A/N: I couldn't stop it, sorry! I love this story!

No-one is reviewing though…

I mean, thanks to x-Pick'n'Mix-x and 98Shaddowolff98 for their review, but where are the rest of you all! I know you all exist, because people have favourited this…

Oh, spoilers for Santa Claus…yes, the big red-and-white Christmas guy. And the tooth fairy – the winged creature that flies round with kids teeth in it's bag as if it's perfectly normal and not at all perverted to sneak in on kids in their sleep…

It wasn't the warmest of days today, so I grabbed my coat and scarf. The coat went to my knees, was black, thick and had middle-sized lapels on it. Buttons instead of zips, to make life faster and easier.

My scarf was dark blue in colour, with neat edges that had already begun to fray. It had belonged to father, and when he died it was going to be thrown out. I'd rescued it, vowing it to be my only reference to his death, and my only link to emotion.

I climbed into the car and instantly got met by Mycrofts' dull voice.

I tried to drown out my Brothers words as he droned on and on at me about School etiquette.

He sort of had a reason, because I never really got on that well with anyone. I had a habit of telling people if their partners were having affairs or simply refusing to believe an obvious lie, even if it was meant to be for my well being.

I had stopped believing in Santa at the age of 3, as pure logic taught me he couldn't get round the world in one night, as Time Travel was impossible. The tooth fairy became just imagination around the same time.

But Christ, Mycrofts' voice was boring. I closed my eyes, completely letting his words flow around me but not hitting me.

After a few minutes, I realised he'd stopped and was looking at me expectantly, with an expression that showed he knew I hadn't been listening.

"I get it, I get it." I assured him, keeping my voice at the 'I don't care' level I had recently perfected. "Don't get in their way, and they won't get in mine."

"It's a bit more complicated than that." Mycroft insisted.

"I'll work it out." I waved my hand absently, eyes locking on St. Claires as it came into view. The place looked massive, and my keen eyes instantly sought out what had to be the Science block. At least they'd have big labs. Something to finally stem the numbing boredom…

"I'll pick you up afterwards." Mycroft brought me back.

"Sure." I flung open the door. "See you later, and try not to eat all the food in the pantry, I might be hungry when I get back, but I doubt it." I didn't eat much, seeing no point in it. I ate when I needed to, no more than that. Besides, Mycroft made up for my not eating by eating far too much.

I slammed the door before he could reply and walked towards the entrance doors for the school.

I flicked my hair out of my eyes, trying at nonchalance, and hopefully succeeding.

I could feel heads turning my way, whispers of 'new boy' and 'heard he's posh' or 'freak'. Typical, stereotyping before that have all the facts. 'Dead Dad' hit me from behind, and I tried to ignore the stinging it gave me. Obviously the teachers had told them about me.

Taking a deep breath and keeping a care-free/bored expression on my face, I hitched my bag slightly higher on my shoulder, letting the other strap hang loose, and walked purposefully into the school.

It was fairly deserted, because the bell hadn't rung yet, but there was still the odd student around.

Looking quickly at my timetable, after pulling it from my bag, I noticed my Tutor was in L3. English was in E2, and Geography in H5. The E had to be English Corridor. H was probably Humanities, or Hateful. So L had to be Language.

Sighing – Languages were dull – I walked towards the appropriate corridor, figuring that the one with all the different languages on the walls and the flags (Mycroft had mentioned National Language Week or something) would be the right one.

Standing outside L3, I took a deep breath again, hearing the chattering voices and just plain teenage noise.

Taking the handle, I tried to stop myself shaking and pushed on the door.

As I stepped into my tutor group, I couldn't tell if it was a good or a bad thing that the classroom was already full.

Needless to say, the whole class turned as one to look at me, instantly drinking in the coat, the scarf, my untamed hair, my wary eyes. The stereotype was going to be set in these few minutes.

I swept my eyes across the room, catching the clichés, seeing the 'fake'-girls, the 'bad-ass' boys, the 'brain boxes', and the bullies.

As soon as my analysis was complete, I ducked my gaze to the floor as the teacher stood to greet and introduce me.

"Okay class, this is Sherlock Holmes. I want you all to be welcoming, okay?" I looked slightly left to his shoes and noted he had grass on them. There was no grass around for about 6 miles or so, and the grass in the school grounds was freshly cut. So he had to have come by train or something, because by car would have meant he didn't need to cross grass. I noticed the stub of a ticket in his pocket, and saw it was from Blackfriars.

"Why don't you take the seat next to Andrew Anderson?" The teacher smiled at me. I inwardly sighed, already hating Mycroft more, and sat down where I was told to.

As soon as I put down my bag and took of my scarf, leaving my unbuttoned coat on for now, the kid next to me – Andrew – started to speak.

"What kind of a name is Sherlock Holmes?" He sneered, and I was instantly repelled by his nasally voice. I swept a glance over him carelessly, deciding he wasn't worth full attention, but at least a bit to put my in my place. "What, were you born in the 1800s?" He almost laughed, but it sounded more like a pathetic snigger.

"What kind of a name is Andrew Anderson? I assume you're parents weren't every original? And they clearly didn't raise you well if you don't understand how wrong it is to be cheating with your long-term girlfriend – who is probably blind or stupid to be with you."

A/N: Um…not sure about Sherlock's ending line, but it's the best I could put up with. Apologies! And yes, what kind of a name is Andrew Anderson!

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