John walked up to the dorm room assigned to him.
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Annoyingly, the college had moved him into the last room on the top floor, not caring that his leg may affect his capability to get there. After his father died fighting for his country in Afghanistan, John had developed a psychosomatic limp which seemed to be a strong emotional response to what had happened.
He was regretting all that happened last year. He had to retake and so had probably been moved into a room with an annoying, horny first-year.
He knocked at the door of his new room, seeing a handmade 'do not disturb' sign taped across the wood, and sighed. Someone was making themselves at home.
The door opened almost instantly, his thoughts being interrupted. A flushed angry face greeted him.
"John Watson?" he demanded, and John responded with a nod, distracted by the chaos he could see in front of him.
The tall, hypnotic boy noticed this, and whipped around shoving pieces of paper and test tubes into various draws, cracks and crevices.
"I…forgot about room share. Your room is to the left, as I need the right to monitor the perfect breeding conditions for my experiments."
"Breeding?!" John gasped, realising that under the havoc was his bed, his private space.
"Hang on, you're not using my room for your experiment's, use your own!"
"But I need the space. You'll be fine. I won't interrupt many activities of yours"
John sighed, surprising himself at how defeated and worn he already felt.
John then remembered they hadn't actually been introduced, at least, not properly. "And you are?" he tried, sighing again when he got a small glare in response before 'Sherlock Holmes. I'd shake your hand but I can see from here you won't move from the door frame, you're leaning on it for support due to your psychosomatic limp. And you're older than me, I see, yet you've been roomed with me, implying you're doing your first's again…but you're not a complete idiot and you were targeted… what A's and B's? So why are you here?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and he hushed John when he tried to speak.
"Something tragic happened and you were distracted, missed exams, yes?"
John nodded, closing his eyes.
"Something family related or you wouldn't have developed your limp – it's an emotional response so must be in turn to something you were expecting to happen, so not a death of a sibling due to his drinking habit" John's eyes widened at this, and before he could question it, he got a response. "Oh, John" Sherlock sighed, exasperated. "You have ''Call Harry'' scribbled on your right arm. You aren't left handed so it must've been someone else who wrote it. The writing is shaky, so an alcoholic or an elderly person, perhaps. Not a one night stand, or they would've left a number. Not a boyfriend, as you wouldn't forget him, not at your age. An elderly person is more likely to write a note, not on your arm – completely unhygienic, by the way – so it must be a sibling, Harry, so a brother."
John gasped, and after a couple of minutes he nodded, pushing Sherlock to continue.
"So it's not your brother or your mother. She died a while ago in her sleep, yes? So it must be your dad. You obviously didn't see him often – you don't have any recognisable gifts from him so he was probably a soldier – only had a limited postage allowance. You weren't as surprised as you thought you would be when you found out he'd died. So it's obvious you always expected it.
Mr Watson, Died in action. I'm sorry" Sherlock added, backing up to let John catch his breath.
"Harry is now Harriet" John whispered, opening his eyes.
"YOUR SISTER? THAT'S CHEATING!" Sherlock moaned, annoyed he didn't get everything right.
"Oh, Afghanistan, or Iraq?"