John turned the corridor, his shoes tapping softly on the stone-tile floor, the lack of central heating in the hall reaching in through his coat and chilling him to the bone. It had been an unusually good day-- no classes with Anderson, who had deemed it necessary to make his life a living hell since he'd become better acquaintances (friends, even?) with Sherlock, he'd been pulled aside by his anatomy teacher and had been offered opportunities for interning with the hospital in the spring due to his interest in becoming a doctor, and he was going to have time to get in an afternoon tea (always exciting in his book, as it didn't always seem to happen). He hadn't seen Sherlock since after lunch, however-- the boy said he had some sort of experiment he wanted to do and had been off.

He hummed quietly, hugging his coat tighter to his body and walking down the hall, before stopping short when he heard a voice that he knew all too well echoing off the halls: "No, I'm sorry, I don't think--" before making a strange muffled noise. Sherlock.

He broke into a run, unsure where the voice was coming from, but knowing it had to be close. The incessant Oh my god Moriarty Moriarty Moriarty pounded through his mind, hoping, praying that Sherlock wasn't being kidnapped or strangled or murdered by the lunatic they'd met in the pool. Please be alive please be alive please be--

He skid to a stop, breathless, in front of a classroom door which was ajar. Carefully, he pushed it open, bracing himself for whatever was on the other side.

"Sherlock?" He spoke quietly, peeking his head in. "Are you...?"

He stopped short, focused his eyes on the figures on the far wall. Sherlock was pinned with his back against the wall, his mouth seemingly forced into a rough and sloppy kiss by a tall, slim girl whose uniform skirt was hemmed multiple inches above the required length... and whose shirt was nowhere to be seen.

John had never seen Sherlock look so terrified in his life.

Stifling a laugh, he knocked on the door of the classroom, his knuckles making a dull rap rap rap on the thick, wooden door. "Sherlock? Who is your...um...your lady friend?" His lips tugged into a smile, and he watched in amazement as the boy spluttered and coughed and looked more terrified than he had when he was kissing the girl-- or more accurately, forcefully being kissed by the girl.

"H-hello, John," he spluttered, hastily straightening his school tie and combing his fingers through his dark hair.

"Oh, so you're John Watson," the girl said, turning around. Her hair was long and dark, which framed a delicate yet dangerous looking face. She was beautiful- stunning, really, John thought-- but absolutely dangerous looking. A lioness.

She moved carefully toward him, never breaking eye contact with John. His ears turned crimson as she stared at him, a knowing smile across her face that John just couldn't understand. "Oh, I've heard about you," she rasped in a hoarse whisper. Her red, painted fingernail traced his collarbone as she laughed softly. "I understand why Sherlock keeps you around, but you're not as tall as I pictured. I could have you writing on that desk in--"

"Let's go, John." Sherlock had somehow teleported to the door in the amount of time that the girl had taken to make John feel extremely uncomfortable. "Clearly Miss Adler was here for more than business," Sherlock intoned as John stepped carefully out of the web the beautiful girl had spun around him, attentive to not misstep and become ensnared again.

"My business takes many forms, Sherlock." She smiled, staring deeply into the tall boy's eyes. "However, I need an answer. An ultimatum has been set. Do you accept?" the girl spoke slowly, and Sherlock stopped in his tracks.

"No. You can go tell Moriarty that I'd rather do almost anything else than be his goldfish."

"You're a clever young man, Sherlock. I'd hate to see something happen to you." The Adler girl looked almost concerned, but the icy, manipulative tone in her voice made it impossible for John to believe that she could have any kind of concern for Sherlock's well-being.

Sherlock straightened his scarf, upturned his collars, and walked smartly out of the room, John shuffling behind in confusion.

"Sherlock," John whispered in a harsh tone, hurrying to catch up. "Sherlock, what the bloody hell was that? Who was that girl?"

"Irene Adler. Eighteen, a senior, gay, but will clearly do anything if paid enough money. Intelligent, has a little sister that she'd do anything for and will never tell anyone about the adult work she has seemed to dig herself into." He licked his lips, thinking. "She had cherry pie for lunch. Nothing else, just cherry pie. She was breaking out on her chin, so I'd assume by anatomy and hormonal changes that the cherry pie was a coping mechanism for menstrual cramps." Sherlock sighed deeply. "And yes, she is working for Moriarty, but I don't know in what aspect. Given her... work, and the amount she seems to know, she take the pictures for the blackmail."

"What was she asking you?"

"Moriarty seems to really need me. He wants me to join him. I let him know I wasn't interested." Sherlock gave John a side glance in a wry smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. As much as he wouldn't let on, Sherlock was nervous.

Silence.

"So, she was really snogging you, then."

"Was she? I didn't notice when she smashed her mouth unexpectedly against mine." His voice dripped with sarcasm as he stared straight ahead.

John laughed. "So, was she... you know, good?"

Sherlock stopped, looking somewhat puzzled. "Possibly. I've never exactly kissed anyone before, so I don't know."

Now was John's turn to stop. "You haven't ever kissed a girl?"

"No, and I didn't intend on doing so then," Sherlock replied crossly. "You aren't much better. You've had two girlfriends, and it seems as though you're not over the last one, so you haven't been kissed in ages."

"Well... yeah, you're right, I had a girlfriend. Her name was Annette. She broke up with me right before she moved away, a year ago?"

"Do you miss her?"

John nodded. "Yeah, but not so much as time has gone on. I really... it was stupid, but I thought that she was the one. And then she was just... gone."

They walked on in tense silence, not sure what exactly to say to one another. Sherlock felt like a wall that had kept them at a distance had finally broken broken between them- personal information, being shared willingly and openly without fear of judgement. John missed his girlfriend, Sherlock didn't like kissing, and the world made a little more sense.

"Do you ever think...?" Sherlock's voice was a hushed, quiet whisper, vulnerable and open.

"Yes?" John turned, questioning, as the other boy silently tried to decide on what exactly he was trying to say.

"Nevermind."

***

Sherlock, get the hell over to the science portable.

Busy. Sorry.

-S.H.

She's dead.

John and I are coming.

-S.H.

"John, something has come up," Sherlock spoke to the figure slumped in front of the desk to the left of him, his head resting on the desk and a history textbook in his hand.

"...But I need to study..." John groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The taller boy was standing up above him and bouncing on his toes, looking as though he was going to blast off and leave John behind any second.

"John, it's starting, I mean it's really starting. Gavin needs us now!" He begged John with his eyes, relentlessly pleading until John begrudgingly got up.

"Fine." He sighed deeply. "What is it?"

"Something has happened. Here's your coat, let's go." He took one step out of the door, and peeked his head back in. "COME ON!"

"Dear god, Sherlock, I'm coming." John hurriedly threw his shoes on and followed his friend out of the door. "And Sherlock, Lestrade's name is Greg."

"I like Gavin, I think I'll keep calling him that. Anyway-" Sherlock paused, catching John's obvious eye roll- "we need to get to the science buildings as quickly as possible."

"Sherlock, why can't you tell me what's going on?" John pulled a calloused hand out of a warm pocket as he gripped the stair rail tightly, still trying to wake back up. Clearly, Sherlock was excited about whatever it was- he looked like a child on Christmas, begging his parents to please come down so the presents could begin to be opened.

"There's been a murder, John! I'm sure of it." He clasped his hands and breathed out heavily, his eyes lighting up like fairy lights. "I've helped solve burglaries and tried to help with the suicides, but a murder..." he picked up his pace, as if the crime was going to run away.

"Wait a minute. Sherlock, you're over the moon about a bloody murder?" John felt slightly sick to his stomach, but he knew that the food he'd eaten at lunch was fine.

"Oh... well Gavin didn't specify that the murder was bloody, but I suppose..."

John squinted his eyes at him and continued to follow silently.

"You're still here," Sherlock noted with a smirk as they turned down the icy sidewalk and finally walked up the concrete staircase to the science building. It was dull and drab from the outside; whoever had built the school had put much more time and love into the other parts of the school (excluding the music room), but Sherlock was immensely fond of the building and spent a great deal of his time there. And a murder in the science building? The icing on the cake.

"Of course I'm still here, I'm not going to miss my first real case with the school detective, am I?"

John managed a thin smile through his churning stomach, and Sherlock returned the gesture broadly. "They should be waiting for us."

Sherlock nodded and opened the door slowly, and was greeted almost immediately by crying.

"I just... I can't believe she'd take her own life... she had a great family, great grades, great... great friends..." a female voice blubbered on the far side of the room. Actress, lead of last play, so a senior. Roommate to the victim?

"I'm sorry, Miss Elliot, about your roommate, but I really think you should try and eat something and get some sleep," a voice said- 47, father, policeman, used to smoke but no longer does.

Footsteps came toward them, and the crying became louder as a policeman- ex-detective, demoted... in-office affair? - escorted the crying senior toward the exit. When he caught sight of the boys, his eyes widened. "Hey, you're not supposed to be in here, I already had to escort those other two kids who snuck back in out..."

Sherlock cleared his throat, unsure of whether he was going to explain calmly or opt for flatly insulting the man until he went away, until he heard another voice echo through the room. "Officer James, do tell my brother and his companion that they can come in."

The officer looked at Sherlock and John again, disgruntled. "You heard him," he muttered, before escorting the girl (who had only started crying louder) outside.

"Mycroft, I'm aware that you think rather highly of your brother's intelligence, but this may not be appropriate..." Another man. In charge.

"Oh, hello, brother."

"Mycroft." They nodded shortly at each other. "May I have a look?"

"No-" the officer in charge, Morstan, by the nametag, stated sharply. "Mr. Holmes, this isn't the time or the place for children."

John tugged at Sherlock's sleeve. "Sherlock, I think we should--"

"It clearly isn't a suicide," Sherlock stated, pushing forward and looking closely at the body. Female, senior, blonde, dating another senior (the roommate, possibly?), bullet wound to the head, right pointer finger still situated perfectly on the trigger. No callouses: left handed. "Officer Morstan, are you left handed or right handed?"

"I don't see how this has--"

"Please just answer the question." Sherlock breathed in sharply, annoyed with the general dullness of this man.

The officer furrowed his brow. "Right handed. But really, if you're just wasting my time--"

"You wouldn't shoot a gun with your left hand, would you?" He stared at the man, waiting for it to click. He wanted to give the man some credit, he really did...

"No, I suppose not."

Sherlock sighed audibly, rolling his eyes. "She wouldn't have, either. If this were a suicide, she would have picked up the gun with her left hand, held it to her head, and pulled the trigger." He mimicked the action and knelt to the floor, further inspecting her hands. "The gun is in her right hand, however-- her non-dominant hand, judging by the callouses on the sides of the inside of her left middle finger, which would be found on the hand she wrote with. She would have wanted to get the job quickly, so she would never have risked missing by using her non-dominant hand... however, the gun is in her right hand. Furthermore, the gun is still perfectly situated in her hand- after a fall from standing, it is highly improbably that the fun would still be in her hand like that, her finger on the trigger. She wasn't suicidal, Officer," Sherlock finished. "She was killed."

"He's completely right, Dad." A female voice poked from behind the officer. "Detec-- Officer Moody should have looked more closely at the body." The girl emerged- blonde and big-eyed, half of a smile playing on her face as she approached Sherlock. "That was brilliant."

Sherlock shrugged. "Basic deduction, really."

"Deduction? Induction, you mean?" The girl's eyes twinkled. "By definition--"

"I mean deduction. I'm positive about my conclusion." Sherlock stared at her with a look of frustration, but something about her made him want to like her immediately.

She turned to John, her smile widening into more of a smirk. "Is he usually like this?"

John laughed quietly, throwing a teasing glance at Sherlock, who continued to somehow pout and gloat at proving the officers wrong at the same time. "Just about always, yeah."

She extended a small, pale hand toward him. "Mary Morstan. The detective inspector's daughter. You are...?"

"Uh... John. John Watson. And that's Sherlock," John stammered, blushing slightly as Mary smiled at him, the stars in her eyes twinkling even brighter than ever.

"Pleasure. I think we may have met before-- I go to class here, too," She gestured at her uniform and blazer, which held the Baker's Academy crest. "And I've definitely heard about Mr. Sherlock Holmes over here."

Sherlock's face briefly darkened with fear for a millisecond, before returning to normal. "I haven't a clue what you mean."

John rolled his eyes again, before Detective Inspector Morstan cleared his throat. "This is officially a crime scene, please block off the area, and would all teenagers please kindly return to their dormitories---"

"Wait!" John spotted something tucked under the book on a desk. "That's my desk, and I was the last person to have a class in here. I didn't leave any sort of paper on the desk earlier, but now..."

Mary's father carefully plucked the paper off of the desk. "I'd say a suicide note, but as we've established this isn't a suicide..." He opened the note. "Odd. Are you sure you didn't leave this, Mr. Watson?"

John nodded earnestly. "I'm sure. What does it say?"

The officer smoothed the note and placed it on the desk, ushering John and Sherlock over.

C

"That's... that's it?" Sherlock stared at the note, unsure of what to think of it. "Just the letter C?"

Morstan shrugged. "I'll keep you posted if anything else pops up. I hate to admit it, but you were helpful."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and adjusted his scarf before turning around to head out. "I know."

John smiled at Mary, and followed behind his friend.

A/N: Hey nerds.

Sorry this chapter took to long.

I couldn't help it. But it was like three pages longer than usual, so that's cool, right?

I HAVE SO MANY PLANS FOR THIS FIC I'M SO EXCITED. BUT UPDATES MIGHT BE A LITTLE SLOWER BC SCHOOL JUST STARTED FOR ME.

Also, I've gotten 100 reads since I POSTED THE LAST CHAPTER!! That's DOUBLE what I had a week ago? So much excitement omg. I'm so excited to get more.

But really, PLEASE let me know if you liked this chapter, if you want to see anything in particular, or if you have any constructive feedback... I really love hearing from you guys.

Later, nerds.