Here's the first installment - I'll be making a soundtrack to accompany the series, so stay tuned for that :)


"Now, remember, don't get into any trouble, and don't let anybody make you do a thing you're not comfortable with!"

"Mum, keep your voice down, please-"

"Oh, Johnny! Don't forget to call me, when you get there." Shaking off a messy kiss on his forehead, John Watson let himself be pulled into a tight hug, bone crushing and just a little too affectionate for being in public.

"Course I will, mum," he replied, voice muffled by the large expanse of coat fabric that was now chafing across his mouth and cheeks. "It's only uni – I'll be fine." Mrs Watson shook her head, pushing John away by his shoulders and surveying him with bright eyes. One hand pressed against her chest, while the other snaked out to ruffle her son's hair. John pulled a face, but Mrs Watson lips just trembled at the sight of her little boy.

"All grown up," she murmured, as John ran his fingers hastily through his short locks in an attempt to flatten them down. Before any tears could be shed on Mrs Watson part, a loud thundering signalled the arrival of the train and John hastily moved out of her clutches. Hefting his bag up onto his shoulder with one hand and grasping his ticket in the other, John gave her a parting smile and took two tentative steps towards the platforms edge. Around him, business men wore the camouflage of dark suits, brief cases in hand and papers tucked under their arms, with looks of disdain warping their features at the thrumming crowds of teenagers milling about them. Many stood in packs, chatting and laughing animatedly, giving off a buzz of energy that couldn't help but make John grin along with them. Before he had a chance to meet and greet, a harsh wind kicked up as the train pulled up in front of him, and he had to step back to avoid losing his ticket. People jostled for position, all elbows and feet as they moved to get a better spot in the queue that was steadily forming outside each car door. John hurried along with them, turning over his shoulder to give his mum a final wave and smile, before getting pulled along in the tide of passengers sweeping along the platform.

"Sorry," he muttered, stepping on a disgruntled mum-of-two's foot in the chaos, and slipped in behind a prim and proper looking business woman, decked out in a fancy suit with scarily high heels. John steered clear of them, eyeing the leopard skin with suspicion, but managed to board the train with minimal injury. Taking a quick glance around the car, and at his ticket, he started to move down the aisle towards his seat. The train gave a lurch, and John had to grasp at the seat next to him to keep from toppling over – time to find that seat, he thought with an uneasy glance at the porters who were getting the train ready to leave. As the crowds of onlookers dispersed, John spotted his mother (walking with the train as it departed) and gave her a puzzled look.

"What are you doing?" his eyes asked, an incredulous squint forming on his face. Much to John's embarrassment, the majority of other passengers had sat down and the train had quieted, save the dregs of a few conversations floating through the air. His mother looked back at him with wide, damp eyes before mouthing him her answer (very obviously, it had to be said.)

"I love you." John groaned, ears burning, as he nodded noncommittally and gave her a reassuring smile. Much to his pleasure, the train took its moment to give another sharp heave and started to slowly chug out of the station. In a waft of wind that kicked up scattered leaves littering the tracks, John's mother was left behind with a final wave of her hand. Rolling his shoulder and glancing around the car, John willed his cheeks to cool down and moved to find his seat. Before he could take more than a few steps, however, a voice stopped him.

"You're sitting here." John turned to his left, following the sound of the deep baritone.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, eyes finding the stranger who had approached him. Sat alone (and opposite an empty seat, John noticed) sat a boy, looking to be about John's age. He was tall, with pale skin, sharp, angular features and a mound of dark curls that spilled, untamed, over onto his forehead and down his collar. His eyes were piercing blue, flecked with greens and browns, and John had trouble keeping his train of thought as they stared at him – no, through him – over the top of the large text book clutched in the boy's hands.

"I said 'your seat's here.' Didn't you hear me?" the voice had taken on an exasperated tone now, laced with hints of barely disguised condescension which made John frown in annoyance.

"How would you know that?" he replied, grabbing the head rest to keep himself upright. "Look, I don't really know what you want, but-"

"I read your ticket." The boy countered, and gave John's look of surprise a crooked grin. John snapped his mouth shut, clenching his jaw, and nodded once. Okay, then, he thought, and dumped his bag on the floor next to the guy's feet. He slid into the seat, knees knocking against the long limbs that were stretched out under the table. He placed said ticket in front of him and stared at it for a while before looking up at the boy, who was seemingly engrossed in the encyclopaedia-like hardback.

"Do you always read peoples tickets?" he asked, eyes trained on the ethereal features before him, "Or did I warrant curiosity?"

"I'm always curious," the boy replied, with a small shrug of his slender shoulders. "But that doesn't mean you didn't catch my eye." John's cheeks reddened again, which earned him another cheeky grin from Mr Mysterious. John settled on that nickname – it fits well, he thought.

"I'm flattered," John shook his head, resting his forearms on the table and leaning forward in his seat. His eyes drifted from the boy to the world rushing by outside, all open fields and lazy country homes as they left the city far behind. Trees and hedges merged into one big, wobbly stroke of green which made John's head spin with the speeds. He shook himself mentally – this guy was weird…but John found he was curious himself.

"I'm John," he said, holding out a hand for Mr Mysterious to shake. The other boy glanced at it, momentarily lowering his book, a frown mottling his alabaster forehead. After a tense moment, John let the hand drop and shifted uneasily. Okay…he murmured, not very social, then.

"I know," the boy blurted, burying his head back into the pages. Only black curls were visible over the top, messy and wild. John chuckled at the reply, shaking his head slightly.

"Ticket?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No, not this time," the other replied, and John glanced at him in question. "I saw you with your mother." He admitted, and John saw another flash of mischief in his eyes as he continued. "She's going to enjoy a lovely weekend with her boyfriend, I'm sure." John stared at him, mouth falling open comically.

"Sorry – you eavesdropped on our conversation?" he asked indignantly, but the boy just rolled his eyes and sighed.

"I merely observed," he replied. His tone was bored, as if this was something he had to explain regularly. Well, John thought, he's certainly not getting away with this unanswered for.

"What boyfriend? My mother doesn't have-" The boy sighed, closing the book with a snap and setting it to the side. His hands worked their way to his chin, long fingers propping up his head as he leaned on them. He took a breath, and then began.

"New shoes and dress, in colours that compliment her short stature and tanned complexion, coupled with the fact she's just had her hair done and has made an effort to wear her best jewellery to a train station clearly reflects the fact she's going straight to her boyfriend's house. 'Why her boyfriend,?' you say? No one would make that much effort for a friend, especially as you're tight for money. So, trying to make a good impression – but for who? The lack of your father today suggests he's out of the picture (recently divorced, I'd say, from the shadows under her eyes and altogether protectiveness of you,) so broadening her horizons and taking the plunge, as it were. With her son gone for the foreseeable future, there's nobody to question her actions or stop her from going -so, boyfriend. Fairly obvious, I would have thought." John stared at the boy, eyes wide and face a picture of shock. He shook his head, trying to comprehend what he'd just heard and muster up a suitable answer. When nothing witty came to mind, he settled for the truth. Even if it did sound a bit stupid.

"That was….amazing." the boy looked up at him in puzzlement.

"You think so?"

"Of course. Extraordinary, quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people usually say…"

"Oh? What do people usually say?"

"Piss off." They grinned at each other, eyes locking and causing laughter to bubble up inside John's chest. He chuckled loudly, earning a few disapproving glances from nearby passengers. Stifling another laugh, he bit his lip and looked back at the boy whose eyes were dancing with withheld amusement. Watching him reopen his book to the correct page, his smile faded slightly and he frowned.

"How did you get that in one glance, though?" he asked, fingers worrying at the edge of his ticket.

"I told you – I observe." came the reply, quiet and low.

"Right," John nodded, brow still creased in confusion. "Well, it was all news to me…"

The boy looked up at him sharply. "You didn't know?" he asked, and flash of something akin to pity sped across his eyes, before dissipating quickly.

"No, I didn't," John mused ruefully, and pursed his lips. "She never said anything…" he trailed off, staring out of the window. After a long silence, punctuated only by the sounds of quiet coughing and the thrum of somebody's headphones, John spoke again.

"I still don't know your name." he reminded the boy, watching as he glanced up at him, eyes warming a fraction as a smile slid over his features.

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied. To John's surprise, a long fingered hand slid into the space between them, and John reached out to grasp it in his own. A moment passed before both boys released their grips and retreated back into their own space. They sat in quiet for a moment, the silence stretching awkwardly, and John's eyes wandered to the thick book the pale eyes were scanning.

"Body of Work: Meditations on Mortality from the Human Anatomy Lab and the Fundamentals of Forensic Science?" he asked, mouth fumbling over the extensive title. Sherlock looked up in surprise, as if suddenly remembering John was there.

"Yes." He replied, and turned it over in his hands. He ran his fingers along the title, almost lovingly.

"Any good? I could do with some light reading." John joked.

"More of a hobby, actually," Sherlock admitted with a shy smile. Interest caught, John moved his elbows to the table and rested his chin on his hands.

"Really?" he asked, his tone curious. "What kind? A catch-me-before-I-kill-again sort of hobby, or are you more of a science geek like me?" Like me? Stop it, Watson. He doesn't want to know.

"Neither, really. I solve crimes." His tone was matter of fact, as if it was every other person's interest. John stared at him for a moment – definitely not joking, he thought.

"You solve crimes? What, with the police?"

"The police come to me when they're out of their league."

"When are the police ever out of their league?"

"They're always out of their league." John eyed him suspiciously – was this guy for real? John was interested, though, and it seemed like Sherlock was surprised at that. He kept giving him strange glances, as if sizing up when and if he'd get up and leave. Not going to happen, John thought with a smile. Of all the people he could have ended up next too…

"I can see you have questions," Sherlock cut in, sighing in mock exasperation. John nodded, still smiling. Leaning forward in his chair, he ran a hand through his short hair before answering.

"So, you're a detective? What're you doing going to uni, if you already have a job?"

"I told you, it's a hobby. I solve crimes in my spare time."

"What do you study, then?"

"What do you think I study?" John raised his eyebrows at Sherlock's tone. Is he flirting? No, stop. Don't think about that right now. Answer the question, Watson.

"I, uh," he cleared his throat, giving himself a small shake. Get it together. "I don't know…science of some sort?" Sherlock scoffed - his eye roll was implied.

"Fair deduction, but I was hoping you'd go into detail." John folded his arms, huffing in protest. Why was this man so bloody…

"This is stupid – You know I have no idea how to do what…you do." He gestured vaguely with his hand, eyes shifting over Sherlock's smug features. Infuriating - that's what he was.

"Giving up so easily, Doctor?" Sherlock's tone was teasing and John's heart gave a small flutter.

"What do you mean 'doctor'?" John tried to sound accusing, but his voice was slightly rougher than he would have liked. He covered it up by shifting in his seat and coughing lightly. Well played, he thought, now you definitely look like an idiot. Sherlock shrugged, giving John his isn't-it-obvious look. He just stared back, enjoying the small curl of warmth radiating from his stomach.

"It was a simple enough deduction. You want to be a doctor, am I correct? Actually, don't bother answering that, I know I'm right. You said it yourself earlier – you're a science geek, as you so eloquently put it. But that leaves a wide field, anything from physicist to microbiologist. So, what are you interested in? We know you're short for money, quite obvious by the clothing and the state of your mother, so something well paid would benefit both of you. Something well paid in the field of science? Doctor is the obvious choice, and Cambridge has the top score when it comes to league tables. That, coupled with the fact I can see the books in your bag, led me to conclude you aspire to be a doctor. I'd say it was your mother who encouraged you…but that's not all is it?" Sherlock leant forward, tipping his head to the side, with a look so intense it left John speechless. Not that he was in any state to reply anyway…

"Sport was your first interest when applying to university. You wanted to try for Sport Science, following your successful youth playing football, no…rugby, but your mother insisted on being a doctor. I doubt you wanted to go through with it, but the thought of disappointing your mother was enough to put you off. She's the only parent you had left, and judging by the lack of any siblings at your departure, I'd say you're an only child. But the broken veins on your cheeks suggest you also had a passion for music. That and the faint smell of cork grease on your fingers, shows you're still not sure what path you want to take and instead are trying to juggle all three. So, apply for medicine knowing you'll be accepted (you're clever enough, even you know that) which will quiet your mother and give you good prospects for the future – albeit, sacrificing your passion for sport and music, both of which you probably excel in." His deduction was bought to a close with a tight smile and a barely disguised air of smugness. His pale eyes were guarded under slightly raised eyebrows, fingers steepled under his angular chin. John licked his lips, mind racing. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with him.

"Sorry – what's wrong with my clothing?"

"Really? That's all you got?"

"Well, aside from the mild insults and frankly rude comment about my mother, the rest was pretty… awesome." Lame, John, you sound so ridiculous… "And I'm still trying to figure out how you even got all that." Sherlock grinned, indulging in a small amount of pride on his behalf. John groaned internally – he should probably stop complimenting the guy. Might give the wrong impression…. then again, there probably wasn't an impression left to give that Sherlock hadn't already deduced.

"One of my many talents," Sherlock replied and John grinned.

"Got many more, then?"

"A few – not as impressive I'm afraid." John opened his mouth to reply, but before he could think of a decent answer a figure appeared next to their table.

"The freak's back, I see." John turned to the speaker, brow creased. She was tall and slim, with a wild mass of hair and dark skin. Her face was twisted into a sour pout, which mirrored that of the boy hovering next to her whose hair was lank and greasy. Sherlock's face morphed into a sarcastic smile, hands clasped together in mock delight, and John was surprised to see all the…emotion. Even if they were fake…

"Ah, Sally! Always a pleasure…And I see you've bought Anderson! Isn't this a treat?" Sally ignored him and turned to face John instead, who braced himself.

"What did he do, then? Did he follow you home?" John cocked his head to the side, face creased in confusion.

"Sorry, what?"

"Sherlock Holmes." She said, widening her eyes and gesturing to the boy across the table. Her tone was matter of fact, glossing over Sherlock as if he didn't even exist. "He doesn't have friends, you know. So what are you?"

"I'm… nobody, I guess." John replied, slightly confused and more than a little annoyed. "Not that it's any of your business." Sally raised her eyebrows, glancing between them and the boy at her side gave a sneer; John felt a strong desire to punch it right of his pale face.

"Sorry, was there something else we can help you with?" Sherlock glanced at him out of corner of his eye, an amused smile forming on his lips. Sally huffed and folded her arms across her chest, before turning and giving Anderson a nod.

"Here's a bit of advice, mate. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." They left the car exchanging furtive glances and muttered conversations and John glared after them. He twisted in his seat, turning back to face Sherlock. He was staring out of the window, eyes guarded and face turned away. John frowned at the grim look on the other boys face and decided to change the subject.

"So…" he began, "Friends of yours?" Sherlock glanced up at him sharply, his eyes alight with something akin to anger. John backed off slightly, licking his lips. "Sorry, I shouldn't-"

"Why are you still here?" Sherlock cut across him, voice sharp and grating. John winced at the venom in it and shifted under the penetrating gaze.

"Uh, this is my seat." He replied hesitantly, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"I mean here here. Sitting with me." John stared at him in confusion, tapping his fingers nervously against the edge of the table.

"Look, Sherlock…if you want me to go, just say and-"

"No. No, I didn't mean that." Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose, brushing his long fingers through his unruly curls, before letting it out sharply. "You heard what they said, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"So, why are you still here? I don't have friends, John. Most other people would have left by now, or made an excuse to get a cup of tea or something ridiculous. Usually for the best, actually, people are all so boring-"

"Sherlock, stop – I don't care what they said." Sherlock frowned again, opening his mouth before closing it again.

"You…don't?"

"No, of course I don't. Besides," John grinned and leant back in his seat, folding his arms jauntily. "I prefer to make my own deductions." At that, Sherlock lost his perplexed expression and a genuine smile slid across his face. He chuckled slightly, eyes darting away from John's face before returning and John thought he could see the faint hints of a blush peppering his cheeks. Supressing another grin, John turned his attention to the window and stared out at the rapidly growing city. Large buildings dotted the horizon, illuminated against the slowly darkening sky as evening set in and he noted with some apprehension that their destination was fast approaching. He swallowed hard and turned away.

"You don't have to be worried, you know." Sherlock said softly, so quietly that it took John a moment to realise the thought was directed at him. The boy's pale eyes were cast downwards, staring intently at the fabric of his jeans, but John could see them flicking in his direction.

"I'm not worried." John replied automatically, before cringing at the all-knowing look Sherlock shot his way. "I mean, of course I'm a little…nervous. Who isn't?" Sherlock made a noncommittal noise, a soft humming that John accepted as his only answer. He returned to fiddling with the cuff of his sweater, picking at it aimlessly. Sherlock had his head rested against the back of the seat, eyes closed and hands pressed together below his chin. John watched him for a while, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. His eyelashes were stark against pale skin, as were the blue veins that traced along his neck and wrists. John shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Stop it, he told himself firmly, just stop. He doesn't have friends. He told you that himself. Taking another long breath, John yanked his headphones out of his rucksack and pressed them into his ears harshly, switching on his music and settling back into the seat. He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the faint brush of Sherlock's leg against his as he shifted, and forced himself to relax. Before long, the steady drum beat lulled him to sleep and he drifted away.

John woke with a start, blinking blearily into the dull light of the train car. His headphones had fallen out and rested in his lap in a tangled mess, guitar chords blearing from them mutedly. He sat up wearily, running a hand through his hair, and stifled a yawn before remembering he had company. John froze, turning his gaze to Sherlock who sat looking at him.

"Morning," murmured the deep baritone, and John smiled weakly.

"Sorry. Dozed off." He replied, voice rough from disuse.

"Only for 32 minutes. It's perfectly acceptable." John decided not to answer that, but gave Sherlock a small smile anyway. Glancing down to the table, he noticed the coffee cup placed on the table top before him. That's new, he thought and glanced up at Sherlock questioningly.

"You got coffee?" he asked incredulously and Sherlock nodded stiffly, lips pursing slightly.

"Of course. There's still 2 hours and 27 minutes left of the journey and I assumed you would be in need of refreshment." the boy replied, and his face tightened as John moved to take a sip. "I, uh, wasn't sure if you took sugar so I thought it best not to add any. If you need any more milk I can-"

"Sherlock," John said, smiling, "It's fine." Sherlock released a breath, moving to take a sip of his own cup. They drank in silence, eyes focussed elsewhere.

"Do you have one?" Sherlock asked, the sudden break of silence causing John to glance up in surprise. He placed his cup on the table carefully before replying, face questioning.

"Do I have one what?"

"A dorm mate. For university." Sherlock's tone was blunt and he was furiously avoiding John's eye. John's heart gave a leap at the words, but he made his face seem neutral.

"Why do you ask?" his tone was bored, his face passive, but underneath John's pulse was hammering double time. Keep it together, he thought and shifted lazily in his seat. Sherlock's mouth was pressed into a thin line, the tips of his ears going an adorable pink colour and John could see the internal struggle as plain as day.

"I was just wondering," Sherlock replied through gritted teeth and John gave in, granting him a large grin. Sherlock visibly relaxed, giving John an annoyed glare.

"Now that you mention it, I don't. What are you suggesting?"

"A possible alternative to bunking alone." Sherlock glanced up at him from under his eye lashes, a small smile ghosting across his lips. John nodded slowly, chewing at his bottom lip.

"Got someone in mind, then?" he teased, revelling in the sharp glances he was being greeted with. Confidence – it was all about confidence.

"Perhaps. That all depends on your view."

"Well, that all depends on the person." John scratched is chin before giving Sherlock a brief once over, the other boy staring back with eyes bright with mischief. All the tension flooded out of John's body, nerves being replaced with a pleasant tingling that spread slowly through his stomach, accompanied by a shared chuckle with the stranger in front of him. Things were looking up; John hadn't even stepped onto campus yet.