Trigger warning: mentions of violence and suicide.
Disclaimer: Based on BCC's Sherlock. Not mine.
Chapter 2: A practical lesson
Sherlock stood at the window, drawing the heavy curtains together to let minimal light inside. Behind him, the classroom started filling up with class 3B. He had gotten a bit more used to the loud stupidity of the teenagers that surrounded him everywhere in this place and he felt less crowded by them. During the last couple of days he'd learned that he could indeed force some knowledge into their little brains, and that this actually made him curious to try a more interesting method.
Call it a human experiment of some sort.
When he turned his icy stare towards the class the murmuring died instantly.
"Very good. As you know, irrelevant gabbing should be kept to a minimum in this room." He started slowly pacing behind his desk and let his penetrating gaze wander over their faces.
So clueless. How do they keep themselves alive?
"For today, you've read chapter 3 & 4. If you haven't, please keep your mouth shut for the coming two hours." [Nervous glances and shuffling in chairs]
"I've brought an example to show you how scientific knowledge can help us solve real life problems. Today we will be delving into some simple forensic science."
Joan raised her hand in the semi-dark.
"Miss Davies?" he said without looking.
"Shouldn't you take attendance?" she asked.
Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at her. The room was suddenly very silent.
"Today we are missing Miss Rose Edeson and Mr Billy Mitchell. I refuse to go through the tedious process of reading your names every time, so I've decided to remember them." He straightened his back to resume his pacing.
"Most new teachers won't remember our names until the Christmas holidays."
Sherlock looked at her again and he could not supress the urge to show off.
"Well, that's probably because my mind is capable of a lot more than the average St Francis teacher's." He looked the blond, posh-looking girl over. "Give me a couple of seconds and I can tell you where you went on holiday, what you had for breakfast this morning, if you've done your homework, what pets you have, what your parents were arguing about last night, and I can tell if you're lying to me when I ask you if I. Am. Correct." Sherlock was now about 2 feet away from Joan's desk, bending forward a little. She looked up at him with a terrified expression but didn't speak. Too intimidated. "However, most of that information is completely irrelevant and dull, so I won't… unless you make it necessary."
"If you could do all that, you wouldn't be a teacher here", came a voice from the back of the room.
It was Anthony, who was sitting in Rose's seat, next to Olivia.
Olivia saw Mr Holmes look at her neighbour with an intimidatingly stoic expression. Anthony stared back, daring him to reply. Everybody held his or her breath for a moment.
"Let's start class." Sherlock said eventually. Olivia relaxed.
He walked towards the middle of the room and turned on the projector. The first picture that came up was the first page of a police report.
"Female. 37 years old. Found in her house in Sussex", his baritone voice sounded official.
He switched the slides and the image of a freezer appeared, filled with a woman, her white frosty limbs folded neatly over her body. Her dead eyes were staring up at the camera. Several pupils gasped or looked away.
"Don't worry, she was not related to any of you. I checked."
"You can't show us this! We are underage and it is confidential information!" Joan exclaimed, her earlier fright completely forgotten.
Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. "If you can't handle it you are free to leave, Miss Davies. But you won't, because you are too curious to see where this is going. So shut up and observe."
He waited, and Joan looked angry but shut up and turned back to the screen.
For the next 20 minutes he let the class study several pieces of information that had been critical in the discovery of the killer, like her medicine cabinet, the autopsy report, pictures of the house, the lab results, and information on the husband.
"Rose would have been thrilled by this", Anthony whispered to Olivia. She nodded with a smile. Rose loved solving mysteries, but usually had to imagine them herself, as nothing exiting went on at school most of the time.
"Pity she has the flu, but at least now I get to sit next to you," he told her with a grin. Olivia blushed and looked at her notebook, in which she was diligently writing her observations.
"You shouldn't make him angry, you know," she whispered
"Holmes? I think he's a lot less scary than he looks," Anthony said with confidence in an attempt to impress her.
"It's Mr Holmes to you Wilding. Stop flirting with Miss Edwards and try to keep your mind focused for more than 10 seconds. And I am much more dangerous than I look" Mr Holmes spoke from a few rows in front of them, looking straight ahead of him. Anthony startled.
"I've already solved it, sir." Anthony defended himself.
Sherlock turned towards them. "Have you? Enlighten me, then."
"Ehm, well…" He proceeded to hesitantly relay his findings and suspicions. Many of his peers did not agree with him and a heated discussion ensued as to how the murder occurred and why.
Although it was a relatively simple case, hardly even a two in the Sherlockian crime complexity rating system, Sherlock felt quite satisfied about some of the theories he heard. More than he expected from their age. After a while the noise became too much to bear for his ears and he decided an intervention was necessary.
He quieted them down and calmly explained that the woman had been an addict, and that the bottles of medication in the bathroom had actually been hers, even though her husbands name was on them. He had been afraid of her and helped feed her addiction by getting the prescriptions, many of them for medication that could have severe side effects. One day the woman had attacked him and he'd shot her out of self-defence.
"Then why didn't he tell the police? He was not really guilty right?" Lucy asked.
"As I recall, he said he was afraid because he'd helped his wife get the drugs, which is illegal. Also, he apparently loved her so much that he felt guilty and didn't want to let go of her, so he made sure she stayed in the house. I couldn't tell you why someone would care so much for their abuser, but apparently it happens."
He was silent for a while so they could gather their thought and take notes. Then he continued.
"This was a relatively dull incident. I thought it would be best to start off with something graspable. Next time, when we discuss chemicals, I will bring something more interesting. Class dismissed."
"THAT... was the coolest class I have ever had" said Lucy as they walked down the corridor towards their lockers.
"Definitely. This guy is wicked. I wonder how he got all those files" Anthony mused.
"I want to know where he got those sexy eyes" Lucy continued with a dreamy look. "He's the hottest teacher we have! Don't you think?" she said, looking at Olivia expectantly.
"He's handsome, you're right" She said. "But I also get the feeling that he doesn't give a damn about our opinion of him."
"Strangely, that makes him even more attractive" Lucy said thoughtfully.
"Donovan is by far the hottest teacher!" Anthony interfered.
"I think every guy and Rose agree with you on that one" Lucy giggled.
Rose was gay, and although she didn't have a girlfriend everybody in the school knew that. She often joined Anthony in conversations about women he found beautiful. Some of the pupils teased her about it or called her names in the street, but she shrugged everything off and they usually they left her alone quite quickly. Olivia admired her for not letting any of it get to her. She sometimes stood up for Peter when he was being bullied, but didn't how she would react if the name-calling would be directed at her.
"I have to get to my meeting with Burke" she said.
"Shall I walk you to his office?" Anthony asked innocently.
"No, don't be silly, it takes like 1 minute. See you tomorrow!" And she was on her way, leaving a disappointed Anthony and an amused Lucy behind.
She knew he fancied her, he made that quite clear, and she was flattered. He was good looking and a friend. He'd joined their class at the start of last year, but they had only really been friends since a couple of weeks after her mother died in February. He had come up to her one time after school to ask how she was feeling, and when they got talking he'd told her that his father had died three years ago and he had felt really lonely and angry for a long time after that. She liked him and he made her laugh.
It was only towards the summer holiday that he'd started innocently flirting with her, which she thought was flattering. She enjoyed his attention more and more but was not sure of her feelings towards him, just like she wasn't sure about any of her feelings lately. Her mood changed from one minute to the next and she sometimes cried for no reason at all, or spent days in bed feeling extremely tired. She felt great when she was with Anthony, but she wasn't sure if that was just because he made her forget about other things. That's why she hadn't really responded to his advances so far. She'd hate to ruin their friendship.
Olivia was not very eager to see Mr Burke. He was her tutor at the school. In their first year every pupil at the school got appointed a tutor who would monitor their progress and attendance, and who could assist them in any academic decisions. Their tutor was also the person they could go to if you had any personal problems. They would be the first person to try and sort out the issue, talk to their parents, or put the pupil into contact with a professional service.
A couple of other people from 3B also had Burke as their tutor. Nobody liked him very much. He was a huge and intimidating figure, and very matter-of-fact. Not particularly someone who you'd want to chat to about your personal problems.
Burke had made an appointment with her because he needed to know how she was doing after the summer. It was protocol for a tutor to regularly check up on pupils after a tragic event like a death or a divorce. He said he cared, but she had only had three appointments with him, one of which he had forgotten about. She had waited for an hour at his office until Ms Donovan found her and told her Burk had already left.
Mr Watson's talks with her had been very helpful, though. He didn't make appointments, but he regularly asked how she was doing when he saw her, and had sat down with her in his office a couple of times with tea and biscuits. He was always kind and understanding, and had made sure she could retake some exams she had failed. Once, when she told him she had trouble sleeping, he'd taken her to see Mrs Watson (who would always let you call her Mary when you were in her office). Mary had been very kind and had given her Melatonin pills that she said would help her fall asleep at night. They had helped a little.
While she was thinking this, Mr Watson actually appeared in the hallway. His face was scrunched in an angry expression and he was walking in her direction in a fast pace. His face softened when he greeted her, but he quickly walked passed her as if on an important mission.
It only took 15 minutes for John to show up in his classroom. He was fuming with anger.
Sherlock was reading the day's newspaper, his legs stretched and crossed with his feet on his desk.
"What the hell Sherlock! I told you to stick to the curriculum!" he fused. "I cannot let you traumatise these kids, or worse, have their parents gang up on me!"
Sherlock slowly put the paper down. "I was just giving an example of how science can be put to use in everyday life."
"Everyday life according to your life! How many of these kids do you think are used to seeing dead bodies? This school should be a safe place, Sherlock. Somewhere they can be sure they won't be confronted with violence, in whatever shape or form." John breathed heavily through his nose.
"Calm down John. They seemed very interested. Nobody fainted." Sherlock said nonchalantly. His impossibly relaxed attitude made John even angrier, his face turned a brighter shade of red and he started pacing.
Sherlock peered at him. "Is it really such a big problem? Just tell the angry parents to call me with their complaints."
"You have no idea how important this is, do you. Remember what this school was like two years ago, when I arrived?"
"I had never been here until a couple of weeks ago John."
John ignored him. "This used to be a deeply religious school Sherlock. The first thing they taught their pupils was to fear God. It was common to use extreme forms of discipline, punishment with rulers, bible class everyday, and absolutely nobody encouraged those kids to explore the world or think for themselves. The council let me have this job because there was nobody else and because they needed more schools open to non-religious children. So when I came in and started changing the curriculum and made sure that everything related to God was non-compulsory, half the parents moved their kids to a different school within a week. I received anonimous letters telling me I was Satan! It was a bloody struggle to keep the place open and to gain some level of trust from these people. Many of them were terrified that if their children had any fun at school they would immediately turn into junkies and criminals. I worked very, very hard to create a school with small classes, good teachers, where pupils are encouraged to be curious with every safety precaution in place. They now actually get to learn about modern Art and history that doesn't stop at the enlightenment period. I managed to get sexual education to be approved by the board of studies only recently."
"It seems that my purely scientific and secular teaching practices fit right into your approach!" Sherlock said cheerfully.
John sighed; his anger ebbing away a little. "Sherlock, I'm sure you can make them want to learn science. But I need them to be in a safe environment. When word gets out that pupils here are examining dead bodies my days here will be numbered and I'm not finished here yet. I'm happy that you are trying to engage them. But please think before you march in here with all kinds of gruesome stories. Many of them have enough of those things to deal with as it is." He sat down on one of the front row desks with his palms leaning on it on either side.
There was thoughtful expression on Sherlock's face. "I think I understand. What kind of things do they have to deal with exactly?" he was curious to know.
"You don't know?" John's eyebrows rose "Haven't you deduced the life of every single one of your pupils by now?"
"I try to block that out. I don't care to know what they do outside of the classroom. It's irrelevant to me teaching them things." Sherlock huffed.
"It is absolutely relevant Sherlock! The school needs to support them, not just educationally, but personally. If somebody's parents are getting a divorce we need to know. If they are bullied we need to know. If they are ill we need to know. If they are in any way unsafe we should know. This way we can make them at least feel safe when they are here, and possibly help them get through with whatever they need to get through if their parents can't provide that for them."
"Don't be ridiculous, John. This is a school, not an orphanage. I am not a social worker nor a substitute for a parent!"
John was getting agitated again. "Of course you aren't. I wouldn't expect that of you. But if you see or hear things that seem wrong or alarming for a teenager, or if their behaviour changes suddenly, or if their grades go down, we should try to find out why. And they should feel safe enough to trust us with the truth. Because if something is wrong, and they can't speak about it at home and we ignore the signs, they are very much alone. And they are too young to sort things out themselves, even though some of them try."
"You are very sentimental about this" Sherlock said as he took his shoes off the desk.
"Yes, Sherlock I am. Because I have met enough people in my life who have been failed by everyone around them, and it never ends very well for these people. Especially when they're young it can make such a difference whether people listen or not" he said this as he watched Sherlock make the connection to himself and smirk.
John sighed. "A girl died, alright. She jumped off Waterloo Bridge, just a month after I started working here. She'd been through a lot of abuse at home, and she had apparently trusted nobody at school enough to tell. Nobody had cared enough to ask, even when her grades had started slipping and she often didn't show up for classes. They punished her many times, but never asked what was going on at home. They just assumed she was skipping class to be with a boy, until they found her body in the Thames. I know the school is not completely responsible for what happens to pupils, but we are at least partly responsible, and we can actually play a big role in getting appropriate help if necessary. They can't learn much if they have too many things to worry about."
They sat quietly for a while. John was wondering if his little speech had affected Sherlock at all. At least the man looked a little bit more concerned now, hands steepled against his chin and looking ahead.
"So, do you know what is going on with them right now?" Sherlock asked.
"Some of them, yes. Although I'm sure there are quite a few who stay silent, or whose parents don't inform us. But I'm not telling you anything. I know you love the sound of your own voice, but try to listen to them for a bit. You will find out what interests them, and maybe they won't turn out to be as unintelligent as you assume. Your deductions might help you enjoy teaching them, maybe even respect them."
"Well John, I didn't know you cared about them so much, but I'm starting to understand why you are such a popular figure here." He looked thoughtful. "I guess I can adjust my lesson plans to be a bit more age appropriate."
"You have lesson plans?" John was shocked.
"They are in my head. But hey are plans, for lessons. So yes."
John smiled at him and got up. "Great, make sure you also test them regularly. We want to know if they are remembering anything, and if there are any up- or downward trends. If things go well, you might get to take over some of Mary's biology classes."
"Would that involve me giving sex ed? Because I don't think-…"
John chuckled at the thought and Sherlock's worried expression. "I see your point. We'll figure something out… I'll see you tomorrow then." And he left.
Sherlock remained thoughtful. He hadn't considered the function of a school to be more than teaching. He didn't remember anyone at school ever asking him how he was doing when he was a pupil. He also couldn't imagine that any pupil would ever want to talk about personal things with a teacher, but decided to be more observant from now on.
Thank you for reading! Please review!
Next chapter: how does Sherlock get through his lonely nights?