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Sherlock was right.

As soon as he returned to his dorm room he had researched to find out more about the murder on his laptop. It didn't take him long to find what he wanted.

The murderer, Richard Bolten, age 28, had killed the victim with one accurate stab to the heart with an 11 inch knife after his fiancée had cheated on him with the victim. Revenge, how predictable and dull. He had attended the school, before he worked on the farm, which was his father's, for 9 years. Jailed for 25 years, just as Mycroft had said.

Sherlock had had a certain buzz when he was at the murder scene. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. It wasn't as exhilarating and dangerous as when he was avoiding being shot a few months ago, not as fascinating or risky as the Carl Powers murder, but it was still kind of exciting. The idea of standing in the same room as a murdered body was strangely interesting. He liked picking out small details and making connections. It made him want to do it again.

Sherlock walked out the school building to meet his driver, luckily minus Mycroft this year. He was still angry that the bastard was going to make him share a dorm room next year. Even if the boy would be useful for experiments, he had no idea who it would be. He hoped it would be someone quiet who would not argue with him, allowing him to continue what he was doing. He hoped it wouldn't be Anderson and prayed it wouldn't be Tony.

The driver took Sherlock's case and put it in the boot as he sat in the back of the car. He took out his phone to find 3 missed calls from Mycroft. He knew he had been calling earlier but chose it ignore it, as usual.

I prefer to text - SH

He quickly sent the message to him. It didn't take too long for his brother to reply.

I was just making sure my baby brother was on his way home - MH

You have a tracker in my phone. Why do you need to ask? - SH

Better to hear it from the man himself - MH

It just wastes my time and yours. - SH

Sherlock pocketed his phone and ignored the vibration in his pocket as his brother texted him back. He also ignored it when he began calling again. He would have turned his phone off but he never did that; not ever.

The fact his brother had put a tracker in his phone irritated him, yet he did not remove it as he knew he would just replace it; he'd done that before.

Sherlock stretched out his legs in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. That was the advantage of this new car, plenty of leg room.

He looked out the window at the world passing by. How dull.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, accessing his mind palace to entertain his long journey home.

Sherlock ignored his parents as he entered the building. He did not care for them and they did not care for him. He just carried his case up the stairs and to his room. He didn't even give them the satisfaction of a glance.

Sherlock dumped his case on the bed and began unpacking. He didn't want to waste time. He was going to look around London. After all, he hadn't seen the streets in a very long time. He strangely missed London, finding the countryside dull and unexciting. There were always the same people there but in London, there were new people everyday; hundreds of new people to deduce and entertain him for a while.

He quickly got changed out of his uniform and put on some other clothes. He grabbed his phone and some money and walked out the door, ignoring the protests from a few members of staff.

He found his way to the underground and got on a train, on his way to London bridge. There were always plenty of people there, business people, families, suspicious looking people, joggers and many more. He had often seen celebrities and camera crews there but celebrities didn't interest him. He preferred taking a taxi, but he had had enough of riding in cars for today. A long journey all the way from Summerset to London was rather boring.

He stepped of the train after telling a woman her fiancée was cheating on her, causing her to run off the train crying and the man shouting at him to "piss off and stay out of other people's business" before following. He didn't think they would be so upset. He made his way along the Thames until he found a bench and sat to observe.

He looked at a middle aged gentleman in a hurry.

Businessman, suit and briefcase, in a hurry so he was late for a meeting of some sort, important meeting at that, mumbling to himself as if he was trying to remember his speech so it was more than likely to be a pitch. Recently divorced, slight tan line on ring finger where his wedding ring used to be, losing his tan so must have been about a year ago when he was still wearing it, probably using the holiday as a last resort to try and rescue is marriage, obviously hadn't worked. Arthritis in right hand, briefcase in left hand and band around his right arm to try and reduce pain. Tuna sandwich for lunch, bit of mayonnaise and tuna on the collar of his suit jacket, in a hurry so didn't have time to clean up after himself, probably eating while on the move, making the most of a meal deal at one of the local shops, probably boots as that was nearby and a man of his size wouldn't have been walking for too long, especially with his red cheeks, suggesting he was worn out already, even though he was only walking. Two grown up children, probably around the age of 24, weren't really affected by their parents' divorce. Smoker, nicotine marks on his fingernailss and keeps touching his mouth, hasn't had one in a while but needs to put on a good front to whoever he was going to pitch to so was resisting the urge.

Oh how Sherlock had missed this...

His attention was drawn to a young woman pushing a pram while trying to control a small rebellious child.

Late twenties, recently had a miscarriage, glad about the miscarriage, unwanted third child, unknown father, probably a one night stand. Single mother, looking after two young children alone, stressed, tired, dark shadows around her eyes, no time for makeup or to do her hair nicely. Currently out of work, these are the main working hours and she can't leave two young children alone during night shifts, not enough money for a baby sitter, living off benefits. No time for herself, clothes not ironed. Annoyed, keeps looking at her children as if they were holding her back, or that she had just given up, ignoring her wailing child in the pram-

"Sherlock?" his deductions were annoyingly interrupted by a familiar voice. "Hey! Sherlock!"

"Lestrade." he said in response to the figure jogging towards him away from a group of students. He grunted irritably. He didn't want to sit around having a 'chat', he wanted to deduce!

"Hey! Didn't expect to see you around here. Small world, eh? How've you been?" he took a seat next to him, broad smile on his face.

"Hm." was Sherlock's response to the question. After sitting in an awkward silence, Sherlock realised that Greg wasn't moving any time soon so he thought he might as well carry on the conversation. "Enjoying university I see?"

"It's hard, but brilliant. Get to spend a semester in Scotland Yard next year, should be good."

This created a small interest in Sherlock. "What will you be doing?"

"Looking at how the system works there, paperwork and stuff."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Boring. He was at least expecting him to go to a crime scene.

"How's school?"

"Dull."

Greg laughed slightly. "Trust me, you will prefer university."

"So I've heard."

"Greg! Come on we're going to be late!" a red haired girl called over to him. Thank God Sherlock thought.

"Hang on Shannon, I'll be there in a sec!" he called back before standing and turning back to Sherlock. "Still got the same number?"

Sherlock nodded his head before also standing.

"Okay, well, I'll call you sometime?"

"I prefer to text." Sherlock began walking in the other direction before calling over his shoulder. "See you around Lestrade."

"See ya Sherlock!" the student called back before making his way back to his friends.

He stayed for a few hours, deducing people and then Sherlock decided to return home. There was no point in avoiding it; he had to go back eventually. It was getting dark anyway.

The train was emptier on the way back, luckily preventing Sherlock from insulting anyone else. He got off to change trains but decided to walk back. It was quite a few miles but Sherlock didn't want to be home any time soon.

He strolled down the busy streets of London, staying in the shadows, not drawing attention to himself. If he did, he would be sent home straight away, maybe even have to go to the police station. Sherlock still watched people pass by, deducing them before turning to the next person. They were all pretty similar, many of them being students going clubbing and people going to work their night shifts.

Sherlock thrust his hands deep into his pockets. His parents wouldn't be worrying about him; they probably hadn't even noticed he was gone. He hadn't been looking where he was going and so ended up tripping over a boy sitting on the floor. He didn't fall, just stumbled a bit before composing himself.

"Sorry!" said the boy, moving his knees closer to his chest.

"It's fine." Sherlock replied before deducing the child. Age 9/10, homeless, no parents, well not anymore, were all on the street before abandoning him for their own selfish reasons, just another mouth to try and feed. Been on the street for about 3 years, at least one of them spent alone, self reliant, feels he has nothing left to live for.

"Have you got any change?" he asked hesitantly, holding up an old can with a few coppers in it.

Sherlock thought about this. He could use the boy to his advantage. "Depends, has anything interesting happened around here lately?"

"What do you mean by interesting?" a confused frown appeared on the boy's face.

"Crimes, murders, anything like that."

"This is London, there's always crimes going on somewhere."

"Yes but where precisely? Murders? Any?"

"There was that one murder not too long ago." Sherlock raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Some lady was shot by someone, no family or fiends. Apparently a bit of a hermit. Police have been stumped for days..."

Typical police, he thought.

"Where was it?" Sherlock asked.

"Near Waterloo, there was something in the paper a few days ago about it. I found it in the bins. You wanna look?" the boy rummaged through a bag on his left, the only belongings he had. He held up the paper to Sherlock and he almost snatched it out of his hands.

He skim read the article, taking in the necessary pieces of information. He quickly passed the paper back to the boy before putting his hand in his pocket and pulling out a £10 note. He stuffed it in the boy's tin.

"Thank you!" the boy beamed.

Sherlock nodded once before continuing on his course home. He would go there tomorrow, try and sneak in, just like the Carl Powers case. There was no point in going there now, he thought it wiser to go home first. The earlier he got back, the smaller the punishment would be. If his parents found he didn't come back at night, only to be arrested for 'interrupting' a police investigation, it would not end well. It would also more than likely end up in him having a beating from his father.

He found the homeless boy had been quite useful. Maybe he could use him in the future...