The school year seemed to go quickly. Besides Victor, Sherlock didn't bother associating with the other students. The only trouble he had was when he tried to get out of singing his required solo He actually disappeared on the day he'd have to sing, and when he was finally found he had to convince them to let him play his violin as he sang. There was no way he was going on stage and singing by himself. At least the violin felt like a friend.

Even with all the time he and Victor were spending together, Sherlock still thought of him as a roommate, not a friend. He was almost looking forward to seeing him the next fall, but he told himself he wouldn't exactly miss him over the summer. Victor certainly wouldn't be missing him, or so he thought until one day when they were finishing chemistry class together at the end of the year.

"Sherlock, would you like to come to my place for a bit this summer?"

"Sorry, what?" He must have heard that wrong.

"Would you like to come spend a some time with my dad and I this summer? I think he'd like that. It's been just him and I since Mom died. He's always telling me I should spend more time with people my own age."

Sherlock almost turned him down. He had no plan on forming any kind of attachment to anyone. It would be better for Victor to understand he just didn't make friends. Accepting the invitation wouldn't end well. Yet he found himself saying "I'll call my parents and see if it's all right with them."

Victor grinned. "Great. As soon as you know I'll call my dad and tell him. You'll love our place, Sherlock, I promise."

The other boy was so excited about it that even as cold as Sherlock always acted, he couldn't tell him no now. He already knew his parents would say he could. They were still hoping he would make a friend, even though he'd said again and again that he didn't want friends. It wasn't as if it would be a bad experience. He told himself it wouldn't matter in the long run. Victor probably wouldn't even go to the same university as him. They'd just go their separate ways. It didn't have to be painful.

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It didn't take long for Sherlock to learn just how respected Judge Trevor was. As soon as they arrived in Norfolk, Victor was greeted with a compliment about his father. More than one person had a story to tell of how the judge had dealt leniently in a case, or how he had helped some family in need. Sherlock could see in Victor's eyes how proud he was of his father. Once Sherlock arrived at the family's lavish home, he was greeted warmly, and could tell why Judge Trevor had such a good reputation. There weren't many people whose respect Sherlock wanted to have, but by that evening he knew the judge was one of them.

He was an older man, who like Sherlock's own parents hadn't had a child until later in life. It didn't take Sherlock's deductive powers to see he was a devoted father and, from what Sherlock observed, must have been a loving husband. They sat around talking after supper, and Sherlock was soon in a detailed discussion of law with him.

"You seem to know a lot about the law for someone who hasn't studied it yet." the judge was obviously impressed. "Thinking of being a lawyer someday or a judge yourself?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet," Sherlock answered. "I'm more interested in solving problems then defending people in court."

"Seems like you'd know enough about law to pass the bar exam already if you wanted. But you're very young yet. Plenty of time to decide what you want to do with your life."

"Sherlock knows a lot of things that seem impossible to know," Victor told him. "He has this gift. He can tell you everything about yourself just by looking at your clothes or something you own or how you shave- anything like that. It's unbelievable."

Judge Trevor laughed. "Little details like that couldn't tell much."

"Actually," Sherlock was a bit annoyed at that. "Little details can tell the most."

"Oh, such as?" The judge was a good man, but it seemed as if he was just joking with Sherlock, not believing what he could do any more than the police once had.

"Well for starters, you've been afraid of being attacked. Someone has been threatening you."

The judge paled. "That's true. I don't have many enemies, but I'm not exactly popular with the people I've sent to prison. A few of them did make threatening remarks when they were taken away. What else do you know?" He sounded more worried now.

"You boxed when you were a young man."

The judge was more relaxed at that. That was nothing he needed to hide.

"You could see that from my nose?"

"No, you're ears. Boxers' ears are flattened by too many hits if they fight long time."

With a chuckle the judge asked "Anything else?"

"Only what should be obvious to anyone. You were close with someone who had the initials J.A. And have tried to forget about them."

He hadn't meant any harm from it. It was so easy to see. Sherlock would have thought anyone would know that. The initials were tattooed on the judge's arm, still readable, although barely under that tattoo he'd gotten over the letters. The tattoo artist must have tried, unsuccessfully, to work them into another design. The last thing Sherlock had thought would happen was for the judge to grab at his chest, lose all color, and sink down as if he were dying.

Sherlock was almost frozen in place. He'd read up on anatomy, but he had no idea how to react in a situation like this. Luckily, the older man seemed to get over his attack on his own. Sherlock immediately did one of the last things he thought he'd ever do for using his gifts. He started to apologize.

"I didn't know you'd react like that. If I had I wouldn't have-"

Judge Trevor waved a hand to cut him off.

"I know you didn't mean any harm. There are just- some people in my life I'd rather forget." He seemed to be almost back to normal, but Sherlock and Victor were still worried.

"Should I call a doctor?" Victor asked. His father shook his head.

"No, I'm just going to lay down a little while. By the way, Sherlock, how did you know I'd been threatened lately?"

"Your walking stick. You drilled out the top and had it filled with lead. The only reason for that would be if you wanted to use it as a club."

That seemed to amuse him. "You're even smarter than I first thought. Victor was right about how you see things. You remind me of the detectives people used to write about. If you're not a detective in one way or another someday, you should be. You're right about the cane. I used to play single stick when I was in the navy. It's an old sport no one learns any more, but Victor and I used to have a match. Maybe he'll show you while I lay down?"

The two boys made sure he didn't fall on his way to his bedroom, and Victor took his father's advice about teaching Sherlock how to play singlestick. Sherlock discovered he was a natural at it, and was honestly enjoying his time sparing with Victor, but his mind was filled with other things. Cleva had suggested working with the police, and now Judge Trevor thought he should be a detective. Could he make a living that way, using his gifts? He couldn't think of anything else he'd rather do, as much as he enjoyed all types of science. Most of all, his thoughts were on the judge. He was starting to care what happened to Victor and his father, and as much as they cared for each other and were good people, something was definitely wrong here.