John wakes up and yawns. He lazily opens his eyes to look at the half unpacked boxes strategically placed around his room. He notices that the sun bleeding through his curtains is very bright, not at all how it should be for 6 am, the time he needs to get up so he can get ready in time to make it to his new school. Suddenly realization dawns on him.

"Shit!" He breathes harshly as he jumps out of bed and throws on jeans and a clean t-shirt that was laying on a desk in his bedroom. He grabs his school bag off of the hardwood floor and rushes down the stairs and runs through the kitchen grabbing a banana on his way out.

-Chapter 1-

Sherlock has been sitting in class for exactly 25 minutes and 12 seconds. He has officially run out of things to newly deduce in this room exactly 21 minutes and 43 seconds ago. He has spent the rest of the time reading through a college-level forensic science textbook, seeing as he has absolutely no intentions of paying attention to the teacher's lecture about parts of speech. Sherlock feels as though English is an absolutely inutile class after you've learned how to properly speak and know the basics. Of course, Sherlock knows much more than the basics. Possibly even more than the teacher herself.

Just as he's about to turn the page he hears the door burst open and notices a well-built boy with sandy blonde hair that is currently sticking up on one side, most likely from his pillow, wheezing from exhaustion probably caused from running most, if not all of the way here, shuffling towards the woman at the white board uncomfortably. Obviously the git realizes all eyes have rested on him. Sherlock loses interest and replants his eyes into his book as he turns the page.

The boy apologizes to the teacher for being late, but offers no excuse as to why. Suddenly Sherlock finds himself slightly interested, though about half of the class has effectively lost interest, and peers over his overly-large book from his seat in the back corner of the room to look on at the new student. The teacher introduces him to everyone as John Watson, then instructs him to sit anywhere as her class does not have a specific seating chart.

"Even if I had one, no one would follow it" She adds with a friendly smile. Mrs. Revera is a middle-aged women with dark brown hair and eyes, with wrinkles on her face from many years of happy smiles.

John's face is flushed, possibly from a mixture of embarrassment and fatigue, mostly the latter. He starts walking through the messy mob of students and desks, quickly looking over the crowd's faces but skipping Sherlock's, much like everyone else, then quietly slides into a seat near the front, but not in the front row. How utterly expected. Boring. Sherlock scoffs to himself as, once again, his interest for the boy drops, though not completely dissipating. He watches as John pulls a notebook out of his bag and begins copying down this weeks vocabulary as Sherlock sticks his nose back into his book that is surely more fascinating than this John person.

During the duration of the class John has talked to exactly 9 different students, 5 of which stopped at the more obvious questions such as "Where did you move from, do you have a girlfriend, do you miss your friends, etcetera" John answers all of them nicely and smiles at all of the students being friendly.

The bell rings and the teacher asks John to show her his schedule. He willingly supplies the crumpled paper from his back pocket.

"Looks to me like you have Mrs. Reed for Biology next, that right?"

"Yes ma'am." John respectably responds.

Mrs. Revera turns towards the last student exiting the room and frowns slightly. "Mr. Holmes," she says, causing the tall dark haired boy to turn towards her and look at her irritably with his light blue-grey eyes. "Would you please be so kind as to show young Mister Watson here to his next class?"

Sherlock gives an exasperated sigh before responding with a very obviously faked friendly smile. "Sure." and walking out without turning around to see if John has followed.

John quickly nods in appreciation as he chases the boy out of the classroom.

"I have Mrs. Reed for Biology next. It says room three-"

"Three hundred and ninety four. Yes I know. I have that class next also." The marble-skinned boy cuts him off with.

"Alright then! And uh, thank you, for uh, showing me to the class. I didn't catch your name?" John says with a shy smile.

"I was going that way anyway. And it's irrelevant seeing as after probably a day and a half of being here you'll disassociate yourself with me." Sherlock replies in a matter-of-fact manner.

John gives a worried frown. "Why on earth would you think that?" Sherlock is slightly taken back and looks at the strange new student. Any other teenager here would surely just shrug and continue on silently as if they never said anything to each other in the first place. Interesting.

Sherlock furrows his brows and squints his eyes. "As you will soon be well aware of, I am not very... liked amongst my peers here in this school, or anywhere else for that matter because apparently everyone is too hurt by the truth and do not take kindly to those who deduce their lives by simply giving them a once-over."

John looks at him curiously. Then, he smiles, apparently interested in this said "deducing" method as the boy in front of him calls it. He runs in front of Sherlock and spreads out his arms, widening his smile into a full ear-raising, toothy grin.

Sherlock looks at the strange new student quizzically before his thoughts are interrupted with a "Give it a go then!"

Sherlock rolls his eyes closed and lets out an impatient sigh before opening them again. "Alright then. John Watson. You play Rugby, and you've been playing for a while. Probably started between the age 7 and 9. You moved here due to your parent's work. Your mother's work is probably less serious than your father's so it would be his work. Most likely not government, probably something to do with scientific, or business related research..."

John's jaw has gone slack and he's staring in awe. Sherlock wonder's if he's been scared off yet.

"...You have an older brother, probably gay, who you don't get along with fantastically, though you aren't on bad terms with either. Your father is usually busy and your mother likes to smother you with affection at home. You get average grades but when you submit yourself you can do better, and usually do in a few classes of your choosing which I have yet to identify. English is most certainly not one. And to be more obvious-"

"Wha- How- More obvious? How is any of that obvious?!" John exclaims.

Sherlock lets out another impatient sigh. "You're well built but not brawny. So not football, but rugby. There are only a few reasons for someone to start school in a different town, and you don't have the personality of a trouble maker and you're very respectful of your adults. So parent's work it is. Your mother had time to pack you a lunch and paint her nails, some of it got on to the lunch bag. So affectionate, and not busy. Father then. Out of the many jobs that would cause you to move and your father to lack spare-able attention for his family it's more than likely research of business or science. Your back pack is obviously a hand me down since it has "Harry" written on it, but not old enough for it to be your fathers. There's also the faint remains of a rainbow flag drawn on the bag which you have undoubtedly tried to wash off again and again. You went through the trouble of writing down the vocabulary but did not try to complete it. English doesn't hold your interest, but going through the notions shows that you do participate in some classes. And as I was saying, to be more obvious you are about 14, possibly 15. More than likely 14. Obvious because you are a freshman. You haven't been held back and it's still early in the year. Being held back would have been caused from all of the moving around but it seems as though this is your first real move." Sherlock concludes seemingly without taking a breath.

John gapes at him in awe. "That... was just amazing. Bloody brilliant!" John looks at him with respect and appreciation for his talent. That's definitely new.

"Yes, well, it was, wasn't it?" The boy responds with a smile that looks so natural and beautiful on his highly placed cheekbones. His smile returns back into the depths of his emotions and he is stoic, and unconcerned again. "That isn't what people usually say though."

John gives him a confused smile. "What do they usually say, then?"

Sherlock looks at him, devoid of all emotions. "Piss off."

To Sherlock's surprise John snorts into a fit of laughter, clutching at his sides. Sherlock soon joins him.

Once their laughing has resided to smiling, Sherlock holds out his hand. "I'm Sherlock. Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."

John takes his hand and grins and replies with a hint of humor and an overly strong fake accent. "John Watson. Pleasure to meet ya, kind sir."

Sherlock flashes him a smile, a real "I-am-sort-of-happy-right-now" smile. and continues walking him to class.

"One thing though. She's my sister." John says as he comes up from behind to catch up and walk beside Sherlock.

"What?" Sherlock looks at John like he just started speaking in tongues.

"I don't have an older brother. It's an older sister." John smiles at him genuinely.

Sherlock stares blankly at the boy before furrowing his brows and responding. "Damn!" He whispers. "That explains why a boy would draw a rainbow flag on his bag. A boy probably wouldn't, but a girl would." Sherlock spits out the word.

This is my first attempt at a story, so it's amateur at best. I hope you like it though, any suggestions are welcome and critisism is fine, but please don't be mean, I might cry. (Or just get fat off of some delicious icecream if I can find the specific kind I love haha) This WILL be a Johnlock eventually, but I do intend to work up to that. Tell me what you think, Please and thank ya!