Notes

John stared out the cab window longingly. They were pulling into the College grounds.

When Sir Arthur's college had sent him his acceptance letter, John was absolutely ecstatic. He was looking forward to starting his training for his doctors degree since his graduation from high school.

But now that he was there, his stomach was doing flips, and he was ready to throw up whatever breakfast he managed to wolf down.

Finally the cab stopped, and John got out, dragging his suitcase out the trunk and onto the sidewalk.

The building loomed above him and he took a deep breath.

"Come on, John, you can do this. Just check yourself into your dorms. Yes, that's a great way to start."

John rolled his suitcase over to the B dorms, designated for males. He nervously stumbled in, and could almost sigh when he saw a kind-looking wrinkly old woman behind the reception desk. She was sipping a cup of tea, and reading a newspaper, but looked up at the sound of the door opening.

"Oh! Hello dear, are you checking in?" The woman smiled wide, and put her tea cup down onto the saucer.

"Yes, I'm John Watson?" John unfroze and gambled forward the rest of the way.

"Yes... ah! Here, John Hamish Watson, room 221. Come ahead, I'll give you your schedule."

John somewhat cringed at the use of his middle name, but walked forward up to the desk.

The lady held out a small laminated card. "Lovely to meet you, Mr. Watson. I'm Mrs. Hudson, head of Dorm 2."

John nodded widely and took his schedule, smiling. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson yelled scratchily "you're welcome dear!" as John trampled down the hall.

A small smile tugged at the edges of her wrinkles. "I think Sherlock's going to like that one..."
———————————
John stopped outside the door, panting. "Jesus, that suitcase is heavy..."

He took a few deep breaths, and when he felt as if he wasn't dying from air deprivation anymore he sighed and turned the door knob.

As soon as the door spun open he was greeted with a chaotic room.  It was crowded with items, some normal like letters and books, and others a bit more... unique, like the gun shots on the wall and the knife stuck into the bedframe.

His roommate had bottom bunk. He was a charming tall lad, his hair curly and his eyes focused. He was wearing a long coat and an expertly curled scarf. His cheekbones could probably cut steel and though John was straight (he was!) he had to admit, this man was bloody fucking hot.

But it was hard to tell much else, because was his head was buried in a thick dusty book.

John made his way in, and cleared his throat. "Hello, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

The man shook his head, slamming his book shut and jumping up. His coat billowed behind him as he almost flew towards John.

"No, I heard your panting through the door, just wanted you to bring it up." He muttered in a strong British accent. That shouldn't have been surprising though since they were in Britian, though something about the richness of his voice startled John.

The man towered over John, and he looked down, offering his hand. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. Nice to meet you, John Watson."

"But I didn't say my name yet-" John stuttered, but was cut of once again by Sherlock.

"Didn't need to, your suitcase tag.

John glanced down at his suitcase, and obviously, 'Sherlock' was right, his full name (sans middle) was writing on his suitcase tag in bright red.

"Oh, of course..." If this was anyone else John might've felt affronted by the sudden activity, but he merely felt speechless by Sherlock.

"Please, make yourself at home. We got the bigger dorm since I solved a case where Mrs. Hudson's husband was sentenced to death. She's got a bit of a soft spot for me. Anyway, I hope you don't mind the decorations, they help me focus-"

"'Helped with a case'? What did you do, stop the death sentence?"  John joked, then frowned because he could totally see the man before him doing so.

Sherlock cracked a small smile and John felt something in him flutter. "No actually, I ensured it."  'Ah yes, that does seem more fitting.' 

  "Right arsehole that bugger was... anyway, yes. I'm a detective. Well, not an actual detective, a 'consulting detective'. The only one in the world, actually, I invented it. Whenever the police get stuck with a case they come to me."

John had wheeled his suitcase over to his desk, trying and failing to ignore the skull that sat on top when he answered.

"But that's impossible, the police don't consult amateurs!"

Sherlock spins around. "John Watson... would you care to bring out your phone?"

John stops in his tracks, wondering if he'd insulted Sherlock, but reaches into his pocket and brings out his phone. Sherlock reaches out his hand, and he tentatively hands it over.

Sherlock flips it around in his hand, the silence thick in the air as he did so. John couldn't help but notice how beautiful Sherlock looked with his hair resting gently on his previously mentioned cheekbones. The outfit didn't exactly do much do dampen the beauty either, if anything it made him look smart, quick.

Though before he could carry on much longer with his... questionable thoughts, Sherlock looked up. John looked away quickly, and though the detective obviously saw he didn't elaborate.

"How long has your brother been divorced?"

John stiffened. "Hmm?"

"This isn't your phone." Sherlock holds up the phone with his thumb and index finger, wiggling it. "Expensive, fully equipped with all the newest features. A college student with just one suitcase to his name wouldn't have a need or the money for this device."

Sherlock gestured to John's suitcase, and John looked warily at it, then back at him.

"Scratches. Tons and tons of them. Once again, a college student who has barely any possessions to his name wouldn't treat his prized item like this. A gift then."

Sherlock was caught up in his explanation that he was talking fast now. He's looking intently at John's phone as he continued to speak.

"The next bit is quite obvious. The engraving that says 'Harry Watson, To Clara, xxx'. Watson, so it's a family member. Could be your dad, or a cousin, but I saw the photo set as the background. An old family photo. The man that's behind you is your father, his cufflinks say 'L.W.'. That's his initials, so he's not the one. However, it is signed at the bottom, 'from Harry, enjoy it bro'."  He enunciates 'bro' as if it's an odd word that he hopes to never pronounce again.

  "So he's your brother."

John was taken aback at all this information being thrown at his face. Sherlock briefly noticed the look, smiling to himself but kept talking. "And then there's Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses say it's romantic. The expense of the phone says serious, wife. This model's just three months old. Marriage in trouble. If she left him, he would've kept it, people do, sentiment. But he left her, he wanted to forget. Gave it to the brother going off to college. And also to keep in touch. But you didn't, because you can't stand the drinking."

John was too stunned to reply right away. "How could you possibly know about the drinking?"

Sherlock smirked. "Power outlet. Lots of scratches. Made late at night when he's pissed. Never seen those on a sober man's phone, never seen a drunk's without them."

Sherlock throws the phone to John, who catches it clumsily. He turns around, coat flowing as he plops himself down onto his bed.

"You're right."

John looks up, mouth wide. "What?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

Everything goes quiet. Sherlock pretends to busy himself by leafing through his book but the nervousness never really leaves his gaze.

"That was... amazing."

He looks up, surprised. "Really?" Then muttered under his breath; "That's not usually what everyone says."

"What do they say?"

Sherlock smirks, looking at John straight in the eyes. "Piss off."

John couldn't help the small tug of the corner of his lip. "Nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes."

"Likewise."

John nods stiffly and rushes out, closing the door behind him, leaving Sherlock in peace so he could continue reading.

He rushes down the corridor, keen to make sure that he's far away enough from the door.

Back hitting the wall, John slides down onto the floor. His breath comes quick and a huge smile has blossomed onto his face.

He puts his face into his hands, trying to hide his glee.

'God, what the hell just happened?'
———
When John's smile faded and he calmed down, he stood up and started a brisk walk to the outside. He decided he'd walk around and meet some new people in attempt to forget about the tingly feeling Sherlock sent through his nerves.

  The air outside was refreshing, the birds chirping and the sun shining.  It smelt of fresh rain, and dew hung to to flowers and trees, making everything look magical.  He had to admit, the campus was beautifully kept, everything had a feeling of homely elegance.

The first person he met on his way out was a quiet young lady, her hair pulled back into a ponytail and her hands clutching a clipboard.

"Hello? Are you a new junior too?"  She seemed happy enough, but her hands jittered as she held the clipboard.  She seemed to be walking the way John came from, but turned around and trotted next to him.

  John shook his head quickly.  "No, um.  Actually, I'm a senior.  I studied in Afghanistan for a bit.  The war forced me out though, but I did fight there for a while."

  She seemed taken aback by that much information at once and John mentally hit himself.  After being by himself for almost a year, his people skills weren't rusty.

  "Oh wow... fighting in the war.  At such a young age!  That must have been traumatizing.  Horrible."

  John gave a weak smile, suddenly realizing it was probably a bad idea to bring up the war.  "Yeah, it was... bad."

  The woman seemed to have caught on to his uncertainty and nodded.  He sighed when she changed the topic before it got awkward.  "Well, who's your roommate?"

  "Oh!  His name's Sherlock... Holmes, I think?  I don't know if you've heard of him, he seems recluse."

  Her eyes lit up, and she almost hopped on the spot.  "Sherlock Holmes?!  You must be kidding!  That's amazing!  I love Sherlock, and his work is great.  He does stay to himself mostly, but he makes up for it by being bloody brilliant.  What a man."

  John nodded confusedly.  "Wait, work?  He is a freshman right?  What could his work possibly contain?"

  "You must be kidding!  You haven't heard of him, the great Sherlock Holmes?  I mean... his brother's a government official!"

  John squirmed on the spot, uncomfortable with his lack of knowledge.  "As I said, I just flew in from Afghanistan.  I'm afraid I've lost touch with Britain."

  She nodded knowingly, a tad of guilt in her eyes.  "Well... he has a website called 'the science of deduction'.  It's brilliant, really.  But he's mostly known for his other job, he's a detective.  Well, a consulting detective.  Don't think there's any others, I'm quite sure he made up the job-"

John interrupted her irritatedly. He didn't mean to be rude, just that all her gushing over Sherlock made something twist in his gut. "Yes, yes, I get it. He said all of that crap when he went all detective on me-"

  The woman seemed to have lost her filter, and she gasped at his words.  "'Went all detective on you'?  You mean he deduced you?  Oh, what people would give to see his genius in person, I myself enjoy the few rare times that I see it."

  She stopped abruptly, seeing John's furrowed eyebrow and stopping.  "Oh, um.  Yeah, I help him in the lab sometimes.  There's a small wing on the side of the campus, it's usually kept private for the teachers, but he somehow got access.  It's a greenhouse, it's really beautiful."

  Now they were back to small talk.  John learned that the woman's name was