John quickly switched his fingers from the G to the C chord position and winced as the strings cut into his uncalloused hands. He was out of practice. His father had never approved of him playing the guitar, saying that it took time away from his studies. But since Presteigne required that every student play a musical instrument for band class, John was glad for once that he had disappointed the man.

He watched as Molly moved her slender fingers up and down the neck of the flute, adding trills and rifts to the standard piece. She was definitely good; with practice she could even prove quite talented.

Mrs. Brooks placed a hand on Molly's shoulder and scanned through the score. "I didn't see that anywhere in here," she teased.

Molly blushed. "Sorry, Mrs. Brooks. I didn't even realize I was doing it doing it."

"You play beautifully, Molly," the teacher praised, making Molly turn almost as red as her hair. "But from now on let's save that kind of thing for music club. We wouldn't want to make the other students jealous."

"Yes, Mrs. Brooks," Molly mumbled as the teacher moved toward Anderson, yelling to stop playing before he made a whole in the drum.

"I quite liked it," John whispered in her ear. He noticed Greg slouch a bit next to him, as if he wanted to be the one to say that to Molly first.

Molly brightened immediately. "Really?" she asked.

"Definitely," John said with a smile. " It spiced things up a bit."

Greg slouched even further. Maybe he likes her or something.

"Maybe you should join music club with me, then!"

John considered it briefly. "Maybe. I'm definitely not as good as you or anything. I think I'm a lot better at listening to music than playing it…"

John trailed off as the wailing of a violin pierced the air. Turning, he saw Sherlock pluck the strings one by one to make sure the instrument was in tune. He gave a soft hum of approval and closed his eyes, looking more peaceful than John had ever seen him.

The piece began.

John's mouth dropped open in awe. Molly might be good, but Sherlock was exquisite. He played with utmost ease, as if the instrument were simply an extension of his body and manipulating it came as easily as breathing. John had never heard the piece before, but he was overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness. He looked around the room and saw that many of the students had stopped talking and sat with their eyes closed.

"Beautiful," Molly murmured next to him.

John looked at her archly. She definitely just acknowledged Sherlock playing.

The girl squeaked in fright, and jumped out of her seat. "I have to go to the bathroom!"

John tore after her into the hallway. "Molly, wait!" John yelled. The girl ignored him and walked faster. John ran to catch up and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder to spin her around. "Why do you lot act like Sherlock's not there?" he asked. "You hear him; I know you do."

Molly's eyes widened, and John knew she was about to crack.

Finally he would get some answers.

Suddenly, John was body checked into the wall.

"What the hell?" he screamed angrily. He turned around to see Greg standing there with a goofy grin on his face.

"Hey, you guys talking about Mrs. Brooks? She's pretty hot, huh? What a fantastic little arse!"

John tried to hide his blush. "I don't know. She's ok I guess."

Lestrade put an arm around John's shoulder in conspiracy. "You like her, don't you? It's alright if you do, I've been known to fancy an older woman myself."

"No, it's not like that," John assured him hurriedly. "She's, ummm, Hold on," John said, looking down the corridor. "Where'd Molly go?"

"She must have disappeared when we started talking about Mrs. Brooks. You know girls." The boy's grey eyes widened in alarm. "Wait, were you about to ask her out?"

John shook his head. "No. I was about to ask her about…" John trailed off. He knew in his gut that Greg wasn't going to tell him anything. "Don't worry about it," he finished lamely.

Fuck.

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"I like that song," Molly argued as they walked to class. "The minor chords give it a sense of uneasiness, like everything is shifting."

"And you enjoy feeling that way?" Greg asked wryly.

John smiled. Ever since the day that he had cornered Molly, the three of them had been hanging out a lot together. Originally John had just been trying to get Molly alone again, but Lestrade's constant presence ensured she would never tell him anything. He had grown to enjoy their company, though. They were the closest thing he had to friends in this school.

"Where does that door lead to?" John asked Molly. He had never been in this part of the school.

"It's the auxiliary library," Molly said. "No one really goes in there though."

John opened the door to peer through. The room was adorned with stacks overflowing with books and tables for student reading. And at the table in the center of the room sat a certain student he had been dying to learn more about.

"I'll see you guys in class," John said.

"John, hold on a minute," Greg said forcefully.

"I gotta go," John cut him off. He shut the door.

"Hey," John said, walking over to Sherlock.

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Was it ok to do that?"

"Do what?"

Sherlock ignored his question. "They didn't try to stop you?"

"I guess not," John said hesitantly. He wasn't normally big on lying, but at the moment he didn't give a damn about want everyone else thought. "What are you reading?"

"Aren't you going to ask if I exist?" Sherlock asked cryptically.

John shrugged. "No one's going to give me a straight answer anyway."

He chuckled a little at that, a low, rich sound that reminded John of dark chocolate. "So," John said, motioning to the large tome in front of the boy. "A little light reading?"

Sherlock flipped to the front cover so that John could read the title. "The Science of Deduction," John read out loud. "Any good?"

He smiled that Cheshire cat grin of his. "It's proved most enlightening. I'll need to add some things, of course."

"Right…" John said unsurely. "What's wrong with your right eye? You've been wearing that eye patch ever since I saw you in the hospital."

Sherlock glowered at him, green eye alight something wild and feral. "You really want to know?"

John became acutely aware that he'd touched on a sore spot. "You don't have to answer," he said, waving his hands in the air.

"Then I won't," Sherlock said archly and immediately returned to his reading. An awkward moment of silence passed between the two boys. John wasn't positive, but he had a feeling Sherlock had just given him a test, and he didn't know yet whether he had passed or failed.

Sherlock looked up from the book suddenly, as if John's presence was surprise to him. "Any else, Mr. Watson?"

"You really don't like questions do you," John couldn't keep from blurting out.

"Usually I like to be the one asking them," Sherlock said, the barest hint of a smile forming on his face again.

"You should go back to class, dear," a voice called. An elderly woman stepped out from behind the shelves. She adjusted her glasses and gave him a kind look. "I don't think I've ever seen you here before."

"I'm John Watson," he said. "From ninth grade class three. I just transferred here."

"I'm Mrs. Hudson, the librarian. You're welcome to come here whenever you like, but you should get going now," She said, waving him along.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, heading for the door.

He looked back once before leaving.

Sherlock hadn't even moved.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxx

John peered through the window of the hospital break room. Sarah was alone, sprawling across the ratty couch with a book on top of her face. John wrapped his knuckles softly on the glass.

"Jesus!" Sarah screamed as she fell off the couch. She rubbed her eyes and looked out the window. "John, is that you? God, you scared me half to death!"

"Sorry," John said sheepishly. "I didn't realize you were sleeping. I came to give you back the books you lent me."

Sarah quickly unlocked the door and let him inside. "Did you like them?" she asked, recovering her positive demeanor now that the last vestiges of sleep had worn off.

John nodded emphatically. "I never knew the body did such amazing things."

"I wish half of the people on this staff had as much natural curiosity as you," Sarah beamed. "I can give you some more of them if you want. But that's not all you came for tonight, is it."

"There's something else that I wanted to ask you," he admitted reluctantly. Sarah motioned for him to sit down with her at the table.

"Did a boy from the Holmes family ever die in this hospital, Sarah?"

"Holmes family…" she pondered. "I'm not sure. Why do you ask?"

John wasn't sure how much of the story he was supposed to tell her. "Something happened that made me wonder."

"I get the feeling that you're asking for a reason," Sarah said, smiling knowingly. "Well, I know for sure that no one with the surname Holmes ever died in my care."

John nodded, grateful for any sort of information. "Changing the subject then. On any of the days that you visited me, did you ever see a boy wearing a school uniform in the wards?"

Sarah grabbed a soda and popped off the top. "A boy again, huh?" she leered.

John rolled his eyes. "It's not like that. He had a dark blue blazer, curly hair, and an eyepatch over his right eye?"

"An ophthalmology patient, then. Hhmm… Hang on a second!"

John jerked forward in his seat. "You saw him?"

"No, but…a Holmes boy who died…there may have been one. It was in the beginning of my residency so I don't remember the case very well."

"What was his name?" John asked urgently.

"I don't remember." Sarah leaned forward to whisper in John's ear. "Want me to find out for you?"

"Could you?"

"Sure, I could ask around. If I find anything I'll give you a call."

John was immensely grateful. "Thanks so much for your help, Sarah."

"No problem mister future-doctor," Sarah said in a sing-song. "But I do expect you to tell me everything once you figure out the mystery."

John gave her a wink. "It's a date."