The last textbook is closed, and the desk lamp is dimmed. The tall, fair-haired young man frowns, repeating the words he's memorized, and goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. After bidding his mother goodnight, he closed the door to the room and walked in, melting into the embrace of the bed and covering himself with a heavy blanket. Tomorrow there were several tests, additional math after school – he had to prepare for the exams... William would handle it, he had no doubt about that. He was always the best. But anxiety never left him; it was always there, sometimes confusing his thoughts and making his palms go cold. But, in the meantime... He needs to relax and give his brain a rest.

Young Moriarty is just beginning to drift off, the day's fatigue taking its toll, when suddenly a soft tapping sounds from the window. Rain? He cracks his eyes open and becomes wary. No. Something else. There's no scent of rain. He stands on the cold floor in his socks and goes to the window. Sherlock? He's climbed up to the second floor and is now barely holding on to the windowsill, his face barely visible in the darkness.