You're in school and it's lunchtime. You're sitting alone, as always, silently listening to the conversations of the people around you.
"Did you hear Bryce is dating Elle?"
"What? I thought she was dating Cole!"
"Not anymore, Cole cheated on her with Matt."
"Cole's gay?"
"Apparently!"
You hear at one table. You tune into another.
"Katelyn lost her virginity last weekend,"
"What? To whom?"
"The arts professor! She wanted to pass the class."
Average conversation there. More talk about sex. You start to listen to the people at the table next to you.
"So have you heard anything else about that murder that happened here?"
"No, but my father's the police chief and he told me that he would let me know if there is a break in the case. He did tell me that a detective would be coming here to investigate. He's from like England or something. Apparently he's famous. His name's like 'Schneider Homes'."
Your head turns to the speaker. "Do you mean 'Sherlock Holmes'?" You ask.
"Stop eavesdropping, bitch. How could you have heard of him?"
"He's famous. He lives at 221B Baker Street in England. He is a Consulting Detective and ten times the person you'll ever be."
"He's clearly not that great or he wouldn't be doing anything here in America."
"He takes cases he thinks are interesting. Stop acting as if this is nothing. It's a big deal he's here. I've always wanted to meet him."
"Well you said he likes interesting things so clearly he wouldn't like you. Just fuck off, slut. You're fucking creepy knowing all this stuff about him. Why don't you just go die?"
You turn around and grab your book bag, leaving the lunch you were never going to eat anyway.
Your eyes start to puddle with tears as you run to the bathroom that you commonly use. You burst through the door, ignoring the "Do Not Use" sign on it. Hurrily, you lock yourself in the middle stall, and start to cry. Leaning against the wall you start to fall to the floor. A few minuets later you wipe the tears from your face.
You hear the bathroom door open. Knowing you're not supposed to be in there you silence your breathing.
"Here you are, Mr. Holmes. Second to last stall is where we found her."
"Alright," He said. "Now, leave. You're putting me off."
You hear your principal quickly scurried out of the bathroom.
You watch through a crack in the door as Sherlock begins searching around the bathroom. He takes out a magnifying glass and inspects the floor, looking for specks of who knows what.
You open the door of the stall, quickly picking out how you were going to explain being in the bathroom.
Sherlock looks up at the noise of the stall door opening.
"Oh, hello." You say, biting your lip. He is stunning in the flesh. His eyes are the colour of an ocean after a storm. The dark blue of his famous scarf really brings out the color of his eyes. Before you can stop yourself words spurt out of your mouth. "Mr. Holmes, I'm a really big admirer of you and I think you're the most brilliant person ever and I am probably your biggest fan. I-"
"No," He says, cutting you off.
You are confused and sad. This man has been your idol for so long and he just says one word.
"What?" You choke out almost inaudible.
"No," He says again.
You feel yourself start to cry. You attempt to hold back the tears.
Sherlock stands up and looks at you intently. "It's not true," He says.
"What's not true?" You ask. It is getting harder and harder to hold back your tears.
"You are worth something. You are beautiful. You are smart. You do matter."
You are at a loss for words. All you can simply say is, "how?"
"Thick jacket with long sleeves, going past your wrists."
You know what he is doing. You've seen it before. In videos, on television, but this time it's different. He seems a bit gentler.
"It's over one hundred degrees outside and over ninety degrees in here—you're not wearing it because you're cold. It's not in style, either. Your entire body from the nape of your neck is covered all the way to your heels. You feel like you need to have your body covered. What are you hiding?"
You bite your lip and draw yourself back a step.
His eyes venture up both of your arms. He steps towards you and grabs ahold of one. You flinch and try to pull away. His grasp is gentle but firm and doesn't allow your hand to be free. He pulls up a jacket sleeve.
Different cuts are revealed scattered across your arm. Some very recent, some older. All varying in size, shape, and depth.
"You don't have to do this to yourself," He whispers.
"Yes I do," You reply, eyes watery.
"No you don't. We all have days where we feel like our life is awful. We all have days where we feel like we don't have anyone. We all have days when we just cant understand why things are happening. I promise you, things will get better."
"Not for me," You say softly.
"Of course they will."
"How?"
The detective was silent for a moment. "Because you believe it. Like you believe in me. You believed in me when many people called me a fake."
You don't know what to say.
"I know you can stop this,"
"How do you know?" You ask.
"I've never been wrong before," He replies.
"I don't know a single person who would care if I died tonight. I don't have anyone." You cry.
"I'd care." Sherlock says.
You start to cry even harder, to the point where you are almost sobbing like a child. "Why do you care?"
Sherlock didn't say anything, but you see a flicker in his eyes, something that makes him look very sad for a moment, the exact way you look now. "Because I do, and if I care, no one else needs to." He smiled softly.
The face he had on was so precious you couldn't help but smile back, even though you were crying. Suddenly you hear the school bell ring, signaling that lunch is over and the next period is to start and your smile fades.
"That's the class bell. I have to get to Sixth hour." You say, quickly wiping your tears and trying to put on a normal appearance.
"No you don't." Sherlock says. "I need you."
You look at him confused, as you finish drying your eyes.
At that moment the Principal walked in. "How are you doing Mr. Holmes?" The principal's eyes suddenly are directed towards you. "What are you doing in here? Didnt you see you aren't allowed in here? Get to class before I—"
"I called her in here." Sherlock innteruped.
Your principal looks at Sherlock confused.
"I called her in here. I need her help. I saw her walking in the hall on the way to class while you were presumably in the restroom."
"Well, I can help you from here, she needs to get to class."
"No, no. Don't do that…I need someone intelligent to help, not someone of a tedious mind like yours." Sherlock said to the principal walked out of the room. "Dear god I hate being outnumbered, it makes for too much stupid in the room. I can still smell the stupid."
"That's probably me," You say quietly.
"It can't be you. You are far too intelligent for that." He replies.
Ten minuets go by of Sherlock inspecting the room and making deductions aloud to you before he finishes. "Do you have a cell phone?" He asks.
"Yes," You respond.
"Good, let me see it," He says. You take out your phone and hand it to him. He enters something in the phone and hands it back to you. "My personal number," Sherlock tells you. "Call me or text me if you need something, want to talk, or anything else. Promise me you will talk to me before you cut."
"I promise," You say as you store your phone in your back pocket.
He takes off his scarf and puts it around your neck. It smells of…you don't know how to explain. It just smells like Sherlock. He takes your hand and guides you out of the bathroom and walks you to your class. As you opens the door to the class Sherlock follows you in.
You walk to your desk as Sherlock walks up to the teacher, interrupting. "Name's Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Detective. I'm here investigating a murder. This young girl has been in my care for the past while helping me with my case. Her absence it to be excused. If there is any trouble you are welcome to call the Principal, who will say the same."
The teacher nods and Sherlock turns to leave. Just before he looks at you and smiles and winks before he walks off.
Your hands grip the dark blue scarf around your neck. It feels a bit like a security blanket. You feel safe and like you have the courage to be able to make it through the day, and even the rest of your life. All thanks to Sherlock Holmes.
~ inspiration for this story came from author Rose Marion BAD WOLF ~