A/N: Alternate first meeting. Same Sherlock and Joan as in the main story, just... well, you'll see.

Disclaimer: 'Sherlock' belongs to all the important people that you know. You recognize it, I don't own it.

# #

Sebastian Wilkes was a popular guy. His life in university was a breeze. He had made useful contacts, got recommendations from professors, and overall had a blast. He even found a fun nerd to play with. The guy was hilarious. Creepy, blurting out stuff nobody should know, but very easily manipulated to share his homework or get the info on someone annoying. The creep was often walking with his feet in his mouth, so to tame him Sebastian formed a group that would act friendly with Sherlock (and what a funny name that was) and be cold as ice for days if he said anything unnecessary. After the second year being stuck together in the dorm, Sebastian came up with a better plan, and started passing some "upgraded" cigarettes to his personal nerd. Two years later, Sherlock was steadily transforming into an obedient junkie.

That week-end they had set-up a blind group date with girls from the marketing major (the hot ones). Seb and his best mate, Lloyd, bullied Sherlock into coming. Having him there had the double advantage of impressing the girls with the fake psychic party trick and of making them look even cooler besides his lanky frame.

So, they met up at a bowling club, Sherlock dragging his feet behind Wilkes and his three friends. Ten minutes later, five girls arrived, all dressed up and in heels (how are they going to bowl anyway?). Well, except one, who looked simply resigned in her blue jeans and a grey tank top. When her turn of introductions came, she gave the group a tense smile: "I'm Joan, filling in for Harriet." Sebastian remembered Harriet Watson, a real babe, and scowled in disappointment. "She's my sis" Joan elaborated. "Said I should take a break, and that she'd rather spend the night with her girlfriend anyway." That hurt. Men gasped, girls giggled, already in the know.

Trying to forget the awkward moment, Lloyd butted in: "So, let's split up in pairs for the game."

# #

Sherlock didn't want to be there. He'd rather be in a lab, or at the anatomy lecture, than in this boring, pointless club. But Sebastian threatened to cut the drugs supply, and he really felt better with these pills than without. It helped him focus. He endeavored to make himself invisible, just trying to get this over with. The women were superficial and dull anyway. He had been going over his notes on modern criminal history in his head, when someone pulled his arm. "Jo, you should pair up with Sherlock here. He's not very good with a ball." The statement was followed by an obnoxious laughter. Ugh, Wilkes.

"Don't call me Jo" replied a calm voice that promised dire retribution. Sherlock finally got a look at his newly assigned partner. Athlete. Middle class upbringing. Medical student. Doesn't want to be here either. He could work with that. She also managed to effectively shut up Sebastian, who blinked at her before dismissing the implied threat and laughing again. He already had two shots of vodka.

They followed the group to the bowling alley, and hang back in silence, waiting for their turn. "What should I call you then?" Sherlock finally asked, mildly curious.

"I go by John" she said, voice gentler than it had been for Seb. "And you are Sherlock, right?" He nodded. "First time I hear a name like that, where is it from?"

"It's old English, I think. Never researched it though."

"I like it" John smiled. It made Sherlock feel unusually warm, and he quickly turned away, pretending to watch the game. "Are you good at bowling?"

"Never played. But it does look easy enough."

"I'm more of a rugby person myself…" Ah, athlete, I knew it. "… but it should be about a good aim, right?"

"Yes, obviously."

"Then we should be alright" she smirked. It was refreshing to not be the target of such an expression.

Their turn came, and Sherlock picked up a ball while his "friends" jeered. "Come on, Sher, don't hurt yourself!" Sebastian cackled. He tensed. This was unpleasant, and boring, and why was he even doing this?

Suddenly, Joan was at his side, glaring at the group. "Piss off, we gonna bring you down." She turned to him, a grim smile tugging at her lips. "Com'on, mate, let's show them who's the boss here." That stunned them into silence. Sherlock could feel Sebastian simmering with anger, and knew the consequences would be even more unpleasant for him, but right then and there, he didn't care. Someone was smiling at him and took his side. It had been a while since he felt that comfortable around anyone, even his own family.

He weighed the ball in his hands. Estimating the curve. Estimating the speed. Estimating the force of impact. His untrained muscles tweaked in pain, but he managed to throw the ball almost perfectly, hitting 8 out of 10. "Nice!" Joan praised, and he felt the blush rise again. He stepped aside, letting her take the second shot, and took the time to observe his new and unexpectedly interesting acquaintance.

Her blond hair was in a pixie cut, striking contrast from curly waves of the four girls she came with. There was a faint smell of antiseptic emanating from her clothes and hair, which made him deduce medical major in the first place. Tension lines already started forming on her face despite her early twenties, long nights, good student, but also laugh lines around her eyes, easy-going, good friend. Her body was lean, she clearly exercised a lot, exclusively outdoors. Rugby, she said so. Not professionally, just a friendly game now and then. Spends time on her feet – evident from the state of her shoes – probably walks from home to uni. Around ten kilometers per day. Saving money.

Joan was examining the remaining kegs with a razor-sharp focus. She looked like a hawk, ready to dive down on its prey. She took three steps back, then two forward and threw the ball. It hit the first keg perfectly, then rebounded upon the second. "Spare!"

The group clapped weakly. None of them had managed to peg all ten kegs. Sebastian was glaring daggers at him. Sherlock didn't quite care.

# #

This group date thing was frankly boring, Joan decided. Harry owed her a good one for taking her place. The only bright thing in the whole debacle was this skinny kid, Sherlock, who clearly enjoyed this event as much as she did. It looked like he was bullied by the loud idiots he came with, and she felt bad for him. He was nice to talk to, if a bit nervous, but seemed to censor himself a bit too often. She tried to make him talk more, but they had to go to a dinner after the bowling, and having a private conversation became next to impossible.

The guys were flirting, going hard at it, and Harry's friends seemed to appreciate the approach. Joan sighed. This is so annoying. She exchanged a weary look with Sherlock, and they had to refrain from laughing.

"Ooooh, you haven't seen it yet!" exclaimed the obnoxious git she vaguely remembered as Sebastian. "Sherly here has a trick, you wouldn't believe it. Creepy as hell." Joan felt her temper rise. Did this garbage drag Sherlock here just to show off and laugh at him? Sherlock's miserable face seemed to concur with her guess. "Come on, Sherly, show us!"

The other guys bought into the hype, and started banging their hands on the table, chanting: "The trick, the trick!" What the hell… Sebastian had a very smug look, and when Sherlock glanced at him pleadingly, the man just smirked, joining into the chant.

Joan was a very patient person, she had grown up with Harry after all. But she was not tolerating this shit. Grabbing a fistful of peanuts, she threw them at Sebastian, all the while maintaining a very calm façade. Everyone froze and stared at her in disbelief. "What's your problem?" The douchebag screeched.

Propping her chin on one hand, she eyed him skeptically. "I know a trick too. But you'd have to visit a dentist after that. Wanna try?"

"What?!" He looked shocked that anyone would talk to him that way.

She saw red. "Fine, I'll make myself clear, since you don't understand." Slamming her both hands on the table, John leaned forward, taking on her 'murderous' look as Harry called it. "You will eat your teeth if I catch you bullying again." Girls were now whispering disapprovingly at her side. Fuck them too, she decided and stood up.

Her eyes fell on Sherlock, who looked torn between shock and glee. She caught his gaze. "There's a movie theater nearby. Wanna come?" He nodded hesitantly. "Let's go then" she grinned at him. As he stood up, she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the restaurant.

They made it to the next block, when Sherlock suddenly stopped. "Why did you do that?" His voice was guarded, and when Joan turned to face him, she found a study in confusion and distrust.

She could only shrug. "I hate bullies. We're adults, should act like it." He stared at her for a second, before mumbling something. "Sorry, what?"

"Given your character, your medical career is clearly a calling" he said louder and froze like a deer in headlights.

"I never said anything about medicine" Joan drawled, crossing her arms on her chest. Sherlock looked like he wanted to disappear. "How did you know?"

He tugged at his long hair before his eyes hardened and he rumbled in a quick pace: "Your clothes and hair smell like antiseptic, a strong smell that always cling to people spending time in a hospital. There are spots from betadine on your left hand, difficult to get rid of, from three different occasions in the last couple of days, confirming the hospital assumption. You could have been a patient, but you exercise often, play rugby and walk long distances, so it is highly unlikely that you need long treatment. You do all-nighters, studying, common for medical students, as evidenced by your sister's urging for you to take a break and by tension lines on your face. Further, you have a pack of plasters sticking from your back pocket, a very unusual choice for a blind date event." He took a deep breath and stared at his feet. What the actual fuck was that?

"That was… so cool" she said, gaping at him in amazement. Silver eyes snapped up at her, wide. He clearly wasn't used to this reaction.

"Really?"

"Yeah, it is impressive!" She nodded to emphasize her point. "Very impressive. Do you, like… notice these things automatically, or do you have to really look?"

Sherlock's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he started explaining his methods, talking too fast for her to catch everything. They spent the night together in a pub, talking over a beer. There were no awkward silences between them.

# #

Sherlock kept contact with Joan through university. She had visited him often, even beating up Sebastian on one memorable occasion (she thought he didn't notice, but her knuckles were bloody and Seb's nose was broken). She had noticed the drug use, of course, but contrary to his overbearing sibling, Joan didn't judge. She frowned, sat him down for a talk, and asked that he'd think about going to a support group. He went. A disappointed Joan was not something he wished to see again.

Then after a year, Joan announced that she had enlisted in the army, and was going on her first tour starting October, then to Sandhurst for officer training. Sherlock's little paradise came crashing down. He had yelled at her, in his righteous anger. Surprised, then furious, she yelled back. They said harsh things to each other, hurtful and cruel, and left each other seething.

The morning after the row, Sherlock felt guilty. Joan wasn't abandoning him, she was pursuing her dream, and trying to help as much as people as she could. He dragged himself to her family home, but her father explained in a clipped tone that Joan had left at five in the morning to stay with a friend in London before the deployment. He had scoured the city for the following week, but didn't manage to find her in time.

He fell back into drugs, now taking stronger substances, trying to smother the person he had been with Joan. Somehow, Mycroft pulled him from the pit he dug for himself, threatening and pleading to do something constructive with his life. There were periods of time where he functioned normally. Where he was a cynical, arrogant and unsensitive git, with a brilliant mind and a drive to solve crimes. Then something would remind him of his lost friend, and he would fall back into drugs again.

It was an endless cycle, and he knew it would end with an overdose one day. Mycroft also knew that, and it became unbearable to see the despair in his eyes every time they met.

Then during the latest 'clean' period, he had a flash of determination, and even moved to a better flat. But his personal funds wouldn't allow him to live alone, so he started looking for a flatmate.

And one day, a veteran limped into his lab, short blond hair now greying and tension lines clear on her face. "Bit different from my day."

Sherlock froze, dropper in hand, staring at this ghost he never expected to see again. "John" he exhaled, devouring her sight, trying to commit every little detail to memory – the warm clothes, the horrible cane, the bags under her eyes, the grey in her hair, the stubborn set of her jaw that didn't change, the fading tan, the darkness hiding in her blue eyes.

She got a better look at him, eyes widening in surprise. Then a gentle smile blossomed slowly, taking ten years away from her. "Sherlock."

# #

A/N 2: Yep, I still don't like Seb Wilkes.