Chapter 3 done :) Writing is so much fun! I should probably be studying for my exams... oh well! Anything you'd like to see happen in the story? Or is there anything I can do to improve it? Or if you just plain liked the story, send me some feedback :) it would be much appreciated! Thanks for reading!

John was running late and entered the Biology lecture as quietly as possible. The first thing he noticed as he went to sit down was that Sherlock's seat was empty. Disappointment rolled around in John's stomach. Well, it's probably best for the studies.

The class passed smoothly and uninterrupted, as did many more that week. And it wasn't just Biology. It was all three of the classes John shared with Sherlock. Not once did John catch a glimpse of the dark coat and curly hair, nor did he hear the deep voice correcting someone condescendingly. School had become mundane in that week, the entertainment had gone.

The weekend wasn't much more exciting. John attempted to study, and failed. Jeanette had called. She had called four times. When he finally called her, they bickered about something unimportant, and then decided to go out to a movie.

Monday finally rolled around and John headed to school, books unstudied and homework uncompleted.

He noticed as soon as he opened the door to the classroom. The mop of dark hair atop the broad, jacket covered shoulders was back, sitting in his usual place as if he'd never gone. John felt sick with excitement. He was so ready for school to be fun again, and Sherlock didn't miss a beat. Even having missed a week's worth of lectures, Sherlock was able to prove the professor wrong. Class ended too quickly for John, and he slowly packed to head to the library to kill the two hours he had between classes. He heard a throat clear behind him. John turned to find his face a few inches from Sherlock's chest. He looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes. Apparently Sherlock had no sense of personal space.

"Er, hello."

"Hi, my name is Sherlock. I unfortunately had to miss last week but I was wondering if you take notes? I think you're in my Biology class too, so I was hoping to kill two birds with one stone."

"Ah, yes. I've actually got notes for this class, Chemistry and Biology. We have all three together."

Sherlock was surprised. Surprised at how his stomach did a funny flip at the thought of John noticing him in all of the classes they shared. Sherlock had never been flustered before, and smiled inwardly in congratulations. John saw the smile. Oh god, did he think I was trying to come onto him? It's not like he's the only student I recognize from my classes. But that wasn't entirely true. John hadn't learned a single classmates name all semester, apart from Sherlock's. Between taking notes and trying not to giggle like a school girl at Sherlock's commentary, he had barely taken the time to notice other students. Thinking hard now, John tried to picture the girl that sat next to him in Chemistry. Brown, I think she has brown hair. Or is it red?

"Oh, of course!" Sherlock feigned ignorance. Sherlock knew they had all three courses together, but it made him happy, quite happy indeed, that John knew it too.

"I'm Sherlock, by the way."

"John. John Watson. I was just heading to the library to study, if you want to join me and copy the notes there?"

"Sure."

Sherlock followed John out the door into the hallway. John had looked so small in class sitting many rows ahead of him. Up close John was a completely different person. He wasn't quite as short as Sherlock expected him to be, but he was by no means tall. He was fit, but not overly toned. His eyes sparkled and his hair wasn't one colour, but many light and dark tones mixed against each other. The creases in his forehead were from recent stress, possibly the build-up of homework? His clothes were clean and had no significant creasing, which for a university student most likely meant that he still lived at home. Judging by the clothes he wore, Sherlock had three neighbourhoods in mind.

John hadn't been in speaking distance of Sherlock before, and admired his piercing blue eyes. He could have sworn they were grey last week. His curls were perfect and John wondered for a minute if he curled them himself and the thought almost made him chuckle. Sherlock's hair was a rich, deep brown, which contradicted his fair skin. His tall, willowy body was covered by the same long, black coat.

Their walk to the library had mostly been silent, both boys lost in thought.

John got out his notebooks and passed them to Sherlock. Sherlock started flipping through them, reading John's chicken scratch. John opened his textbooks, making an attempt to study but found his attention roaming, especially when Sherlock made small grunts, sighs and occasional chuckles at the notes. John had never been distracted by someone so much. Why did Sherlock fascinate him so much? It was like Sherlock was a whole new creature, one that John had never encountered before. He felt the need to learn everything about him. This is absurd. Study, John! Study!

Sherlock was aware that John wasn't concentrating on his homework, but kept reading. He let another chuckle escape.

"I'm sorry, is there something wrong with my notes?"

"Your notes, no. The professor's idea of teaching material? Yes."

"If you're so brilliant, why are you in university?" John had meant it to sound sarcastic, but it didn't quite come out that way, he sounded in awe of Sherlock than anything else. He mentally kicked himself.

"Because I need to prove my intelligence with a piece of paper if I want anyone to believe it. Otherwise they think it's some elaborate parlour trick, an illusion."

"Your ability to correct the professors of three different courses on a regular basis is a bit unbelievable."

"That's the easy part. They have incorrect knowledge that should be rectified. The fun part is what comes from the knowledge. How I can see the world in terms of constants and variables, facts and possibilities. By perceiving the world around you in detail, really looking at what surrounds you, the observations are endless."

"I'm not sure that I'm following, Sherlock."

"I can tell that you are in your early adulthood, either 20 or 21, your parents make a modest amount of money, and that they aren't paying for your education because of that. You still live with them, however. You rode a bike to school today; actually, that's your usual mode of transportation around town. You are currently unemployed, and you haven't paid for your schooling." Sherlock paused for a second to take in the flabbergasted look on John's face. He finished with the last deduction, a guess on his behalf, but by John's absolutely stunned reaction he knew he got it right. "And, you're in the Medical-Military program training to become an army doctor."

John just stared at Sherlock, utter disbelief on his face. Sherlock looked calm, as though he had just described the weather to John.

"Ho-How did you know all that?"

"Well your clothes indicate you live in one of three neighbourhoods in the Checkley area, so that gives away your parents income. Your clothes are also regularly unwrinkled, meaning you still live at home where your doting mother washes your clothes. On rainy days, your shirt has a tiny splatter trail going up the back from the bicycle wheel, just like you have right now." John pulled at his shirt incredulously. Sure enough, there was a faint mud pattern going up his back. Sherlock paused for only a second, watching John squirm, before continuing, "You spend a large amount of time trying to study. If you had a job, you'd be more focused on school to get the work done in the limited time. Because you're jobless, there's no way you could be paying off a student loan for school. Since neither you nor your parents are paying for school that means you are having assistance of some kind. The amount of books in your backpack warrant more than the three classes you share with me. I'd guess you're taking five." Sherlock stopped to take a breath in what seemed like the first time since he started talking. He finished his deductions triumphantly, "Since you're taking five courses, including Chemistry and two Biology classes, and the fact that you've got financial assistance of some sort, I took the leap and reasoned that you were in the Medical-Military program."

John sat, open mouthed, staring at Sherlock. Finally he gathered himself enough to form words.

"That's… incredible!"

Sherlock chuckled to himself; he didn't usually get that response. Actually, he never did. Even though he could see though John, John was able to surprise him. A feeling Sherlock had never felt before grew warm in his abdomen. Sherlock looked to John, who was looking at him, wide-eyed and open mouthed.

"No, really! That's bloody brilliant!"

"That is the power of observation, John." Sherlock continued to watch John, whose eyes were roaming his face, looking for the key to his wisdom. John looked so innocent and naïve. It made Sherlock want to protect him.

John slowly gained control of his emotions. Sherlock had already turned back to his notes, copying them out in his long, scrolling handwriting. They spoke very little after Sherlock's outburst. The two hours passed quickly and John had almost forgotten about his next class.

"I haven't quite finished with the notes yet," Sherlock pointed towards the many pages of notes he still had to copy out. "Do you want to exchange mobile numbers? We can arrange a time that you can do homework while I copy the rest of these. And I can help you on questions that you get stuck on while we're together."

"Sure," John got out his mobile and punched in the number Sherlock dictated to him, and then gave Sherlock his own number.

John rushed off to class, hoping that he wouldn't be late. Sherlock stayed in the library for a while after John had left, then started to pack. As he packed the notes he'd been copying for the last two hours, he scrunched up the last four pages and tossed them in the nearest bin. More to copy later when he was with John again, and he might as well milk that note copying time for all it's worth. Sherlock slowly ambled up to his dorm room. A speckled blonde kept running through his head. He wasn't dense, he knew who it was. But why? Why was John running circles in his mind?