John hated this school. He hated his mum for making them move. He hated his dad for being so deep in the drink that mum had left him. He hated his sister for her incessant partying and rebellion, making every teacher and wronged student glare at him. But mostly, he hated himself for not fitting in properly, for sticking out like a sore thumb. He'd tried to join clubs and sports teams, but it just hadn't worked out. Nobody wanted a boy with a chronic limp on their team, regardless of how he'd gotten it.
Mike was his only friend, really. They'd met in the advanced anatomy course, bonding over their shared dream of becoming doctors. Mike's girlfriend, Mary, was also nice enough, but not exactly a close friend. Harry had hit on her too many times for the poor girl to be completely comfortable around her twin. Because of conflicting schedules, though, John was left on his own for lunch. Anymore, he just found an empty classroom and ate there. The library was too busy, the lunchroom too crowded, and the bathroom... Well, John wasn't that desperate. Yet.
So it happened that he was sitting alone in the biology lab when a boy from his year swept in and sat across from him at the lab table. "I need you to hold my hand and look right at my eyes, and don't ask questions, they're tedious. Just try not to look uncomfortable," the boy ordered, grabbing John's hand and holding it. A moment later, the star rugby player burst into the room, a tiny blond girl clutching at him desperately. The couple didn't immediately notice them, too busy snogging against the wall, but when John coughed pointedly, they sprang apart. John could now see that the small girl was, in fact, Mary. The rugby player ran out and she blushed scarlet.
"I didn't know you were gay!" Mary burst out, obviously trying to cover for herself. John stood calmly, releasing the boy's hand.
"I didn't know you were a cheater," John replied smoothly, and the boy across from him smirked a bit. Mary spluttered for a moment, but recovered quickly.
"I won't tell if you won't," she offered conspiratorially. John scoffed, and the boy across from him spoke.
"But I will. I had hoped to catch Dimmock with his dealer, but Mike has been a friend to me, and do not doubt that I will happily inform him of your dalliance." The boy was posh, his voice abnormally deep for their age, and he spoke as if from a different era. Mary scowled, and stormed out. John sat down, abruptly tired
The boy turned to him. "Thank you for that. I've been trying to catch Dimmock at it for weeks, now I've got something to hold over him," the boy said, moving to rise.
"Are you really trying to catch a drug dealer?" The words exploded from John's mouth. The other boy froze, then sank cautiously back into his seat with a nod. "How do you know Dimmock's involved?"
"The same way I know you're a senior, working part time at a nursing home to help pay the bills at home, which is inhabited by your twin brother who recently suffered a break up and your mother, recently divorced from an abusive father who gave you that limp you try to hide, which is in fact primarily psychosomatic," the boy rattled off quickly, as if it were a shopping list he'd memorized.
"Amazing," John said. "How did you know all that?"
Now the boy looked less wary, more at ease. "You've got financial aide applications in your bag, which you can only fill out in your final year. Your shirt is stained with a cleaning product used in hospitals and nursing homes and as no hospital worth its malpractice lawyer would hire an underage boy, it must be a nursing home. The job and aide combined mean tough finances at home, this usually results from a divorce. You're new here, so recent divorce. Your wallet says To Harry, Love Clara, clearly a gift from your brother after he and Clara broke up. But you've only filled one pocket, so you only got it recently. When I entered, you flinched at the noise and your hand flew to your leg, indicative of abuse and an injury. Statistically, men abuse more than women, so you are living with your mum and brother, not father. But when you stood, you showed no favouring of that leg, which means the injury is psychosomatic."
"Incredible," John said, and he just knew his face looked awed and ridiculous. But the boy seemed- surprised.
"That's not what people usually say," he commented.
"What do they usually say?" John asked, still impressed by this strange, dark boy.
"Piss off," the boy said, and John chuckled. A beat later, the boy joined in.
"I'm John, by the way, John Watson, and you got it wrong," John said with a grin, holding out his hand. The boy took it with a superior smile.
"The name is Sherlock Holmes, and I assure you, I did not."
"Harry," John said with a grin, "is my twin sister."
Sherlock's face fell almost comically. He groaned in annoyance. "There's always something!" he proclaimed. The bell rang, signaling the end of this lunch shift, and Sherlock leapt up. "Excuse me, I've got a drug dealer to catch," he said, starting to sweep out before pausing.
"You're clever," he stated. "Have to be, to take those classes," here he gestured to John's books spread over the table, his wallet to the side of them. "Seen some danger with that father, I assume?"
"Enough to last a life time," John answered carefully, packing up his things.
"Want to see some more?" Sherlock offered.
"Oh god yes."
