Disclaimer: If you think I own it, you are on the wrong site.

The bell rings as a twelve year old Sherlock strolls into the classroom.

"Holmes! This is the third time this week that-"

"I was in the room before the bell stopped ringing, Sir, or at least before the sound had stopped resonating- which, as I have explained to you, counts on the grounds of the fact that the echo is part of the bell's-"

"HOLMES! I don't care, just sit down, please," the pleading teacher was understandably exasperated by Sherlock's ability to push the boundaries of the rules. Sherlock smirked and took his seat as the poor teacher started class. "Now, since this is the first week of the year, let's gauge your science knowledge- stop whining, would you rather start out with a lecture or test? Holmes. Since you're so proud of that brain of yours, let's see it in action! Largest planet in the solar system is...?"

"What's the solar system?" was the bored reply. The class erupted in giggles while the teacher just looked flabbergasted.

"What's the solar system? That's third grade stuff at most, how do you not know that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It must not have been important; I must have deleted it. Far more important to you, there is a boy standing outside the door- either he is lost, or new judging from the nervous expression on his face. You had better let him in." Everyone's gazes moved between Sherlock and the door, until the teacher went to the door. As the new student came in and conversed with the teacher, Sherlock observed him.

Light brown, slightly messy hair; wide, tawney eyes; short, stocky body. Tan jumper and wrinkled jeans are a bit worn and dirty, indicative of either an active lifestyle, or of laundry issues-likely both judging from the cuts on his hands and the small stain at the bottom of the jumper.

There are two seats in the room: one next to m, and one on the other side of the room. where will he be put? Mr. Thompson is glancing at me, which means that his choice is dependent on me- is he the type of teacher who will put the new kid near me in an effort to 'humanize' me, or is he going to keep him as far from me as possible so that I don't scare him off? A sigh- it looks like I have a new neighbor. Interesting? Maybe for a few minutes. As Sherlock's internal monologue came to an end, the new kid seated himself in the seat next to Sherlock's while the teacher resumed asking questions- pointedly avoiding Sherlock. A few minutes later, the teacher was called into the hall, and the new kid turned to Sherlock as the class began to talk to each other.

"Hi, John Watson," he extended his hand. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and studied him critically.

"You moved here from a smaller town approximately three days ago- some of the boxes still haven't arrived. You've got an older brother, your parents are still together, and your father is a bit of an alcoholic. You have a brown and white, shoort-furred dog- posssibly a bulldog. You like sports, you play rugby." John just gaped. "Well, how much did I get right?"

John blinked a few times, astonished, then managed to stammer out an awed "how?" to which Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"There is mud on your shoes, its composition is not the same as that found in London. There is also a bit more than would be found on a Londoner's shoes, meaning it came from a city or town with an urbanization level somewhere between London and a tiny, sparsely populated village in the country- closer to the former going off of your accent, and the size of nearby towns. The mud also looks to have dried approximately three days ago. The slight wrinkles and stains on your clothes indicate that you have worn those clothes at least once before without washing them, likely meaning that you have run out of clean clothes. Assuming that my estimated time frame is correct, that is a remarkably short time span for that to happen, meaning that not all of your clothes have arrived yet, and that either the laundry machines aren't working or the utilities to make them work have not been turned on yet.

Your bag is tattered and patched- obviously a hand-me-down -and has the name Harry written in frankly appalling handwriting on the side. You don't seem like a child who is burdened by his parents fighting or splitting up, indicating that they are still together. You also have a lingering smell of alcohol about you.

There are enough short hairs on your clothes to knit a small jumper, and the boy behind you is starting to be affected by his allergies. Since he is allergic to dogs and not cats, it is easy to deduce that the hairs come from a dog. The light paw print on your shoes is also a give-away, and it matches closely to my neighbors' bulldog's pawprints. The state of your shoes and clothes, your overall build, your slight tan, and the cuts on your face and hands are indicative of a person who likes to play sports and stay active. You also carry yourself like a rugby player I once saw. So, how did I do?" Sherlock's piercing eyes were aglow with the thrill of the deduction as he waited for John, who was still gaping, to answer him.

"Th-that was... brilliant!" Sherlock looked shocked.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Completely amazing."

"That's not what people usually say."

"No? What do they usually say then?"

"Piss off," Sherloock and John exchanged looks before laughing. "So? Did I get everything?"

"What? No."

"Damn, there's always something."

"Harry is short for Harriet." John smiled as Sherlock digested this information before smiling himself.

"John Watson, right?" John nodded, then , with a smirk and a wink, "the name's Sherlock Holmes."