When they arrived at Veronica's house (who turned out to be the blonde, John realized) they were ushered into the backyard. Twenty or so students were gathered around, listening to music and drinking out of red plastic cups. John was nervous, but he mimicked Sherlock's calm demeanor.

His eyes went straight to a group smoking hookah in the corner. "There," he murmured.

"The killer?" John asked.

"No, tobacco!" And he was gone, leaving John standing awkwardly near the door. After a moment, a pretty dark-haired girl was suddenly at his side. He recognized her almost instantly as one of Sherlock's fangirls.

"Hi," she peeped. She was smaller than him, which gave John a bit of confidence. "Your friend seems… different."

"Oh yeah, he's just wearing a brave face," John lied.

"I'm Jane, by the way," she said.

"John," he answered.

"You don't mind if a chat with you, do you? I only know a few girls here who are either off making out or too drunk to tolerate."

John laughed. "Not exactly your crowd?"

"Not really."

John looked around. "Me neither." But did he even have a crowd? John wondered. He only really had Sherlock.

He settled on a bench with Jane and they talked pleasantly together. It had been such a long time since John had spoken to a girl (who wasn't in grade school) and he smiled far more than he should have.

Jane was just in the middle of telling John about how her pet turtle is a mastermind at escaping his cage when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Ready to go, John?"

"W-what time is it?" he asked.

"11:40," answered Sherlock.

"Past you bedtime?" Jane joked.

Sherlock looked at her with one eyebrow cocked. "Ah, I believe this belongs to you." He held at the press pass he used earlier.

"How did you…"

"Must've dropped it," said John quickly.

"Oh, well thank you," she said, taking it in her hand.

"By the way, nobody wants to read about refurnishing in the library…"

"How did you—"

"Don't ask," John cut in. "I'll text you?"

"Of course," she said, looking down at the ground.

Then John was being yanked toward the door. They stepped out into the dark night and headed toward the bus stop, the smell of peach-flavored tobacco heavy between them.

"That skater I was conversing with said that Derrick lived on the other side of the park, where the trailer homes are located. The news broadcast featured 4 sisters and a dad. No mom. Single parent, multiple siblings, a boy working his ass off for a scholarship? He clearly had money troubles, which tells us that he couldn't afford a car. So Derrick walks past the park quite often then."

"Wow. So we visit the park tomorrow?"

"Yes. Do you remember the girl in the grey? She was checking the time far too often."

"And?"

"And she didn't have a purse—no place to keep her keys. She had a deadline, no car, so she must have needed to walk home…"

"Across the park?"

"Good, John. And I got her talking about her three neighbors who also go to San Dimas. She had kind words to say about all of them… except one. And then her eyes went to her wrist. What does that tell us?"

They were boarding the bus now. "Um… that she was hiding something?"

"Right. She was hiding grab marks, based on her multiple sweatbands. Violent neighbor sounds rather suspicious, eh?"

"You're brilliant," said John. He hadn't realized until he sat down how utterly tired he was.

"Did you get anything?"

"A hot girl's phone number," John replied.

Sherlock scoffed.

John followed his friend off the bus, down a road, and into a gated community. "You live here?" gaped John.

He nodded, and a moment later, they were trotting into what John could only call a giant mansion. The ceiling loomed overhead, decked with chandeliers, and paintings lined the sea-green walls.

"Why the Hell do we always go to my place when you live here?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I quite like your house. Much homier. This way."

"Just when I thought you couldn't be more interesting…" Sherlock's room was predictably Sherlock—a thousand books, a large desk, and an endless number of lab experiments cluttered about.

"We'll sleep here. Do you need to eat?" he asked.

John nodded.

"The kitchens down the hall. Help yourself to quite literally anything you desire. I'll be in the shower. I, regretfully, have to wash the smell of smoke off of me before we come across my brother. He might be suspicious if his baby brother's suddenly scented like a Lebanese belly dancer."

John chuckled and wandered out the room. He could easily have gotten lost in the gigantic household. But he found the kitchen soon enough.

There was a long-limbed, clean-cut young man sitting at the table, clad in pajamas. He had a plate of something delicious looking. "Hello John. Lemon merman pie?"

"I… okay, thanks," he said.

The young man placed a slice on a plate with careful, swift hands. "Milk?"

"Yes, please."

He placed the milk and pie at the table and held out a hand. "Mycroft Holmes."

"John Watson."

"Oh yes, I know. You're my brother's special friend."

"Special?" said John, sitting down.

"Well anybody who befriends my brother must be special. If you haven't yet guessed, he's autistic." He dabbed his mouth gingerly with a napkin. "And not only does he tolerate you, he actually desires your company at all times. Rare, rare indeed."

"I… I don't think most people give Sherlock much of a chance," said John. "He can be an arse, don't get me wrong, but he also, I don't know, makes life interesting."

"Well it does works in vice versa," said Mycroft. "Sherlock knows that caring is not an advantage. But I'm afraid that my brother doesn't quite understand the inner workings of society, so I'm exceedingly glad he's found you, John. He needs someone to balance him out."

John had never realized that he was so important. "I guess you're right."

Mycroft took hold of John's cellphone which he had placed on the table and punched in his number. "I want you to keep me informed, John. Dear Mummy and Daddy aren't involved in our lives and it's my responsibility to look after Sherlock."

"Okay," said John slowly. "I'll keep in touch."

"Wonderful," said Mycroft, grinning. "Leave your plate in the sink."

…..

"John?"

"Yes, it's me."

Sherlock was wrapped in a blue robe, his hair dripping. He was already lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something. Some common factor. A.s.b. room… football player… across the park…"

John got into bed beside him. His head hit the pillow and the relaxation seemed to spread throughout his body instantly. He exhaled.

Sherlock rolled over, sniffing. "You don't want to change into something else?"

"I think I'm alri—"

"Thank God," he said. He inched closer until his head was rested on John's chest, and he inhaled deeply. "You smell amazing."

"Like tobacco?"

"Mm hmm."

Sherlock closed his eyes and John, becoming convinced that his friend was not moving any time soon, untensed and closed his eyes as well. "You are far too addicted, Sherlock."

"I'll die young, so what?"

"Don't joke about that," said John. A world without Sherlock just seemed colorless, like the old movies that he could barely stay awake through. "So what exactly do your parents do?"

"They play crucial roles in the British government," he answered nonchalantly. "They're not around here much."

"Oh." John tried to piece together the abnormities of Sherlock's life: a poor relationship with his parents, a desire to distant himself from his brother, and no friends at all. Was John the only person Sherlock's ever cared for?

His hand drifted up to Sherlock's brown curls, and he ran his fingers through them mindlessly.

As Sherlock took deep breaths, absorbing his scent, John just stared upward. He knew that this wasn't 'normal' or how friends typically interacted. And that scared the shit out of him. But he couldn't very well ignore the comforting feeling that came from every rise and lower of Sherlock's chest.

And Hell, since when was anything in relation to Sherlock Holmes 'normal' to begin with?

"John?"

"Yes?"

"You're father's job… is it more permanent than the ones he's held in the past? Location wise?"

"I think since it's an office job I'm set to stay here until I graduate."

"Oh good," said Sherlock, nuzzling him a little. "And once we're out of here, we'll rent a flat in the city."

"You already have my life figured out?" John mocked.

"Our life, John. Who else would stomach me as a flatmate?"

John laughed, making Sherlock rock. "That's a very good question. An insane person, I suspect."

"Keep doing that," Sherlock ordered.

"Huh?"

"Playing with my hair," he said.

John gulped but did as he was told. What would his classmates say were they to witness this?

Sherlock sprang up so fast that John nearly shouted in surprised. "The bracelet!"

"What?"

"Oh I knew there was something familiar! On the counter in the A.S.B room there was a red and blue thread bracelet with one heart-shaped bead, which was the exact same bracelet that the girl in grey from the party was wearing!"

"Helpful clue?" asked John.

"Very," said Sherlock, smiling wickedly. He then lie back down, nestling his head into John's neck. "We'll investigate tomorrow, John." Sherlock's breath was hot against his skin.

"o-okay," muttered John.

Entangled in each other, the two boys fell fast asleep.

Yay! Giving you guys a quick update since I'm leaving town soon and couldn't wait to write this chapter! Hope you guys enjoy! Please, please review : ) Inspire me! lol