Hey guise! So I wrote another chapter (yay!) and it became so long that I had to cut it off, so Chapter 5: The Party (title still in the works :P) has been started! I have tons of school work to catch up on, followed by exams -_- but April 21st is my first day of freedom! I will be publishing a chapter once a week after that :) Feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated.

Sherlock woke with a start as one of his roommates slammed the common room door, his dream coming to a dead halt. Blinking away the grogginess from his mind, Sherlock turned to check the time. 12 pm… 12 pm? Bloody hell! When he did sleep, Sherlock never slept for more hours than he could count on one hand. As he moved to turn over, he became vastly aware of the stiffness between his legs. He cursed its presence, hating his body for being so human. Sherlock hadn't had a proper hard-on since puberty, and the throbbing one he was sporting now put the others to shame. He closed his eyes, hoping to analyse it away. But as soon as his eyes shut, his dream from the night before engulfed him. Sherlock lay there for a few minutes, lost in the dream world that had been his reality all night. John. It was all John. Sherlock was straddling John, their mouths moving against each other, needy for more. Time had no meaning in last night's dream and they were both shirtless now, John atop Sherlock. The kisses had become deeper and more meaningful. John moved his hands down Sherlock's chest toward his trous-

Sherlock felt a hot sensation flood down to his already rigid erection. Sherlock flashed his eyes open, forcing his mind to leave the fantasy inside his head. Sherlock grasped for any thought that would distract him. School. Classes I should have gone to this morning. I think I missed two so far. John can give me the notes. John. Sherlock's pupils dilated and his heart beat took off. A second realization hit Sherlock. He had missed both classes with John today. He had no excuse to see him. His stomach sank, sick with regret and disappointment. John.

When Sherlock was sure his roommates had left the dorm, he crept into the bathroom and had a long, very cold shower. His body so badly wanted him to give in and pay proper attention to his erection, but Sherlock was determined to be above human urges.

Sherlock dressed and got ready for his last class, but there was no motivation to go to a class knowing John Watson wasn't in it. As he headed out into the common room, passing the dorm's tiny kitchen, Sherlock's stomach made a small moan, asking to be fed. Sleeping for hours, his first hard-on in years and now craving food? John Watson, what are you doing to my body?

Sherlock went to his class but was off his usual game. He didn't interrupt or correct the teacher once. He didn't challenge any of his classmate's ideas or make them feel stupid for their idiotic questions. Sherlock felt strange on a full night's sleep. He wasn't on his toes. He felt dazed and out of touch. Is this how normal people feel when they've had too little sleep?

Class ended eventually and as Sherlock left, the thought dawned on him that he had exchanged mobile numbers with John under the pretence that he needed to copy out the notes. I can't believe he bought that. Sherlock grinned at his renewed hope in seeing John.

Missed two more classes and I need the notes. Meet me in the library at 7pm. –SH

Sherlock waited for a reply. It didn't come. He paced impatiently for what seemed like hours. John finally texted back at 6:30 and Sherlock quickly retrieved his phone to read the message.

I'm having supper with my girlfriend and family tonight. I'll be free after 9. -JW

Sherlock grumbled. Who needs a girlfriend or family? They're such a waste of time.

The library will be closed by then. Meet at my dorm? Room 472 –SH

Sherlock's heartbeat quickened at the thought of John here, in his room.

Sure. See you at 9:30. –JW

Sherlock wanted to rejoice. He paced the room a few times, unsure of what his emotions were doing. His mobile beeped with another text alert. Has John changed his mind already? Sherlock rushed over to the phone and eagerly checked the new text. It was from Mycroft, asking for assistance on another case. He had sent some details by text, enough to spike Sherlock's interest.

Any ideas? –MH

Nine so far. I need more facts to narrow it down. Email me more information and crime scene photos. –SH

I'm going to put you in touch with Lestrade, an Inspector at Scotland Yard. He'll have the information you're looking for. –MH

Another text came through before Sherlock could reply to the last one.

Please don't make me regret this. –MH

Sherlock ignored the last message and asked for Lestrade's number. He texted Lestrade right away, giving a quick introduction of who he was then preceded to ask for crime scene pictures. If Lestrade was half as stupid as Sherlock expected him to be, Sherlock wouldn't be receiving any information until tomorrow. He tossed his mobile on the bed and fell down beside it. He lay on his back and closed his eyes, retreating to his mind palace. Sherlock analysed the facts he already had regarding the case, making sure he didn't miss anything. Somehow in the five minutes he lay there, two and a half hours had passed. He heard a sharp knock on his door, and recognized the voice of Ian, one of his roommates.

"Oi, someone is here to see you."

Sherlock got up quickly, and swung the door open a little too eagerly. There was John, just John, as Ian's figure faded down the hall way. John was looking flushed from his bike ride here, and Sherlock's stomach did a little twist.

"Uh, hello," John finally spoke, breaking the awkward silence.

"Hi, come on in." Sherlock opened the door more to allow room for John to enter.

"I would say we could study out in the common room, but my roommates are out there playing video games." Sherlock indicated for John to sit at the desk. John nodded, sat down and proceeded to take out his notebooks.

"Yea, I saw them on the way in."

"Right… of course. Well, study time?" Sherlock studied John. It was almost finals time, and the stress of it was evident on John's brow. Sherlock wished there was something he could do to help. Almost finals time? Has it really taken me almost an entire school year to get John Watson into my bedroom? Sherlock chuckled to himself. And we're strangers studying together, nothing more. Emotions are much more complicated than I ever thought they would be.

Sherlock opened the notes that John passed him, and sat on his bed opposite the desk. He half-heartedly copied out the notes and looked up to find John's face empty, staring off into space. His knuckles were white with tension as they gripped the pencil with frustration, Sherlock figured. Frustration, possibly at the assignment?

John had given up on the ridiculous homework. Really, when I am ever going to need to know the structure of an atom while saving the life of a gun-shot victim? John had zoned out, finally taking notice of Sherlock's room. It was greatly unorganized, piles of… knick knacks were everywhere, and John was pretty sure he spotted a human skull on one shelf. Mountains of newspaper clippings, pictures and handwritten notes had overcome the room, and left space for the few clothes that were tossed in one corner. John continued to visually investigate Sherlock's room, scanning until his eyes made it to Sherlock's bed. It was unmade and large, taking up a good part of Sherlock's small dorm room. He then noticed that Sherlock was watching him from the bed, his penetrating blue eyes staring right at him. John quickly dropped his gaze, blushing at the thought of Sherlock noticing that John had spaced out while watching him atop the bed. A flood of hormones had accompanied the blush, and John felt shaky with… with what? Anxiety? Excitement? Lust?

Sherlock could almost read John's inner monologue like a book. Before John could get too worked up and freak himself out, Sherlock interrupted his mental battle, "Are you having difficulty with the homework?"

John snapped out of his trance at the sound of Sherlock's voice and took a second to process what he had heard.

"Uh, yea, I can't get this stupid Chemistry."

Sherlock got up and stood beside John, leaning over his shoulder. John caught the faintest scent as Sherlock displaced the air around him. It was wonderfully musky and dark. John couldn't describe the scent; it was unfamiliar but comfortable at the same time. John hadn't expected him to smell so good, and inhaled deeply as a reflex, but the aroma had faded as quickly as it had appeared. He felt engulfed by the sheer height of Sherlock that he could see towering over his shoulder and felt like a small child being protected, but from what he didn't know. John's nerves were on end, and he could easily have turned his head and been face to face with Sherlock, looking into his sharp blue eyes. Deciding against it, he kept his eyes fixed on the Chemistry that Sherlock was trying to explain.

Having John so close excited Sherlock. John was so much smaller sitting in the chair at the desk, and Sherlock felt so powerful standing over his shoulder, able to shield John from all the bad things in the world. Sherlock unconsciously moved in closer, trying to explain some of the Chemistry to John but almost forgot what in the world he was talking about. He struggled to maintain basic thought being that close to him. They stayed like that for hours, Sherlock hovering above John, his deep voice dictating the facts. John finally mentioned the time, saying that he had to go. Sherlock wanted to argue, but agreed. John packed his things and quietly said goodnight as he padded down the hallway, careful not to wake any of Sherlock's roommates.

Sherlock and John continued to have study sessions over the next few weeks leading up to their final exams. They studied mostly in the library during the spring while the grass was still damp. When the warmer weather moved in, they were able to study outside. They studied, but would also talk. Talk about John's life, his girlfriend Jeanette and his future as a doctor. Sherlock spilled a little about his life, mentioning a "Mycroft" who asked him to assist a different man named Lestrade on some high profile cases. By the tone he used, John never dared to ask about who this Mycroft character was, despite being vastly curious. As they talked and studied, they became unexpected friends, two very different people who could more than tolerate each other's company. Sherlock had never had a friend before and found the overall experience rather pleasant, even if John was a little slow at times. Sherlock had memorized John's tanned face, from the wrinkles around his eyes, to the colour of his lips. Sherlock knew John, caring and loyal John. He occasionally envied John's ability to embrace his emotions so passionately, but most of the time he was just thankful to have such a trustworthy friend.

John on the other hand, learned to roll with the punches. He had previously known of Sherlock's utter lack of social knowledge, but found it to be worse that he had originally thought. Patience was a big factor of Sherlock and John's friendship, and John eventually understood that Sherlock lacked the ability to grasp most concepts of emotion, like sentiment or fear. Normal people slowly became boring for John, and he craved the intelligence and strange ways of Sherlock every time they were apart. John missed his striking eyes and quick tongue, the way his curly brown hair went red in the sun, but mostly his mind, his ever-so-clever mind. The mind that could deduce people down to their cigarette preference with a single look. The same mind that was ignorant of emotion, but inhabited by some remnant of sensitivity at the same. John couldn't make heads or tails of it, and was intrigued beyond belief.