There's so little fanfiction out there on Mr Collins (or The Wonder Years) and I've just watched s3, ep20: Goodbye. The following is an alternative ending to that episode. Characters may be a little OOC. Hopefully I'll get back to writing more Sherlock fanfics soon. Enjoy!
Mr Collins was ill. Rumours spread around the school like wildfire, that he had had an heart attack – that he was dying. It was the weekend after that fateful test, the one where I had, in childish fury, rebelled against him. And now I felt sick.
"Do you think the new maths teacher will be a chick?" Paul asked eagerly, over midday sandwiches.
"Shut up, Paul." I wasn't in the mood for games. This was serious stuff. Mr Collins had helped me every day these past two weeks and I had betrayed him. Worse still, I was convinced that, by assisting me, he had ended up overworking. He was dying and it was my fault.
I wanted to go to him, to visit him in hospital, but there was nothing really to say, and I didn't know where he was anyway. That night, in my bedroom, I knelt on the floor and shut my eyes tightly, praying that Mr Collins would be alright. Praying that I wasn't to blame.
The next week dragged on slowly. There was no news. Nothing. I didn't sleep much during those long nights, and when I did, visions of Mr Collins would haunt me. In school, a supply teacher took over the class temporarily. The fear of not knowing what was happening to my real teacher was suffocating. I couldn't concentrate. Looking around, it was weird how no one else seemed that bothered. Paul and Winnie were just the same, the lessons went on, the clock ticked away relentlessly. But I didn't know what was going to happen and it scared me.
Then, on the Thursday afternoon, the vice-principle entered our maths class and told us that Mr Collins would be returning tomorrow. He didn't look very happy about it, but at the time I barely noticed. I was elated. Mr Collins was alright.
-.-
The next day I came to school early and marched straight to the maths room. Peering in through the window, I saw Mr Collins sitting behind his desk. My momentary joy evaporated however when I noticed how thin and pale he was. In front of the desk, the vice-principle stood above him, talking. Snatches of phrases caught my ears: "hospital... too ill... rest needed". Mr Collins' reply was inaudible, and then the vice-principle shook his head and marched out of the room.
I walked into the classroom hesitantly, suddenly unsure as to what I was letting myself in for. Mr Collins glanced up at me and he looked terrible.
"Mr Arnold." He said softly. Even his voice seemed weak. He gripped the table as though to stand.
"No, sir, don't get up." It felt odd, ordering him.
He smiled and nodded. "I've been meaning to talk to you."
"Really?"
"About the mid-term test."
"Oh." I stared at my shoes.
"Can you explain your actions to me?"
Never before had he sounded so gentle. Maybe being at the hospital had done something to him, worn him down.
"I... er... I..." I looked at him then, and he looked back kindly, and I felt that we were connected. And also that everything was my fault. In a sudden moment of madness, I poured out the truth.
"It was a stupid idea! You giving me those extra lessons after school. I didn't really even want them. All I wanted was for you to tell me that I was doing a good job, that's all. That you were pleased with my progress. And you didn't so I got mad, and I'm sorry. But those lessons were too much work, for you, and... and so that's why it's my fault, all of it. You worked too much. I should have stopped it sooner. And then when you... when you... I thought..."
I finally trailed off when I noticed tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Mr Collins...?" He was still ill, and illness makes the strongest of us emotional. I had never before seen a grown man cry. He removed his glasses and wiped at his face.
"You will sit another paper, today after class." He said at last.
"Mr Collins... I don't think you should be in school right now."
"I have to be, Mr Arnold. Just for one last day."
-.-
I will never forget his final lesson that autumn afternoon. Mr Collins' hand shook as he wrote the equations on the board, but his voice was steady. There was a solemnity in the air. The students listened respectfully, and dutifully tried answering his endless stream of questions. Personally, I couldn't trust myself to speak. I didn't want this to end. A week ago I cursed Mr Collins' existence, but the idea of losing him now was quickly becoming unbearable. He shuffled around the room, gripping the students' desks for support, checking that everyone was working. He stopped at my side and I kept my head bowed, trying to focus on the page below, which blurred before my eyes. What was wrong with me?
"You've come a long way, Mr Arnold." He whispered. "Keep it up."
It was the praise I had always dreamed of receiving. But I wasn't sure how to react. I didn't dare look at him. He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it momentarily.
After the lesson was over, he held the door open and watched the students go.
"And here's the test for you. Fifty minutes, Mr Arnold. Give it your best shot."
I nodded and began. He sat in his chair, watching me work as I answered the questions. It occurred to me then that I had to do well. And not only that, but that I would do well. I knew everything, I didn't need Mr Collins to guide me, I was capable of solving them myself.
I finished on time and walked up to his desk, smiling, pleased.
"You don't need to mark it." I announced, handing the paper to him. Mr Collins frowned at me. "It's an A."
His expression melted into one of tenderness. He looked old.
"I think I'll mark it anyway." He smiled, setting down to work at once.
"Now? Here?"
"Yes, why not?" He replied, ticking off the answers. "It'll only take a few minutes and it needs to be done." I stood waiting. At last, he closed the paper and wrote the letter A in the top left corner. "There you go." He said. "A grade you can be truly proud of."
"You will come back, Mr Collins, won't you? Once you're better?"
He smiled sadly again – he had been smiling sadly so much I was sure that he was not quite himself.
"Of course I will. You go home now, Kevin. And remember - you're capable of great things."
-.-
That was the last time I ever saw Mr Collins. When Monday came, we were told that he had passed away. I'll always remember him. Good teachers never leave, not really. And Mr Collins was the best teacher I ever had.