Hello Everyone! This is my first time writing fanfiction of any sort, and any comments/reviews would be appreciated! As I am from America feel free to tell me any errors that need to be changed to make it right.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any associated characters.

John put a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, watching Harry's car speed down the gravel road, her wheels throwing up dust. He heard the sharp shout of someone, in vain, trying to get her to slow down before "she hit someone, gosh darn it!" Harry didn't slow down, and she didn't look back.

Harry never does anything by halves, John thought to himself, the car disappearing around a bend. The man who had shouted took a few steps in the direction Harry had gone, shook his head, and tightened his grip on the hand of a young boy at his side. Noticing John and recognizing him as having been with Harry, he shot him a glare as if it had somehow been John's fault that his sister was a reckless driver. John gave the man a half-hearted shrug and a small smile. Realizing that any effort to pacify the angry father would just result in more conflict, John directed his attention to figuring out where to check in.

The entrance to St. Bart's Summer Camp for Boys was filled with people. Parents trailed behind their children, dragging trunks full of all the items necessary for a summer of fun. Boys ran about everywhere, shouting to old friends, hugging counselors they hadn't seen since last summer, and creating an atmosphere of joyous clamor. A group of five or six boys had already started a pick-up game of football in the grassy field to the left of what John could only assume to be the main lodge. It was a large building made of rough unfinished logs. It looked clean and well kempt. There were window boxes full of vibrant yellow and pink flowers, and a cheerful sign out front with arrows pointing to the various camp locations.

John itched to join in their game, but he didn't know any of them, and the boys had obviously been friends for a while. Their easy banter as they kicked and passed the ball was proof to that. Approaching them would be awkward.

How is it possible for me to be so alone, surrounded by so many happy people?

Harry wasn't the best of sisters, but John had hoped she would stick around long enough to help him check in and get situated in his cabin. He had realized though that had been a childish hope the second they pulled in. Harry had looked around, a faint expression of annoyance flickering across her features as she took in the camp with all its happy campers streaming in. She had patted him once on the head, said, "Have fun Johnny-boy" and roared off in her silver car, leaving John standing in the parking lot with a second-hand trunk and his beat up red backpack.

Now John was doing his best not to look lost. To look as if he wanted to be alone in this new place. He gripped the handles of his trunk and picked it up grunting slightly as his bad shoulder twinged in protest. Staggering slightly under the weight, John made his way over to a table near the front of the main lodge.

Signs were duct taped to the front of the table dictating where to stand in line to check in. John got in the age 15-17 line and eased his trunk down on its side. In front of him was a dark haired woman in a black suit. She seemed entirely focused on a Blackberry held in her left hand, and as her eyes scanned the screen, a ding went off, and her brows came together in the middle. Whether in anger or confusion John wasn't sure.

The source of the dark haired woman's annoyance was sitting in the shiny black car that had pulled in a few minutes previously. Its occupant was refusing to come out and was now sending messages to her phone.

This place is dull.

Everyone here is dull.

The blonde boy with the red cap is 13 and still sucks his thumb. He has two cats, one gray and one black. He cried when he had to leave them. You expect me to spend my summer with these idiots?

The boy with the yellow trunk is showing early symptoms of a cold. He is very contagious. Don't get too close to him.

The short, stocky one behind you is clearly traumatized. His mother died in a wreck, and he has nightmares at least twice a week. His father and brother are both alcoholics. He is here all by himself, and is trying to look like he doesn't care. He is failing quite miserably in that endeavor. You can see it in the tenseness of his shoulders, and the way his eyes linger on the happy families around him. He is quite lonely.

Mycroft just texted. He said that he changed his mind, and for you to drive me home now.

Anthea read the messages as they came in. The last one she knew to be a complete lie. Mycroft would have texted her if he had changed his mind, but Anthea knew there was no way he would give up his internship to spend the summer with his little brother. The truth of the others though she did not doubt. Just like his older brother, Sherlock had an uncanny ability to observe others and glean information from the smallest of details.

Anthea glanced behind her on the pretense of looking for the source of a particularly loud shout from a group of boys behind her. She allowed her gaze to travel over the short boy behind her for a fraction of a second, and then turned her attention back to her Blackberry.

The boy did have a tense, lonely air about him. His trunk was beat up and looked to have had several previous owners before him; none of them having been too gentle with it. His clothes were clean, but worn – bought from second hand stores probably, or inherited from older siblings. His light brown hair was cut haphazardly, and stuck up crazily in the back. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the toe of his trainer was scuffing the dirt.

While Anthea did not posses the powers of observation that her employer did, she did know how what a lonely child looked like. She had seen it often enough in Sherlock.

Anthea sent Sherlock a return text as she came to the front of the line.

Be nice Sherlock. By the way, I know Mycroft didn't text you. I'm not an idiot like you seem to think I am. Now get out here before I have to drag you out by your ears. That would be a nice impression to give all the people you are spending the summer with.

She gave Sherlock a moment or two to read the text, and process the fact that she really was not kidding. Past experiences would have taught him that. She allowed herself a slight smile as two long gawky legs stepped out of the car followed by a long body and an unruly mop of dark brown hair. He crossed around to the back of the car and proceeded to remove his multiple bags.

She checked Sherlock in with a friendly looking counselor, and went to go help remove his trunk from the back of the car.

"I see you decided to finally remove yourself from the car." Anthea said, reaching up to gently tug on Sherlock's ear. He glared at her, and moved away with a jerk

"Well it was getting quite stuffy in there, and at the rate the car was heating up," He glanced down at his watch, "I would have been at low risk for heat stroke in about 10 minutes."

It was true; there was sweat dampening his hair, but they both knew that wasn't the real reason Sherlock had decided to get out. Sherlock rather liked his ears attached to his head, and Anthea was quite capable of removing them for him.