"She's a good girl Mr Watson. Of that I can assure you." Mycroft Holmes looked at the young man sitting in front of him. The boy was no older than seventeen. With hair that, depending on the way it caught the light, was either blonde or a light brown.

"I'm sure she is sir,' the young man said, treating Mycroft as an adult even though he was only a few years his senior "but what does that have to do with me?"

Mycroft leaned back on his chair and crossed his hands over his chest "Mr Watson it has come to my attention that you will be attending the same classes as my sister this term. True?

The boy nodded "And?"

"I basically want you to tell me how she gets on," Mycroft's eyes flickered to the door "she's been having some trouble recently. I just want weekly reports on her friends, classes, activities. Whatever you can get me."

"How am I supposed to do that?" he asked.

"I'll leave that up to you," Mycroft said "do we have a deal?"

"I'm sorry sir but I couldn't spy on someone. It wouldn't feel right." He answered.

Mycroft laughed. It was a sharp, crisp laugh. "You're a smart boy Mr Watson. What are your plans for after leaving school? Do you have any plans?"

The boy cleared his throat "I want to be a doctor sir. In the British Army."

"Well you seem loyal enough to be a soldier." Mycroft told him.

"Doctor sir. I don't want to kill anyone. I don't think I could." The boy blushed.

"I could pay you." Mycroft quickly changed the subject.

"I...couldn't" The boy shook his head.

"What can I do then?" Mycroft asked "I need someone to look after my little sister." He stressed the word little.

The boy sighed. "I'll do it."

Mycroft stood and walked to the door. The boy followed.

"Thank you Mr Watson." he shook his hand.

"John." the boy said.

Mycroft nodded. "Goodbye John Watson."

School was always a pain for her. The same boring routine day in and day out. Nothing was ever interesting. She had been doing the same advanced science work for the last year. Work that her classmates would never dream of trying. In the beginning she had tried to make friends. Had tried to be nice to people. But her pride and mind always got the better of her. She didn't mean to upset people. At least not at first. She only really made the words hurt when people gave her reason to. She had a tendency to let her words slip without thinking of what consequences they would have. Human emotions were not really something she cared for. Who in her position would? Especially after her upbringing. She had grown up with her older brother who was almost nothing short of a young playboy. He was clever, economically in the know and popular. Her brother practically had to raise her at times. Their parents were always away on some lavish and expensive trip or holiday, leaving their two children to get on with a some what normal life. Although with the money that Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes had growing up, who would have had a normal life? Sherlock had always been a difficult child. Or so she was told. Apparently she had always had a short temper and had went in moods if she didn't get her own way. She had transfer ed from her private boarding school to her current public school in London just over a year ago. She had just turned sixteen and her brother Mycroft had decided that going to a public school might calm her down and make her mind her manners. He had thought that the cold, hard temperament of common children as he called them would stop her from speaking her mind and being rude. He was wrong. She didn't miss her old school. She didn't miss the people or the lessons. But she missed the freedom. She missed her teachers and the peace she had gotten. Her teachers had always given her credit and had always respected her brains and judgment. One thing she could say for her new school though, was that the people had more of a personality. Back at her boarding school people had been the same. Stuck up, boring and droll. Here they were all different. Although the people were over dramatic and cliched, they were exciting and different. The people thought they were in a movie. A movie that they all expected to be the stars of. If it was a movie she was an extra with no real purpose.

"Are we dreaming Miss Holmes?" a quiet but confident voice asked.

Sherlock looked up and sighed.

"No sir." she said.

"Oh really?" her chemistry teacher Mr Gryce asked.

"Really sir." she replied smiling.

His light, nearly colourless, brown eyes swept over her.

He laughed and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Is there a problem sir?" she asked.

The people sitting around her table were silent and watching the discussion.

Mr Gryce's face turned almost purple. "Miss Holmes I will not accept your attitude in my class is that understood? Your advanced intelligence does not give you the right to speak to me like that."

Sherlock looked down and feigned guilt.

"Now Miss Holmes, please tell me what we have been discussing." Mr Gryce smirked

The whole class was now watching silently. Sherlock quickly scanned her eyes over the classroom. There was nothing on the stark white board at the front of the room. No worksheets had been handed out. The lesson had clearly been all verbal. She snuck a look at her lab partner's jotter. He had scribbled down a note in light blue ink that was barley legible. His handwriting was neat though.

"Well?" Mister Gryce asked impatiently. He was still smirking. She could tell.

"Chemical Synthesis sir." She smiled sweetly.

Mister Gryce grumbled and walked over to his desk to continue the lesson. Sherlock smiled to herself. Getting one up on her teachers was always fun. Especially the slimy Mr Gryce. His hair was thin, greying and stuck to his forehead. He was quite small but thin. A knock at the door silenced Mr Gryce's monotone voice. A blonde boy of average build was standing awkwardly at the door.

"Get in.' Mr Gryce snapped.

The boy walked in quickly and swallowed. "John Watson sir, I just moved her from..."

"Just sit down." Mister Gryce said sighing.

The boy walked over to Sherlock's table and sat across from her. He held out his hand smiling. His hazel eyes were bright and sparkling.

"John Watson." he said

She stared at his hand. It was soft and slightly plump compared to her rough, slim hand. She grasped his hand firmly. Smooth fingers gripped calloused ones in a tight handshake. Sherlock smiled.

"I'm Sherlock," she said. "Sherlock Holmes."