Hello again, everyone!

Last chapter did not exactly concur with "A Study In Pink". Apologies for that.

Hope you like it! xxx

When John showered and sat down for a late night study after a light dinner, he remembered that he had to copy his notes from Sherlock's notebook.

He went through it. Everything was so disorganized, yet so understandable. Sherlock had catalogued every detail about any particular reaction: its mechanism, variations, catalysts that promoted it, poisons, even industrial uses.

Genius!

But the worst part was that it was an all-in-one notebook. There were his chemistry notes, extensive and exhaustive, then his biology notes, unsystematic but precise. And then came the bad ones. Physics was a bunch of formulae with small notes as to how they were derived. And just results in Math with no explanation. And then just few pages of an article in French and Spanish.

It looked like he had all the subjects under the sun. Like Mycroft. Seven subjects! John wondered how he managed it, and why he had seven where only five of them were useful. But he did not want to waste his time daydreaming about his childish crush on him. He could clearly see that Sherlock was sufficiently happy with solving crimes and hooking up with Jim Moriarty whenever he felt like.

"You ready?" Mycroft asked John before they were about to go into the lunchroom.

John sniggered, "Like I could say no and get something good out of it!"

Mycroft smirked at him, "Don't be smart, Johnny. I'm the smart one. And there's Greg, late as always." They spotted the brown and grey haired teen hurtling towards them, "Good luck John!"

They swept past him into the cafeteria. John followed a few minutes later, settling into the table with the Philip and Irene.

All throughout the lunch, John ate less and listened more to the useless set of rules that mostly Irene and sometimes Philip mentioned. They were sort of pointers on how they managed to be the talk of the school. John suddenly realised that he wasn't just going to sit with them for the rest of the week. He was going to have to sit with them for the rest of the year, because Irene seemed to be completely convinced that John was going to follow those rules. But then, it seemed like anyone would sell their house to sit with the Plastics.

That was, John noted absently, anyone except Mycroft and Greg, who seemed to hate Jim. He looked around at their table. Greg and some other guys were having a contest to see who could fit more popsicles into their mouth, while Mycroft tried to block out his best friend's activities, concentrating on his plate. It looked fun.

So far, John wasn't allowed to talk about animes (which was okay because he had no idea about what that was) or Star Wars or anything related to books. He wasn't allowed to go to a party without telling the rest of their faction, or go for shopping without them (which was okay because he wasn't into shopping; he decided to stick with Philip whenever he would be invited for such things). He wasn't allowed unimaginative abuse of words, as Jim put it. He wasn't allowed to wear something that Jim or Philip already owned. And if any of his clothing suited the other person better, he was supposed to ditch it because it was their thing.

Lousy idiotic rules.

It was like he was signing a contract and those were the T&Cs.

And he was supposed to wear any T-shirt or jeans or jacket, or jumper in his case, only once a week. And then he was not supposed to wear the same set every week. They liked variety.

So, if John had to get on with his espionage plan, he would be needing lots and lots of clothes. Fortunately, Greg and Mycroft were of almost same physique as his, although Mycroft had a tummy and he was over six feet in height. Everything was perfect.

He wasn't allowed long hair, because if he did, they'd banish him to the table where the art geeks sat. He could not have specs, only contacts. And if he decided to get tattoos, it would be only with their permission and in their presence. John wondered why he would even think of getting a tattoo.

In order to settle the problem of the fourth rule, Irene and Philip actually made John recall every single tee that he had. It turned out that his fashion sense was very different from that of Jim's or Philip's and quite mortifying as well.

"You're so lucky to have us to guide you," Jim remarked lazily, "We're excusing you because you can't really be expected to learn about fashion in the jungles of Afghanistan. Don't worry, Johnny boy. We'll get you some dapper clothes. "

John wanted to tell him that there weren't that many jungles in Afghanistan, only flatlands and desert. He decided against it.

And he also wanted to tell him that his name was John, not Johnny boy. But he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"And if you break any of these rules, you can't sit with us for lunch. For a whole week," said Philip, in a manner that suggested that it would be the worst thing in the world that could happen to you.

He simply nodded, reaching out for some milk. Irene shot him a look that said pay attention to me and our rules and not to food. John recoiled under the ferocity of her glare.

"Oh, and we always vote before we ask someone to eat lunch with us because you have to be considerate of the rest of the group," she said.

John nodded, "Yeah, I saw that."

Irene smiled sweetly. She was good too. It was actually difficult to tell whether her smile was genuine or fake. Going by their reputation, John decided the latter.

Sherlock would have known, the one hell of a mind reading, omniscient and life-gambling sexy bastard that he was, John remembered fondly. And then he mentally slapped himself.

"So you know. Good. And you have to take our opinions very seriously. Like I said, every time we go out for shopping, we take the rest of the group with us and we vote for which looks the best on you. It's not always that you think that it looks good and it actually looks good."

John nodded, wondering if Irene took Jim and Philip to lingerie shopping as well. Could be possible. Anything was possible with the Plastics. Not that it should matter to her. John and Jim were both attracted to men, and Philip was her childhood friend, however perverted, as she informed him. In fact, a guy's opinion would be more unbiased.

Philip was simply nodding excitedly. He looked very happy to have a fourth member in the group. As painfully stupid as he was, Philip was actually nice and very innocent. He wondered how he ended up with Jim and Irene, if he was to take Mycroft and Greg's words.

"Same goes for potential boyfriends, or girlfriends in Philip and your case. Like, you may think you like someone but you could be wrong."

John quirked his eyebrow at that. He was never going to tell them about Sherlock Holmes.

"God, I really need a tan," Jim whined, "I don't like being sooooooooo white!"

He paused and looked in the direction of his plate. He looked like he was on some sort of diet, with the lack of food, but John pondered otherwise. Jim was not obese. He was the exact opposite of it. He did not need a diet. Yes, he was lacking in muscles, but his looks made up for it.

And then, he realised what to do when Jim said such things.

"Oh no, Jim," Irene quipped, "You look better without a tan. Everyone knows that, right John?"

John snapped out of his trance, "Oh yes, completely. You're the sort of person who needs to look sophisticated, not rough and hardy!"

Somehow, that seemed to please Jim, "Hmm... someone's a flatterer. You're soooo sweet."

John breathed a sigh of relief internally.

"Oh my god, Jim!" Philip almost squealed, "That's Sebastian Moran."

Irene looked over John's shoulder, a devilish smirk on her face. John turned to look at this Sebastian Moran. He was a tall, muscular blond. Handsome, he noted. Not as handsome as Sherlock. He earned himself another slap from his inner self. By the time John turned back to the table, Jim was gone without a goodbye. He turned again to watch him lead Sebastian away from the lunch room.

"So, John..." Philip asked him, smiling widely, "Have you seen any girls you want to get off with?"

"Err-" he noticed that Irene was watching him closely. All of them thought that he was straight. Let them think so, "Yea- there's a... girl-"

"You're fibbing," she said quickly, before he could even start to lie properly. John looked at them, from Philip to Irene. He was frowning, and Irene had the same devilish grin that was the signature of Jim Moriarty.

Gosh, she's like a human lie detector! Play it cool. Don't tell them about him.

"What?"

"It's alright John. You'll meet some of the good ones. No one in your class?"

That was safe as well. "Nope," John resorted to something he would never have done in a million years, "There can't be many girls who could be prettier than you!" Only flirting with her could get him out of the situation.

Irene smirked at that, "You think I'm only pretty?"

John wondered if that was a lack of self-esteem or just another way to determine whether he was lying or maybe she was only mortified that John found her only pretty. But before he could answer, a rich baritone voice stopped him, "Irene. Anderson."

John could practically feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he sensed Sherlock's brilliant, piercing eyes drilling into him. He did not dare to look up at him. Fortunately, Irene had her attention on Sherlock and Philip was too stupid to notice.

"John?" came the unmistakably surprised voice of Sherlock Holmes. Too surprised.

Irene smiled up at Sherlock. Now that was a fake one. Even though there was no way to tell, John knew that it was. From what it seemed, Sebastian Moran and Jim were probably catching a quick round of snogging in some gym closet. And Sherlock, Jim's ex, coming to their table was super-awkward.

"Didn't know that you sat here."

"Yeah..." John stuttered, losing all the confidence he had gained yesterday as he cast his eye over him, "Er- I was... "

Oh God, he growled to himself. But Irene saved him, "Hello Sherlock! Yes, we invited John over to sit at lunch with us. So, how was your summer after...?" she was looking at John suspiciously.

Sherlock sat beside Irene in Jim's empty seat, "Really? You invited someone? And that too John?" said he, avoiding the latter question.

So that was when Jim and Sherlock broke up.

Irene quirked an eyebrow at him, "He's in your class?"

Sherlock gave him a quick look, "Chemistry. I accidently took his pen and as a result, he could not write his notes. Sorry for that again," he looked amused at John's sudden withdrawal.

John remembered it, "Right, here's your notebook."

"Yeah," she turned to John, giving Sherlock a playful nudge in his ribs, "He does that a lot."

Sherlock smiled as he dumped the book into his backpack, and John's brain deserted its job as the organ responsible for thinking. John desperately tried to hide the colour in his cheeks but Philip blurted out, "John, why're you so red?"

Irene tore her eyes away from Sherlock and focussed on John. Her eyes widened in surprise for an infinitesimally small moment and then they resumed smiling along with her lips.

Sherlock noticed John's discomfort and knew the only way in which he could take all the attention from him, "Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole canteen."

What? Did he really just say that?

The tension forgotten, Irene and John started to laugh. Even Phil joined in, not understanding that the comment was supposed to be offending. Sherlock rolled his eyes and shook his head, sending John a look that he couldn't make sense of. To prevent himself from giving away anymore, John simply sipped his milk, looking down awkwardly, like a newlywed bride.

"Sherlock!" she slapped him on his arm, pretending to look scandalised, "Be nice!"

He flashed a smirk at them, "I'll be off now. Just popped in to say hello."

With a last glance at John, Sherlock removed himself from the table smoothly. Irene waited till he was out of earshot and turned to him in bewilderment. John knew and dreaded what was coming.

"No."

John refused to look down, knowing that it would only incriminate him.

"You can't like Sherlock Holmes!"

At this, Philip's ears picked up. "No," he agreed, "you cannot like Sherlock Holmes. That's Jim's ex-boyfriend."

"They went out for a year and then he was devastated when they broke up."

Philip turned to Irene in clear confusion, "I thought Jim dumped him for Sebastian Moran."

Irene shook her head, "Okay, regardless, ex-boyfriends are just off-limits to friends. And that's not just our rule; it's the rules of the universe."

John had a lot of friends in Afghanistan. But all of them were too busy trying to survive rather than even think about girlfriends or boyfriends. "But don't worry," Irene voice dropped down an octave, "you couldn't have known that. And that's why we won't tell Jim. Your secret is safe with me." Philip nodded vigorously, apparently very happy that he had been given a secret to keep.

Well, it hardly would be if Sherlock and Jim happened to come around together. Any fool could see it. Just as Sherlock exited, Jim arrived again, "Oh, by the way people, there's going to be a fire drill in, uh..." he checked his watch, "two seconds-"

The fire alarm went off. All the students around them rushed outside, leaving John alone with the Plastics in the huge cafeteria, free to do whatever they wanted to do. Before John could say anything, Jim interrupted, "I told Coach Gregson we had to skip it because Irene might be pregnant."

Irene looked extremely shocked, "You said that?" But Jim ignored her. Phil laughed, and then it seemed like something had hit him on the head, "She's not though, right?"

Coach Gregson manned the door and waved at Jim enthusiastically, as if it is the best thing he has done in his life. Jim waved back daintily.

"So adooooorable, isn't he?"

John smiled to himself. He could see why it was good to have Jim as a friend.

When John finally got to chemistry class that day, he was hoping for Sherlock to come and sit beside him once again. Sherlock did not seem to have a lot of friends, because whenever John saw him in corridors, he was usually alone, either carrying his boxing kit or a lot of books in his arms and hurrying towards the library. But what disturbed John the most was the loads of shy girls behind him, mostly freshmen who did not know about his sexual orientation.

First five minutes, John was alone, hoping for Sherlock to turn up. Ten minutes, fifteen...

Bell rang after another twenty five minutes. No sign of Sherlock. John sighed in disappointment.

He did not dare to walk home with Greg. Or, Greg did not dare to walk home with him. He was too afraid that the Plastics would see them and then the whole plan would come down crashing.

"See you tomorrow," he waved to Greg and proceeded to take a shorter route. He would have, had he not heard the sing-song voice of Jim, "Get in doofus, we're going shopping!"

John turned around. And that was one sexy convertible.

"Okay," it did not seem like he had any other option.

Philip smiled up at him as he settled beside him, "We're getting some suits for Jim. I haven't been to suit shopping for ages."

John simply nodded. He had never thought of Philip as be one of those guys who liked shopping. Jim was posh, it was obvious that he would. But what he had got from the rom-coms that his mum watched, guys were supposed to hate shopping. Apparently, that was not true.

"John," he looked up to see Jim smirking at him from the rear view mirror, "Do you know what car this is?"

Only one came to his mind, "Cadillac?" he tried.

Jim laughed as Irene rolled her eyes at John, keeping her eyes fixed on the road while driving, "I love him," said he, "he's like a blank slate!" John did nothing to hide his embarrassment, not when there were two very clever people sitting in the front seat and watching at his facial expressions.

It was getting awkward, spying on them. Although Greg and Mycroft tried their best to convince John that Jim was an evil and a wicked dictator (according to Mycroft, wicked was worse than evil), John did not really believe it. Jim was... awesome. He was fabulous, and the funniest person he had ever met in his life. Although some of his jokes were obscene and were targeted at Irene, he seemed like a great guy.

"Did you even go for shopping in Afghanistan?" asked Philip.

"Sometimes a guy in a truck would come selling computer parts and guns..." John answered, thinking, "does that count?"

All of them laughed. They seemed happy to keep John as their pet, "Here we are," said Jim, his eyes searching, "House of Fraser, Austin Reed... yes, Westwood..."

It seemed like Jim had some formal party sort of thing and he needed a new suit, and being plastic, he needed all of their advice. He took this as an opportunity to educate John about how to pick the perfect suit for oneself. Not that John could see much difference between any of the suits that Jim had tried. All of them were black and taken in at the waist, flattering his lean body.

And then they went for ties. That was the most uninteresting thing he had ever done. Jim made small talk with the owner of the shop, who seemed to know Jim like he was their regular customer. Most of the time, Irene fussed over him, taking out ties after ties, her face contorted with concentration. What was the point of this, John mulled over in his head, it was not like anybody was going to touch it to see what quality it was!

"So," John asked conversationally, "What's the occasion?"

Jim looked at him and smiled benignly, "Oh, Johnny! Don't worry, I'm not going to a party. It's more like a meeting, a formal thing, too boring for someone as colourful as you! And Irene dear," he continues in a lower voice, "please drag Phil away from the venerable old manager. I don't think he can digest so much stupidity."

It was like Irene was his full-time PA. John smiled and frowned at the same time. Jim could be mean, but he was awesome.

When John realised that this was going to take some time, he quickly went outside and made a call to his mum, informing her that he would be late. She seemed delighted that the prospect of her Johnny boy socialising without much effort. It couldn't take much effort. John was always a people person. John looked around at his surroundings. They were somewhere in Knightsbridge. He had never been to this part of London before. But then, he was new after all.

It seemed that Irene had some shopping to do as well. And, as expected, it took longer than Jim had taken. She finally settled for a short black silk dress and another chiffon blue one. The price made John tear his eyes away from her to the much marginally dressed salesgirl who seemed to be complimenting every dress that Irene had taken a shine to. Then, they just sat in Starbucks, sipping frappuccinos, with Jim occasionally sending out texts and Irene chatting up with John and Phil.

"So John," Jim turned to the group once he was finished with the texting, "How do you like Westhaven till now?"

"It's alright, I guess. I'm sitting for BBO this year, so I'll have to study a lot."

Jim nodded, giving him a cute pout upon hearing that Westhaven was only 'alright', "B for... biology. Some Olympiad?"

"Yep," he said brightly, "Ms. Hooper put my name for it."

"Make sure you don't ignore us," Irene batted her eyelashes at him, "We're only your friends in this school."

John thought about his two other friends who were planning havoc on them this very moment. He simply smiled. He found out that if he was getting rather good with fake smiles. "Course."

"Oh God! They're looking for me," Philip squeaked out, making all of them jump. He looked scared to death.

"What is it, Phil?" Irene asked soothingly.

"Baseball pricks, "he pointed at a direction over Jim's shoulders and crouched under the table. There were five boys, all very strongly built.

"And what did you do?" she continued in the same voice.

"Just slept with Alexis, I swear."

"Adrian's girlfriend?"

She seemed to know everything. Mycroft was so right.

Philip nodded, "It was a onetime thing, I swear."

Jim, whose eyes had been closed at the moment, fluttered open. He was smiling mischievously, "You remember that photo you took, Irene? During that party in Turner's house, of Alexis and that pathetic ex of hers, what was his name?"

"Right, it was Jeremy, I think. Hiding isn't a permanent solution. I'll send that photo to the whole lot. Phil, this is the last time I'm saving your neck. After this, I'll be the one to make sure that you get a good beating from them. I keep these photos for insurance, not to keep you safe."

Jim winked at John and settled back into those uncomfortable chairs. John caught one glimpse of the MMS Irene was sending to all of them. It was an obscene picture of a half nude girl and a full nude guy, violently making out inside a cupboard. Only God knew how she had got that photograph. John averted his eyes away at once and turned in the direction of the baseball boys to see all of them reach for their phones, and gasp in delight except for two of them. A fight broke out, and they smuggled Phil out of there.

Back in the car, he was laughing gleefully. This was the first shocking glimpse that John had into their mean personalities. True, they had saved Phil. But he was the wrongdoer, wasn't he? And sending an old photo of a girl hooking up with her ex to not just her current boyfriend, but to the whole team was a very mean thing to do. John tried to laugh it off with the rest, but he couldn't reconcile the incident in his mind with Jim's natural charming persona. Perhaps Mycroft and Greg had been right all along.

They were going to Irene's house. John let the unsettling thoughts in his mind rest for a while as he spotted Belgravia approaching. Was that where she lived? She was crazy rich indeed.

"Your house is really nice!"

"Isn't it?" she smiled pleasantly, "Now, John, if you see my mum's boyfriend anywhere in the house, don't grace him with even a look. That's the only rule here."

John nodded stiffly, looking around the house in wonder. Phil and Jim looked unfazed, like they were used to it. Right then, a woman appeared in the hall who could only be Irene's mother.

"Hello darlings, how're you all? Hello, Philip, Jim, absolutely love that watch."

He put on the same face he had on when they were at the store, "Mrs. Adler, this is John."

She finally turned to him, "Oh, hello dear!" said she flirtatiously, as John tried to back away from her approaching fingers, "You are so DDG... Now, if you need anything, don't be shy. There are no rules in this house, darling."

John swallowed uncomfortably, "Er... yes, thank you.. Mrs. Adler. You're... very, erm... DDG too," said he, still not knowing what it meant. He vowed to ask Greg and Mycroft about it whenever he met them.

"Diana, please," said she in a voice so deep that John thought he could bury a body in it, "Thank you, dear-" she winked at him and then grabbed his shoulders to give him a hug. John winced quietly at the feeling of her rock-hard boobs. He could feel her giving him a kiss on his cheeks. He tried his best to stay still as Mrs. Adler continued to take advantage of him.

"Mom!" Irene finally came to his rescue, "It's first day and you've already started to molest John!"

"Oh sweetheart," said she as she withdrew, "Stop calling me mum now! You know how people faint upon hearing that I'm not your big sister."

Irene rolled her eyes, "Please stop talking."

They went upstairs to her room. It was neat, bordering on obsessive... and didn't look used at all. She threw her purse on her bed and switched on the TV. Philip played with her lab pup and Jim just stood by the windows, looking out at the street. Meanwhile, John looked around, never failing to be mesmerised.

"This is your room?"

"Yup," she took off her slippers, "You should see my mum's. Smells so much better when Dad's there. At least it doesn't stink of sex all the time... Oh my god, it's the Paris fashion week!"

When John was with the Plastics, he felt like he had left the actual world and entered another world. All that glamour and riches, everyone would be in your control and everything worked in your favour. He turned around to look at what Jim was doing.

"What's that?" he asked him, looking at the large album in his hands.

Before Jim could say anything, Phil interrupted, "It's our Burn Book. We've been keeping it since last year. Once, Irene had her phone stolen and we lost a lot of data. Since then, we've been keeping this."

"Well then, why don't you take a backup?"

"They need to be original, of course," he told John, proud of the fact that he knew something, something that perhaps Jim or Irene had explained to him "Plus, backups can be hacked easily. Otherwise there's no point. In Photoshopped ones, if you go to the details of an image, you'll never get a camera-model name or number. It's something that cannot be added by the user-"

"Oh, I remember this one," Jim said quickly, interrupting him, "Michael Byrd and Ms. Smith. Remind me to send her a nice text. She's been such a pain."

John did not try to pry anymore as they announced a load of names from their year and some of their teachers as well. If they were to completely trust him, he had to act like he liked making fun of it and not anything much.

"You should write something in it!" Phil announced, giving the Burn Book to John.

"Yeah," Jim agreed, "You do one. We might have a picture of someone here in the... Irene darling, please bring me the yearbook!"

John looked appalled. It was his second day, how was he supposed to write something bad about someone. He strictly refused, "No!"

Meanwhile, Irene was back with the yearbook, browsing through it for pictures, "No one will ever find out!"

"How can I hate someone right from the second day?"

"Anybody," Jim shrugged his shoulders, "Someone really stupid... like Philip!" Phil looked downtrodden at that, but Jim didn't even care.

"But I don't want to."

Irene's eyes narrowed, but a shadow of a smile still remained on her lips, "Why, because you're so nice, and we're so evil?" She asked him pointedly, pouting her lower lip. John looked around at the three of them, waiting expectantly for an answer. Reluctantly, John took the Burn Book in his hands and spotted Principal Stamford somewhere in the group photo. He made a quote bubble over him, saying, "I keep ecstasy with me in my office." Irene snatched it away to read it.

" 'I keep ecstasy with me in my office!' That's hilarious!"

Jim's eyes lit up at that, "Is it true, John? My God, you're my best friend!"

With that, Jim pulled John into a very dainty hug, while making his face into something that said 'Gross!', something that John couldn't see. He wondered what was happening, thinking whether he should have done that. But nevertheless, he patted Jim's back awkwardly, thinking about what to tell Mycroft and Greg.