Sherlock sat in his empty dorm, the walls bare except from a poster of all the elements. He had a desk pushed off to the far side, cluttered with pens and unfinished papers, a few stray books lying abandoned. He sat on his bed, the cotton sheets only slightly lighter than his skin. His room was quiet, but he didn't mind- there wasn't much music he could really listen to without his mind begging for something else. He preferred to write his own. The receipt sat in his hand, and he stared at it apprehensively, the ticks of the clock appearing to get louder and louder the longer he stared at it. It felt strange in his hand, and he began to wonder. What exactly did he feel for John? He didn't exactly know if it was romantic, all he knew was that John intrigued him, and that he was something else. Sherlock could have most people sussed out within a minute, know things about them within one conversation, but John...John was different. A completely new puzzle for him to discover. So should he call him? The silence of the room filled Sherlock's ears and he groaned quietly. How soon could you call them? A day? More? He didn't know how long the other people waited.

"Two days." He said slowly. "I'll call him in two days."

Sherlock managed four hours before he reached for the phone. His fingers pressed the buttons hurriedly and he held the phone to his ear, hearing it wring out. Finally, John answered, his voice quiet.

"Hello?"

Sherlock coughed, his throat suddenly seeming dry. Why had he called him? What happened to two days? "Yes, erm, John. Hi."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed quietly, a happy tone to his voice. "It's only been six hours."

"Yes." Sherlock felt his face turn red and cursed mentally- he felt, for once, stupid. He didn't like the feeling. "I-I'm sorry. I-"

"No, no, it's fine. I never liked having to wait anyway." John said, chuckling quietly. "What's up?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Sherlock's brows furrowed; he really should have thought this out more. "I'd like to meet up again."

"Okay, when?" The quiet voice on the other line said.

"Soon. Social rules would say I should wait a few days, but I find it only logical to meet again quickly."

Another chuckle. "I'm at the library."

"What one?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Guess." John's voice was playful.

Just a bit shocked, Sherlock blinked. "Sorry?"

"If you can guess the right library by, say...seven, then you'll find me."

"Are you playing games with me, John?" Sherlock's voice was carefully intrigued as he thought about it. John was full of surprises.

"You're only happy when you're thinking. So think for me, genius." John said playfully.

A slow smile spreading across his lips, Sherlock tilted his head, his voice low. "What makes you think I'm going to find you? Or that I want to?"

"Because you can't refuse a challenge. See you in an hour, smart boy." John's voice said, and then he hung up.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. Again, the sound seemed foreign to him, but he welcomed it. Standing up, Sherlock put the receipt in his pocket and took a deep breath, his eyes closing. He mapped out London, the sight of every library spilling into his mind. The National Archives? No. Saint Bride? No, too artsy for John. London Metropolitan Archives, The Women's Library, British Library...no, no, no! Sherlock cast these ones aside, his eyes twitching ever so slightly. Westminster Reference Library. N- wait, yes. That was it, that was the library. He gasped and opened his eyes, almost certain he'd got it right. Flinging his gaze down to hit watch, he was glad to see he still had 55 minutes left. The corner of his lip turned up, he opened the door to his dorm and walked out, the stares for once not bothering him.

Sherlock pushed the doors to the library open, glancing at his watch. Three minutes to spare, he could do this. This was the right one, he was sure of it. With a deep breath, his long legs took off in a stride, searching for John. He'd have to be somewhere visible, where Sherlock could see him straight away. The cafe? No- too many people. Somewhere quieter. The lounge? Yes, he'd go there. Walking towards the sitting area, he stood quietly, shooting his watch a look. One minute left. He'd show up- Sherlock knew he would. He'd gotten it right, this was where he was. The minute ticked by and Sherlock felt himself sag in disappointment. He was wrong. He lost the challenge. He didn't get John. Sherlock closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, determined to get by it. He hated being wrong, he was so used to being right.

"Hello, genius."

Sherlock turned round to see a muscled boy with sandy blonde hair and deep blue eyes, a smile upon his face.

Sherlock felt himself smile a little. He was right. "I won the challenge."

John strode up to him, tilting is head up. "You did. I didn't think you would, but you did. Amazing. How'd you do it?"

Sherlock felt himself warm up inside. Amazing. Nobody had ever called him amazing before, it was always 'freak' or 'creep'. Amazing was new, and it sent a warm feeling through his body. "I deducted."

"Deducted?" John asked, his lips parted slightly.

Sherlock found himself staring at those lips, and noticing how soft they looked. Banishing the thought from his head as quickly as it entered, he cleared his throat. "Yes. Deducing. I notice the tiny details, the things that are there but people miss. I can tell so much about a person simply from their outfit, or the way they stand. I have the whole of London mapped out in my head, and everything sorted into files, shall we say. It's organised, and I call it my Mind Palace. It's where I need to go if I have to think deeply about something, eliminate factors, etc...everything I find important, I store in there."

John looked up with appreciation and awe in his eyes. "You...are incredible. What about things you don't find important?"

"I delete them." Sherlock was finding it hard to breathe with John so close. There he was again, with his words, their foreignness wrapping round him.

"Delete?" John watched Sherlock with interest; he'd never seen someone so smart, so hidden.

"Get rid of them. Once I've deleted something, I can't remember it afterwards." He whispered.

John tilted his head. "Would you ever delete me?"

"No." The word flew out of his mouth before he even had a chance to think about it. Blushing furiously, he tried to take a step back, but John's hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back. "Wait. You won the challenge, which means you get a prize."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What do I get?"

"This." John leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek, feeling him stiffen beneath him.

Sherlock pushed him off gently, trying not to make a scene. "Please don't."

Curious, John squinted. "Why."

"Because I am not what you want or need." He said seriously. I'm broken.

"Since when do you get to decide what I want?" He said, a tone of fire in his voice.

"Everyone gets to know me, and everyone leaves. I don't want that happening again. So, for the sake of another broken friendship, or relationship, I suggest you just...don't."

John looked at him, a sad smile on his face. "I won't leave you. Contrary to what you think, you interest me. I can't get you out of my head, and it's barely been a day since we met. I'm not asking for everything, but give me a chance, Sherlock. I won't push you away."

Sherlock closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He wanted to believe those words, but he couldn't. He wouldn't let himself. Emotions only hurt you in the end- it was better to just shut them off whenever you could. But still, hope was a seed inside him, begging for the chance to grow. "We barely know each other. If you really got to know me, you wouldn't like me, John. I'm...different."

"You're lonely. A sad, lonely genius, but you're brilliant all the same. I want to have the choice to get to know you, Sherlock. Give me that chance." John said, his eyes pleading.

Sherlock cast a wary look around, then back to John. "Let's go somewhere else. This is too public for me, I don't want anyone seeing."

John nodded, pulling out a pair of car keys from his pocket. "My apartment?"

Sherlock stared at the keys uncertainly, indecision growing inside him. John sighed, exasperated. "I'm not going to murder you."

"I know." Sherlock said quietly. Finally, he nodded. "Okay."

As they walked out side by side, John walked to his car and opened the door for Sherlock, chuckling at the wary expression on his face. Climbing in beside him, he leaned over and whispered in Sherlock's ear, his voice soft. "It's a good thing I like different."