A/N: hello, my lovelies!

look at this! it's a new chapter which is not terribly late. i feel happy, do you? (◕‿◕✿)
i am like 4 reads away from 500 which is fucking insane okay

Thank you sososo much for reading and if you think this chapter is a good/ bad one make sure to tell me!
Again, thank you a lot and enjoy this long- ish chapter!

you are so lovely!

~red owl fethers

Two weeks had passed before anyone knew it. It was time for classes, waking up early (which 90 percent of the students absolutely despised) and carrying books around (which the other ten percent also hated). Sherlock was barely making an effort to actually attend classes.

He was often late or not at all present, not because he preferred to sleep late (okay maybe once in a while) but mostly because he had other things to do.

Those other things did not include unpacking.

Two weeks after he had dropped those bags on the floor, they were on the exact same spot. Except for his books and experiments, pretty much nothing was taken out from any of the bags. And still the room looked like a mess.

He took out clothes, only by sticking his hand in the abyss and gripping something random. So when he took the clothes off he threw them in some direction and hoped they won't get lost forever.

There were books scattered on the floor, some half opened revealing an ink drawing there and neatly printed text there. Some were still wrapped in their original package.

His violin lay on the desk, bow beside it. People were complaining whenever he decided to play, mostly because a great deal of the playing was happening long after the skies had turned dark.

Sherlock's black converse shoes were beside the door and he was walking around barefoot.

The other bed however was as unoccupied as it was on the first day. The sheets were still there, but there was nobody that lied on them.

What was this Moriarty person?

Sherlock, the beyond curious person that he was, did some research.

When Anthea picked him up from the hospital he went to Waterloo Bridge for a reason.

And just as he had told her, he was investigating.

You see, Sherlock had developed a thing called "the homeless network".

It was a great big web of people, homeless people for that matter that basically spied on other people for the money Sherlock gave them. Quite illegal, but the Holmes brother didn't really care.

When asked, he always said that it was homeless people he used, because they are the eyes and ears of the streets.

The WaterlooBridge woman, as Sherlock had nicknamed one of the people in his network, was a big source of information. When he had gone to her that weekend, she told him something very interesting.

A woman, a very wealthy woman to be more exact, was sitting near enough for the spy to hear what she was on about.

Her daughter, it appears had been threatened. And who was her daughter? Her name was Irene Adler.

And of course, now comes the question, what does this Adler girl have to do with Sherlock or Moriarty or the woman from the network, and why was this important in any way?

The answer of course was that she was going to the same school as Sherlock.

Irene Adler had been quite the popular girl in Baker and Stubbs. Her mother mentioned the name of the school, of course, otherwise it would not have been possible for Sherlock to know. But let's go back to Irene.

Irene Adler is what you may call a Dominatrix. She was probably more powerful than the school principle himself, probably more powerful than her mother or any other common person she had interest in overpowering.

Everybody called her "The Woman". She was about 17 years old, but she had every quality a woman possesses. She was independent and had everyone on her little finger. Sherlock hadn't met her yet, but he was highly interested.

So who could possibly try and threaten The Woman?

Everybody who tried, failed miserably or were outsmarted. But this time, she was afraid. And the Dominatrix is never afraid.

Soon enough, Sherlock learned that it was supposedly his "roommate" who dared play a dangerous game. It took Holmes only a week and a half to establish a system that had many threads, so that he could know what was happening all over campus, mere seconds after it had happened.

That system included people that weren't necessarily connected to Sherlock or liked him. He just needed the information.

Moriarty was a mystic figure. Sherlock overheard a couple of people talking about him; he could catch only whispers and ridiculous rumors, like "I heard he killed somebody, that's why he's not here anymore" or "he's so stinking rich, he can just drop out of school" of for instance "somebody told me Mr. Smith is related to him, that's why he only kicked him out of the school". The one with the murder was Sherlock's personal favourite. It was all like a modern adaptation of "The Great Gatsby". Some absolutely impossible things were going through people's minds, some vaguely interesting. Nobody knew for sure what exactly the deal with James Moriarty was.

One day about three weeks after lessons had started, there were some exciting news.

It was a Friday and Sherlock had last period chemistry. He was pretty happy with his results. It wasn't the most important thing on his mind, but the experiment had been successful so the chemistry teacher had told him he could come during the weekend if he wanted to experiment with something else. There was this mutual liking between the two. Sherlock had thanked him and helped Lestrade clean up the mess he had made.

Lestrade wasn't any good in chemistry.

When he was getting out of the school building (the chemistry lab was on the second floor) he accidentally pushed someone on the stairs. Sherlock frowned and was about to say something like "watch out" to the person whose shoulder had met his, but then he stopped.

"Ah, Sherlock I was looking just for you!" Mrs. Hudson turned around and the two started walking side by side.

"What is it, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked, a little bit annoyed that someone stopped him from returning to his room as fast as he could.

"I've got some exciting news." She said happily.

Sherlock quickened his pace "Well then? You caught the Year 10s under the birches, they were smoking, you made them eat the cigarettes?"

"No, no, not that." She shook her head. "You're getting a new roommate!" she squealed a little and her hands went flying in the air.

Sherlock stopped as if someone had hit him in the face.

"What?" he knew it would happen someday.

"Well, you're having a new room-"

"Yes I heard. Not really new, given the fact I practically never had one. Who?"
"Well…" she looked to where her folder always was and her face dropped as she remembered it still lay on the desk in her office.

"Never mind that. When?" Sherlock started walking again, this time even faster and Mrs. Hudson struggled to keep up.

"He is arriving this afternoon if I remember correctly." She smiled again.

"Catastrophic." Sherlock mumbled.

"Oh, cheer up now, I read his file, he seems pleasant enough." Mrs. Hudson tapped Sherlock on the shoulder in a comforting manner. His face relaxed a little. "I have to go back now; you tell me how he is!" She kept on walking forward, while Sherlock went to the left.

"Only on tea and biscuits!" Sherlock shouted.

That afternoon, Sherlock was ashamed to admit is, he felt a little excited.

Will his roommate be a total douche bag? Will he be an idiot?

There were a thousand questions the boy asked himself and finally, when he decided nothing can be done to erase them from his mind, he started writing them down.

Roommate aspect

1. Does he seem like a douche? (Deductions based on his overall appearance)

2. Why is he here? (Football scholarship; rich?)

3. Can I deduce him out loud, or will he react aggressively and/or negatively?

He thought about the third one and decided to scratch it out. He didn't really care how the boy would react.

4. Family?

5. Does he read?

6. If yes, what?

7. Does he shower in the morning? (Could use information for experiment)

8. Do his feet smell?

9. What is his presumable IQ?

He seemed to be forgetting something… Oh.

10. What's his name?

Two hours had passed, still no roommate. It was six pm now and curfew was in ten. And by 'curfew', everyone understood 'be in the common rooms or your dorm rooms and if you're brave go outside but watch the hell out'.
Where was this boy?

Sherlock went to his mind palace. He expected John, sitting somewhere, probably reading a book. But nothing like that came to view. He was standing in the corridor again, with all the doors he could enter.

Maybe he's in one of the rooms, that idiot.

So Sherlock looked in the first room. And in the second. And in the third, the fourth, every room there was. But there was no John Watson.

The boy started to panic, opening more and more rooms, sticking his head in, forcing some really dusty doors open, but his John was nowhere to be seen. A white door led to a rock near the ocean, a blue to an unsolved case. Nothing. Everything seemed empty. Sherlock jumped out of his seat.

And then someone knocked on the door. Sherlock was probably looking very strange, he was pacing around the room fast, and his hand was running through his hair, making it completely insane. He went to open the door.

Wait, what?

"Hello."

Was this some sort of joke?

"I'm sorry I'm so late."

Did Mycroft, with his dreadful sense of humor organize this to make fun of his brother?

A hand crossed with Sherlock's view. A pair of blue eyes was staring at him.

"Um…are you alright?"

"Y- Yeah, yeah, uh… yeah." Wait, was he stuttering?

Immediately the door fluttered back to its original state, as Sherlock closed it as fast as he could. He turned around, so his back was propped on the door.

A muffled voice came from the other side "Is everything okay?" the voice sounded worried and then continued unsurely "I'm supposed to be your roommate? Have I got the wrong room?"

Sherlock was in a state, where you kind of feel that your head is completely empty. He heard some other voice through the door. The two were talking for a bit and then one voice said something loud enough for Sherlock to understand.

"Sherlock, open the damn door." It was Lestrade. "Do you really want to keep the lad here waiting?"

Sherlock hesitated. He didn't want to open the door but he couldn't keep it closed forever. He decided it would be easier if he let the boy in.

"Ah." Lestrade's voice was clear now. The shorter boy that was standing next to him was holding three small bags and hurried inside after Sherlock had made enough space for him to do so. Sherlock was extra careful not to touch the boy in any possible way.

"Oh my god, your room is such a mess." Greg stood in the doorway now with his hands on his back.

The roommate dropped his bags behind his bed, given that it was practically the only space that wasn't marked by Sherlock's belongings.

He walked over to Sherlock, who was at least half a head taller than him and extended a hand.

"Hello. I'm-"

Sherlock hesitated and shook the hand.

"John Watson. I know."

dundundun? was it a plot twist?