*Well, after getting a review recently asking me whether I had more stories like the previous one about Sherlock having a teenage daughter, I decided to tackle another prompt from Tumblr with a tweak here and there. I've always thought that there aren't enough fics about Sherlock's uni days. ;) Prompt is:

Modern Sherlock Holmes but he's a 27-year-old, drinks energy drinks only, is astonishing polite and has no idea how the solar system works because it was never relevant to a case but can name every person involved in making Super Mario Bros because he did need that for a case once.

Watson is continuously appalled about his eating habits and makes vague posts on Twitter that ends in threads like

Watson: "My roommate noticed only today that he can label his email inboxes but took apart his entire bloody laptop two weeks ago."

Person: "This reminds me of the post about the roommate who couldn't turn on the coffee machine but remembers like 500 numbers of pi"

Watson: "I'll be delighted to inform you that this is the very same roommate."

This is a multi-chapter fic. Let me know what you think! If you catch any errors or places I could do better with the grammar or characterization, etc. I'd be delighted to hear them. Every review and critique is an encouragement to write more and always makes me jump up and down with glee and gratitude. _

It was a day unlike any other…actually, it was a day exactly like every other, except for the fact that summer was over, autumn started, and the Michaelmas term at Cambridge began tomorrow. It was John Watson's first year…but the year wasn't to turn out in any way as he'd expect. Around nine, John's sister Harry dropped him off in the carpark before she drove away in the rusty, red Austin mini. It was a bit busted from that bloody accident. John ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair, picking up his suitcase and securing his satchel around his shoulder as he limped with the walking stick in his left hand. The university changed the roommate with whom he'd be bunking at the last minute, so he was in for a surprise. The room was on the second floor. Room 221. John's right leg ached more from the rainy weather outside, and the prospect of lugging his belongings up two flights of stairs made him groan.

"Two floors," John breathed. He ran a hand over his face and shook his head with a wry smile. If only he knew how to drive, he wouldn't have broken his leg and two flights of stairs would be a cinch.

"You're right, John. It is quite absurd that something as simple as driving would've prevented you from breaking your leg. You should listen to your therapist though, not your fault."

John furrowed his brow and turned his head. Next to John stood a six-foot-one, lanky, young man with extraordinary posture, dark-brown hair, and astute, stormy blue eyes. He looked up to the stairs and then at John with the corners of his mouth upturned into a smile.

John looked about, seeing no one else in sight. "Sorry, do I know you?"

"Oh, no, your name is on the suitcase. I'm Sherlock Holmes. My room's on the second floor as well." Mr. Holmes stuck his hand out from his pocket for a handshake that was firm but welcoming. "You're planning to be a doctor, correct?"

"Yes." John cocked his head.

"Upstairs?"

John huffed a smile. "We could stay down here all day."

Sherlock chuckled. "We really could, but I think it'd be wise to move into our respective rooms. Do you mind?"

"Oh, no. Thank you."

Sherlock picked up the moderately-sized suitcase. "No worries." He winked and clicked his tongue, skipping up the stairs and waiting at the top as John limped his way up. John thanked him and took his brown suitcase in hand.

The pair ambled down the brown, warm corridor.

"It's your first term here, then?"

"Yours too, I presume."

"Which room are you in?"

"Two, two, one."

"Sorry, did you say room 221?"

"Yes…oh." They stopped at the same door.

"Looks like we're roommates."

"Hmm." Sherlock narrowed his eyes with a satisfied smile as he fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He threw it open, allowing John to enter. Sherlock seemed to have moved in recently, that is, if the chemistry equipment, messy desk, and groceries in the kitchen were anything to go by. White light from outside poured into the basic room. "My brother seems to have picked up some food." Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Which bed would you like?"

"Top one's fine, I guess."

"Right. Thank you." Sherlock plopped John's suitcase on the higher bed and opened his own on the lower. John laughed and shook his at how easily Sherlock reached the top bunk.

"Problem?"

"Erm, no. Sorry, it's nothing."

"Yes, well…You are quite short," Sherlock said as if reading John's thoughts.

"Hey." John was still smiling a bit.

It was all in good jest.

"I'm teasing you, doctor."

"Oh, no, I know. How did you know I want to become a doctor?"

"I didn't know. I observed."

"But how?"

"The same way I can observe your sister's drinking problems, the accident which broke your leg eight weeks ago, and your inability to drive." Sherlock's phone trilled, and he moved to get his phone from his left jacket pocket.

John decided he wasn't going to get a full explanation anytime soon and took to claiming a drawer from the chest nearby. "Everything alright?"

Sherlock grinned at the text he'd received and his eyes were aglow with sparks. "Brilliant. Something fun's finally going on. Sorry, go to dash. It's a pleasure to meet you." He clicked his tongue and winked. "Don't wait up, and help yourself to anything in the kitchen!" Sherlock had grabbed a bottle from the fridge.

John watched the young man barely shut the door, his long, black coat flourishing not far behind. He saw the young Holmes sprint out onto the street and jump into a patrol car. "Something fun?" John quirked his lips. Sherlock Holmes seemed to know quite a bit about John, but John was at a loss as to what there was to know about Sherlock Holmes…other than the man was in his late-twenties, astutely observant, astonishingly polite, and had disgruntlement with his brother. But then again, everyone has disgruntlement with one's brother. Aside from that Sherlock Holmes was quite enigmatic.

John checked the fridge, finding fresh ready-to-cook meals and twenty-four bottles of Vitamin Zero Coconut. "No water. He really likes his sports drinks." John scratched his head and stepped over to the sink with a glass. He spent most of the day wondering about his new acquaintance and roommate as he unpacked. John got peckish eventually around one o'clock but didn't feel like staying in the quiet, empty flat and so locked the door, walking about the campus. There was this good falafel place if he remembered correctly, and an ice cream café, yes, George and Davis'. When John got back around ten, still no Sherlock, and drifted off, thinking about what it was that Sherlock meant by 'fun' and why he was out so late.

Would he see Sherlock in class tomorrow?