It was a bitterly cold Monday morning in London and a junior was sitting at the back of his class, listening to the endless drone of his Mathematics teacher. He continued to assess his class, forming his own inferences and convictions on each individual. Just to eat away the boredom that started to gnaw on him. The seat beside him remained vacant. I suppose it'll stay that way, he thought. He started to mindlessly tap his fingers on the desk, which quickly drew the attention of Mr Williams.

"Mr Holmes," barked Mr Williams. Then in a slightly more composed tone he continued, "Would you care to explain to Mr Watson over here, who's having trouble with question four in the exer-"

"We know the angle of elevation at point B is smaller, therefore it is farther away from the building. Call the stated distance 'P.' So the distance from point B to the building is 'x + 322.' Take the tangent of every angle. Do the math, and the answer will be 221 m, correct?"

It was delivered in one breath, precise and exact...it was correct.

There was a small lapse of silence as the tension grew between Mr Holmes and Mr Williams. Mr Williams knew very well that the answer was indeed correct, yet instead he masked his astonishment with Mr Holmes' clever and immediate calculation with a blank and unimpressed expression. In a hushed tone someone called out, "freak." Holmes needn't bother to turn around to know who said that.

With a sigh, he recited, "Ms, Sally, is it? I'm not bothered by the fact that you use an immature name used by first-graders to try to insult me, honestly, how puerile of you to think that. So, I'm sure you wouldn't be bothered if Mr Lestrade knows that I noticed you and Mr Anderson both bear the same perfume. Maybe deodorant, perhaps? Either way, the smell is undoubtedly similar. Oh dear, your knees are looking a little weaker as well. Not to mention you were both missing during third period and fourth period, why, homework problems? I, for one, highly doubt that." From his peripheral vision, Holmes saw Lestrade's mouth slowly unhinge and he continued, "I'll leave Greg to form his own deductions."

"Sally, is this true?" an enraged and mortified Greg turned to look at Sally in disbelief. Sally said nothing in return to hide her agitation and discomposure. She quickly risked a glance at Mr Anderson, her eyes pleading for help. Anderson remained neutral and looked the other direction, his face turning a deeper shade of pink.

"Y-yes, Greg," she sheepishly replied, without looking him in the eye. She took this moment to shoot Mr Holmes a venomous look, who smirked in satisfaction and said,

"I never knew that you would stoop that low, choosing Anderson of all people."

She pivoted around to continue trying to explain her "innocence" to Lestrade, but saw no one since, unsurprisingly enough, he had already disappeared.

Mr Williams endeavored to get the class' attention, but to no avail, whatsoever. Ms Sally Donovan was surrounded by a swarm of prying students coming round to console her. Words meant to comfort her were simply ignored. Words of sympathy flew by her, like butterflies to a blind man. She remained stoic in her chair. Her face rigid, it looked as if it were trying to process what the hell had just happened.

Amidst all the commotion, Mr Watson rose from his chair and tentatively walked up to Mr Holmes, as if he were prey and Mr Holmes a lone predator. Holmes was currently concentrating on solving the bonus question in the textbook exercise. Upon noticing Mr Watson, Mr Holmes acted unperturbed but inside he wondered what Watson's intentions of coming up to him were.

"I mean no offense to Sally, but truly, I am astounded! How did you manage to acquire that information, Sherlock?" Mr Holmes merely responded with a small and indecisive grunt. Truth be told, Mr Holmes was, as a matter of fact, elated. Someone has finally acknowledged his brilliance.

"Do you know what people normally say to me?" he turned to ask Mr Watson, who then responded, "No, what?"

Mr Holmes said passively, "Piss off," to which the pair chuckled.

A few weeks have gone by and news came that a new student would be joining them. As to who exactly this person was, no one knew. It was all an obscurity.

Mr Sherlock Holmes grew fond of Mr John Watson and soon enough, the duo became the best of friends. Sherlock grew bored of his daily drill, so he decided to do a little sleuthing. Something that would excite him. Of course, he needed John by his side. It took a lot of convincing until Mr Watson finally succumbed. Sherlock was thrilled with his achievement.

They tackled a few puzzles and problems given to them by a few colleagues, but none of them intrigued Sherlock. Though they did find out a few things that piqued their interest, mainly Watson's: a) Mr Williams' life is reasonably stimulating - his red headed fiancee has apparently disappeared, and was last seen with another man in his mid-twenties, Mr Williams also used to be a nurse b) Lestrade cheated on Sally with Molly Hooper at the same time Sally cheated on him c) a boy called James Moriarty has the key code to the school's back account. How he undertook such a task of possessing the code, Sherlock did not know.

Another week passed and word spread that the new student was arriving soon. Sherlock wasn't particularly interested, though John wasn't as dismissive as he was. He couldn't help his curiosity, he liked to update himself with school gossip. John now had one mystery solved: it was a she. Inside he hoped she would be at least the tiniest bit appealing, he'd probably have a chance. All the fresh fish were taken, the stale ones left.

Thursday came and Sherlock's Chemistry class was disrupted by the arrival of the "mystery person." Mr Cooper gestured towards the entrance and a young woman stepped inside. Once she came into full view, John's mouth (and a few others) fell open as he scanned the beautiful brunette. Sherlock, of course, noticed this but wasn't the least bit as interested as the other men were. He couldn't argue of course, she was gorgeous.

John took note of everything. The way she held herself showed confidence and elegance - which he admired. Her glossy chocolate-coloured locks were in a loose French braid. Her outfit was sexy yet sophisticated and conservative, a cream coloured sleeveless dress that gave more definition to her alluring collarbones, and made her legs look as if it could go on for miles. Her features were stunning, really. Her cheekbones were fully define and her eyes, he couldn't decide which colour they were. Ice-blue, caramel, emerald? They were all mixed together like colours on a painter's palette. All John could say was...wow.

Mr Cooper suggested she chose a seat on her own. She introduced herself, saying she was Irene Adler. Jesus, even her name was classy. She slowly made her way through the class. Boys were staring and girls were glaring as she passed. Sherlock scrutinized her and noticed something in her eyes. It was not a look of confusion, it was superiority. How odd, she's new, isn't she?

After inspecting the class, Irene finally made eye contact with Sherlock. Neither broke it. Irene, still looking at Sherlock, made her way to the vacant seat next to him. As she sat down, Sherlock gave her a questioning look and she returned the acknowledgment with a mischievous smile.

As Mr Cooper continued with his lecture, Sherlock was given threatening looks from the other boys. He rolled his eyes. Sentiment. How defective. Immature. He glanced at Irene and she was, unlike the rest of the class, focussed on the subject. She was rolling her ballpoint pen between her fingers, giving it a twirl as well. He saw that her posture never faltered, which only made Sherlock sit up straighter. Irene, aware of his act of insecurity, smirked.

Predictably, she was assigned as his lab partner, though he usually preferred to do his experiments alone. She'd probably get everything wrong, he envisioned her endlessly asking questions on what to do. The thought made him shudder.

Sherlock grimaced when she finally set off to get started. Sherlock hissed, "If you try anything stupid, I'll demand you be that boy's partner instead. He's been ogling you the entire lecture."

"Don't worry, Mr Holmes. I assure you I'm not one to misbehave," she replied in a sultry voice, "though I'm flattered that you noticed."

"Don't be."

"Very well."

They gazed at each other challengingly, with a speck of admiration for the other as well. Irene broke it, as she thought it best to get started with the experiment.

John stole glances at the pair every few minutes. He was jealous. Why did she choose to sit with him, of all people? Sherlock repelled women, for heaven's sake. So how did he somehow manage to attract the best one yet?

Of all things Sherlock predicted, he was surprised with this, Irene woman. She steered him in the wrong direction. He was taken aback with her unsuspected intellectual capacity. She was a finer specimen to study rather than the bronchial brushings they examined during the experiment. She rarely asked him any questions whatsoever, which annoyed Sherlock. He was the smart one. He was supposed to be bossing her around, complaining about how she's doing everything wrong. She barely needed his help at all, she even noticed his mistakes, no matter how petty.

"Why woul-"

"Because you seemed...interesting to play with, if I should put it that way. Mr Holmes." Irene cut him off. "I'm rather up for the challenge," there was a twinkle in her eye that showed fierceness. He gaped at her in amusement and then scoffed,

"Challenge me? How highly ambitious of you."

Irene didn't reply, and continued with the work.

He surveyed at her, finding anything he could use for his deductions, but found nothing. Her face, apart from the usual purposeful expression, told no story. Her clothes helped a little bit, but they didn't tell him anything relevant. He couldn't get anything. He was blank. Something must be wrong.

As the bell rang, Irene packed her things and sashayed as she gracefully exited the room. Sherlock stared, what the hell just happened? Did he not get anything at all? Disappointed with his failure, he briskly left the classroom.

"Sherlock!" John called out, but Sherlock did not turn. Irrationally making a big deal out of it, his pride was hurt with personal humiliation.