John Watson stared outside the window at the grey looming building. It was old, in a way that made it look endearing and intimidating at the same time. Baker Street Boarding School for Boys and Girls, read the sign on the fence. John was doubtful that he would enjoy it here, he had always had high expectations, and every school had never achieved them. His father had said this was the last one, before he would lose his patience and send John to a military academy. Previous schools had, let's say, not been suited to John, who preferred his own company and didn't enjoy being forced into an entourage of clubs and school societies where he was forced to socialise or talk to others. In fact, he didn't enjoy any situation where he had to talk to others. It often left him bored, bored enough to accidently set the school on fire or fill the vents with stink bombs. This was his last chance of redemption, as father liked to call it.
John stepped out the car, and his father patted him on the back.
"You behave, remember what I told you, stand straight and don't slouch." He said stoically. John didn't reply, he just shrugged and picked up his bags.
An older lady came out of the school and greeted them, accompanied by a tall skinny boy with pale skin, and a mess of curly dark hair. He had what appeared to be red paint splattered on his jumper and his shirt was a shrew.
"Good Morning, I'm Mrs Hudson." She shook John's father's hand and John's. "I'm the headmistress here and I'm pleased to welcome you to the school-"
"You are in the army, right?" The skinny boy inquired.
"I don't see how that is any of your business." John's father's replied sternly.
"I'm taking that as a yes, the tone implied denial." Sherlock said wistfully.
"Sherlock! You could at least appear to have some manners, don't start introductions with deductions, you start with hello!" Mrs Hudson shook her head. "Just go and take John's bags to the dorm, please?"
John looked at the red on the boy's jumper, at first he thought it was red paint but-
"Yes, John, it is blood, I was looking at the stab wounds and the different projections of blood patterns they caused and didn't have time to clean up, oh don't look so precious, it was a cadaver, not a live body, of course." Sherlock said in an extremely arrogant tone.
John didn't know whether to be slightly impressed or extremely horrified at this boy's extracurricular activities, but he was certainly a character.
Sherlock took John's bags and walked into the school building.
"I'm so sorry about that, he's different, to say the least, erm, but an extremely gifted student." Mrs Hudson apologised profusely.
"How did he know I was in the army, did you tell him, or-" John's father seemed extremely offended that his personal life would be shared with a student
"No, of course not, he deduced it . As I said before, Sherlock is an extremely gifted student, in more ways than one. He can deduce things about people just by looking at them, their job, extra martial affairs, holidays, just anything. He just observes and sees things that normal people don't see, because they are not looking. But unfortunately his skills don't extend to everyday social attributes." Mrs Hudson tried to hurriedly explain.
"Okay, well as least there is someone, not as disturbed as John." John's father's tone was sharp. "I'll better be going."
"I think that's best." John replied monotonously to his father.
"This way John" Mrs Hudson motioned for John for to follow her up the steps and into the school.
"I see you've made yourself acquainted with the new boy," Anderson smirked as he approached Sherlock in the corridor, on the way to his first lesson of the day.
"I see you've made yourself acquainted with Donavon's dorm room, and you've been scrubbing that floor hard looking at the state of your knees" Sherlock coolly replied.
"You're a complete psychopath, you know that Sherlock, or should I say freak." Donavon whispered into Sherlock's ear and shoved him against the lockers.
"One, I'm a high level sociopath, completely different, check the dictionary and two please use more adjectives to describe me. Expand your vocabulary, you think calling me a freak will cause me to cry into my pillow. Actually, on second thoughts, it does, because your lack of describing words would reduce any linguist or English graduate to tears." Sherlock straightened his blazer. "I'm sure you don't want me to tweet about your explorations of each other's bodies, you would get kicked out of the school and I'm sure you are aware and rather envious of my rather large follower count, I suggest you two leave me be, off you pop. I don't know what goes on in those stupid, tiny heads of yours, but it's surely not thinking." Sherlock grinned, a fake, 'I've got you cornered now sort of grin' and walked off.
Sherlock saw John coming his way down the corridor. John's pace quickened to keep up with Sherlock, however he struggled to walk fast.
"Wait, how did you know my father was in the army" John hurriedly called after Sherlock. Sherlock smiled to himself and turned around, hiding his inner excitement, that someone was fascinated with his skills. Rather odd, he thought to himself.
"I mean, we've never met, I'd only just come out of the car and –"
"Your poise, not upright because you are confident, but because of habit, it's all you know, you were taught to handle yourself that way. Your hair, just growing out of army cut, it's been really low for a while, you are growing it for the school policy. Probably have a Dad in the army, more likely it your Dad than mum, you look up to him so you would emulate his stance and his hair. You act like this to impress him, because it's the only way you know how to." Sherlock looked at John waiting for a look of horror but was greeted with pure admiration.
"That was- that was bloody amazing" John beamed.
"Really?" Sherlock was certainly not expecting that response, "I usually get, you know called freak or asked how long I've been stalking that person's Facebook page."
"What else can you tell from looking from me" John enquired.
"You're not close to your father, I would tell by his body language, emotionless, he didn't hug you goodbye. You've been to a lot of schools, when I saw you didn't seem nervous, just bored because you are used to being in new environments. Well, you didn't go on holiday this summer, no tan line. You live on a moor, because of the grass stain pattern on your trousers, it hasn't rained recently, and the bottoms of your trousers are damp. You a traditionalist, you have a typewriter, I can see the correction fluid on your sleeve. You struggled to catch up with me because you have a limp. The limp, it's psychosomatic, probably caused by extreme trauma, well your therapist has probably already told you that. Your therapist also told you to write about yourself, hence the correction fluid, you also change words because you don't know what to say. I know your limp is psychosomatic because you still do sports, I carried your sports bag, if it were that serious or recent, you would be excused. I'm guessing drowning, I didn't see carry the school swimming bag, it still traumatises you, okay that one is a bit of a leap but guessing from your face, I'm right. "
"Stop please" John pleaded. His eyes showed pain and then changed, he mentally composed himself.
"Sorry, I got carried away, I went too far."
"No, it's okay, you did nothing wrong, I asked you gave me the answers, just because I didn't like it, it does mean…" John's voice drifted, unsure of what to say, but could see Sherlock understood.
"Usually people turn on me when I give them answers they don't like, I think it is best I go."
"There's no need." John replied,
"Oh don't worry, we'll see each other soon, I'm certain of it" Sherlock slunk away, content at possibly meeting someone who didn't find him intolerable.
John ambled from lesson to lesson, there weren't boring, but he just kept thinking about Sherlock's abilities to read people and attempted and failed throughout the day. Eventually he just gave up, better leave the deductions to Sherlock.
The day was over and it was time, for all the students to go to their dorms. John stared at the map in the pack, he was given early in the day, he was in dorm 221b.
John found his room and was pleasantly surprised with his roommate.
"Hello John, didn't I say we would see more of each other." Sherlock smirked
John saw his bags in the corner and took it upon himself to unpack and put his uniform in the cupboard beside what he presumed to be his bed because Sherlock was lying in the only other bed and they hadn't really discussed who would take which bed. John was grateful because at least he didn't have to have an awkward exchange where they would both say they didn't mind, he was sure that even if he did discuss it with Sherlock, he wouldn't even have a choice as Sherlock seemed to be a person that is accustomed to their own way. John finished packing and made his way towards the bed, although when he saw his bed, he was shocked to say the least.
"Sherlock!" John yelled.
"Yes, John you're intruding my mind place." Sherlock was lying on the bed, throwing a tennis ball at the wall and catching it with the other hand.
"Never mind your bloody mind palace, why is there a Cadaver in my bed" John was fuming
"The medical society gave it to me for experimentation, we have no storage, so left it on your bed, your bed was a logical place to put it, because I sleep in mine." Sherlock replied coolly as if remarking about the weather.
"Sherlock, did you not hear me….WHY IS THERE A DEAD BODY IN MY BED?" John was taken aback by Sherlock's cool demeanour.
"It's frozen still, I need it to defrost, we have a few days till it rots, well I wanted to see how different chemical compounds affect the microorganisms which cause decay." Sherlock answered wistfully.
"It's either the body or me" John spoke sternly, wondering how Sherlock got the body into the school, in the first place. He soon realised that he didn't want to know.
"There's a spare bed in Anderson's dorm if you want it." Sherlock shrugged.
"You choose a dead body over me, hey did you anyone tell you how kind and considerate you are" John voice was dripping with sarcasm.
"Funny you asked John, but nobody has ever complemented me on my social attributes." Sherlock contemplated.