhat fascinated him.

Caught off guard, John replied, confused, "I'm sorry, what?"

Sherlock slowly spun a dial as he spoke. "I don't do the the work assigned because it's child's curriculum. Simple, something I learned during grade school. I refuse to partake in any of said work because it's an absolute waste of my time. The only activity I participate in would be experimenting. Also, I don't talk for days on end, so you can't depend on me for help anyway. Would that bother you? Partners should know the worst about each other." Sherlock explained simply, as if John should know about him already and he was annoyed about the fact that the situation was quite the opposite.

John wasn't concerned about that- he could function fine on his own. But he had to know about something else. "How did you know about the shooting?"

Sherlock didn't want to speak about that, though, and continued on with his previous statement as if John hadn't spoken. "You'll do well on your own- you're intelligent, for an idiot. Now shut up while I work on my experiment. I'd love to finish."

John couldn't believe this guy- he suddenly knew everything about him even though he hadn't even been in there a full period. It was ridiculous, and made him slightly angry. "Is that it?"

Sherlock finally tore himself away from the microscope and met his eyes. "Is that what?" John almost froze under his icy green gaze- his irises were beautiful. He had never seen any other person with eyes like his. He snapped out of his trance, and then proceeded to be cross with Sherlock again. "We've only just met, and I'm already 'smart for an idiot?' You couldn't possibly know about my intellect." he demanded.

Sherlock didn't see an issue, and raised a dark eyebrow in question. "Problem?"

"We don't know a thing about each other. I have no clue who you are, and you have no clue who I am or what I've been through." John snapped, his blood starting to boil. Sherlock rolled his eyes with an overdramatic, exasperated sigh. "I know you're in therapy for multiple reasons, including your psychosomatic limp. You were shot, true, but the injury is far too healed for it to truly bother you physically. I also know that you've got a brother you're worried about, but you won't go to him for help about anything, nor will he go to you, because you don't see eye to eye, possibly because he's an alcoholic, but more likely because he recently broke up with his girlfriend because of your recent move to London. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think? Now shut up, I can't think when your thoughts are so stupid." And he simply went back to his microscope, as if he hadn't just laid out John's life right in front of him. Even if he had been wrong about Harry being his brother.

Gawking at the boy, John was flabbergasted, and couldn't speak if he wanted to.

So his observation skills are off the charts. That's not insane, just annoying.

He looked around to see if anyone else had heard that. He caught the gaze of another male.

"Yeah, he's always like that." he assured John. John wanted to ask Sherlock tons of questions, but decided against it- Sherlock was obviously not in the mood to talk. Or deal with his...idiocy? Intelligent idiocy?

Mrs. Hudson was still out of the room, and pondering over the mysterious Sherlock Holmes was giving him a migraine, so John picked up his cell, deciding to text someone...but who? He then went through his small number of contacts- he forgot that he had completely left his old life behind. He no longer had any numbers to text. Sighing with a bored expression, he decided to play Tetris.

The blocks ended up stacked up on each other with no order or strategy, and John reflected on the fact that his life resembled that level.

Two words flashed across the screen- YOU LOSE.

The rest of the day was slow- no one made an attempt to talk to John other than Mike, the boy who had spoken to him in Chemistry, and his small group of friends. He showed John around, assisted him from getting class to class, and offered him a spot during lunch with the friends- Molly, Sarah, Greg, Sally, and Anderson. After introducing them to John, he began telling them about John's encounter with Sherlock.

"Get out while you can." Sally warned. She seemed warm by glancing at her, with her dark skin and hair, and chocolate eyes, but she was a cold person. When Anderson- possibly her boyfriend?- attempted to hold her hand, she slapped it with a loud pop that made even John wince. He found that he recognized her and Anderson from Chemistry.

John had almost spat out his Coke. He swallowed a mouthful painfully. "What?"

Molly rolled her hazelnut eyes. "Sally's convinced Sherlock's insane and is plotting to kill everyone." Molly seemed like a kind girl, with fair skin and light brown hair in loose pigtails. Her smile was bright, covered in lime green braces.

"It's not just me, it's also the whole damn school!" Sally defended herself harshly, glaring at Molly. Anderson, most likely wanting to get (back) on Sally's good side, nodded in agreement. "I'm his neighbor. He's even more of a freak at his home." Other than the fact that Anderson was a prick, the things that stood out most about him were his large nose and horribly-styled black hair.

"Sherlock's not that bad." Molly insisted, beginning to grow frustrated as she raised her voice.

"You're only saying that because you have a major crush on him." Sally retorted with an eye roll.

Molly's cheeks flushed as she stammered, "Do not. I just think you should give him a chance."

"Me too." Sarah agreed. Her hair was brown, and pulled into a loose side ponytail. Her forest green eyes skimmed over words in a book, only tearing her eyes away for a moment to speak before continuing with her activity.

As the conversation turned to Greg's quietness, John pondered over whether he should attempt to be friends with his partner or treat him like a stranger the whole year. John certainly didn't want to become part of the crowd he was sitting with- Sally was, well, acting like a bitch, and Anderson was a complete prick. Though he wasn't sure about his Chemistry partner, he certainly wasn't going to talk bad about him- or let anyone else do so anymore. He was tired of it. No one should be judged in such a way Sherlock was.

"I think you should form your own opinion." Sarah suddenly inputted, snapping John out of his thoughts. He then smiled at her, decision finally made. Sherlock needed a friend, and he was going to be one- even though that might be difficult. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He decided that he rather liked Sarah and her personality. (Molly too.) Maybe he could get her number eventually- she was pretty, after all.

When John entered Chemistry the next day, relatively early, Sherlock was already there and actually spoke to him, although still glued to his experiment. "Okay, you've got questions." John's hope soared. He was finally going to get answers! "Yeah." But his first one...

"What are you doing?" His eyebrows furrowed together as he questioned him.

Sherlock seemed bored. "Experiment. Next?"

John left Sherlock's personal business alone, and inquired about yesterday. "How did you know all those things about me right off?"

Sherlock smirked slightly as he backed away from his experiment, possibly in triumph, then recorded something in a journal beside him. While writing, he spoke. "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said 'Bully or close friend?' You looked surprised."

"Yes. How did you know?"

Sherlock finished writing and pushed the microscope away, giving John his full attention as he turned towards him. "I didn't know, I saw." He pointed to his leg. "The limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand- such as in line at lunch- like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic- therefore this person who shot you meant a great deal to you, and you feel betrayed by them. You're still bothered that they, of all people, inflicted pain upon you. Or you are frightened of them and you're also frightened it'll happen once again, so the pain is mental." John's jaw nearly hit the lab table in amazement. Sherlock was spot on. But he decided not to tell him that yet. He had more questions. "You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist." he retorted with an eye roll, as if that were obvious to everyone. "Then there's your brother. Your phone-" As if on command, John pulled it out of his pocket and placed it face down on table, just as he remembered doing yesterday, "-it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. But you're older, you wouldn't waste money on this- you're sensible, plain, as judged by your attire. It's a gift, then. Scratches- not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, because you're a careful one- your so-called 'limp,' for example, the cane is more of a safety item- so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already." His eyes flickered to the phone, and John averted his gaze from Sherlock to it as well. On the back was an engraving, scratched in roughly by something sharp: Clara Smith + Harry Watson xxx.

"The engraving?" John wondered, urging him to go on. Sherlock then began gesturing to the phone with every detail he pointed out.

"Harry Watson- clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father- this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but it's unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, because you have few contacts that I had observed while you were on the device. So brother it is. Now, Clara- who's Clara? Three kisses says a romantic attachment. The childishness of the scratched in message, obviously made by a knife, says it's a girlfriend, particularly a younger one. Must've scratched it in recently- this model's only six months old. Relationship in trouble, then- six months on, possibly more, and he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it- he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to constantly read the engraving- to feel guilt? Most likely. The recent move was for your health, and caused the breakup. Harry had to leave her. The fact that he wanted you to feel guilt says you've got problems with each other. Only other evidence of problems would be his drinking."

Drinking? God, Harry was 14- how did Sherlock even know about that? "How can you possibly know about the drinking?"

Sherlock smirked slightly, proud of his correct deduction. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection- tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them."

John gaped at him with big cobalt eyes. "That..." Sherlock began to run through possibilities. Was wrong (which is wrong). Scary. Creepy. Insane. Freakish. He had heard them all before- to be honest, such unintelligent insults didn't bother him in the slightest. He was used to all the name calling, teasing, bullying, and rumors- he didn't need friends, anyway. John was probably just like them. He had sat with Sally and bloody Anderson at lunch yesterday, so of course he wasn't open to be his friend. They would've poured lies and assumptions and opinions into his stupid brain by then- and he would believe them. Because he was just like everyone-

"-was amazing." Amazing? Well. He certainly wasn't expecting that. He couldn't mask his surprise very well when his deducing skills were just called amazing. And not freakish. "You think so?" John nodded enthusiastically, a bright smile stretching across his face. "Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite...extraordinary." He was at loss for words. Sherlock chuckled in amusement. "That's not what people normally say."

John couldn't believe his ears. His skills were amazing- though he could understand why people reacted so negatively, Sherlock had an absolutely amazing talent, and he couldn't see why he was the only one so impressed by it. "What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off!'" Sherlock exclaimed, mimicking bloody Anderson. John began giggling, a pitch much higher than his normal voice, and Sherlock couldn't help but giggle himself at the blond's contagious laughter. He hadn't felt this happy in a long time, and with John amazed by his deduction, it seemed like he finally had a friend.

Not that he needed one. It just amused him. That's all.

Mrs. Hudson began to settle the boisterous class down, ready to start her lesson, preventing the two from continuing their conversation. Sherlock rolled his sea green eyes at the elementary concept she began speaking about, and went back to recording in his Observations Notebook.

John Watson is an interesting character. He isn't like bloody Anderson or Sally. He's kind and very interested in my deducing. He has problems very similar to me, too- he just doesn't know about mine yet. Not sure if he'll stick around long enough to learn. But it's definitely something different.

"Did I get anything wrong?"

Chemistry had just finished and the partners were weaving their way through crowds of students. Sherlock had to slow down to stay with John's limp, but he honestly didn't mind- his next class was close, although he didn't care if he was late or not.

As John spoke, Sherlock looked down to him- he was about a head shorter if he would stand up straight and realize his limp was psychosomatic. "Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago. And Harry is a drinker."

Sherlock was excited. Getting nothing wrong was a huge leap, even for him. "Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

He felt bad for having to rain in his parade. He shook his head slowly. "Harry's short for Harriet." Sherlock's smile faded instantly, and his shoulders slumped. "Harry's your sister." Then, thoughtfully, Sherlock brought his pressed-together palms to his chin. John chuckled, surveying the area that he suddenly didn't recognize. "Where are we going?" Sherlock wasn't listening to him, though. "Sister!"

"No, seriously, where are we going?" John repeated. Sherlock still didn't hear. "There's always something."

At lunch, John sat with Sherlock, who had a whole table to himself. He noticed Sherlock had no food in front of him, just a book about...

"Fungi?" John questioned, reading over his shoulder. Sherlock nodded once. "Experiment." John situated himself beside him. "Why aren't you eating?"

Sherlock smirked slightly. "You must of not tasted the food yet." John returned an amused smile before grimacing at the sight of the fish and chips on his tray- it looked absolutely revolting. "And I don't think I plan to." he muttered, shoving the "food" away. Sherlock chuckled, the noise low and dark. "Wise choice. If you're at all concerned about my eating habits, we'll go eat right after school. At Angelo's."

John seemed willing for a moment, and then became crestfallen. "Oh, I don't have the pounds to go out and eat. And I'm not going to make you pay for me."

"Neither do I. It'll be on the house- trust me." Sherlock informed with a smile. John couldn't help but return his grin. "Alright." Why he suddenly trusted a man that was practically a stranger to him, and who was rumored "mad" and "a psychopath" (even though he didn't believe those things at all), after almost a year of trusting no one was beyond his knowledge. He couldn't help but feel a bond forming between them, though- with Sherlock, he didn't feel alone.