136 days. After that he would be free. 62 of them were either a weekend or holiday. That made 74. 74 days. That's not bad. It's not like Sherlock had that many classes with him. 8 classes a week. That's 6 hours and 40 minutes. 400 minutes in total. 24000 seconds a week. As long as Sherlock doesn't bump into him, he only had to see him for 249600 seconds for the rest of his life.
The first day was bad. But that was okay, Sherlock hadn't expected anything different. It was the days after it that were worse. Simply because they were all just as bad as the first. Sherlock had hoped the pain would fade away like the bruises and cracked ribs had begun heal. But they didn't. So Sherlock continued to trudge along, misery following him like a giant storm cloud over his head that refused to disappear.
But over time, Sherlock learned to live with it. It didn't exactly go away, instead merely became background information, white noise that was simply there. Sherlock wasn't sure how, but life became easier. Sherlock simply decided to put matters of the heart behind him. He didn't need them anymore. Sherlock would sometimes pass Victor in the hall and the venomous hiss of "freak " would momentarily bring the pain roaring to the front of his mind but that was it. Sherlock was fine.
He even made up with Mike, or rather Mike said he was still Sherlock's friend and Sherlock simply said he was happy to keep it that way. At least Sherlock wasn't alone. He wasn't happy but he wasn't alone. That helped a bit.
Soon, Sherlock became deadened to the pain, almost like one stopped noticing how they only have one arm after they lost the other. It didn't even rear its ugly head when the hiss of "freak" occasionally followed him down the hall. Sherlock continued to count the seconds, minutes, hours, days. But it no longer mattered.
One day, during the weekend between day 44 and 43, there was a loud knock on the door of Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock sighed, dragging himself from his desk chair and the very important experiment he was doing, to unlock and open the door. He stared at the figure behind it for a long moment.
"Mycroft?" Sherlock greeted in confusion. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here, brother mine, to offer you a place in Bart's College on behalf of the board." Mycroft stated simply, smiling blandly at Sherlock while twirling his umbrella.
"You mean that you're here to tell me to go to your school." Sherlock surmised, pleased when Mycroft's smile turned sour, confirming his suspicions. "Why should I? What's in it for me?"
"Well, for one thing, it's one of the top institutes in Britain, it's ranked as the number one Oddity friendly campus in England and is world renowned for…" Mycroft ranted, listing things off on his fingers.
"As if I care about all that, Mycroft. What's really in it for me?" Sherlock asked, one eyebrow raised. Mycroft sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"Mummy and Daddy want you to go to University, brother mine. I simply believe that Bart's is the perfect place for you. You have been offered a place to stay within the campus that has a kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. And, in return for your cooperation, Mummy has agreed to loosen the purse strings on your trust fund By a couple of years." Mycroft explained exasperatedly. "Seem fair?"
"Why do you want me to go to your stupid school anyway?" Sherlock asked, folding his arms against his chest.
"It is not my stupid school as you so eloquently put it, brother mine. I simply occupy a minor position on the board of trustees. Besides, I'm much too occupied by government work to be contributing much to my little hobbies, what with elections and such coming up. No, I simply would find it very reassuring to have you keeping an eye on it while I'm busy." Mycroft elaborated, shifting the umbrella back and forth between his hands uneasily. Sherlock was silent for a very long moment, scrutinizing every inch of Mycroft beneath heavy eyebrows.
"I'll think about it." Sherlock decided at last and immediately slammed the door in Mycroft's face, ignoring his indignant squawk of protest.
"Are your bags packed, brother mine?" Mycroft inquired smugly. He had been like that ever since Sherlock had announced his agreement to Mycroft's proposal and Sherlock absolutely hated it.
"Of course they are, Mycroft." Sherlock growled exasperatedly, gesturing to the bags and boxes of clothes, books and everything else.
"Then the car is awaiting you." Mycroft informed him.
"Great." Sherlock replied sarcastically, grabbing a box before pushing past his brother and down the stairs. It didn't take long to fill up the car's enormous boot with all of his belongings, Sherlock sighing gratefully as the last box was packed in.
"I suppose this is goodbye, brother mine." Mycroft ventured, looking down his nose at him.
"Oh, don't give me that bullshit, Mycroft. You're going to visit me every chance you get now I'm living in London." Sherlock spat, not buying Mycroft's slightly nostalgic smile for a second.
"You're quite correct, brother mine." Mycroft grinned, teeth gleaming like a shark's. He was clearly pleased with this new establishment, which only made Sherlock regret it more. But the truth was that he was lucky to get accepted into Bart's. He could study all the courses he was interested in; anatomy, chemistry, botany. Sherlock had even decided to study the psychology of the secondary gendered mind, a special class that all genders studied separately, meaning Sherlock would be in a room full of only Oddities.
So instead of making a snarky comment, Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and opened the door of the car before getting in. He blew out another sigh as the sound of frantic tapping against the car window filled the air. Sherlock groaned aloud, rubbing at his temples and wondering if he'd ever get some peace and quiet as he rolled the window down.
"Yes?" He asked harshly.
"We just wanted to wish you luck! We're so proud of our little boy, all grown up." Mummy babbled excitedly.
"Uh, thanks, Mummy." Sherlock replied hesitantly, shifting his eyes this way and that. His father walked up next to her, leaning his head in close.
"Do what you can when you're young, Sherlock, that's all I can say. Me and your mother both know you are incredibly talented. I'm sure you'll do this family justice." Daddy said. Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to say to that, opting to nod instead.
"Are you ready to leave, Master Holmes?" The driver in the front seat asked.
"Go ahead Lionis." Sherlock instructed, leaning back in his plush leather seat as the car roared to life and began to drive away.
Sherlock looked around his room thoughtfully, inspecting the beige curtains and the slightly old carpet. Mycroft hadn't lied, it was rather generous boarding for one person. Sherlock had been surprised really. It was very strange for the oddity wing to have such high quality rooms. Sherlock could only suspect that the majority of the board and deans were oddities too. It didn't stop him from believing that the Herculean and even the Docile wings had much better rooms to offer, however.
With a heavy sigh, Sherlock flopped himself onto his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms tucked behind his head. The paint was the same ugly beige as the curtains and was peeling a bit. Sherlock decided he'd have to find something to cover it up. Perhaps he could try his hand at painting? Looking down, Sherlock stared at the boxes piled up at the foot of the bed. It was going to be a long day.
"... In which the passage swells. Again, this only occurs in male Dociles and Oddities if their true pair is Herculean and they have bonded. That is, however, extremely unlikely as you all know. Now, Herculean females…"
"... Psst!" A hiss distracted Sherlock from his scrawled notes, breaking his concentration. Surprised, he glanced to his left to see a slight, mousy haired girl leaning in closer to him from one empty chair over. "Can I borrow a pencil?"
Sherlock stared at his small pencil case for a moment before turning back to eye the girl distrustfully. "Will you give it back?" He asked doubtfully.
"Promise." The girl answered eagerly. "I'm Molly, by the way, Molly Hooper." she introduced herself.
"Hello, Molly." Sherlock stated rather than greeted.
"And you are?" She prompted.
"Sherlock. Holmes." Sherlock told her.
"Nice to meet you." she said cheerily. Sherlock grimaced, turning back to the front to focus once more.
"...Of course this occurs naturally. The process is known as the recast, as you are all well aware of, but the scientific term is…"
"Oh, hello again." Said a bright voice behind him. Sherlock's insides froze, his breath quickening and his heart pumping harder.
Oh, hello. Victor's snide voice sending shivers down Sherlock's spine, his hand creeping into the curls at the back of his head and pulling roughly. A coward's move but Sherlock's expecting nothing less from Victor. Hello, freak's here. His voice echoing through his skull, bouncing, misshaping, turning into something else, a monster's evil growl. What are you doing here, Sherlock? I figured an Oddity like you didn't need English. Don't you only speak freak? Sniggering from Victor's friends around him. Remembering to breathe. Breathing, breathing breathing. Breathing's boring. Oh no, breathing too fast. Can't stop, can't stop, can't stop cantstop cantstop cantstopcantstopcantstop
"Sherlock?" Back again. Oh. Classroom. Small for a small class. Not many Oddities take psychology of the secondary gendered mind. Oh. Person behind him. Said hello. Not Victor.
Sherlock didn't know whether to be relieved or embarrassed. Shifting slowly in his seat, he turned to see that the voice had only belonged to Molly. Meek little Molly. Odd, though. This class was only for Oddities. He'd assumed she was a Docile. Must've missed something. Oops, he'd been silent for too long. Had to say something.
"Hello, Molly." He greeted, his voice cracking terribly. Sherlock quickly disguised it with a cough, trying to work his throat muscles as he swallowed roughly.
"Sherlock, I didn't know you were taking PSGM!" Molly squealed, seeming to ignore Sherlock's struggle and the hard glare thrown her way from the teacher up front.
"I didn't know you were an Oddity." Replied honestly, looking her up and down once more. He was quite thrown, actually. He didn't like it very much.
"Well, I didn't know you were an Oddity either, silly." Molly giggled, obviously not understanding what he meant.
"Must not help with your Daddy issues. Being the black sheep of the family. The Oddity, the disappointment." Sherlock commented, keeping his voice light but his words harsh.
"Well…" Molly stammered.
"That's why you came here isn't? Moving to London to get away of all those horrible siblings and the father who will never love you back, no matter how hard you try? Running to a place known for acceptance and hospitality in search for someone who will finally love you as much as you love them." Sherlock carried on, his voice seething out of him like lava from a volcano. Molly's eyes were trained on her desk, unshed tears glinting in the florescent lighting. Sherlock turned back to the front, watching the teacher once more but somehow unable to hear a word he said.
"But Sherlock… You're an Oddity too."
Oddity is just a polite word for freak.
"I know."
Sherlock didn't understand his hesitance to step through the door to the lecture room. Or, rather, he did and just didn't want to admit what his reasons were just yet. It's just anatomy. It's a large room. In fact he could simply sit somewhere else. The whole "thing" about sitting in the same seat for the whole term was surely just a myth. Definitely.
With this attitude in mind, Sherlock went to push open the door.
"Uh, h-hey, Sherlock." Sherlock froze at Molly quivery voice, his spine tensing as he prepared for anything between a sobbing mess and a good smack in the face. He'd encountered both many times before.
'Look, Sherlock." Molly said with reservation, making Sherlock pivot on his toes in order to see her. "I forgive you about yesterday. It's harder to make new friends in a new environment than anyone thinks, and even I have thought at times that it would all just be easier to push away anyone who tried. But I've found that the times you have the courage to let them stay tend to work out much better than the others. So what do you say? Friends?" She asked, holding out her hand. Sherlock slipped his hand into her's, shaking firmly.
"Friends."