New Year, New Goals. It was written everywhere, on posters, books, shirts. It was the new school motto. "New Year, New Goals!" cried everyone enthusiastically, excited to return to a new year of school and see all their friends, return to their throne as the popular kids. It disgusted Sherlock, but he figured since it was his last year, he could make it through. One more year of dealing with these idiots. He almost grinned at the thought of leaving, but it came out more of a grimace. Sherlock stood, shoulders slouched, among the crowd of excited students and began to do what he does best, analyze. She lost her virginity to him, had sex with him, him, and him. The blonde sophomore, with at least three dress code violations, caught him staring at her and scoffed, "What do you want, freak?" She spit, laughing with her friends. Sherlock looked at the ground and put on his best poker face, tracing the wood floor with his eyes.
John Watson organized the papers on his desk, making them into a neat stack. He tightened his tie and patted down flyaways. He looked up at the poster on the wall. "New Year, New Goals." He read, smiling. He indeed did need a new year, the last being a little rough. John had been married and in the army, but bad timing and a blast later he was crippled in his left leg and Mary was filing for divorce. John sighed, letting himself be sad for moment's time. The bell rang, making him jump, and he snapped himself back to the fake smile as he unlocked the door and allowed the wave of new students rush through.
John leaned on his cane, looking up at the many blank faces. "Hel-"he cleared his throat "Hello. I am Mr. Watson, and I- "
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" a deep, but still young voice cut him off.
"I'm sorry, what?" he chuckled, confused by the random question.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" the voice asked again.
"Afghanistan, I don't under-"
The voiced sighed, "I know you're, or were, an army doctor, and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother no- sister who's worried about you, but you won't go to her for help because you don't approve of her, possibly because she's an alcoholic, more likely because your wife recently walked out on you and men don't need help. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid."
John stood dumbstruck as his entire life was just told before him. He stared at the young man who spoke, who had gone back to scribbling in a quite tattered composition book. The classroom was quite for another good twenty seconds before a young woman called out;
"Freak!" Her classmates laughed with her, and the boy sunk lower.
"Alright, stop it now." John called to the class, recovered from the incredible retelling of his life. "Now, I am Mr. Watson, and I am a new teacher here at St. Bart's, as you can tell. I'll be your science teacher for the next two years, so I suggest making a good impression on me." He smiled, looking at the boy who spoke. "Now, what is your name?" The boy didn't answer, instead he continued to scribble and sketch in the notebook. "Excuse me?" John called to him. No answer.
"That's Sherlock Holmes, he's a freak. He does that to everyone, it's strange and unnerving." The girl who called him freak earlier said.
"Yeah, he's a freak. He always writes in that notebook, but no one knows what. I swear it's like he's plotting a mass murder. Wouldn't be surprised, myself." A young man with dark hair added on.
"Oh?" John inquired, "And what are your names?"
"They're Donovan and Anderson, don't listen to a thing they say, you could lose brain cells." Sherlock alleged, "Anderson could lower the IQ of the whole street with just a few words."
"Shut up, freak."
"Oh, so original."
John stood, dumbstruck once again. Why had these two hated Sherlock so much, he was brilliant. Granted, John had only met these students a few minutes ago, he didn't know their history, but it was still not right to behave as they have been.
"I want the three of you to stay after class. Now, let's begin the lesson."
The bell rang and John collected the papers from students as they flew by to the door and freedom. He had given them a test to see what they knew and what he needed to teach them later on. He was surprised, almost baffled to get a blank sheet from a certain Mr. Holmes.
"Aah-ah-ah. You have to stay after." John chimed as Sherlock tried to walk past. Sherlock gave John a look of amusement, but John kept his face straight. Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw himself sloppily in a chair. Donovan and Anderson sat as far to the other side of Sherlock as they could. Once all the students besides the three had left, John began.
"Alright, you kids need to solve your problems because I have a class to teach and I don't need your feuding to interrupt it. Donovan-"
"Sally." She corrected him.
"Right, Sally. His name is Sherlock, call him as such. And Sherlock," John looked at the boy, and for the first time really; he noticed how sickly pale he was. Sherlock had high cheekbones and sunken cheeks. His eyes were crystal blue and bright green, all at once, but underneath he had bags the deepest shade of red. He looked like, for lack of a better word, shit. "Even if Anderson is a little bit slower than the rest," Sherlock scoffed when John said 'little bit', "You still have to b- I am just wasting my breath" Sally and Anderson were whispering to each other and Sherlock was picking at his nails.
"So why I don't just send you three to Mrs. Hudson."
A/N: Hey, this is my first Sherlock story, so tell me how I did on Sherlock, if I made him Sherlock-y enough or whatnot. So yeah, Reviews are author fuel, so those would be nice.