Hello, welcome to my first Sherlock -fic. I thought about should I publish this or not for a long time, but in the end I decided to share it with you. So, please do tell me what you think of it! Here we go...

Read, review, enjoy!

Surprising encounters

"Don't do it".

I turned around. "Excuse me?"

"Don't do it," he said again, and this time I could see who he was; tall boy -probably about my age- with black, curly hair, long nose and a set of piercing eyes.

"Do you think I'd take orders from someone my age who wears a trench coat and a scarf?" I asked; with that kind of wardrobe, no wonder he was alone. Then again, so was I at the moment.

"You should," he said, completely ignoring the slightly intended hurtful tone of my question.
"And I think you might be smart enough to do so".

"What are you talking about?" I wasn't sure was he trying to insult me; his words said he did, but his tone and body language said otherwise.

"I know you only do this because your 'friends' tell you to; ditch them, by the way, they wouldn't bail you out if and when you get in trouble," he said, taking a step forward.

"What? You don't know my friends!" I protested. What an arrogant prick; what gives him the right to judge?

"No," he said as he walked past me and then abruptly tuned around so we were facing each other. "I think it's you who doesn't know them," he smiled slyly.

"You know nothing!" I grunted; he was getting on my nerves, acting like he knew everything.

"Do I not?" he asked, his smirk widening.
"Let's see; you play rugby, you are what is generally perceived as 'smart' and you do well in school. You like your friends and you are loyal; that being the only reason you even stand here; your discreet and moral self would rather be somewhere else".

I stood silent for a while, and he, upon seeing my confusion, straightened his posture in pride.
"I got everything right, didn't I?" he smiled victoriously.

"You heard it from someone," I said, knowing there couldn't be any other explanation.

"No," he said, sounding rather insulted. "What fun would that be? I rather see things for myself," he continued, sounding very sincere.

"How could you possibly 'see' all that?" I asked in disbelief.

"Things I said are rather obvious," he replied.
"Well, to me at least," he continued, shrugging. "But to common folk… not so much".

"Well, tell me then; how did you do it?" I smirked.

"Alright," he said, and without even taking a breath he continued: "You have some bruises and scratches," he pointed at my bare arms that were revealed by the up-rolled sleeves of my shirt.
"But your face is fairly preserved and you don't seem the type to get into fights easily anyway, so I thought sports. Contact sports, to be precise. So yes, rugby was a guess, but a very educated and logic-based guess. And, apparently, a right one, too," he smirked quickly.
"Then, I looked at the way you dress; it doesn't fit with what you were about to do, thus I deduced you don't do it often. Also, you were clearly hesitating, something that a long-time vandal wouldn't do.
So, a well-dressed sportsman engaging in criminal activity? Must be group pressure. And what group would you want to please? A group of friends, of course. Why do you hang out with them anyway?" he concluded his long, but fast-spoken monologue, and it took me a moment to realise that the last sentence was indeed a question and he was waiting for me to answer it.

But I was so confused by the accuracy of his words my response wasn't particularly well worded.
"I… Umm, I… don't know," I stuttered.

"Well, I'd suggest getting better friends then," he replied, looking away from me.

I stared at him, thinking about his words.
"You're a prick," I then snorted with a smile; he was right, bloody thing.

He grinned to me.
"And you are?"

"John," I replied

He nodded approvingly.
"Well, see you around, John," he then said, turned on his heels and left with a quick pace.

I stood on my spot, stunned about this unexpected encounter and all of its happenings, and I thought about his words.
But the sound of a police siren from far away woke me from my thoughts. I shook my head, grabbed my things from the ground and went home.

((Later that day I phoned my friends and told them I wasn't going to take their bet after all. They called me all sorts of names after that, which gave me the long-desired opportunity to tell them to 'piss off'.

I wondered many times had it been wise to do. But about a month later the answer came to me in the form of a newspaper. A small article on the bottom of the third page told that two of my former friends had been arrested. And I knew had I still been their friend, I would now be in the police station with them.
I folded the paper back on to the kitchen table and in my head thanked the odd young man who had helped me reach the decision that had saved me from conviction.))

-:-

Many years later I was reminded of my encounter with that boy on the day when, upon first meeting my new flat mate, he introduced himself by telling who I was.

But this time, he also told me his name; Sherlock Holmes.