After finding my notebook (another of the unimaginative masses had nicked it out of my backpack while I was lost in my mind) on top of a locker (a shorter idiot, I filed away), I headed to class.

The teacher, Professor Dimmock, wasn't the worst of the staff but tended to frown upon being late. I could care less about British Literature and it's affect of society today. Society today was too distracted by figuring out the tube system, money and crap telly to care about much else.

I entered the classroom, taking my customary back-corner-by-the-window seat that everyone avoided for me – good.

The class started on as usual, pass in homework (done weeks ago), listen to the lecture on our latest work and leave. Dimmock encouraged his 'young pupils' to record notes for some reason that I deemed unnecessary, thus my notebook (blue for English, of course) had been re-purposed as an experiment log of sorts. I flipped to a fresh page as the lecture began and started to form a new idea.

Frogs again? No, Prof. Gibbs was done with dissections, no chance to nick another. Human body parts weren't an option either, no access. Blood could be inter- TapTapTap. To my immediate right sat one Michael Anderson tapping his pencil in boredom. Just like every class, right on time. In front of him two rows, a new couple just started their relationship by a passed note and yes, there's the other, jealous friend perhaps? The boy in the other corner was shaking, staring at the new girlfriends head, Ah, jealous in general, of the boy? Turned up jeans, manicured nails, an ignored note to the boy in front left jersey pocket. No, the girl. He's been pining after him for months. Rugby player, would ruin his reputation to be 'outed,' as they say. Out of the class, 22 with above average scores; two, no, three failing and taking notes in vain, another four not bothering to and several distracted by a late student at the fro-

"Class," said Dimmock, this got my attention. His usual monotonous drone had been broken by some sort of interest, "this is our new student, John," glanced at a square of paper, "Watson. I expect you all treat him nicely."

He motioned the boy toward the seats, three of which were open.

Not likely to take front and center, everyone would stare at his back, alienating him. Middle almost center was too much hassle, having to move behind two students to get there, annoying the area with disruption. The next-to-aisle seat on the left seemed most promising, and the boy headed in that direction.

Seventeen years old, sandy hair bleached dark blonde from the sun, rugby player. Tanner-than-average, lower-middle class family, no father present, trouble with older sibling: Possibly brother? Shoes showed severe wear but were clean enforcing an older brother and poor family. Shirt was loose, two years old and found in a second hand store, jeans were newer but of a cheap brand indicated by multiple seam repairs. He had carried the red-and-black backpack for several years and it hung off of his right shoulder, out of laziness or pain I couldn't tell. His face was full of bright, yet dark, blue eyes staring at... Me.

The boy had gone past the empty seat to the forgotten (avoided) fourth next to me.

This boy was very obviously new here.

Dimmock had returned to his lecture and the boy, turned to me and stuck out his hand.

"'ello there mate, I'm John."

Fighting the ever-present urge to roll my eyes, I ignored the hand and stared out the window Cloudy, chance of rain later going to be windy tomorrow.

The bo- John stared at me for a second before turning back to the lesson with a not-so-well-disguised "Well then."

The lesson went on.

Several hours and a still-forming black eye (for stumbling too close to a jock – curse my lanky frame) later, I was almost to my room when I saw Mrs. Hudson standing in the hall.

Mrs. Hudson had to have been the most intelligent person here. She was the 'landlady,' or the person in charge of room assignments and general cooperation between the students living here. She had learned rather quickly to allow me a room on my own and has since made visits with various food items to make sure I was eating.

"Oh, Sherlock, there you are!" her motherly voice said. "I've been looking all over for you! Where have you - is that a black eye? Oh what've they done to you now?"

Her muttering concern of my well-being was stopped by a look from me.

"Oh yes dear, back to the point. I've been trying to get in to your room, but you've changed the locks."

"Experiment," I stated.

"Again?" a sigh. "Well just send me a key soon."

That's when I noticed the small duffel bag behind her. She saw me glance.

"That's what I was about to tell you, dearie." she looked pleased. Entirely too pleased. "I've found you a new roommate."