Ten minutes into first period and Rosina only then walked into class. Shaking off the overly judgemental looks that her classmates gave her for her lack of punctuality, and found her seat at the back.
Mr Taylor did his normal droning on about the correct way to structure an essay, in his normal characterless voice.
If she hadn't had spotted the odd looking man lurking in the corner of the class she would have most definitely fallen asleep.
"You see the curly haired man too right?" Rosina asked the girl sitting next to her, half jokingly half serious.
"Yeah, he's a student teacher. Mr Sherlock Holmes, I think his name is. Mr Taylor said he's gonna be here for a bit," the girl replied, going back to her work.
Rose nodded, relieved she wasn't just seeing things. The teen looked at the smartly dressed man more closely, he didn't looks as terribly young as most student teachers. He also didn't look as terribly useless. She must have been staring at him for a social unacceptable amount of time because soon his eyes locked with her own. Rosina quickly looked away, embarrassed.
Mr Taylor snapped angrily, "Rosina I'm talking to you," grabbing the teens wandering attention.
"Huh?" Rosina let out, a bit lost. Ignoring the class's sneering at her expence.
Mr Taylor ushered the class to be quiet and walked towards the girl in question desk.
"Did you write down the example of a topic sentence like I asked you?" Mr Taylor asked in annoyance.
The teen frowned in irritation. It was obvious that none of the rest of the class had done it either but he had singled her out her in front of everybody.
"No, but the rest of the class hasn't either," Rose argued in defence.
Mr Taylor lent over Rose's desk, well into the young teens personal space, while the rest of the class watched.
"Yes, but the rest of the class isn't failing level one. Are they?" Mr Taylor let out, loud enough for the rest of the class to hear.
The class oohed in sync. Rose clenched her fists and shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the comment. She knew her likelihood of passing level one was low, but she didn't want the rest of the class knowing that.
The class continued to rage on, leaving Rose behind. She sat hunched her desk, trying to manage her frustration as she struggled to decode the scribbles on the board -also known as sentences. Her efforts came to a dead end as what looked like word vomit covered her page.
The teen looked up as a spare chair was pulled up next to her own. It was the student teacher. Rose subconsciously covered her pathetic work with her arms.
"Turn to a new page, I'll read the example out and you copy it out," the somewhat posh voice said. Maybe he realised that she couldn't read the writing on the board from this distance. Or at all for that matter.
The man read it out in a clear voice and at a manageable pace that the girl could follow. Unlike Mr Taylor. He went too fast so Rose struggled to follow and when she did ask him to slow down, he would just read at a patronising pace. That would make the whole class turn against Rose for suggesting it in the first place.
With the student teacher help, she managed to get down the majority of it, certainly more than her previous effects. Her motor and spelling skills continuing to let her down as the writing on her page was still unreadable to the common eye.
Mr Taylor eyed the student teacher and his most challenging student. He wondered why the lad was even bothering with her. He was promising teacher and he should be using his time help the kids that actually deserved their time.
"Let's see what you've done in the space of an hour, shall we? " he asked, his expectations low. He snatched her work before the student could protest.
She watched as her teacher's face harvested an ugly expression as he read her work.
"What a surprise. You've done what the rest of the class did in five minutes in the space of an hour in what looks like my two year old's handwriting. And in what world does "because" start with a d?" Mr Taylor mocked. A sadistic smile occupied his face and he could see he was successfully embarrassing the girl.
Rose felt her cheeks flush as the rest of the class fixed their gazes at her. She barely managed to fight the urge to punch a certain wanker. It must have shown, as Mr Taylor got right in her face.
"Come on, Meredith. You know you want to. Just punch me. You'll be doing me a favour, I finally won't have you holding my reputation back. Once they lock you up," he taunted, as he further infuriated the youth.
Rose kicked over her desk, ready to kick in a certain teacher as well. Before the teen could give into her poor impulse control the student teacher stood up, forcing himself between the two raging parties.
"It's your fault she's getting those marks," Sherlock stated factually, not breaking eye contact with the older man.
"I'm sorry what? You've been with this kid for what, an hour? And you can tell as much as me that she just lazy. And frankly one of the most disrespectful brats in this class that's not worth our or anyone else's time." Mr Taylor spat, as he glared at Rosina.
Sherlock caught the girl before she attempted to lunged at Mr Taylor.
"Wait outside" Sherlock ordered, opening the door and ushering the teen through it, closing the door firmly behind her.
"She's dyslexic. I'm surprised the school hasn't picked it up in the 3 years she been here. Major fault on their part don't you think? I could tell by the first glance at her work, with the content up to standard but the actual spelling and handwriting bringing her down. Nothing to do with her intelligence, the reason why her marks are down because of your emotional abuse and the fact that you're not providing her with the right tools to achieve what she's capable of," Sherlock let out, irritated by the ignorance of the older man.
Sherlock turned to leave but he noticed that the door had been left ajar and concluded that a particular student had heard everything he just said.
Rose knew what it was. She just never expected she would have it. She just assumed everyone else had the reading capability of a five year old. "Is Mr Holmes sure dyslexia has nothing to do with intelligence?" Rose mused to herself.
She reached and got out her pack of cigarettes, poorly attempting to block out the wind with her hand so she could light one.
"I've got it," the deep voice said, that belonged to Mr Holmes. He lit the teen's cigarette with ease then moved to light his own.
"Did you lose you job for doing that?" the teen asked, as she took a long drag.
Sherlock half smiled, "Wasn't my real job anyway."
"What?" Rose said, confused. This guy was just full of surprises.
"I'm a detective, consulting detective, the only one in the world," he replied in a voice that told her he was quite fond of that title.
"That's great and all but what are you investigating? This is Cardiff. Nothing happens in Cardiff."
"Poisoned laced cigarettes in local high schools," he said crushing his own under his foot. He flashed her a quick smile before making his exit.
Rose couldn't tell if he was joking or not but she spat out her own all the same. She didn't think this was the last time she'd be seeing Sherlock Holmes. And she was yet to decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.