Okay! I said that John "slowly" fell for Sherlock... That was NOT slow! My apologies.

Like I said, I'll be going a little off the movie.

This chapter is dedicated to the loveliest of lovely Loo Brealey and the sweet Molly Hooper :)

John was completely love-struck. He hated that idea. He tore out the letter carefully, folded it neatly and slipped it inside his notebook.

Or, he was going to do that when he realised what a weird thing that would be. But that was the only thing he had to remind him of Sherlock Holmes. Apart from his expensive looking notebook as well.

But he would have to return that, won't he? The thought of seeing him again sent sparks of anticipation through him. He checked his schedule again. He had Chemistry on all days except for Monday.

Well, you're supposed to hate Mondays anyway. But now, John contemplated about hating the weekends as well.

He decided not to tell Greg or Mycroft about his meeting with Sherlock Holmes. As nice as they seemed, they were sort of... interfering. Then, they would tell him something like Sherlock Holmes is Jim's ex-boyfriend, but they get together every now and then until one of them breaks it off again.

Gosh, how could anyone break up with that gorgeous man?

John hadn't noticed that the class had become almost empty. He rushed out into the corridor and towards Room E3, towards his English class. He slipped the notebook inside his bag. He did not want Greg to see it.

As the bell rang, signalling the end of Biology and the end of school as well, Henry Knight was the first person to walk out of the class. Ms. Hooper was collecting her things clumsily, and Greg was, as usual, mentoring John. The whole class rose out and started to walk out, not even caring to listen to what Ms. Hooper had to say. Henry Knight dropped something just as he passed John. It was a packet, with very colourful little pills inside it.

"John!" came Ms. Hooper's voice. He decided that she was very nice. She was the only one who bothered to learn her students' names. Greg shot him a questioning look.

"Wait for me outside, please," said John, afraid that Greg would leave him alone in that big school, "I'll be back." Greg gave him a 'no worries' , "I'll be near the exit, okay? You'll find your way, won't you?"

"Thanks," he smiled gratefully which turned into a snarl as Greg ruffled his hair, "Coming Ms. Hooper." As Greg exited, John picked the packet up, thinking it's some candy and went over to Ms. Hooper, resisting the urge to take one out of it.

"Hey John," she sat down on her chair, stuffing a donut into her mouth, "Want some?" She offered it to him. John was feeling a little hungry, "Yeah okay, thanks. Er... Ms. Hooper," he handed her the packet, "Henry Knight dropped these-"

Ms. Hooper took one look at the pouch. She instantly went livid and rushed out of the classroom, after Henry.

"Henry!"

John stared after her for a moment, and then chased her down as well, only to end up in an empty stairwell, where Ms. Hooper had cornered Henry Knight the flight below.

"Henry, you cannot function at school on ecstasy! And that too on the first day! Ever thought about how your mother would feel about this?!" John's eyes widened as he glanced at his fingers, then tried to rub them off on the wall, horrified that he had touched drugs, and even more horrified that he had even thought of taking them. He stared at Henry below, who was licking the binding of his textbook. Ms. Hooper snatched it away and Henry looked like he wanted to jump off.

"I didn't take it!" He protested, "I found it at a club!"

"Henry," she shook her head resignedly, "My brother was an addict. I'm really good at telling when people are high. If you come to my class high again, I will know!"

Henry's eyes rolled out of focus as he reached out to touch Ms. Hooper's auburn hair, "Shhh," said he, trying to sound reassuring, while John watched the whole episode, "Don't be scared..."

"Ew, Henry!" she backed away, "stop touching my hair!"

"Are you gonna turn me in to the principal, Ms. Hooper?" He asked. Ms. Hooper looked sympathetic as she searched his bag for more. She found three more pouches as Henry flashed a weird grin at her, "Henry, I don't want you to get kicked out of school," she takes her handkerchief out and moistens it with some water, before kindly dabbing his face with it, "I want you to go to university, okay? Promise me you won't get high anymore-"

The rest of the conversation was lost as John found himself face to face with Principal Stamford, "Oh hello, homeschool. Are you wondering where the exit is?"

John looked lost for a moment, torn between giving him an explanation and listening to Ms. Hooper's sermon, "Er, I-"

"Oh, Molly!" Principal Stamford rushed towards her, evidently pleased to find his favourite teacher, and then slightly scowled at the sight of Henry and moreover when he realised that he was high, he started playing the knight in shining armour.

"Ms. Hooper," he whispered into her ear, a flimsy pretext to get closer, "He's high." Meanwhile, she looked conflicted. She had already promised to Henry about not telling Stamford anything. But she didn't have a choice. She looked up and saw John standing there, who now felt that his presence wasn't appropriate at all.

"Er... Mr. Stamford. I caught Henry here with some ecstasy tablets, but" she became passionate here, "Henry is such a good boy! He always answers in my class, and I swear that he must have just found it- you know-how teenage boys are like... please don't expel him, he's just a child!"

"Ms. Hooper," Mr. Stamford turned grave, his Principal persona coming through.

"No, please, he's such a good student, Mr. Stamford. For me, please," she pleaded, "He promised me that he would never take these things again! I'll talk to his mother about it, get him into a rehab..."

Molly looked so sincere and so pleading that Mr. Stamford decided to give in. He turns to Henry sternly, "Okay, but next time, I won't be excusing Harry's behaviour here."

"Henry," she corrected him, immensely relieved. John smiled to himself. She really was a saint. She was actually risking her career over a student who came to school while he was high.

"Yeah, Henry," he nodded, "let me see those pills."

Ms. Hooper acquiesced cheerfully and led Henry away, motioning to John to follow her. John watched as Mr. Stamford went to throw the pouch in the trash, and then realising that someone else might find it, he went to his office and locked the door behind him. John wondered what he was going to do with it.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," said she as they entered her classroom and settled down on her chair again, munching on her donuts, "Please don't tell anyone about it."

John tried to smile reassuringly, "Don't worry, I won't."

"Thanks. So," she leaned forward, clasping her fingers together, "How was your first day? You're comfortable here, I mean except for that..."

"Yeah, I am. It's okay" he said brightly. Nobody had asked him that, not even cared. He felt slightly happy.

"Are people nice?"

"Not really."

Her face fell a little, "Did you make some friends?"

Now John felt a little awkward, "Um-yeah."

Ms. Hooper stared at him, confused, but she carried on, "Anyway, I saw your responses during the class. You were homeschooled, right?"

"Yes, my mum taught me. Biology was always my favourite."

"Well," she smiled benevolently, "that's good. Because I'm going to ask you something here, about an olympiad. You know what olympiads are, don't you John?"

John merely shook his head. He lived in Afghanistan for God's sake! He couldn't be expected to know everything!

"Well, these are the only exams that let you get to international levels. I'd like you to try for this."

She drew out an A4 size paper. On it was written BBO and its details.

"This is an olympiad exam I should like you to try. Every year, our school has representatives in Mathematics and Physics ones... you know the Holmes brothers, don't you? Well, Sherlock," John felt an immeasurable amount of heat travelling up to his cheeks at the mention of his name, "he's really good at Chemistry, and I've always requested him to sit for the RSC Chemistry Olympiad, but he doesn't listen to me. Last year, I filled the form on his behalf and Mycroft, his brother," she supplied, "gave me the samples of his signature," she dropped her voice as John smiled at the idea, "Don't tell him that, but he didn't appear on the day of the... oh, I'm rambling again! So, anyway, these people here suck at bio and you're the best here, so... would you like to try?"

He seemed delighted, "Yeah, sure."

"Great, so... anytime, you feel like you have some doubts, don't hesitate, just call me and I'll help you out, okay? Meanwhile, i'm going to tell Henry's mother all about this!"

After the school, Greg invited John for a friendly soccer match. But they lost anyway. Greg was a very good player, John discovered. He also found out that he too was an above-average player at least. But whatever, rugby was still better.

"Nice game, John."

"Yeah, look who's talking!" John wiped off the sweat with a towel, "God, I need food and some shower."

"Oh come on mate," Greg gave him a light slap on his back, "You'll learn in no time and ..." he trailed off.

"Yeah and...?" Greg was looking at someone over his shoulder.

"What's Sherlock Holmes doing here watching a soccer match after it's over?" he exclaimed before John could turn to look.

He froze on the spot. What was HE doing here?

"And I swear he was looking in our direction before I spotted him."

John decided to turn around and face him, only to make his heart stop again and the serotonin levels in his blood skyrocket. He was...

So hot.

"What!"

John snapped out of it. "What?"

Greg had a playful smirk on his face, "You... said... so hot?"

John was thankful to all heavens above him that his cheeks were already flushed due to the game. "Yeah course," he started hyperventilating, "You aren't feeling hot? I really need a shower."

He cast a final glance at the road. Sherlock Holmes was gone. Disappointments were starting to become a permanent thing.

"Yeah, I'm smoked too but not as much as you. Well, I would be if I were also enchanted by my best friend's brother."

John tried to look horrified and failed miserably. Greg chuckled at that, "Aw, look at you. Such an adorable twelve year old schoolgirl."

"I- I'm not-"

"Yeah yeah, I've had enough of that, don't try to fool me! God, John," he started laughing.

"I'm not... gay," John stammers out before Greg can say anything else, "I'm just not interested in women."

"Yeah, I've heard plenty of that-"

"And by the way," John crossed his arms, a smirk playing across his face, "You were the one who had a thing with Sherlock Holmes, huh?"

Greg laughed out loud, "Oh God, was I that good? It's nothing like that. You should see My's face whenever I praise Sherlock in front of him. He's usually very good at hiding his expressions. In fact I think he practices them in front of a mirror."

John sat down on the grass, gulping down the water, "You serious?"

"You have no idea. My takes part in debates all the time, and always wins. How do you think he manages that?"

John shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know, he must be really good at presenting his points?"

Greg shook his head, "Everyone can do that, John. It's more about the attitude and the confidence. So yeah, the only way My gets really pissed off is when some idiot talks to him or when I start praising his brother. Of course, I'm not going to be an idiot. So... there it is. But you... you've already met him, haven't you?"

John tried to appear innocent. Boy, he wasn't going to leave him alone, was he?

"Who?"

"Sherlock Holmes. Otherwise you would have said 'so this is Sherlock Holmes', hmm?"

John's pulse almost tripled its rate when he noticed how similar Greg's humming sounded like that of Sherlock's.

"You share a class with him, don't you?"

John gave in. There was no point in lying to Greg, "Yeah. Chemistry."

"Woo hoo... right on the first day!"

John rolled his eyes, "Yeah whatever."

"But, John, you know that he's Jim Moriarty's ex, right?"

And here it comes. John was about to tell him to sod off and that Sherlock Holmes was none of his business.

"No, mate. I know what you're thinking," Greg gave him a reassuring smile, "I'm not saying that you're not allowed to like him or something. I'm just saying that... be careful. Jim loves ruining people's lives for no apparent reason. And he has pretty good reason to try and destroy you."

John nodded, keeping his words in mind, "See you tomorrow," he mumbled, getting up and giving Greg a thumbs up.

"Evening. See you with the Plastics," he teased him with a grin.

John started walking away from the field. He turned around the corner when he heard a voice that stopped him dead in his tracks, "Nice game there. Although, I would say that you used to play rugby, didn't you?"

A hand reached his chest involuntarily. He tried to cover it up with "God, you scared me. Don't worry, I'll return you your notebook."

Oh shoot! The bad thing about John was that whenever he was in such situations, his 'flight or fight' instincts took over. And 'fight' usually won.

"I'm sorry... " John said quickly as he spotted one eyebrow threatening to go mid-air, "It... just came out. I'm sort of very uncomfortable right now."

Sherlock cast an examining gaze at him, hands behind his back. John took this moment to notice how immaculately dressed he was, "Yes, I can see that. I tend to make people uncomfortable. You must be hungry. Obviously, you've had nothing since you came back from school."

Obviously? John was alarmed. How did he know that?

Sherlock smirked at his expression. "Perhaps I'll explain that to you over some... nibbles?"

Was that a date?

His mind and soul answered wholeheartedly with a NO.

No! Why would Sherlock Holmes be interested in a nobody like me?

"I don't have cash."

Sherlock smiled, this time an honest one. Not an awkward one like the first time he gave him. Not a smirk that seemed to be his signature. It was a real, honest smile. Perhaps over John's stupidity.

Of course, he thinks that I am stupid. If he can know all sorts of things about people just by a look and think that all of it is obvious... He wondered whether that was how Greg felt around Mycroft.

"Do you have a hearing impediment?" he looked annoyed but his voice almost betrayed him, "I mentioned refreshments, not money."

John would have taken offence to that had a memory not come to his head.

Anyway, Sherlock Holmes is an arrogant sod. But for some reason, girls love that... Maybe he was just like that.

"Sorry. Erm... fine. Where are we going?"

"Angelo's. Gives me a free meal everytime."

Of course. Sherlock Holmes wouldn't spend his money on me.

"Oh. Friend of yours?"

Sherlock gave one of his signature smirks before replying. "No. I got him off a murder charge."

John nearly choked. "What?" He looked up at him. Sherlock was clearly enjoying it.

"It's okay," said he, "You'll get used to it."

"Used-? What do you mean?"

Meanwhile they had reached the restaurant. Sherlock strode in confidently, leaving John staring after him. He obviously knew the manager Angelo very well, by the looks of it. Sherlock turned to see where John had gone. He raised his eyebrows dramatically and beckoned him over. John had no choice but to follow him. He settled down in the chair opposite to him. He had a feeling that Sherlock wasn't fibbing. John completely forgot his one-day infatuation with him as his curiosity got the better of him.

"So let me get this straight. You... got him off a murder charge. Why am I even believing you?"

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, "That's because it's the truth."

"Sherlock!" The man John had assumed as Angelo hurtled over to their table, "Anything you want, free, on the house, for you and your date."

He smiled pleasantly at him, "Thank you Angelo. John, you heard him. Pick anything you want." John was too busy staring at Sherlock to reply properly, "Err-I- not his date-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Pick anything you want from the menu. I hate repeating myself."

He did not mind when Angelo called me his date. That should be a good thing, right?

But when he reviewed the conversations Sherlock Holmes had had with him till then, it was more possible that he did not just care. He looked up to the two of them. Angelo was waiting with a patient expression on his face, whereas Sherlock looked bored as always.

"Are you sure it's free?" John asked for one last time, thinking of ordering the best from the menu. Sherlock shot him a look which made him cower, "I'll... um," he had no idea why he was feeling so guilty and in the end, he ended up ordering a simple tomato pasta, while Sherlock managed a "my usual." Angelo gave both of them a thumbs up and walked away.

"So..." he began awkwardly, "You do... realise that you haven't even told me your name yet."

Sherlock frowned, "I thought I had my initials on my notebook."

He looked at the lanky teen disbelievingly, "And I'm just supposed to know your name from your initials?" Even though he did, John did not want to admit it.

"Oh, please! I'm famous," he exclaimed haughtily, "Even if you were new, you would have heard of me."

John tried not to look appalled at that all-important remark as smiled a little to hide his discomfort, "Right. Have you ever heard of something called formal introductions?"

"Tedious," he exclaimed, like he had just passed a verdict.

"Hmm." John had no idea what to talk to him about. He looked up to see Sherlock staring at him. He averted his gaze and bit his lip, "So... you like soccer?"

Sherlock frowned, "No, what gave you that idea?"

"Well, I saw... you watching the game. Well, after the game got over-um..."

Then what was Sherlock doing there? John found himself reddening at the only explanation that came up.

"Oh, I was just passing by. I happened to see... Lestrade, so I stopped."

He was right. Disappointments were starting to become a permanent thing. "Lestrade?"

"The boy you were talking to."

"Oh...so you stop by everytime you... see Gre-Lestrade?"

Sherlock looked away. It was clear that he wasn't really interested in this conversation. Just when he thought that this was ultimate, the awkwardness seemed to reach a new level.

"You said you got him... Angelo... off a murder charge."

His eyes narrowed, "Has anyone told you that you have a remarkable gift to state whatever has already been repeated?"

For a moment John lost himself in his eyes. They seemed green. Instead of grey. His throat had gone really dry. He grabbed the glass of water and gulped it down. Sherlock was spotlessly dressed in that same purple shirt and the black trousers. John looked down at himself. Muddy t shirt and shorts and he was still sweating. And now his palms had also joined in.

"Sorry - ahem," he tried to cover up his embarrassment, "- could you just... elaborate on that?"

"Three years ago, I successfully proved to Detective Inspector Lestrade that during a particularly vicious triple murder, Angelo was in a completely different part of the town, housebreaking."

"DI Lestrade... Greg's father is a detective?"

"Yes."

John was slowly gaining some confidence, but talking to him was still difficult as hell, "Okay... I'm assuming he doesn't know anything about it. He was briefing me with everything in the school today. He would certainly have told me."

Sherlock smiled triumphantly and leaned in, taking up John's personal space. John felt the heat rising in his cheeks. "No one knows about it. Only his father and I. If word gets around that I'm clearing up those mysteries, then I might get into danger."

At the mention of "danger", an overwhelming surge to protect Sherlock Holmes arose in John. He shut his stupid unnecessary mental processes down

"Then why're you telling me this?"

Sherlock frowned, "Sorry?"

John started slowly, "If you can get into danger because of this, how can you trust me to keep your secret? You've just met me."

There was an indecipherable look on Sherlock's face for a moment, which was replaced by the ever-impassive one, "As for how I knew that you hadn't eaten anything, I know at what time these matches usually start. You are a new student, and hence you'll obviously have an obligation to go home and see your parents first. You don't seem the detached type, because you kept that Tower Of London memento with yourself, the one that your parents must have given you and because you were wearing that jumper. Means that you're quite attached to them. Now you could have had a sandwich or something, but then the crumbs should be visible on your outfit but they aren't since you came away in a hurry and you couldn't have brushed them away. So, means that you haven't eaten anything."

John did not realise that he had been holding his breath as Sherlock fired away conclusions after conclusions about him.

Wow! Amazing! Wait... my jumper?

"Is my jumper that bad?" he spoke out loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

Before Sherlock could answer, John's phone started ringing. He gulped and took out his phone. His mum was calling.

"Sorry, I'll have to take this. Hey mum... no, I'm out with a friend... yeah... I'll be back... within half an hour, yes...I'm okay... bye."

Sherlock was watching him for some time with amusement as he spoke, "That was not quite the reaction I was expecting."

"What-?"

"You mentioned your jumper," Sherlock did not even touch his plate. It was quite obvious what Sherlock had expected.

Appreciation. The way John saw it now, he realised why of all people, he was the one Sherlock Holmes had dragged to the restaurant. He was still hooked onto the fact that someone had called his necromancy amazing, "Yeah... I mean, that was quite extraordinary like always, your conclusions. That's general knowledge..."

And that's why Sherlock had told him about solving mysteries.

"... but I didn't know that my jumper was so..."

Sherlock frowned, "Don't worry. You don't look like an idiot. Yes, that jumper's hideous but... "

Was that Sherlock Holmes version of a compliment?

"... logically speaking, a person can't be branded as an idiot just by looking at them."

John stared disbelievingly at him and then burst into laughter.

Why am I laughing? That wasn't even funny!

"What?" he looked affronted.

"Oh no, I'm not laughing at you. It just... ahem... sorry... anyway, I'm asking you for the last time. Why am I here?"

Not that I mind. Complete opposite of that.

"Because you were hungry."

John gave him a look so sharp that made Sherlock get on with it. He cleared his throat, "I was here on a case."

Right. A case. He's not even an adult and he has a case.

"... and I was wondering if you could help."

FYI, BBO stands for British Biology Olympiad. It's the first step to the International Biology Olympiad, very prestigious examination and all...

Again, a huge thanks to Guinevere81 for proof reading this and britpicking it! She really has done a wonderful job!