Okay. Teen!lock. Been there, done that. But, hey, I dunno, I kinda like it, so I decided to do something about it

There probably won't be any romance of sorts, but maybe as the story progresses. What will they be? I dunno…

I'll be leaving little subliminal references here and there, so see if you can spot them. :P

Be good, Sherlock. Make some friends, Sherlock. Don't get into too much trouble, Sherlock. As much as he loved his parents (the only people he'd ever admit to loving), going to a new school mid-term always made Sherlock want to gag. They gave his the same advice over and over, yet they never seemed to grow tired of it and he never wanted to stop gagging.

This school would be different, though. It was a boarding school, and that would hopefully keep him away from the distractions, namely his brothers and the absence of his dog, Redbeard, who was sadly euthanized two years before hand.

Sherlock hopped out of his parent's car as soon as they pulled up to the curb. The early January air nipped at the Holmes' cheeks as they stepped out of the car and into the inch-thick snow. Grabbing his backpack, two roller suitcases and violin case out of the trunk, the thirteen-almost-fourteen-year-old braced himself for the oncoming storm of hugs.

"I love you, Sherlock." His mum was close to tears, squeezing him tightly.

"…Love you too, mum." He mumbled back, returning a not-quite-as-strong hug and a kiss on the cheek.

He turned to his dad, who just gave him a reassuring clap on the shoulder and a smile that said several things at once, namely "I'm going to miss you" and "Don't do anything stupid".

He gave a half-smile back and rolled his suitcase up through the cleared walkway to the administration building. As he opened the door, he heard the car doors shut and an engine start, the tires squealing as his slightly lead-footed father drove the car away.

Sherlock walked up to the front desk and tapped on it, gaining the woman's attention. "Yes?" She said, flashing a smile.

What an alarming shade of pink she's wearing… He thought to himself as he said, "My name is Sh- William Holmes, and I'm new here…" He always hated the next part.

"Oh! Well, Mr. Holmes, let's see here…" She tapped away on her computer for something before turning back with an even wider smile. "Right then, I just sent your schedule to the printer; it should be out any moment now. I'll call your new dorm-mate up so he can show you around!" She rolled her chair over to a desk phone and pushed the intercom button, saying, "Will Mr. Watson come to the front desk? Mr. John Watson to the front desk, please."

A few minuets of ignoring the secretary later, a boy about a head shorter than Sherlock came in through the secondary entrance. His face, arms and shirt were muddy, his light brown hair messy and vaguely resembling a bedhead, and a slight limp that favored his left leg. "Yes, Mrs. Wilson?" He said innocently, though the look in his eyes was enough to kill someone.

"Hiiiiii," Mrs. Wilson drawled out the vowel long enough to make both children sick to their stomachs. "John, this is your new dorm mate, William Holmes." Sherlock cringed at the sound of his first mane coming from her mouth. "Can you show him to your room and make him feel at home here? Oh, and be sure to pick up his schedule on the way out."

"Sure." John smiled at Sherlock, then began walking towards the door he came through. Once they were on the other side, he said, "You got Mrs. Wilson. What a great way to start out the year."

"There's another secretary, and you, along with most of the student body, I'm guessing, like the other better." It wasn't a question.

"Yea, Mrs. Hudson's a billion times better than her, but she's getting on in years so she can't come to work every day." John said. "I think the only reason why Mrs. Wilson's still here is because she might be having an affair with the principal. Along with a new guy every other week."

"I could've guessed." Sherlock stated with a bored expression.

John snorted. "Really? How?"

"Same way I know that you play rugby, judging by the amount of mud on your arms and legs and recently injured your leg, which caused your slight limp, but didn't want anyone on your team to know about it, so you toughed it out. You also recently got dumped by someone you were seriously interested in; the bags under your eyes indicate you lost sleep over it; got into an argument with someone else you're close to on your way over; there was a slight strain in your voice and murderous look in your eyes, probably because you have a bit of a temper; and had something jam-filled for lunch today, judging by the jam still on your cheek." Sherlock mentally slapped himself for doing the exact opposite of what his parents told him to do. He registered John's mouth dropping open as he grabbed his schedule from the printer. He braced himself for what would come next…

"That…was amazing."

Okay, wasn't expecting that. "…Really?"

"Yes! That was brilliant!" John grinned. "I've never seen anyone do anything like that before!"

"That's not the normal response…"

"What is the normal response?"

"…'Piss off!'"

John laughed, stopping at the door. "So…I'm assuming you don't like to be called William…"

Sherlock nodded. "Quite right. I prefer to go by Sherlock."

"Sherlock? Any particular reason why? N-not that it's a bad thing, to go by another name, but…"

"It's one of my middle names. I detest my first name and only use it when talking to faculty and staff at schools."

The shorter boy just nodded and opened the door, leading the way from there to their dorm, room 221. The dorm had two beds and two desks on either wall, the left side of the room being occupied by various objects and the right side mostly blank. "It's a bit of a mess, but it's home." John moved a few things that had spilled over to the other side of the room to their rightful places. "So, um, that's your bed, this one's mine…"

Sherlock sat on the bed (slept on by someone else; John had another roommate(?)) and pulled his bags closer to him. "Will there be time to see the campus tomorrow?"

"Yea, term doesn't start until next week." John sat in his desk chair and spun in it a bit. "But, there's still light out. I can introduce you to my team, if you want."

"I suppose that would be nice, though I'm still wondering how rugby teams are able to practice in winter."

"One of the teachers clears off the fields early morning whenever it snows. I'm not entirely sure who, though, but I'm glad." John stood and grabbed a sports jacket with the number '05' on the back and pulled it on. "The boys should be happy to meet you, though they might be a bit rough."

Sherlock nodded. "I take it you're the captain of the team, then?"

John smiled. "Yea, St. Bart's Fusiliers. Notorious for nearly winning each time since it's first founding; that's why we decided to practice through winter, so we might be able to pull through and win one." He opened the door and stepped outside, his new roommate trailing behind as they went out to the field of Saint Bartholomew's Boarding School.