These are the Questions

Chapter 1

John has a bad feeling about this.

He has this feeling because their accents are weird, and they think his accent is weird, and all his phrases and customs and foods are weird, and he doesn't want to be in a place where everyone thinks he's weird.

John has a bad feeling about this.

He has a bad feeling about this school, with the intimidating brick building and black keyed fence.

He has a bad feeling about this house, and it's No Trespassing sign and wood work and fire place that burns just a bit too bright.

He has a bad feeling about these people who he has to call his new family.

And he most definitely has a bad feeling about the dark silhouette that followed him home.

-

John slows down as he notices this, going left, the opposite direction of his house.

The person following him turns too.

Well, something's about to happen here, might as well be the one to start it.

John clenches his fists and takes a deep breath before suddenly turning to face his stalker. "Are you following me?" He asks, and hates how timid his voice sounds.

The stranger puffs out a cloud a smoke. "Obviously," he scoffs.

The blond glares, and puffs out his chest, "Well stop it." He says, and turns around to keep walking.

"Why should I?" The man asks.

"Because- because you should!" John whips around. "Why are you following me anyway?"

"Bored." The shadow says.

"That's it?" John asks. "Your bored so your going to stalk and kill some random, innocent person."

"Don't be daft, I'm not going to kill you, I just wanted to see where you were going to go."

How reassuring. "I'm going home, there; mystery solved, away with you now."

"No, you weren't. Your home is that way, John Watson," the man says, pointing in the opposite direction, where, yes, John's house is at.

John visibly shrinks and takes a step back. "How... How do you know my name?" He asks.

"I must admit I wasn't sure yet, but then I heard your accent and knew there was no one else it could possibly be."

John doesn't know where to go with that, so he settles with an audible gulp.

"Everyone in school was talking about the new kid from America." The man steps forward into the glow of the street light, and John is shocked to find that he is not a man at all. He's a kid. Looks a bit younger than himself, actually.

The teenager steps forward as holds out his hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

John blinks. And he blinks again. He goes to your school, he thinks to himself. Of course he knows who you are. But, wait.

"How do you know where I live?" John asks him, and Sherlocks' hand drops.

"Sometimes it's not knowing where it is, but where it isn't." He says vaguely, shuffling his feel on the concrete. "Your shoes and jacket are old, real old, but your shuffling in them tells me your not used to them, brand new to you. So, hand-me-down, most likely from an older sibling. Brother? You can't afford new clothes, so your not living in the most luxury. You turned back there, went east, look around you, John, big, rather lovely houses; houses you obviously don't live in. Odds are you took that turn to see if I would follow, possibly also to keep me away from finding out where you live, which turned out to be the opposite, so dumb move all together."

John blinks at him, before letting out a breath. "Wow." Sherlock looks smug, before John says "You got it completely wrong."

He holds back a smile at the look on Sherlocks face. "What?"

"One hundred percent off," John says. "Well, fifty-eight. Your right about the clothes, but not about anything else. My family isn't rich, but we have a good amount of money, nice luxury. We do live down the other way, but not because I'm poor."

"But.. What about your clothes?"

"I'm adopted." John thinks for a moment. "I guess that wasn't very fair of my part, since you couldn't have known, but that explains the clothes. I'm newly adopted. Just a week and a half ago. My new parents only got me a few outfits, so I'm mostly wearing- and yes, you got that right too- my older sisters clothes."

"Sister," Sherlock mutters it like a curse. "Your sister. Where is she?"

John shrugs. "Back home. Massachutsess. She's twenty-two."

"Why didn't she take care of you?"

John shrugs again. "She has her own life. Doesn't need me to weigh her down. We keep in contact, though."

Sherlock hums and continues to look at the ground.

"Who would adopt someone so old?" He asks, more to himself than to John.

John answers anyway. "They're a nice couple. They were planning on adopting younger, obviously. But somehow they got me," he shrugs. "I don't know."

Sherlock nods and John looks at the time.

"Whelp, seeing as you hopefully aren't gona stalk me if you find out where exactly I live, I better get home before they think something's wrong."

Sherlock looks at him. "Ah, yes. Of course."

John sticks out his hand. "Nice meeting you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock grabs it and looks at John with something akin to wonder. "And you, John Watson."

They depart ways and John goes east, back home. As he walks up the stairs to his room- after Alison asks what took him so long and after he explains- and as he's sitting on his bed he thinks.

Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes.

What the hell kind of name is Sherlock?