A/N: Hello, sorry for the long wait but here is the deal. I wrote this entire chapter and I was done Friday two weeks ago but I wasn't entirely satisfied so I slept on it and then I wasn't satisfied again so I slept on it again and when I still wasn't satisfied so I trashed it. And then a hell week started in school so I drowned under two big tests, two essays and one important presentation so I didn't have time to write until this Friday. But hay, the chapter is 4000+ words long :)

So I don't think we have any warnings in this chapter. I'm being nice to our Sherlock this time :)

Disclaimer: No owning or money making on my part. All rights go to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC.

Enough blabbering from me and enjoy the chapter

"She gave me a C+!" John exclaims as he sits down on the chair opposite me. I feel a smile growing on my face, despite John's obvious unhappiness. He wants to sit with me today as well.

Two weeks, almost three, our friendship has lasted, and I have been forced to admit that having John around almost all the time hadn't been as unbearable as I thought. Quite enjoyable, actually.

The first few days were awkward in the sense that John felt obliged to make conversation all the time. He'd start talking about something trivial and when I didn't respond he'd fidget for a while before starting the whole routine over again. Most of the time I didn't answer because I couldn't be bothered to. Don't get me wrong, John's topics were...entertaining enough to not bore me, but they rarely went beyond that. The other times I didn't answer were not because I couldn't be bothered to, but because I didn't know what to answer. Uncertainty was a feeling I rarely felt, and when John managed to lure this out with questions like 'So what's your favourite team then?' or 'What kind of music do you listen to?' I felt it was best not to answer than to answer wrongly.

After the first awkward days it seemed to dawn on John that neither of us had any need of constant conversation and he stopped talking. My first reaction to this had inexplicably been fear of some kind. When I prodded at my fear, I found out that it was fear of John leaving me and I quickly pushed the emotion aside. It wouldn't bother me if John left me, I didn't need anyone. When I realised that we were still friends the odd stirring feeling in my stomach came back and has continued to do so with more frequency.

About a week into our friendship, John inquired about my violin.

"Are you any good?"

I roll my eyes at his question, "John, have any of my remarks about your language entered your skull? You need to be more specific with your questions."

"Are you any good at playing the violin?"

I look over at my violin resting in the open case on top of my bed. I had been playing before John entered the room but I had stopped as soon as I heard someone fumbling by the door, I didn't want to annoy John. Why didn't I want to annoy John? Would he even be annoyed? Pushing these thought aside I answer with a curt nod.

"Could you play something for me?" John asks hopefully. His words freeze my thoughts. John wants me to play something...for him? I regard him suspiciously, wondering why he would possibly want to listen to me play.

My interest in the violin has only been met with mockery before, earning me a stronger reputation of being an outcast. Despite this I've always loved the violin, it has been the only thing that can calm my frantic mind. From the day my mother first gave me the bow till now, it has been the one thing grounding me, making sure my mind doesn't spiral out of control.

As every other time John asks me one of these unexpected questions I can't find anything that suggests he's not completely honest in his face. John, always so honest, has so far been the only person on this school who has made an effort to get to know me. A decision that is equally reassuring and unnerving.

During these few seconds of silence thought I've experienced a range of different emotions – Yes, I do occasionally have emotions. Having emotions is not a weakness, merely an inconvenience. Showing them and letting your emotions control you, however, is a weakness - though I've shown nothing of it to John, and continue to keep my face impassive as I rise from my desk chair, walk over to the bed and pick up my violin.

"Any requests?" I ask, mimicking the voice of a servant. John answers with a short laugh and a shrug.

"Surprise me."

Quickly scrolling through my mental music file I choose a piece I've known for years, not too hard but still impressive. I tighten the bow hair and bring my violin up squeezing it between my shoulder and jaw. I give the strings a few short, experimental plucks to check that they're still in tune. Carefully positioning my left hand around the neck, I let the violin become a part of myself. I slowly place the bow on the strings, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes I let the first note fill the room.

During the next five minutes I am one with the music, letting it fill every fibre of my being. My mind is peacefully empty as my fingers dance over the strings. I forget about John watching me and just play, bringing every single sound from the very core of my heart.

When I finish I let the final note ring through the room as I stay completely still, knowing that when I open my eyes the spell will be broken. With a deep breath I open my eyes and drop my violin and bow to my side.

John is looking at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my stomach drop. He didn't like it. I haven't felt this vulnerable in years and I can't help to shuffle my feet a bit. There is a reason for why I don't play the violin for everyone and that is because I strip myself of my masks and lower my walls and show my heart through my music. But I had strangely enough trusted John and showed him a bit of myself no one else at this school sees and he didn't like it!

"That-" he says and I can no longer look at him "- was amazing."

My whole body relaxes and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding,"you really think so?" I ask sheepishly, and when he nods I can't help but smile.

Since then, having John in the same room as myself hasn't stopped me from playing, and John has seemed just as delighted by the music now as he did back when I first played for him.

Last week we formed a kind of rhythm with each other. We would eat breakfast, well mostly it was just him eating, and then split up and attend our classes. Then during lunch I would check on whether John was eating with his friends, still rugby friends but no longer the alpha dogs, or if he was alone. If he were with friends I would go to the library if he wasn't I would sit with him while he ate, something which occurred more and more often. Then, if it were Tuesday or Friday, we would walk together to the next class, and if it were any other day of the week, we would once again split up. John would return to our room later than me due to rugby practice most nights, and we would spend the evening talking.

"Sherlock! Are you even listening to me?" John's voice breaks through my thoughts and I am brought back to reality.

"No."

John sighs but smiles, "I was telling you about Mrs Greenwood, and how-"

"Miss."

"What?"

"It's Miss Greenwood, she's not married."

"Oh. Anyway," He continues, "Miss Greenwood gave me a C+ on my essay. I have been working on it for the entire week and she gives me a C+. It's ten times better than Tom's and he got a A-!" He throws up his hands to emphasise his point and then takes out his rage on an innocent potato by mashing it with his fork.

"It's because you're from a middle class family, she doesn't want the 'noble families' to mix with commoners. She also dislikes Scottish, Irish and Welsh people. She thinks we're peasants."

"Really?" John furrows his brows in confusion then shrugs, "well that explains a lot," he stabs a meatball with his fork and brings it up to his mouth, but then something hits him and he freezes midway.

"Hang on a minute," he points both fork and meatball at me, "you said 'we'. Is 'Holmes' is not an English family?"

"No, old Scottish nobilities. You should have seen Miss Greenwood's face when she found out. Thought she would pass out. My grades dropped from A's to C's within no time."

"Wait, you're Scottish? But you don't have an accent."

"No, I don't. The Holmes family haven't lived in Scotland for three generations. I do however, own a very lovely kilt in the Holmes family tartan."

John looks at me with a look of complete bewilderment for a second before he bursts out laughing. I give him a serious look, but I can't stop a chuckle from bubbling out of me and soon we're both laughing uncontrollably. I can't remember the last time I laughed like this, without a care in the world.

"Oh god, I would pay to see you in a kilt," John manages to squeeze out between giggles.

"Well, that's not going to happen," I answer and grab a cucumber from his plate.

"Oi, I thought you said you weren't eating," he tries to snatch the cucumber out of my hand but I quickly shove it in my mouth.

"Even sociopaths need to eat."

When I've finished chewing and look up at John I find that he is no longer smiling but looking at me with something close to disappointment in his eyes. When we lock eyes he looks down at his plate and I'm left staring at his sand coloured hair.

Did I say something wrong? I go through the last ten minutes in my head again and try to pinpoint the moment when I could have disappointed him. I can't find something that would count as inappropriate by normal social standards and decide that maybe he really doesn't like when other people touch his food. Despite knowing that I couldn't possibly know this, you can't deduce those things, I can't help but feel a bit guilty.

Although it's not even October yet, it's dark outside when John returns from rugby practise, already showered and changed into his school uniform. Unlike most of the students at St. Leonard's, including me, who wear the navy blue blazer on top of their white shirt and black tie, John instead wears the knitted pullover over the rest of the uniform and it makes him look...softer than the other students. Almost cuddly. I jerk my head back at my own thoughts. Cuddly?

I redirect my focus on the textbook in my hands- biology, tedious- while John moves about the room, throwing dirty clothes in the washing basket. I notice that he seems a bit distracted, stopping mid motion a few times and casting regular fleeting glances at me.

"You have questions," it's a statement, and it makes John stop his insufferable beating about the bush business he's been indulged in since returning to our room. His tongue darts out to lick his lips once and I find that my eyes follow its movement.

"Yeah, you know that thing you said at lunch," oh no, he's still mad about that? My stomach twists uncomfortably, "about me being from a middle class family." Oh that!

"It's fine John. I've obviously known for a while so there is no need for you to worry that this information might change our relationship," I give him a look that's supposed to say 'how do you survive normal life with that level of IQ' but I'm not entirely sure I succeed.

"I didn't worry! Besides that wasn't at all what I was about to ask you. I was going to ask how you knew I'm from a middle class family." He says with a small smile while he seats himself on his bed, obviously pleased with himself.

"Oh that, I deduced it."

"You...deduced?" He sounds confused at first but after a few moments his expression clears. "Ah, that trick you do! David told me about it. Can you really tell everything about a person from just one look?"

I drop my book onto my chest and gives him another 'you're so stupid I'm surprised you're alive' look and this time I'm sure I succeed. "It is not a trick! It's simple logic, anyone could do it if people just bothered to use their eyes!" I exclaim. Why can't people just think for themselves?

"Whoa, calm down I was just asking. But you can do it?"

"Yes."

"Can you do me?"

I hesitate. People usually don't react well to me using my deduction skills on them and it has earned me quite a few beatings in the past. I don't want John to get mad at me just because I couldn't keep my mouth closed. But John have been so accepting before, maybe this wouldn't bother him so much. Despite earlier claiming not caring whether John left or stayed I now have to say that I'd rather have him staying so is it really worth the risk. All previous data points to the odds for John liking my deductions being very low, too low, but John have went against all of my previous data.

Still trying to make up my mind I look up and meet John's eyes for the first time since he returned to our room, and like every other time I've ever doubted him John's eyes speak nothing but complete honesty and interest.

With my mind already made up for me I let the floodgates open.

"You live with your mother, father and brother. Your Mother has a low salary job and your father works in the military but he's not stationed somewhere right now. Your brother is called Harry and he's older than you but otherwise you are both the same size. You have been playing rugby for several years but that's not where your scholarship came from. No that came from studying and it is the reason to why you constantly study. You prefer fantasy books over other genres, your favourite team is Manchester United and you're left handed."

I slowly inhale and try to shove down the rising panic within me. It was too much, John is going to be creeped out and then our friendship will seize to exist. I don't have to worry long though because before I can finish my inhale John proclaims "Fantastic!"

"Really?"

"Yes, it was quite extraordinary. Did you really know all that?"

"Well obviously."

"Hey!" He gives my hips a playful shove with his foot and I can feel something fluttering inside my chest "Smug bastard! So okay you obviously knew all that but how did you know it?"

"You have a photo on your bedside table-" I nod my head in the direction of said photo "-of a woman and a man, their position shows that they're married or at least in a serious long term relationship. The photo also show you and another teenager, male, about the same size as you. The way the woman's hand is positioned on his shoulder showing they're related. This photo is clearly arranged and taken by a professional and no one hires a professional to just take a photo of friends so family photo, your family photo.

Your suitcase," I point at the suitcase under John's bed, "the name tag says 'Harry S Watson', so it was given to you by a relative. The suitcase is old but not older than a few years. Now, who gives their relative a suitcase? No uncle or aunt would give their nephews a second-hand suitcase so therefore it must be from a closer relative. The suitcase is too new to be one of your parent's old ones so therefore it must have been your brother's. Second-hand suitcase with the name Harry on the name tag. You have an older brother called Harry.

"Now since the suitcase, and some of the clothes you own, have been given to you, your family is not too well off but not so poor you're in trouble. The way you hold yourself and the way you fold your clothes and make your bed screams 'military' but since you're too young to have any military training yourself your behaviour comes from someone close to you, closer than a strict teacher or trainer so therefore family. Your brother is also too young to have had enough military training for it to have influenced you, father it is then.

"How do I know that he's not stationed anywhere now? You rarely read the papers and when you do it's the comics you read. Your father and you are close judging by the way you constantly email to each other-" John exclaims something like 'you've read my email?' at this but I wave it off with my hand. "- so if he'd been stationed somewhere you would be worrying about him and therefore keeping up with what was happening abroad through, amongst other things, the papers. An off duty army salary doesn't take you far but complement the army salary with a normal paid job and you have no problems financially. Your family have financial problems," I indicate his suitcase again, "so therefore your mother has a low salary job.

"Your body type and the fact that you made the rugby team tells me you've been playing for quite some time, but because you had to qualify for the team you didn't get into St. Leonard's through rugby, you got a scholarship for your school presentations then.

"Your bookcase is packed with fantasy books- The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Harry Potter, C.S Lewis. It's obvious you prefer this genre over others. Your keys have a Manchester United key ring on them and you don't buy nor keep merchandises from clubs that aren't your favourite. Now for the part of you being left handed, I've seen you write on lessons. You'd have to be blind to miss that.

Now, did I get anything wrong?"

"Brilliant!" I look up and beside me John is practically beaming. "Absolutely brilliant," he looks down at his lap and shakes his head, "just amazing."

I take a moment to swallow down the happiness bubbling up inside of me. My heart feels like it's swelling. Never before have my deductions been met with this kind of praise and I'm not entirely sure how to react to the situation.

"Did I get anything wrong?" I repeat. John's head snaps up.

"Sorry?"

"Were my deductions correct?"

"Oh, well-" He begins but then stops and grin. "actually yeah. I think they were. Yeah."

"Oh, I didn't expect to get everything right."

"Incredible," John continues to mumble to himself.

"You do know that you do that out loud," I remark a little harder than I intended. John's repeated prise have begun to sound more like mocking in my ears than I'm comfortable with.

"Oh, right sorry."

"No, it's alright," I clear my throat, "it's just not, what people usually say."

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss off."

John looks at me with a frown then giggles a bit, "morons."

I feel the same kind of happiness bubble up inside of me as before, but this time I don't stop the feeling from breaking through my walls and I allow myself to smile. But when John smiles back at me I can feel something close to...loneliness, no, longing maybe, or a mix of the two, clamp itself around my heart.

It's Sunday, four o'clock in the afternoon and John and I are currently walking down the high street of Southminster. We have already done the north street so there isn't really much more to see in this town when the high street ends. It's usual for students to walk into town on the weekends, especially sunny days like this, but after my first visit in this sleepy town I've never really seen the appeal. As I suspected close to nothing has changed since last time I visited. John, who suggested we should take a walk in the village, has already been here two other times in his short stay here at St. Leonard's and I'm surprised he still finds the village fascinating enough to waste his weekend here, almost as surprised as when I found myself accepting his suggestion of going here.

We're passing St. Leonard's church, which our school was named after, when we cross paths with a middle aged man in socks and sandals. To not walk straight into the man John moves closer to me and our hands accidentally touch. My heart flutters in my chest and I can feel a faint blush creeping up my cheeks, luckily John doesn't seem to notice.

This whole blushing like a maiden in distress thing begun this Wednesday after John had praised my deductions. Since then I've become more prone to so called 'butterflies' in my stomach when John is near. I've also found that my heart speeds up every time he touches me and it's almost as if I can feel where his skin made contact with mine hours later.

On Friday morning John had noticed that my tie needed straightening and instead of informing me about the matter he had simply walked up to me and corrected it himself. While he did this I had been frozen on the spot, only being able to focus on how close he was to me -His hands are almost touching my chest, I can feel his breath on my neck- and that if he were to move ten inches forwards he would be pressed against me.

When he had finished, he looked up. Because I had been looking down at his hands working the whole time, this decision of his made my ice grey eyes look into his deep blue which were just inches away. Suddenly the air in our room had disappeared and my heart was beating loud enough for us both to hear. With an undignified splutter of some kind of excuse I had tried to break the tension that had arisen in the room but John didn't move. After what I had been sure was a moment too long to be considered normal my legs finally began moving again and I broke eye contact, rushing out of the room and down the corridor.

After that I had made sure not to let that awkward moment of weakness repeat itself but I still couldn't stop the blushing and the goofy smiling only John seemed to be able to lure out of me. To be honest this loss of control over my own body was quite alarming.

John spots a café some twenty yards ahead of us and asks if I would like a coffee. I answer with a shrug and we make our way to the building.

"What do you want then?" He asks while we wait for the cashier by the counter.

"Just coffee." I answer while I examine the rest of the place. It's a small shop with a lot of tables, all in a different style, scattered across the space. It's clean, cheap and what most people would describe as 'homey'.. I wonder if John likes the place or if he just picked the first café he came across.

While I've been taking in the surroundings John has ordered and is now nudging me with his elbow, a cup of tea and a plate with a bisque in his hands.

"Earth to major Holmes, your coffee is done."

I pick up my cup and follow him outside where we choose a table in the sun. Halfway down in my seat my brain alerts me of something. We are two persons, having a coffee and a cup of tea, at a 'homey' café. This would certainly count as a 'date' in most peoples eyes and judging by the way the cashier is looking at us she thinks so as well.

"Is this a date?" I ask, finding that I wouldn't really mind if it were. John, who had been sipping his tea when I asked, chokes and begins coughing.

When he has calmed down he raises his hands defensively and calmly says, "no, this is just two friends, having a coffee together. Nothing more." My heart drops a bit at his words but I keep my emotionless mask firmly in control.

The tension is somewhat awkward around the table and neither John nor I say anything for several minutes. When an old woman walks past us across the street John leans in and asks with a whisper what I can deduce about her. Momentarily frozen by John's sudden closeness it takes awhile for me to register his request. When my brain is back online I tell him about how the lady owns at least three cats and that she is married, although no longer happily so. John then points to a young man on a bicycle a few yards from the lady and I proceed to deduce his story as well.

This continues, John asks me about a person and I deduce what I can about him or her. Soon we find ourselves in barely contained laughter when during my deductions, John joined in after the fourth, escalating them from improbable to just plain silly.

When I announce that the man delivering goods in front of us is a criminal mastermind by night, John lets out a loud laughter and I feel my inside go all gooey. That's when it suddenly dawns on me. It's like being hit with a frying pan going in slow motion. I can see it moving towards me but there is nothing I can do to stop the uncomfortable truth from hitting me, I can't duck, or move away, or alter the path of the revelation. And then John looks at me and smiles his wonderful smile and the truth comes washing over me like a tidal wave.

I, Sherlock Holmes, am in love with John Watson.

Enormous thanks to my beta The Science Of Seduction :)

My finals are starting this Monday so I have no idea when the next chapter could be up :( If you want updates on how the chapters are going just check my tumblr. The link is in the description on my profile page.

Reviews are highly appreciated :)

Love

/Phin