A Peculiar First Impression Pt 2 - Sherlock.

A/N - This part is just what the intro was for Sherlock. (This does have an actual purpose.) So you know what he found out about John. Then the next little bit of the story should be up in about three days. It would actually push the plot along. (We all hate repetition).

"Have a good time, Shirley." His mother patted his head absently, but for once Sherlock didn't tell her off. As much as he loved his mother, he was a little grateful for the break from the constant smothering. And he also knew that when she clipped a pen to her sleeve (of all places- most people would put it in their hair or a spare pocket, but not his mother) she was in the middle of a case.

Or was trying, yet again, to force his father into signing the divorce papers. Either one was good for everyone, so he left it be.

"Thanks, mother. Is Mycroft picking me up?" He pulled twice at his left sleeve, a nervous twitch, which his mother noticed. She lightly gripped his arm, and he successfully suppressed a wince as she turned to face him.

"Of course, Shirley. Though why he drives that ridiculous taxi is completely beyond me. And don't call me mother, it's far too formal. Your father's not here, you know. You could relax a little." She said all of this whilst pulling at the collar of Sherlock's purple shirt and black coat in a pointless attempt to make him look smarter.

Sherlock inwardly smirked at the contrast, but made an effort anyway. (Though being overly careful not to upset his clothing.)

Sherlock slumped in a way that did not suit him, and tried his hardest at looking comforted by his mother. He could not be calm in that house, it made him feel constantly watched.

"I know, mummy, Force of habit." Then he looked up with an expression akin to that of the Cheshire cat.

"I also know why Mycroft drives a taxi all the time."

"Why, sweetie?" He now had his mother's full attention. She had always wanted him to be exactly like Mycroft, just without peculiarities and danger. Needless to say, the only one she had managed was keeping him from danger.

"It's the invisible car."

"The what?" She paused, then clapped his hands together once, keeping her palms flat together. "Oh. Shirley, that's brilliant!"

"That's not what Mycroft said." He shook his head mock mournfully. His mother laughed, shaking her head.

"I don't really want to hear what Mycroft said. No doubt unfit for an old lady's ears."

"Wasn't fit for mine, either."

Mrs Holmes laughed again, then raked a hand through her short blond curls.

"Speak of the devil, he shall appear!" As she finished the statement, a taxi raced around the corner, halting abruptly exactly outside the door.

"Well done. You've finally taken off your rose coloured spectacles."

"Don't be cheeky Sherlock, you're not perfect."

"I'm not? Mummy, that's the most dreadful thing you've ever said. And a massive lie." She hugged the boy, then waved him to the door, maternal smile upon her normally serious face.

"Don't comment on the other boy's family, okay?"

Sherlock mumbled a yes, entirely used to his mother's comments, and picked up his violin case; Mycroft had placed the rest of his luggage in the boot earlier.

He slouched his way to the car in the true style of a reluctant teen, and tapped on the window next to Mycroft's face.

"What's up with you, Mycroft. You look like someone stopped you from starting a war."

"Don't be an idiot Sherlock. You know it already."

Sherlock proceeded to bang his head against the half-opened window, the word 'shit' leaving his mouth at regular intervals in a flat, non-energised tone.

"He wont teach me, will he." It wasn't a question. Sherlock already knew the answer, and was simply complaining in his usual way."

"He's our father, Sherlock. He wants to make sure you do well. As do I."

"I don't want you teaching me either."

"Only because you know that you're often wrong, and me and dad can easily call you out on it."

"Father cannot reason his way out of a paper bag. And you, comfort eating, Mycroft. You've put on seven and a half pounds in the last two months. You're not happy either."

"Seven, Shirley. See, you're wrong even now."

"Closer to seven and a half." Sherlock then turned away, swearing foully at his own bad luck. Then at his mantra of ,'there is no such thing as luck'.

Italian, Russian, then greek as he opened the door of the taxi.

The only boy of the small group already seated looked up in surprise; spoke greek, and found Sherlock's little tirade shocking. Whether it was the fact that it was in greek or the actual words, he couldn't quite figure out.

It didn't matter. Sherlock figured that if he had already gotten to the other passengers, he would have a people free journey. Well, in mind, anyway.

"Drive, Mycroft. Or I will." He did, slightly better than he had been before, he didn't want Sherlock pointing out his normal driving habits.

He could see the blond boy looking at him curiously, and was about to harshly suggest he piss off, when the boy offered his hand. Strange, that wasn't what normally happened. They normally went straight for the face.

Then again, normally the expression of interest would be combined with that of fear and a slight morbid fascination.

"Hello. I'm John Watson." The politely offered hand was completely steady, but Sherlock could not have been anymore shocked had a pigeon flown through the window and hit Mycroft directly in the face.

As he nervously moved back, Sherlock came back to earth, and grasped his hand, still slightly numb.

"The names Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. And you are a rather odd boy, John Watson."

John could not keep himself from giggling aloud, though he did try his best.

Sherlock quirked one eyebrow upwards, but had to try surprisingly hard to not join in the laughter. John's giggling was rather high-pitched compared to his speaking voice, but Sherlock did not find it annoying.

"You find me funny."

"Um, Yes, I guess so. What about me strikes you as odd?" He sounded slightly defensive, and accusatory as he took in the sight of the teenager who was wearing a purple fitted shirt and black formal trousers.

"Don't look at me like that. I know I'm not ordinary. That, actually, happens to be the point. Because-" The remainder he said tenting his hands at his chin, and staring whilst changing between rapid blinks and none at all- "Why, would anyone with a functioning brain, introduce themselves to me?"

"General politeness?" Harry had disentangled herself from Clara long enough to send a harsh sounding response to the person who did not turn in acceptance of her speech.

He responded, but kept both eyes on John. The youngest Holmes was not concentrating on what was being said anymore, but what wasn't.

He sectioned off his brain, remembering his mothers comment and the line his father and Mycroft always used.

"Eventually, every Holmes has to say every observation that comes to mind, no matter the damage." Sherlock's mother not being a Holmes by birth, had managed to keep her empathetic side, and Sherlock hoped to do the same. He never intentionally hurt anyone, it was just a skill he had never had to practice.

This in mind, he put a keyword filter on his speech, and silently analysed the boy next to him while his normal verbal abilities continued unhindered. Well, mostly.

John Watson, 16 years old. Older sister, lesbian. Obvious, she's sitting right opposite, and it would only be right to assume that the girl is in a long-term relationship with her. Otherwise John would be a little more surprised, but he seems to be treating it as completely normal.

Does look slightly awkward when he get eye-contact with one of them ,though. Not because they're gay, that's not what's bothering him. Eliminated to two. Either he likes his sisters girlfriend, or their relationship hits a little closer to home than he would like. Need more data .

Red line around wrist- kept a band there for too long. Too tight for him- not worn for style, would have been irritating if not painful. 2cm thick, numbers imprinted onto arm. Paper based, judging by the small cut on wrist- it rubbed awkwardly if he moved his hand.

Hospital band. Visitors, clearly. He must have been primary contact, otherwise contact would have been sorted appropriately by an older family member. Only one relative needs the information band, contact number etc. He went alone.

Friend. No. Family would have been put first even if person was not close to family, immediate or otherwise.

Sister. Simple, Sherlock. He shook his head, slightly irritated by the slow (for him) conclusion.

Harry Watson. Alcoholic, suffers from depression. Rubs the back of her hand, there was recently an IV and other needles in her left arm. Tinge to her skin, yellow. Pale normally, rush to health was not all that successful. Has almost flu-like symptoms as an after effect.

Neither Watson child close to their parents, that mush is obvious. If John was, he would have told them. Presumably, he went as far as to visit Harry in secret; cares about his sister, but disproves of many of her choices. Strained relationship, but closer than you would expect.

Back to John. Shirt ironed, but only the front half. Silly thing to do, he must not be used to doing household chores. Did it himself. Mother does not look after him, clearly.

Sister away ,most likely with girlfriend, so she couldn't even point it out for him, let alone help.

Avoiding her mother. Both Watson's are not particularly close to parents, wasn't always so.

John would have learnt to look after himself had the situation been very old, or maybe the circumstances were to traumatic for him to learn to adjust.

Both. Spent time with other relatives that took pity on him and his sister, but not this last summer- first one on his own with his mother.

Normally stayed with a close relative, someone who taught him Greek. They probably would not have taught him half the words I used- Greek pen-pal or friend. Original Greek learnt as a second language from an early age; someone who would have been around a lot. Grandparents. Father's side.

His mother. She stopped caring. Must have been strongly affected. John's shirt is normal other than the bad ironing, but the pocket of his jacket his covered with numerous badges, all raising awareness of something to do with the army. Wears thick boots, comfortable but worn. Outdated.

Belonged to his father. Military father, went to war in Afghanistan. Missing person, both Watson' s seem to be avoiding wearing anything black- perhaps it's wishful thinking.

Mother knows something she hasn't told the kids. Lashes out, explains both of them avoiding her, if she was just depressed, they would both try to spend time with her.

…

Father isn't dead. Where is he?

Sherlock frowned, as Mycroft slipped a piece of paper to him.

"He is in Tibet." Sherlock hadn't the slightest clue how Mycroft knew that, but he wasn't about to ask.

John gave him a rather confused look, but Sherlock had not forgotten what his mother had said, and so offered no more information.

"I would say good day to you all, but that it stupid considering that this is probably a rubbish day for all of you. Particularly with the news just received. So, I'll say have a day of some kind, and be off."

With that, Sherlock loped off, and headed straight for where he assumed the main hall to be.

A/N- Next chapter will have at least one lesson, and we might meet Sherlock's father. Oh, and Donovan, Anderson, Lestrade and Molly. Reviews greatly appreciated! (I assure you, these chapters will be completely necessary later on! Hint. Hint. (The answer is almost always Tibet. ))