The Trials of Public Schools
Summary: Sherlock and Mycroft are ages seven and fifteen respectively. Violet Holmes has come down with the flu and has not been able to tutor her boys in over three weeks and so she enrolls them in the public school until she becomes well. Sherlock and Mycroft have never met another child and do not know what they are like. They are in for a culture shock.
Part One- Mycroft
Mycroft Holmes was annoyed. Who ever heard of such a thing as a uniform? He thought he looked perfectly ridiculous in the striped tie and light blue shirt. He refused to wear the jacket, instead keeping it neatly folded in the outer pocket of his shoulder bag. He carried only one non-essential item- Sherlock scolded him for his sentiment but he didn't really mind- the hand crafted umbrella their grandfather had given him the day before he died was Mycroft's only memory of the man who had taught them both so much. Even after death they learned from Augustus Holmes, his journals were nearly infinite and filled all four walls of the upstairs study in Holmes Mansion.
Sherlock was standing slightly behind him, silently pouting and scrunching his nose. Mycroft absently noted that his brother had bushed his hair and had jam on toast for breakfast- it was unusual and not like Sherlock to eat unless necessary and he absolutely never brushed his hair. This led Mycroft to deduce his brother had been in to see Mummy this morning.
"How was she?" Sherlock didn't ask who he meant, he wasn't that stupid- they both knew Mycroft was the smart one but surely no one could be stupider than Sherlock.
"Wheezing, her cough hasn't gone away but is suppressed by the medicine. Her left eye requires vision correcting surgery again, and her left molar is almost ready for a filling but she refuses to see the dentist."
"Better then," it wasn't a question or even a statement really, just something said absentmindedly. Just then the bus pulled up and the two immaculate brothers climbed on, taking care not to touch anything or anyone and wrinkling their noses in disgust as they did so. The bus driver greeted them with a smile which neither returned and they sat in the first empty seat they saw, it was illogical to go any farther than needed.
The other students were considerably more disheveled, some only half awake and a few students Mycroft's age were clutching travel mugs of coffee and tea. Mycroft observed one female in the back drinking neither, a mug of what he deduced to be lemonade in her hand as she scribbled in a notebook. Looking her over, he decided he to be a writer and artist, specifically sculpting. A glance around told him there were eight football players and three cross country, another artist who specialized in chalk pastels and water colours, a small girl who often indulged in suicidal thoughts, and a vegetarian. Besides the writer, none of them were particularly literate. Three of them were on medication and six had dogs, one had three dogs, and the writer in the back owned four cats.
Sherlock had no doubt made similar deductions and the two brothers exchanged a bored look. Mycroft gazed listlessly out the window and Sherlock sat back to continue the construction of his mind palace just as Mycroft had taught him to do.
When they reached the school, both were appalled by the noise. Rather than wait for the first bell to ring and speak with the other children, both Holmes brothers headed straight to the main office and picked up their schedules before heading into the library.
Sherlock headed for the biology section while Mycroft pattered about in the advanced maths area. When the bell rang, Mycroft was flipping through a Calculus book, laughing every now and then when he spotted something it had wrong. He placed the book where he had found it and grabbed his shoulder bag and umbrella, heading to room 204 in the north wing.
The Year 9 writing class was a bore right from the beginning. He tried to hold his tongue but was truly appalled when he discovered that the other students were apparently in a speech and debate unit and one child stood up and made an informative speech on the world's view of the planet throughout time.
"Excuse me, but that is not possible."
"Mr. Holmes, I must ask you to be silent when your classmates are presenting," the teacher, Miss J. Jerry warned with a frown.
"I must ask this degenerate to check his facts. The ancient Greeks viewed the world in no such way. Homer's The Iliad clearly describes the imaginary monsters and false gods the people worshipped and yet this waste of oxygen is implying that their views were considerably more Christian which is a religion that didn't even exist until the time of the Romans. The Greek society was brutal and small minded, they had no speculations on how big their world was- they only wanted to rule it all. The notion of exactly how big the earth is didn't come until Alexander the Great and later. A simple fact check and some research would do one a world of good," he said snidely. Everyone looked shocked and he sniffed. "Surely I was not the only one who knew this imbecile wrote his speech last night- he still had ink stains on his fingers and bags under his eyes. His shirt is only buttoned on the bottom half and he didn't brush his teeth. He also forgot to feed his dog this morning- all these point to a procrastinator."
"Mister Holmes! You have earned yourself a pink slip, interrupt my class again and I will send you to the principal. I will see you after school tomorrow for detention." She scribbled out a note and signed it. Analyzing her handwriting, Mycroft deduced that she was angry and annoyed but also a generally intelligent woman. He looked over at her and studied her, noticing she was having an affair with her long time boyfriend and her pet parakeet had recently passed away. She was also scheduled for a hair appointment this afternoon to get her hair re-highlighted. He said nothing, tucking the slip in his pocket and retreating into his mind palace. He had thought Sherlock was dull, but these… other people had proved that Sherlock may be the second most intelligent person on the planet besides himself.
"May the Queen save us all," he muttered to himself sardonically.
Part Two- Sherlock
Sherlock was astounded. He was in Year 2, placed in a remedial maths class for first period. Bored to tears, Sherlock accepted the 100 page fill in workbook and completed the entire thing within the first twenty minutes of class, walking to his teacher's desk to turn it in.
"Sherlock, do you need help?" his teacher, Mrs. Diana Fills, smiled kindly at him when he handed her the book.
"Obviously not, I have finished it." Sherlock told her.
"Finished the assignment? Already?"
"Not the assignment, you simpleton, the book."
"The… book?" too confused to reprimand him for calling her a simpleton Miss Fills opened the workbook to a random page. Every problem was solved flawlessly in slightly messy cursive. Stunned, she flipped through the book, seeing all the other pages the same. From back to front, the book was filled out, not a single number missing or wrong. "Sherlock, did you do this yourself?"
"Obviously," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "My grandfather taught me this basic math when I was three. Mummy has just begun teaching me advanced Calculus."
"You did all this… just now? In the past twenty three minutes?" Miss Fills was stunned, her face white with shock.
"Yes." Sherlock let the 'duh' tone hang in the air, implied.
"Calculus, you said?"
"Advanced Calculus. I have been working with the Algebraic Limit Theorem and the Monotone Convergence Theorem mostly."
"Perhaps you should just go colour or something- English class starts in thirty minutes."
"Colouring is illogical. With your permission, I wish to be allowed leave to visit the library."
"Uh, sure," Miss Fills nodded. Sherlock left his shoulder bag- he would be back in time for English class.
Part Three- Mycroft
The bell for second period rang and Mycroft was dragged out of his mind palace by a small hand on his shoulder.
"Mycroft, right?" He focused his eyes on the girl speaking to him, realizing it was the writer from his bus. "We have Biology together this hour, would you like me to take you there?" Mycroft knew where the room was but he knew mummy would be disappointed if he was rude to a lady. Instead, he nodded and stood, using his umbrella as a walking stick as they went.
"What is your name?"
"You mean you don't already know?" Mycroft looked he over more intently, noticing the small tag with scrunched letter on it just inside her pencil case but exposed enough to decipher.
"Laura," he stated, answering his own question and hers.
"Okay, wow… I was joking," she laughed a little and Mycroft allowed a half-smirk.
"It is in your pencil case." He explained. "You are an artist- sculpting. And a writer- romance mostly, but also fantasy. You have two older sisters and possibly an older brother and four cats but no parents."
"Wow, that's sort of amazing." Laura looked impressed. Mycroft scoffed and shook his head.
"It's logic and observation," he shook it off. "Nothing more and nothing less."
"Well, whatever it is, it's cool. I thought it was super awesome how you defaced Drew like that in front of the class, he's a douchebag."
"Thank you," Mycroft was a bit uncertain if this was the correct response but when Laura laughed, he couldn't help his smile.
"You're welcome Ice Boy," they turned a corner and Laura gestured to the door of the labs. "Here we are. Hey, I need a lab partner- want to volunteer?"
"I may as well," Mycroft sighed. Laura was unfazed, laughing again and following him into the class room.
One Week Later
Part Four- Sherlock
It was career day in Social Studies- everyone was supposed to bring in a presentation of a career or a parent to talk about their career. Sherlock thought it was perfectly ridiculous, but he had nonetheless prepared a speech, precisely eight minutes, on the career of investigative pathology and brought pictures of a detailed autopsy.
The younger Holmes sibling sat listlessly, carving math equations into the wood slat of his desk and only partially listening to what was being said.
"Hey, Freak," a little girl sitting nearby with her father hissed from across the aisle. "What are you carving, more of your satanic symbols?"
It didn't matter that Sherlock had explained the runes he had been carving the week before were runes from a temple in Mesopotamia that he had been attempting to translate into English, the devoutly Christian girl named Michaela had been convinced e was a devil worshipper trying to summon demons.
"Be silent, imbecile, I am trying to solve this," he growled back. The girl looked to his father who melted and turned to scold Sherlock.
"Kid, it's not nice to bully other children and call them names, especially god-fearing ones like my daughter. Someday she may save your soul," Sherlock laughed aloud, causing the class to go silent and their attention to focus on him.
"Mr. McGuire, if you weren't so preoccupied with fucking your neighbor in her garden while your wife sat on the other side of the fence, unaware, you may have noticed what a complete arse your daughter has become in your absence. She isn't your little princess, I have in fact witnessed her push and bully at least three other young girls during the recess time."
"How did you- what- that's not- what did you see- where do you- who are you-," the man sputtered in shock. Michaela began to cry and ran out to the ladies' loo.
"SHERLOCK HOLMES! That is it! I will not tolerate this language and accusations in my classroom. You are a bright boy, Sherlock, but you need to learn some manners! To the principal's office!" she wrote out a detention slip which Sherlock accepted with a smirk before waltzing down to the main office.
Part Five- Mycroft
Biology again. Doctor T. Davidson was standing at the head of the class, the congenial walrus of a man lecturing joyfully about the processes of a heart. In front of each pair of students was a pig heart on a tray which they would be slicing open and documenting. Everyone was required to wear a clear plastic apron and gloves as well as safety goggles. Mycroft was scowling at the ridiculousness and Laura was standing next to him, laughing quietly at his discomfort.
And then it happened- a girl turned around and smirked cruelly at the sniggering artist. "So Laura and the new kid, the loon and the robot? Tell me virgin, have you even fucked him yet?" the boy next to the girl, a football player who took secret ballet classes, began to snigger at them as the girl's smile widened. Laura looked appalled and hurt. Mycroft had to admit he had grown fond of the artist who seemed to be the only tolerable human in this school and therefore felt invoked to defend her.
"Better to be a virgin than a scarlet woman- I know for a fact that you have 'fucked', as you so eloquently put it, at least two guys today. One of them sits beside you but judging by the traces of aftershave and the grey lint under your left fingernail the other is a teacher- Mr. Jones, in fact. Also, your lack of appetite- at first I thought it was an eating disorder but upon further inspection that was ruled out. Your muscle mass is what is waning yet I know you attend regular sports practices and weight training. You have been bruising easier and I observe at least three such markings that you received before I began attending here that have not yet healed. My diagnosis- cancer, leukemia."
The girl looked stunned and then began to cry. Unbeknownst to Mycroft, sometime during his deductions, the whole class had gone silent and began to listen. When the girl began to cry, Doctor Davidson rushed over.
"DETENTION, Mr. Holmes, and a trip to the councilor," hastily, the man filled out a pink slip and handed it to him. Mycroft accepted it with an inaudible sigh, sparing a single glance at Laura who gave him a slightly stunned half-smile.
Part Six- Sherlock
Sherlock hated this school; its teachings were rudimentary and illogical. This particular period was called "Art Class" which in and of itself was illogical- art was not something that could be taught. The only class he could tolerate was music class and only because his teacher did not require him to sing and allowed him to instead practice his violin by himself.
Currently in art class, they were constructing historical dioramas. While most of the other children went for the colonization of America, Sherlock was creating his on the discovery of fire. At that current moment, he was using a bowed stick with a piece of yarn attached to either end to rotate a toothpick at a past enough rate to create sparks. Glancing around, he came up with a plan.
Ten minutes later, he had a pile of scrap paper covered in a flammable paint remover he had stolen from the teacher's desk and was creating more sparks. The papers alit in a blaze with little effort and Sherlock smiled in victory.
"OH MY GOD!" a scream alerted him to the fact that his teacher had caught sight of his bonfire. He smiled up at her as he picked up the yarn rope he had braided and set one end on fire. He had carefully draped the rope over a window drape so that the fire spread quickly but in a contained matter, causing just enough smoke to set off the fire alarms. A second later the sprinklers went off, destroying all the other students' projects and causing them to run screaming. The teacher attempted to gather them into a group and herd them to safety. Glancing out the window, Sherlock saw the other kids from the school already filing outside. With a sigh, he ignored the sprinklers and dying fire in favor of an apple he had found in the desk alongside the paint remover and took a bite of it, pondering what he would do if this didn't work to get him expelled.