A/N: This is my first try at a proper Sherlock fanfiction, similarities to Rubberbird's "School For Scandal"* may occur, my intention is not to copy her, but I find the story utter perfection, if you haven't read it please do!

This story is rated M for future smutty goodness.

A million thanks to my divine BETA Jenamy.

The title is taking from Marina and the Diamonds song "The Outsider" because I felt like the lyrics suited well with what I feel is Sherlock's feelings in this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to the brilliant Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

Chapter one

John groaned as the alarm on his phone went off, it was the first day of term. He yawned as he half-heartedly dressed into his boring navy-blue school uniform. Looking around his room he noted his roommate was still absent; all fifth years had been at St. Bartholomew's institution for "fine learning" a week now. The school decided fifth years had to mentor first years, show them around, and give them a "great start" as the headmaster had so finely put it in his welcoming speech. For some reason John's roommate had failed to show up. He was the new kid, or so John was told. Being forced to leave his old roommate and best mate, Greg, to this new stranger, all because his teacher though John was the perfect candidate to make the new guy feel welcome and at home.

John entered the dining hall for breakfast; he looked around for a familiar face and heard the sound of his best mate.

"Oi, come here and sit down you wanker!" It was Greg. John happily obliged. He looked around the group, it was small, but he liked his mates, most of them were on the football team. Greg was captain; he'd always had the leader type in him. Then there was Freddie, Oliver and Mikkel—Mikkel was an exchange student from Denmark—this was his second year at Barts.

When breakfast was over they all met for assembly; they all went down to the assembly hall and was met by the entire staff. John noticed a boy, roughly his age sitting in the far corner of the room; he had dark, curly hair that framed his ivory face perfectly. He looked so solemnly around the crowd—it was clear by his facial expression that he did not wish to be here. John looked away and didn't pay the boy any more attention; Greg was cracking jokes about Mr. Abbott, their Maths teacher. John laughed half-heartedly; he'd always felt a bit sorry for Mr. Abbott and his clearly non-existing sense of dressing himself.

Mr. Grave, their headmaster, called for silence and began his long and utterly dreary speech—which always went on and on—until every student in the hall was yawning by the end.

They shuffled out of the hall and went to first period; English, with their new teacher. Their old teacher, Mr. Pratchett, was fired last term due to some inappropriate behaviour towards the students. They waited in the classroom for the teacher to arrive, he was late. John looked around the room and noticed the strange, dark haired boy was sitting in the far corner; the boy's piercing blue eyes met his. John smiled politely but the boy rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the book he had in his hands. John huffed slightly—what a wanker.

A young-ish man entered the room; he had short, dark hair and was wearing brown slacks, a white shirt, a beige pullover—he was a handsome man. John shook his head at this thought, no, not handsome, just very well dressed—yes, well dressed. John consoled his mind with that.

"Hi class, sorry for my lateness, I'm afraid I got slightly lost. I accidently crashed in on Mr. Abbott's Maths lesson. Well," he turned around and started writing on the blackboard. "My name is Colin Roberts, and this is my first year teaching, but alas! Don't fret, I shall teach thee most amicably," he laughed; the class followed suit. John looked over at the strange boy and noticed he wasn't laughing. He huffed loudly and turned his attention back to his book. John looked at Mr. Roberts to see if he had noticed—he had.

"Excuse me, Mr.?" Mr. Roberts had walked down the rows and was looking down at the boy.

"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes." The boy grunted.

"Well excuse me Mr. Sherlock Holmes, but do you have something you wish to say?" Mr. Roberts clearly meant this as a threat, but Sherlock did not seem frightened.

"Well, it's clear that you are scared shitless and you are desperately trying to convince the class that you aren't by the means of humour, classic in first time teachers. You want to be hip and cool like us, but you still want to seem authoritarian, so when you noticed me being a bit out of line you seized the opportunity to show off your authority, am I mistaken,sir?"

Mr. Roberts stood frozen, clearly at a loss for words. Sherlock looked highly self-satisfied.

"I will not tolerate this insolence Mr. Holmes, up the headmaster's office, NOW!" Sherlock grabbed his bag, which he hadn't bothered unpacking, stood up, and walked out of the room; on his way out John met his eyes and Sherlock sent him that self-satisfied smile again. John reciprocated with a look that means to say a bit not good there mate; Sherlock furrowed his brow at this and stormed out of the room.

The rest of the day went on uneventfully; John and the lads played a bit of football after school. John wasn't on the team since he was born with crooked legs; he did have them straightened, but he just didn't fancy football.

Deciding on a shower due to it being an oddly warm day in September and his exertion to playing, John needed to stop off in his room to pick up his toiletries—the door was ajar.

He peered in and found it a complete mess. John's bed and his things were untouched, but the occupant—his prior missing roommate—had finally arrived. Or he had and left his things—a mess—and left once more. John got his things and went to the showers.

When he returned it was still empty; John pushed his roommate's things away from his side of the room. Throwing himself on his bed he pulled out his mobile and went online, checking his facebook, twitter and email. Nothing special. His sister was "in a relationship" then "single" then once again "in a relationship." Ugh, so they had fought and made up, yet again. There was an email from his Mum telling him about her busy nothings. Groaning he closed out and opened up "Angry Birds." He heard approaching footsteps, then noticed they were just outside the door. He attempted to pause the game as the door opened; instead he attempted to mutter,

"Eh, hi, I am," he stopped short.

"You're John Hamish Watson. Hello, I'm Sherlock Holmes," the annoying, dark haired boy from English class said. He stood in front of him, hand outstretched in welcome. John shook his hand and glanced over at the mess, "Did you, I mean is this your stuff?"

John tried to sound neutral but his insides were cringing with anger—why oh why did he have to live with this wanker? Sherlock merely looked at the mess.

"Erh, well yes, I mean I did come here in a hurry, I didn't have time to," he looked around, "tidy up."

Sherlock started to shuffle his things about; he chucked his clothes in the tiny wardrobe next to his bed, a huge bag—clearly filled with books and papers was thrown onto his desk, landing with a great thump.

John sat down on his tidy bed and tried not to stare at the boy. It was very difficult. He was a strange sight to behold. From afar his ivory face was bland, but up close his features were odd, he was thin—very thin—his cheekbones were high and pointy, his nose was long and elegant. His eyes, a piercing blue that seemed to shine like two great big panoramic windows, but letting nothing seep out of them. His face was emotionless and cold as he looked back at John.

"So, do we need to establish some ground rules?" Sherlock said in a monotone voice. John looked at him and thought about it; Sherlock looked at him and answered for him: "You know, undressing in front of each other, not wanking too loudly after ten o'clock, those sorts of things." He was looking quizzically at John.

"Erm, well Greg, my former roommate and I just minded our business, making sure that the room wasn't too disgusting or mess," John glanced at Sherlock's still incredibly messy bed and desk.

"Right." Sherlock clearly got the point about the mess. He started to put his things in order. John turned his attention back to his phone, letting the boy unpack in peace.

He wasn't really focusing on the game; his mind was racing, racing with thoughts of how this arrangement could turn out for the best. John thought of himself as a very straightforward guy, but Sherlock's bluntness about wanking and undressing unnerved him a bit. Was he to expect waking up to a naked and wanking Sherlock? John shook himself mentally and rose to his feet—he had to get out of the room—now.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock looked at John with annoyance.

"Out to the library, I need to find some books for English," John lied. He was really thinking about going to Greg's room—his old room.

"Great! I need to go as well, give me two minutes!" John stifled a moan of displeasure at Sherlock's reply.

They walked silently up the long corridor to the library; John looked over some books that looked like he might need for English. He tossed a glance over at Sherlock who was returning with a large stack of Science books. He quickly read through the titles: Forensic Science in the 20thCentury, Mass Murderess; A Case Study and so on. Oh God, they've moved me in with a weirdo! John sighed—a bit too loudly.

"Anything the matter dearie?" The old librarian asked him.

"Oh no, no, Mrs. Norris." John quickly replied. He quickly turned to glance at Sherlock who was looking at the science magazines that were on display in the "Newly Arrived" section. John didn't know if he should wait for him or just head back to their room. He supposed it was the polite thing to do, waiting, since he was assigned as Sherlock's get-to-know-the-school-guide.

"Are you going to be long Sherlock? I wanted to go for a run before dinner."

Sherlock looked up at the sudden disruption of his reading and gave John an annoyed look.

"You go, I can make my way back, I am not a total imbecile you know!"

John ignored Sherlock's huff and quickly returned to their room. Chucking his books on his bed then turned to get his spare clothes for running. Once his shirt was off he glanced down at his books and thought about how he had given Sherlock a hard time earlier for his mess, so he piled them neatly on his desk. Not wanting Sherlock to catch him in the midst of changing he locked their door and changed into his tracksuit. He grabbed his headphones and shoved them in his pocket along with his phone and room key.

End Chapter One.