Busy. Crowded. Boring.

Sherlock Holmes strided down the hallways, looking for the classroom that his schedule marked as 221B. He quickly analyzed every person which he had clumsily bumped into on the way.

Group of football players, obvious by the letterman jackets and athletic builds; oh look, one of them had been shagging one of the cheerleaders last night, the way they looked at each other and the cologne rubbed practically all over themselves made it painfully obvious; a group of druggies, distinguished by the specific smell of tobacco and marijuana that surrounded them.

All of these deductions were so typical and boring coming from his peers. Not a single one of them had anything too extraordinary about them, causing Sherlock to turn his attention back to gazing at every room number he passed by.

220C. He was almost there.

At last, he came to his homeroom at 221B. It was the start of a new, surely boring, school year. He cast a swift glance at the teacher. Short, slightly plump figure with graying black hair and squinty eyes and thickly-framed glasses who looked to be about in his mid- to late-40's. He appeared to have just recently been divorced by his wife, judging by the still-fading mark of a wedding ring on his finger. They were married for a reasonably long time then, for it must have been on his finger for a few good years without ever being removed prior to the divorce to leave such a mark. By the looks of his cheap and old clothes, she must have taken most of the money, if not all. How boring.

He looked behind the teacher at the smartboard, which had "Mr. Canaday" as well as the seating arrangements for the class sprawled across in lazy and sloppy handwriting. Sherlock's name was next to a John H. Watson. What an incredibly typical name. He rolled his eyes and sat down in the coordinated seat, tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk.

Classroom 221B was located in the science wing, much to Sherlock's content. Chemistry equipment and telescopes crowded the back of the room. He would certainly be using those later. A few seconds after the bell rang to start introductions and obligatory speeches every teacher had to give to their homeroom classes at the start of every year, a handsome, out of breath face came bursting through the door. He had sandy brown hair, a strong build, attractive hazel eyes, and wore a relatively nice jumper.

"I'm so sorry for being late. This school is like a maze," said the boy in the door way. He smiled apologetically at the teacher and glanced at the board behind, looking at the seating arrangements just as Sherlock did before. He mouthed the words "Sherlock Holmes" and gave a look of curiosity. Obviously one with such the typical name of John Watson had never heard of a name like Sherlock Holmes.

The typical-named John Watson looked over at the untypical-named Sherlock Holmes and gave a genuine smile. He was actually rather charming, Sherlock had to admit that much at least. A good look at the newcomer let him know that he came from a fairly poor family(the posh-looking jumper looked to be the only expensive piece of clothing he owned), had a relative or a friend that was an alcoholic(worry lines shown on his face, he looked like he had recently been lecturing someone on something morally-based, also concludes that he has high moral standards and doesn't approve of massive consumption of alcohol and drugs), probably planned to join the military(like his father; his haircut told him that he was a man with at least an interest in military, or at least had a parent that was. It would seem natural for this typical boy to pursue in his father's footsteps, especially considering the fact that his family was probably too poor to afford a full scholarship to a good college– military seemed a likely choice). Yet somehow, behind those incredibly dull deductions, Sherlock found something he was unexplainably attracted to. Whether it be those dazzling eyes that showed he was someone to be trustingly loyal, or the smile that seemed to reach up to those dazzling eyes.

Whatever it was, Sherlock put away any thought of this new found interest.

"John Watson. Hi. Looks like we'll be sitting next to each other for the year."

He reached out his hand to Sherlock, attempting in the typical meeting ritual of a handshake.

Sherlock glanced upwards at the boy, debating whether or not to partake.

Eventually, he grunted and grasped the other's hand, giving it a firm shake.

"Sherlock Holmes. So it would seem."

"You know, Sherlock is a pretty interesting name. I've never heard anything quite like it."

"Yes."

It was obvious to John that his new acquaintance wasn't much for small talk. Oh well. Maybe he would warm up to him later in the year.

Suddenly, Mr. Canaday drew the attention up front, holding up his hand to silence the few boys in the back that had been talking obnoxiously loud the entire time.

Oh boy, here it comes, Sherlock sighed heavily. The beginning of the year pep talks were always the most boring part of the most boring first day of boring school.

"Alright, everyone. Quiet. Now, I know you're all new to the high school this year, but it's not as bad as everyone makes it out to be. I'm sure some of you might have heard rumors of endless amounts of homework, and the cliché cliques, and the nasty teachers that'll bite your head off from older siblings and friends and movies."

A few people in the class chuckled.

"I can assure you now that none of that is true. I don't have many rules in this class, especially during homeroom, other than don't throw things and try not to hurt anyone. Oh, and no fooling around with lab equipment. I'm sure you'll find me more of a friend than a teacher, I hope." He looked rather smitten with himself, looking over each new face.

"Now, I'll skip the 'work hard, don't do drugs, stay in school' lecture that all the other homerooms have the unluckiness of hearing for the 9th time in their lives. All I have to say to that is at least try to keep your grades up to pass this grade."

A few more chuckles.

Sherlock and John both raised eyebrows. For a teacher, he was quite relaxed, much to the contrast of most of the teachers they had the displeasure of having before.

"Now, I'll begin role. Anderson?"

A nasal-sounding "here" come from the back of the room. Sherlock glanced back at the source. He was thin, scrawny, and the face of a weasel. His hair looked greasy, whether it be natural grease from not washing his hair or over-excessive amount of product, Sherlock couldn't distinctly tell at this distance.

Mr. Canaday checked his name off. "Donovan?"

"Present," said a girl's voice. She was actually rather pretty, with a slender figure, tan skin, and messy brown hair. She was sitting next to the weasel-faced Anderson. A look of disgust appeared on Sherlock's face. They'd been snogging before the bell rang.

Sherlock looked helplessly up at the clock, waiting to hear his own name. Thirty minutes of homeroom left. Wonderful.

At last, he heard his name.

"Holmes?"

"Here," he said indifferently.

He zoned out again, glancing this time at his typical-named acquaintance's schedule. Advanced academic English I, advanced academic biology, physical education(rotated every other day with a study hall), algebra I, advanced academic American history, lunch, French I, and technological education. Mostly advanced classes. A smirk tugged at Sherlock's lips. Maybe he had underestimated the intelligence of the sandy-haired-typical-named-boy. Then again, the school's "advanced" classes weren't much to be impressed by. He glanced down at his own schedule, comparing which classes they had together: biology, history, lunch, and French. So it looked like he would be spending some time with this kid. Oh well. Better than Weaselface.

John caught site of Sherlock's gaze, and couldn't help but smile a bit.

"Looks like we've got some classes together, huh Sherlock?" He whispered.

"Hm? Ah, yes. I suppose so," replied Sherlock, with a slightly louder whisper.

"You're taking advanced calculus, though? That's incredible, Jesus Christ."

"You could say that." A smug look crossed his face. Even though he knew how much a genius he was, it was always nice to have someone remind him of it.

It seemed ages before any of them said anything more, but John eventually broke the silence once more.

"Hey um, would you like to sit with me at lunch? I'm new to the school district, so I don't really have any other friends." He looked embarrassed down at his desk.

Other friends? Does that mean that John had already classified him as a friend? How quaint.

What Sherlock wanted to say was no, but he was surprised to hear himself say "sure."

They both sat there for a moment, not knowing what else to say.

At last the bell rang to be dismissed to first period. Sherlock was also surprised to find himself looking forward to the classes he would have to spend with his new friend-acquaintance.

Maybe this year wouldn't be so boring after all.