So I'm really into the story of Jack the Ripper. That sounds bad, but it's just fascinating how after over a century we are still no closer to figuring out who actually committed the murders then they were in 1888. So my first thought, of course, was "Sherlock would know" and so this story was born. It actually got away with me near the end, I meant to end it after the teacher holds him back and explains the problem, but what can you do when the muse hits you, huh?
Also, I'm not British, I'm American, so if any facts are wrong about the British school system then I'm sorry. I did my best trying to make them vague, so I hope I didn't completely butcher it. :)
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock, OC (No pairings)
Rating/Warnings: K+
Genre: Humor
Setting: Pre-series
Disclaimer: If Sherlock belonged to me I wouldn't be writing Fanfiction, so safe to say Sherlock does not belong to me.
Deduction Indeed
All eyes were on the clock as the countdown began. 2:50. 2:53.2:55. The minutes passed by excruciatingly slow for the students who were eager for the weekend to begin. 2:57. 2:58. The teacher was still droning on, but none of the students were listening. Papers rustled and backpacks were zipped as the clock ticked down the final countdown. 2:59. Fifty seconds. Thirty. Ten. The bell rang and the students were out of their seats and several were already out the door before the teacher could properly dismiss them.
"Sherlock." The teacher had to all but yell to be heard over the noise. "Sherlock, would you please stay after for a few moments?"
Fifteen year old Sherlock Holmes sighed and moved away from the door, ignoring the teasing remarks that came from the idiots he was forced to call classmates. He made his way to the teacher's desk, mind racing with all the possible reasons why he was forced to remain behind. He frowned, but shrugged it off, unconcerned with the length of the list. Neither spoke as the last of the students left the room. When the door had closed behind the final student, the teacher opened her mouth to begin, but Sherlock cut her off.
"If this is about the itching powder, in Mr. Smith's lap coat it was Tony Johnson. Look at his shoes if you don't believe me."
"That's not what this is about, Sherlock," She replied, though he noticed she wrote a quick note with the information he had given her and he gave a smug grin. "It's about your research paper."
"What about it?" Sherlock frowned, for once not understanding. "I believe I fulfilled all the requirements in the exact manner prescribed."
"Well yes," his teacher agreed, used to the boy's aloft and older acting manner after several months with him in her class. She pulled out his research paper and took her seat. "The paper itself isn't the problem, it's the subject you wrote about."
"The subject met the requirements." Sherlock argued. "You told us to form a valid question and answer it and I did."
"No, Sherlock." She corrected gently. "You speculated. No one can know for sure the true identity of Jack the Ripper."
"I can." Sherlock huffed. "It's so obvious! All the evidence points at only one man!"
"You're speculating, Sherlock." She would have continued if he hadn't cut her off with a sharp correction.
"Deducting."
"Excuse me?" She asked, not understanding.
"I didn't speculate," He scoffed at the very word. "I deducted. Just like I deducted that you are two months pregnant but haven't told anyone because your husband is away at war and has been for the past six months and you don't want anyone to find out about your very short affair with the cab driver."
"How…how did you…"His teacher stared at him, mouth opening and closing in shock.
"Oh do close your mouth, Mrs. Howard." Sherlock said in a bored tone, crossing his arms across his chest lazily. "Opening and closing your mouth repeatedly serves only to make you look more like a fish then you already do."
"You can go to the principle, Mr. Holmes!" She snapped angrily, rising from her seat.
"Yes, why don't I go to the principle, Mrs. Howard!" Sherlock replied enthusiastically, the sarcasm dripping from his lips. "In fact, why don't you come as well? I'm sure the principle would love to hear all about your affair."
Mrs. Howard glared at the teenager for a moment before sinking back into her seat. She pushed the research paper out toward him in defeat.
"Just rewrite the paper, Mrs. Holmes." She said dejectedly.
"Why?" Sherlock asked. "I did the paper correctly and answered what many believe to be one of the greatest unsolved mysteries. I should receive extra credit."
"You can receive an F," Mrs. Howard snapped. "Get out of my classroom!"
"You were the one who requested I stay behind." He reminded. He gave a mock bow, smug grin on his face. "Until Monday, Mrs. Howard."
With that, he strolled out of the classroom. From her seat, Mrs. Howard looked down at the research paper in front of her. Her eyes briefly crossed the final paragraph, the name blazing up at her. For a moment, she hesitated, but then she scoffed and happily wrote a large F on the top. She placed it in the envelope of all the other failed grades and shoved it in the back of the drawer, grinning triumphantly.
"Deduction indeed, Mr. Holmes."