Sherlock had decided that he was going to study something like chemistry at university. It was easy enough for him, and deciding a couple years in advance led to less hassle at a later time. At fifteen, he already knew much of what was to know, but he was required to take the course at school that year.

So there he sat. Well, "slouched" is more like it. He already knew the material, of course, so he spied the rest of the classroom. He knew most of his classmates, who all sat there confusedly, eyes glazed over. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Greg was in a different class that hour. A little disappointing. He would have contributed an entertaining commentary on the lecture.

Sherlock laid eyes on someone. Someone new. Someone unfamiliar. Someone...different. This someone stuck out like a sore thumb because he was diligently taking notes on the lecture, in which he was fully absorbed. He actually seemed interested, or at least desperate for good marks. Sherlock deduced it was the former, judging from the way he seemed so focused.

The boy, although seated, looked shorter and stockier than Sherlock himself, even shorter than Greg, possibly. He had very neat golden hair, impossibly neat, and his irises were deep blue. He pursed his lips as he concentrated. Sherlock could tell his handwriting was messy, like that of a doctor's. Sherlock smirked. He could see this boy being a doctor fifteen years from now. The boy licked his lips and drummed his fingers on the table. The boy caught Sherlock's gaze, when Sherlock realised he was gazing. Always the master of deceit, Sherlock quickly looked away and pretended as if he was looking around the room.

Sherlock set his gaze at the desk and tapped his slender fingers on his lips. He couldn't tell what economic or social class the boy was in because of the obligatory uniform. Hmmm. His hair was combed very neatly, so that meant a strict household, or very high standards for himself. Sherlock couldn't decide which, although he leaned toward the latter, because a strict household probably would have instilled neater handwriting.

Sherlock steepled his fingers underneath his chin.

Assuming the boy was to become a doctor, why? Maybe he felt indebted. Maybe (Sherlock internally snorted) he was very kind. Maybe he was being forced to by his parent(s) or guardian(s).

Sherlock had to learn more. He despised not knowing.

After class, while the boy gathered his things, Sherlock approached him.

"I've never seen you before," Sherlock said abruptly.

The boy looked up. "Hello to you, too," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, right, hello. Anyway, I've never seen you here before."

"So you've seen absolutely everyone else at this school, then?"

"At some point in time, yes. I have."

The boy pursed his lips. "Foiled," his face seemed to say. "Well, things happen," he said shortly, continuing with his things.

"What is your name?" Sherlock asked, still abrupt.

The boy looked up once again. "John. John Watson. Yours, then?"

"Holmes."

"Is that all? No first name?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Like first names are important, or something."

John Watson stared expectantly.

Sherlock scoffed. "My first name happens to be Sherlock."

John stuck out is hand. "Nice to meet you, Sherlock."

Sherlock shook John's hand briefly, then asked. "Are you, by chance, planning on becoming a doctor eventually?"

John looked absolutely bewildered. "I- uh- what- h- what? How do you know?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Simple observations. You paid more attention than anyone else in the class; the way you took notes meant either genuine interest or desperation; and your handwriting is unconventially messy, like that of a doctor's." He smirked.

John Watson stared. "You're brilliant, you. Do you find the class boring, then? Is that why you were trying to figure out my life?"

Sherlock laughed shortly. "I know everything there is to know. Did you know you're rather short?"

John glared as he placed his things in his knapsack. "Did you know that's kind of an arse thing to say?"

"I get that a lot."

"Don't you think that it may mean something?"

"I really don't care."

"Don't your friends, though? I'll bet they get awfully annoyed."

"I've got just the one, and he doesn't seem to mind. I have known him for the proper amount of time."

"Well," John practically interrupted, "it was nice meeting you, Sherlock, but I'm afraid I have to get to my next class." He slung his knapsack over his shoulder, nodded once, and left the room.

Sherlock reflected. His new classmate was shrouded in mystery. Normally it didn't take very long to figure people out. But John Watson, the potential doctor, the little blonde, the new student... Sherlock just didn't know. But he had to. He had to find out more. The mystery intrigued him. He had to know John Watson.

(A/N: Hey, you lot! Sorry it took me so long to update. I have seriously been incredibly busy, but this week is spring break! Ya'll should be excited! ;p I thought this chapter would be an easy one, but it took a lot longer than expected. Hope ya'll liked it!
As always, thanks for reading!)