I remember that day so clearly, it's as if it were yesterday. The day that changed my life. Looking back now, I'm glad my 17 year old self had the sense to keep a diary of the events that transpired that day. I'm also glad for the fact that I had been able to persuade James to do the same.

I'm starting in the middle again, but this story starts in the middle of an ordinary day, just over three years ago...

I glanced nervously around me, clenching the hand on my bag strap into a fist to stop it from shaking. The halls were quiet, as were the three classrooms that boxed me in.

"Sammy?" A familiar voice called my name from the door beside me. "What are you doing here? I thought you did French."

"Yes, James, I do. I have a message for you from Professor Hanson." I'd gotten waylaid by Hannah, Professor Hanson's secretary on the way to class earlier.

His face fell, and he stepped out into the hall. "Joy." He said sarcastically, turning to face me.

"Anyway, here." I handed him the little slip of paper, and as he took it from me I noticed that his hand lingered for a moment too long.

He noticed it too, apparently, because spots of pink appeared on his otherwise pale cheeks. "Sorry."

I smiled at him. "Don't be." He read the note and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Did you read this?" He asked me.

"No. You know me, I'm not one for reading other people's mail... Why, what does it say?"

He read it to me. "For James Watson. Message to be given as soon as possible. There has been an unexpected change in the timetable and as such you are no longer able to continue with Spanish as well as your chosen options. For this reason you have been placed in Professor Hanson's French class."

I didn't know what to say, so I merely looked at him. He saw me scrutinizing him with my gaze and sighed.

"Well, who am I to argue with fate?"

"Fate? Did you get your iron tablets mixed up with your dad's blood pressure pills or something?"

"No."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"Oh Sam, isn't it obvious?"

I stared at him, confused, and he smiled. It was the first proper smile I'd seen from him all day. My heart hammered and for some reason decided to lodge itself in my throat, preventing me from voicing a reply. James Watson had always been particularly good-looking, but whenever he smiled it seemed to almost transform his face; it was as if someone flicked a switch inside him. His pale blue eyes darkened and softened and his mouth seemed to pinken slightly, creating a contrast with his dark blonde hair.

I swallowed, realizing that I'd been holding my breath.

He laughed. "With your lineage and all, you'd think you'd have at least inherited some of his skills, Holmes." He drew out the last word for emphasis.

I rolled my eyes. "James, please don't start that again. And no, it's not obvious."

"Every other class we have together, except this one. Fate." He sighed, and I was reminded of the fact that we should probably start making our way to class.

It was my turn to laugh. "You say fate, I say lucky coincidence. But whatever it was, we should probably get going." James looked up at the clock above my head.

"I suppose you're right. I'd better explain to Professor Diez that I'll be leaving her class, then, assuming that she doesn't know already. I'll see you there?"

"Sure." I replied. He flashed me one last smile, before turning and walking back into the classroom.

I sighed inwardly and hoisted my abused messenger bag further onto my shoulder, picking aimlessly at a broken thread as I walked back towards my locker. My stomach chose that moment to complain at me for lack of nutrition, and I checked my watch. 11am - no wonder I'm hungry - I haven't eaten since 6:30. I paused in front of my locker, and thought. I could either skip class and hide in the bathroom for 35 minutes, or I could go to class and get yelled at for being 35 minutes late. After a few moments deliberation, I chose the latter option. As I headed towards the other end of the Language Building, I thought of what James had said earlier, about my... lineage, as he put it.

My musings were interrupted. "Samantha Holmes, you're late."

Damn. "Sorry, Professor Hanson. Hannah gave me a note to give to someone and I had trouble finding him."

"That would be James Watson, I presume."

I nodded. "Well, we shall discuss your constant lateness after class. Inside." Sounding rather annoyed, she walked back into the classroom. I had no choice but to follow her in, trying to avoid the curious stares from my classmates. I sat in my usual seat by the window. The occupant of the desk next to mine shot me a slightly nasty look as I pulled my chair back, which struck me as odd. I've never been the most sociable of people, but I'd managed to make friends with Cara Hooper. I was under the general impression that she liked me well enough, so naturally I wondered what was the matter.

Prof. Hanson started handing out vocab sheets with instructions on how to form the past participle of verbs. This was year 10 stuff, so I found it relatively easy. Prof. Hanson predicted it would take the class the rest of the lesson - all 20 minutes of it - to complete the double-sided worksheet. It took me considerably less than that, so I spent the remaining 10 minutes just thinking, before my brain picked up the train of thought that had been interrupted earlier.

Why do certain names have to have expectations attached to them? Not that I was complaining about mine; I was lucky, in a way. Because my last name is Holmes. As in, Sherlock Holmes.