Helloo. The Cold East Wind here. Welcome to my first Uni AU. I wanted to give a little aside before we head to class. John and Sherlock are 26 and 21, respectively. I like to keep the age gap.

Also you'll notice that Sherlock isn't using his mind palace in a situation that would seem perfect for it. Well that's because he doesn't have one yet. He is only 21, and still learning what his brilliant mind is capable of. He's building rooms. But will soon begin to put those rooms together in one glorious place. Now let's go...we're about to be late for class!

File:Ruskin Park, Lambeth, London -covered

The campus was a buzz with the apparence of the mysterious "Truth or Dare Night" flyers. The flyers outlined a campus wide game of truth or dare and had been taped to the doors of various students, seemingly at random.

~Up For Some Fun?~

~Friday 11PM Ruskin Park Covered Walk~

~Truth or Dare Night~

~Do *You * Dare?~

~Must Bring Flyer~

No one knew where they'd come from and apparently no one cared. The invitation of the mystery was too tantalizing for any amount of caution. Sherlock thought it was stupid. Who would want to play a game of risk and exposure with people you don't know? Mostly he was turned off by the prospect of people. The other bits where rather interesting if he were honest. But it didn't matter one way or the other because Sherlock wasn't one of the chosen students to receive a flyer on his door. Not the he wanted some idiotic invite to a childish game. Well maybe for the research. Into human behavior. Sherlock did know a couple of the people that had gotten flyers and was relatively certain that he could gain some decent (even if it wasn't completely accurate) information on the whole mystery from one of them. Sherlock took a deep breath and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to deal with Irene Adler. He sighed. He and Irene were friends of sorts. He'd known her for the two years he'd been at King's, and they got on well enough. She wasn't a complete moron and even though she continually made useless attempts to get in his trousers (that were by now almost obligatory)she did have a wicked sense of humor and an odd kind of affection for Sherlock and she was always up for a bit of mischief. So Sherlock didn't think it would be to much trouble to convince her to his plan.

"Sherlock, it's a harmless spot of fun, a distraction. Nothing more. A break from the ancient professors constant groaning." Irene sat cross legged on Sherlock's desk smoke swirling in the air above her. She slipped off the desk and went to the window. "Would you look at that. Captain John Watson. Kings rugby. I wonder what he likes?" Irene purred as she tapped a manicured nail on the window.

"No you do not. " Sherlock said with the bite of a warning to his voice, coming to join her at the window.

"Mmmm. Let's go watch shall we?" Her eyes sparked.

"I have work to do woman. I have no time for..."

"John Watson?" Irene cut him off mid speech. "No time for fathomless blue eyes and an insanely hot ass?"

Sherlock often found himself regretting the fact that Irene had expertly deduced his attraction to John. She was rather good at spotting the things that people liked. She'd caught Sherlock on more then one occasion stop dead in his tracks just to watch John pass by. She had asked Sherlock countless times to go down to the pitch with her, and each time he had forced himself to decline. But today, in the sprit of truth or dare...

"Fine. But this means that you'll pay close attention at that game tomorrow night, and you'll answer all my questions after." Sherlock picked up her pack of cigarettes and lit one on his way out the door.

"Done. But I'm sure there will be little to nothing of worth at a drunken game of truth or dare to interest you. It's just that brain of yours over thinking things as usual." They walked side by side at a brisk pace.

"I may 'over think' as you say, but I am also rarely wrong. Don't you find it the least bit curious that no one has taken credit for the idea or the flyers themselves for that matter? People are in my experience eager to get recognition for their supposed achievements no matter how slight."

"Yes, yes. Stupid, vapid human beings. I know. Now can we focus on watching hot boys on the pitch?" Irene rolled her eyes with the expertise of long suffering practice in the art form.

Sherlock no less skilled in the art answered with an impressive demonstration of his own. "I thought "hot boys" were not your area?"

"Not. I was just trying to provide motivation."

John Watson, third year medical student, captain of the rugby team, and rumored to be one of the student bodies top 10 best shags Sherlock speculated that he was more towards the head of that list, as he had once watched John chat up a young woman at a party one night that Irene had druggug him to. By the end of things Sherlock himself was nearly as taken in by the blond as the young woman had been. John's smile was easy, yet disarming in the most pleasant of ways,his confidence was intoxicating and his laughter sounded like the words "take your clothes off" to Sherlock's ears. And right now he was covered in a very attractive layer of dirt and sweat and headed this way.

John picked up a towel off the bleachers and wiped his face. Irene elbowed Sherlock.

"Hey, are you the captain?" Irene asked knowing full well the answer.

John finally looked up the bleachers where Irene and Sherlock were sitting. "I am. Who's asking?" John asked {playfully.}

"Oh, it's just my friend here and I were having a debate. He said you were, and i said you weren't." Irene winked at a shocked Sherlock and turned her charms on John, using her most seductive voice and a come-hither look if ever Sherlock had seen one. All of which was completely lost on John, because he hadn't taken his eyes off Sherlock.

"Dose your friend have a name?" Now it was John who was turning on the charm, and woe betied anyone in his radius.

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock hadn't thought he was capable of speech in that moment but something about the brilliant blue eyes, tousled gold blond hair, and sunbeam smile, gave Sherlock a reckless confidence in an area he was profoundly unfamiliar with.

John walked up the seats separating them, and extended his hand. "John Watson. Captain of the kings men, and pleased to meet you Sherlock Holmes." John didn't so much shake Sherlock's hand as he did hold it and run his own calloused thumb over Sherlock's smooth knuckles.

"Oi! Watson!" Greg, one of John's teammates yelled up from the pitch. "Put it back in your trousers and get over here!"

John turned his head but didn't let go of Sherlock's hand.

"Clearly you've forgotten who's captain. Give me a lap Lestrade!" John turned back to face Sherlock with a dazzling smile. "Sorry. Undisciplined lot. I've seen you around campus, it's good to finally meet you." John slowly let go of Sherlocks hand. "I hope to see you again soon. I've got to get back to the pitch." John stated off toward the field. He back peddled and called up to Sherlock. "Maybe you can come watch me play one day!" John flashed one more killer smile and turned to run back into the fray.

"So which one was it this time Watson, the bird or the bloke?" Greg asked as he rounder the pitch after his lap.

John grinned at his teammate and nodded to the couple still watching. "You take a look and tell me?"

"Oh. Thats him isn't it? The one you've had your eye on but were too scared to talk to." Greg ribbed John laughing.

"Not too scared, he just seems...standoffish, more of a challenge then my average pursuits." They both stretched in place as they talked.

"Like I said scared." John gave Greg a hard look and was about to speak when he was cut off. "I know I know, give you a lap."

"Well someone is smitten." Irene said as they walked back to the dorm arm in arm in a cloud of shared cigarette smoke.

Sherlock huffed. "I know. It's truly pathetic I've let myself fall so far." Sherlock sounded defeated as he waved a cigaretted hand in the air.

"You think I mean you?" Irene chuckled. "Oh no dear boy. I ment John. That man didn't even glance in my direction. He fancies you." Irene disentangled herself and hopped a bit walking backwards in front of Sherlock grinning up at him. "And now he knows you fancy him as well."

"Oh, dear God you're right!" Sherlock's eyes widened, and he took a long drag. Irene continued to chuckled in a gleeful yet maniacal little way. "Go away from me woman. I've got thinking to do." Sherlock shoed her away, as Irene cast an impish smile over her shoulder waving in farewell. Sherlock walked aimlessly about the campus for who knew how long, analyzing cataloging and shelving each snapshot of his brief conversation with John. Sherlock lingered over the memory of John's roughly calloused thumb with the surprisingly gentle touch. He found himself smiling at the idea of calloused fingers being dragged over soft skin. It had been a long time since Sherlock had allowed himself to have the kind of thoughts he was currently indulging in. Which is most likely why he didn't noticed that he'd wandered into an occupied alcove, nearly bumping into the intertwined couple.

The two young man parted and gave Sherlock a look of utter discuss.

"What the bloody hell! Are you blind as well as dumb?" Thomas Shipton snarled in Sherlock's face.

"Don't be idiotic Thomas, you know I am neither blind nor dumb, you're just angry that I of all people caught you and Paul is it? In a position that you would much rather your mates never find out about. You really should aim to be more creative in your insults, or at the very lest accurate..."

Thomas punched Sherlock in the face.

"How's that for accuracy wanker? Did you follow me here? You did didn't you?"

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose making sure it was only bloody and not broken. "Believe me when I tell you Thomas, you and your little clandestine trist where the farthest things from my mind." Sherlock cursed himself for his sharp words knowing it would earn him another good punch, but what was he to do? His mouth and his mind really needed to come to some sort of agreement.

"What I believe is that you followed me here..."

"Oh please! You're the one always accosting me in ever other dark corner. Why in Gods name would I be interested in following you?" Thomas's face turned three different shades of red. Paul, muttered something in the background and rushed off. Sherlock realized his mistake as he watched Paul's retreating back. Thomas backed Sherlock against the wall and was inches away from Sherlock's face now. Too angry for worlds he just made a sound that reminded Sherlock of a dog that had his hackles up. He raised his hand, and to Sherlock's surprise his hand was not made into a fist, but an open palm. That surprise turned to pain as that palm slammed Sherlock's head against the wall. Pain burst throughout his skull and blackness took his vision.

When Sherlock blinked his eyes open painfully and slowly he could just make out Thomas walking far off across the campus lawn. So he deduce that he hadn't been out very long, and tried to stand. His head screamed with pain and his legs were wobbly. Fighting down the urge to vomit, Sherlock braced himself on the wall and started his trek back to his room. The blood from his nose had dried and he could feel a lump just above his right eye. He knew he must have looked a mass and was glad for the lack of people he encountered. But as fate would have it Sherlock did manage to cross paths with just one person on this struggle home. John Watson. Sherlock could see his building less then a block away he pulled out his keys and kept his focus on his goal. Clutching his coat and scarf tight at the neck and keeping one hand free for balance, he didn't notice the young man run up beside him and clap him on the shoulder until he was nearly knocked to the ground from the force.

"Sherlock, whoa, you ok? I was calling you." John stepped in Sherlock's path and grabbed his shoulder as he swayed on his feet. Sherlock involuntary latched on to John's biceps. John looked up at his battered face in shock and confusion. "What...what happened to you?"

"John, as much as I would enjoy your hands on me any other time, right now I'm freezing my head is pounding and I just want to lay down and have a cup of tea."

John looked up at the beautiful blood stained boy with the bruise forming over his eye and laughed. "First do no harm. I'm a med student and I can't in good conscience leave you alone like this. And looks like you're the handes one at the moment. Which is fine by the way. Now let's get you settled yeah." John took the keys from Sherlock and continued their walk.

"John, believe me under normal circumstances I would argue with you but right now, I simply can't. I don't want you to get the wrong impression. I would never accept an offer of help like this, have some stranger in my flat, but it has been an unusual day all around." Sherlock's speech was faintly groggy, and even though John had only heard Sherlock's voice up close for the first time this afternoon, the perfection of that liquid honey baritone was ingrained in his mind and had played on a continuous loop for the better part of the day, so it was no surprise that John was able to notice the slur.

"If you were anyone else, I think that statement would have been offensive. But you being you, I'll take it as a compliment." John read flat number 122 on the key and turned the corresponding lock.

"Me being me? You have no idea who I am, what I'm like or the slightest thing about me!" Sherlock pulled away from John at this point a little offended.

"Not true. And don't upset yourself, it will only make your head worse." John guided Sherlock to his bed by the window and patted the pillow for him to lay back. "I know plenty about you. The infamous Sherlock Holmes." John looked about the little kitchenette for a flannel, wet it and wrang it out. "I know that you're brilliant, and gorgeous and that you fancy me. But you don't trust me. I'll have to work on that. So when did all this happen?" John held the cold cloth to Sherlock's bruised temple and watched his pupils carefully.

"I'd have to say 90 minutes ago or so. I can't be sure considering I was unconscious for a good part of the time. But 90 minutes seems a good approximation. Don't you want to know what happened? How I got this way?"

"Do you want to tell me?" John had pulled a chair next to Sherlock's bed and was inches away from his face."Because of course I want to know. But I mostly want to make certain that you're alright and then, we can talk about how you got this way if you want until you fall asleep." John talked as he put two fingers on either side of Sherlock's jaw pressed and made small circles. Sherlock just staired at John. He found that he wanted to talk, to tell John everything. It must be the head wound.

"I interrupted a private moment between a young man I use to room with and another young man he doesn't want anyone to know about. You see he's angry with me. He says I made him this way. Made him like men. His words not mine. And now whenever I see him he's either shoving me in a corner trying to kiss me, or shame me publicly as a whore."

"Thomas Shipton." John said quietly and got up to put the kettle on.

"Yes well, I guess it isn't really a secret is it now." Sherlock watched John move about his room like it was his own.

"He shouldn't put his hands on you, and he's angry with himself." John's face set in worried frown.

"Well of course he is. But who would he have to blame for his sexuality then?" Sherlock shrugged.

"So you two had a thing?" John handed a cup to him. Sherlock wasn't usually this chatty but he'd come this far in the telling of things so there was really no need to stop now.

"You must understand this was all new ground for me, I didn't navigate things very well, I had no idea that Thomas was in denial about who he was or that he would not only deny what was between us but lie about it too. It was and is still an ugly mess, that I'd rather put behind me, but seems to anger him anew every time we run into each other." Sherlock waited for John's reaction not sure what to expect.

"Thomas Shipton, is a basterd and a fool. Now get some rest Sherlock Holmes, and I'll come look in on you tomorrow."

"And what if I don't want you to look in on me tomorrow?"

"Do you not want me to?"

"You can't answer my question with a question!"

"Yes I can. I do what I want. And that's why I'll be to look in on you tomorrow. Now sleep." John took Sherlock's cup and sat both on the bedside table, he straightened out his legs crossed them at the ankles, folded his arms and closed his eyes.

Sherlock confessed asked. "What are you doing?"

"What you thought I was leaving? Oh no not till you fall asleep and stay that way for a good while. Once I'm satisfied that you're resting well then I'll go. And I'll see you tomorrow. Enough talking."

Sherlock smiled despite himself, and decided to listen to his new doctor.