OH MY GOSH. It's literally been forever since I edited this story. I swear I've been wanting to do it for so long, but school got super busy and then college started and lord did I lose track of time. But finally I added more, and even though it's probably crap since I haven't written in forever (sorry again), here we go again. I hope to keep editing and adding to this story in the near future. Anyway, here's some more Johnlock because hiatus is long. Much thanks and love xoxoxo

"Now John, don't take this the wrong way, but I have to investigate the test myself. You did a remarkable job of describing the exam to me, but I would like to have a definitive look at it to be sure of all the details," I told him as I pulled on my coat.

He rose as well, shaking his head. "Oh please, Sherlock. I was hoping that you would examine it yourself. I'd feel much more confident that way."

I nodded, content that I had a starting point for my investigation. "Please," I said ceremoniously, holding the door open for him, "lead the way."

We started off across campus, John in the lead. He walked me towards the opposite end of campus, where the President's office was located. I followed just a half a step behind him, passing subtle glances at his profile as we walked. His brow was tightly knitted and his mouth set in a frown, no doubt tense about having to face the president once again. I felt a strange sympathy for him, knowing that he was completely at a loss about this grave incident that held such horrible consequences for him. I didn't usually care too much about how or why the people's lives were being affected. It wasn't important and I didn't care enough to make it important. But looking at John and his pitiable situation, I couldn't help but feel disheartened for his grave misfortunes.

John's eyes turned a bit towards me, and they caught mine in an instant. I quickly realized that I had been staring, and I snapped my eyes back forward once again, desperately fighting off a growing heat in my cheeks and the jump of my heart. I could just make out John's gaze turning from innocent to confused, his puzzled eyes searching my face. It was a struggle to keep my eyes ahead and my mouth shut, but I kept walking rigidly forward. I was almost certain that I saw a faint smile touch his lips as he turned back forward again, but I assumed I imagined it.

John gave a chuckle, and I turned back to him, this time my expression puzzled.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just an hour ago, I was in this very office desperately defending myself to no avail. And now here I am, about to walk in with my very own personal detective." He turned to me, a pleased grin on his sunny face.

I felt the blush rising to my cheeks again. I was his personal detective? I couldn't help but smile at the confidence he had in me, both calling me his and giving me such a dramatic title as personal detective. I usually fancied myself as a consulting detective, but I wasn't about to argue with John about that. I had no trouble with being personally his.

"Well, hopefully this detective can make some sense of this enigmatical document and get a trail to the real culprit."

John grinned again. "I have no doubt about that. I'm sure you'll figure something out. You're amazing."

My heart felt like it stopped beating. How could he do that to me? My heartbeat is perfectly regular, but here he is making me feel like I ran a whole five miles. I opened my mouth to brush off the compliment, but I was cut off by him.

"And here's your chance to prove it to me." He stepped up to the quickly approaching solitary stone building, pulled open the glass door, and held it open for me. "I have faith in you, Sherlock. You're my only hope."

With a request like that, I took a deep breath, gave him a warm smile, and stepped past him into the building.

I stepped up to the secretary's desk, trying to give off a confident air. I've solved plenty of petty cases for people around school, but they never were of quite this magnitude. Sure, I've dealt with coaches and teacher assistants, but I never dealt directly with a professor, let alone the president of the university.

John stepped up besides me, giving a polite smile to the receptionist. The feel of having John at my side stirred up a mix of emotions; the reassurance of having a poised and faithful companion to face the president with, but also the nervous flurry of self-consciousness and self-awareness.

The receptionist's voice broke my thoughts. "John Watson, correct?"

John nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I've come to see President Grigson again."

She nodded, but turned her eyes to me. "And you, sir?"

I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say to her. "I'm an acquaintance of John."

John, giving me a sidelong glance and seeing my uncertainty, stepped in. "He's a friend of mine, Sherlock Holmes. He is here about the incident this morning as well."

She still gave him a questioning look, but shrugged it off after a moment. "Alright, give me a moment and I'll make sure President Grigson is free. Please feel free to have a seat in our waiting area." She pointed over to the other side of the room, which was lined with sofas and chairs.

John nodded, giving her a brief thanks before wandering over to the specified area. I followed his lead. John plopped himself down onto one of the sofas, leaving plenty of room for me to sit next to him, but I shied away from the idea. I instead opted to pace slowly back and forth in front of the sofa.

"Sherlock," John started after a moment of watching me, "don't be so rattled. You seemed so confident before."

Without looking at him, I answered, "I'm not rattled. I've just never showed my hobby to anyone outside of the student body."

John gave me a surprised look. "You're kidding?"

My stomach sinking at his tone, I stopped pacing and turned to him. "I swear, John, I didn't think it was important. I can still help you, I promise. I won't shy away-"

"Sherlock, it's fine," John reassured me. "I wasn't having second thoughts about you. I was just surprised because you seem to have such beneficial skills that so many people could use your help, even the staff."

I breathed a sigh of relief, content that he wasn't second guessing his choice to confide in me.

"Don't worry about talking to the president," he said. "He's just a man, not a monster."

I would beg to differ.

With that, the receptionist called to us from her desk. "John? The president will see you now. And he said that it's your choice to bring your friend in with you first."

John smiled at me. "Of course you're coming."

I returned his smile and followed his lead as he got up off the couch and made his way down the hall to an open door. He turned into a clean, neat office with a large window, a spacious wooden desk, and plenty of plants. Seated at the desk was an older man, hair grey with age and his face crinkled. He gave John a strained smile of welcome, and then he eyed me curiously. I passed a surveying eye over him, but from what I could tell he was just an ordinary enough middle aged man.

"John, it's good to see you again. I hope you bring better news than last time." The president reached a hand across his desk, with John firmly shook. The president then took his eyes off of John and placed them on me instead. "Hello, sir. I don't think we've had the good luck to meet yet. Who are you?"

"He's my better news, President Grigson," John stepped in. "This is Sherlock Holmes."

I smiled awkwardly and lightly grasped his outstretched hand, giving it as professional of a shake as I could muster. "Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm a junior criminal justice major."

President Grigson gave me a funny look, eyeing me and John together.

"Oh John, don't tell me you think this mere student will be the way to solve this little problem?"

I wasn't surprised by the comment, but John looked positively wounded. "Excuse me, sir, but I believe that Sherlock will be able to provide me with more than enough information to save my career here at this school. I don't care that he's just a student. I have complete faith in his ability to make sense of our 'little problem' when no one else can before I get wrongfully expelled."

I was stunned by his unfettered defense of me, and then my shock melted into fluster. But my concern about his flippant speech towards the president, who he was already in hot water with, quickly overpowered my fluttering heart. I reached out a hand to graze his elbow, hoping to distract his sudden annoyance, but I dropped it back at my side, my self-consciousness winning out.

"John-" I warned quietly, but I was systematically ignored.

"You have to give him a chance," John continued. "He was specifically asked by me to help make sense of what actually happened to the exam. I brought him here to have a look at the exam copy that you showed me."

The president gave John a strained look. "John, you know I really shouldn't be involving more students in this situation than I have to…" he trailed off.

John looked him directly in the eye, his gaze and voice hard. "President Grigson, you've told me that you are proud to know that I'm going to go into the military. You said that you couldn't wait to show new students about my 'success and dedication to my country' and so on and on. Wouldn't it be a shame to expel me when we have a student right here who could figure out who the real thief is? That way, I would still be here as your sales pitch?"

I couldn't help but watch helplessly at this vicious defense of me and the scalding criticism of the president. John was at his whit's end and he was desperately playing for keeps here in the office, knowing that I could be his last resort. I guess he really had nothing left to lose.

After a tense few moments, President Grigson sighed defeatedly, and dropped his gaze to his desk. "Fine. Sherlock, was it?" I nodded cautiously. "Please have a seat. Here is the letter," he said as he reached into his desk drawer and drew out a packet of paper.

I glanced at John, who had a triumphant smirk on his face. He smiled reassuringly at me, and nodded at the packet.

I took it from the president, peering at the front page. It was just as John described it. The whole packet was crinkled and wrinkly, appearing to have been rolled up into a tight cylinder and stuffed somewhere, such as inside a jacket. I pushed it flat on the desk, and looked at it under the lamplight. As John said, there was very little text, just a few lines of black ink. There were various smudges around the page from what appeared to be a graphite pencil, but they did not appear important. There was a small brownish stain in the top right corner of the papers, which would very well be from coffee like John guessed. There were faint traces of writing on the paper. The words appeared to just be random answers and notes, but they did not appear to relate to anything important. However, the writing was smudged in a horizontal fashion into the next letters of the word. It was obvious that the person writing was left-handed.

"Well?" President Grigson asked impatiently.

I raised my eyes to him, but then looked towards John. "John, you did a marvelous job describing and deciphering this exam. Your observations were spot on."

John gave me a smile in response.

"Now, down to the details. John, are you left-handed?"

"No. I'm right-handed."

"Is your professor?"

"No. He's a righty, too."

"Good. This document has vague marks and notes on it that were written by a left-handed person. See how the words are smudged across? It's a tell tale sign that the writer has to drag the heel of their palm across the words as he writes, leaving these traces of smudging."

President Grigson just huffed.

"Next. John, do you drink coffee?"

John nodded.

"How do you take it?"

"Black."

"No milk or sugar?"

"None."

"Another strike. The stain in the corner of this packet looks," I raised the paper to my nose and took a sniff, "and smells just like coffee. However, the marks are very faint and light, which would indicate that there is milk in the mixture. Furthermore, there is a bumpy texture where the sugar grains stuck to the paper. As we said, John doesn't take milk or sugar with his coffee, so it is highly unlikely that he would have spilled someone else's coffee on this exam if no one saw him with it. Do you follow, President?"

He just rolled his eyes. "This is frivolous."

"But there is still more," I assured him. Once again, I raised the paper to my nose, taking a large whiff of the exam. As John suggested, there was a strong smell of cologne on the exam. Being as nonchalant as possible and fighting the heat I felt rising to my cheeks, I leaned in and gently sniffed the air around John. At first he looked confused, but then as the reason for my actions dawned on him, he gave a quiet chuckle. The president, however, was not amused. His black expression grew more annoyed at my odd moves.

With an attempt of a steady voice, I said, "And finally, this paper has a strong scent of cologne on it. As you can see, John wears a completely different cologne. As we decided by the crumpled state of the exam and the location it was found in, it was shoved into the inside jacket pocket of the thief. This location let the paper soak up the scent of the thief, tucked against him as it was. So if it was John who took it, the paper should smell just like him. But as we have pointed out, it doesn't match. Care to check for yourself?" I teased. John stifled a chuckle, but President Grigson just got more angry.

"This little investigation of yours, Sherlock, is quite ridiculous. All of these clues you gave me are circumstantial and mere speculation. And besides, what are we going to do with these trivial facts?"

John hopped to my defense once again. "These facts are far from trivial. Sherlock just proved to you that I was not the one who stole the papers. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"He didn't prove anything. In my book, you still are the most likely suspect. Unless you can tell me who stole this exam, I still believe it was you. I don't want to, John, but all the signs point to you. I have to face the truth."

I couldn't help myself. "But it is the truth! John didn't steal the papers. If we can prove to you who did, are you willing to accept John back into school without any trouble?"

The president nodded. "Of course. He would be welcomed back with open arms. But I highly doubt that you can save him, Sherlock. He's in deep waters right now."

"That doesn't mean that he can't learn to swim," I responded. "Sir, just give us a few days, and we will figure out just what is going on here. John is innocent, I swear. I would bet my own career here that he is."

I felt John's eyes on me, but I kept my gaze trained on the president.

With a sigh, he nodded. "Fine. You have until the end of the week. If you don't figure out who really did this, I'll file your referral and your expulsion will take effect. Don't say I didn't warn you, John."

John gave a small triumphant smile. "Thank you, sir. I swear, we will figure this out. There is more going on here than anyone sees."

President Grigson just shook his head. "For your sake, John, I hope so. Because if not and this is just some elaborate lie, your punishment will not be merciful." I shuttered at his harsh words for John's sake.

"I understand, sir. I will see you by the end of the week," John said before turning and walking out the door. With a quick glance at the president, I followed him silently from the room.

Once we were outside, John let out a loud groan. "I can't believe him. No matter how many times I say that I'm innocent, he just won't believe me. I can't believe that he would think that I would drag you in there just to lie on my behalf."

"I would."

"What?" He asked, giving me a puzzled look.

I realized what I said, and embarrassingly tried to backtrack. "Nothing. Now apparently our case wasn't solid enough for him to believe. The only thing that would be strong enough I guess to convince him is to have a confession from the real thief."

"I guess," he answered. "But the question is how do we find the one who really did steal the exams? We guessed that it was either Conrad or James. But how do we know which one, if either, really did it?"

"Well, are both of them left-handed, drink coffee with milk and sugar, and wear that specific brand of cologne?"

"I have no idea. I think they're both left-handed, but I don't know how they take their coffee or what cologne they wear. Plus, I don't know what their schedules are like, how they would get into Dr. Openshaw's office, and how they put the exam in my jacket in my room."

I gave a sigh. "I guess you're right. But if we can figure out who fits the bill for the thief, we can confront them about their misdeed and hopefully convince them to confess to the president."

"Sounds like a plan to me. But how do we do that? If I start asking pointed questions, don't you think they'll start getting squirrelly and lie?"

I thought for a moment, but then an idea hit me. "Not if we make a plan. Now tell me, John, are there any parties on Sundays?"