==Chapter Three: A Life More Ordinary==

His friends rely on him, and he relies on them—the simple balance on which so many lives are built.
— David Levithan, Every Day

Holmes had known that, sooner or later, he and Robert Greene would come face to face, and laid his plans accordingly. The young man might or might not have the potential to become more than a mere thug, but in order to uncover it, certain measures would undoubtedly be required...

Walking up silently behind the bully during this senior group's first lesson, he could hear Robert scoff to the crony beside him, "I could do this stuff in my sleep."

The second boy echoed the snicker; then both jumped as Holmes said quietly, just behind Robert's ear, "An intriguing theory, Mr. Greene, but perhaps you might have the courtesy to remain awake long enough to learn something."

Robert gave Holmes a look of deep disdain. "I don't have to, man – I know this stuff."

Holmes arched an eyebrow coolly, unimpressed by the bluster; judging from the little effort the boy had made thus far, that was most clearly not the case. "Then I look forward to you demonstrating your superior skills after school – but for now, please continue with the drill."

Robert's bravado faded visibly at Holmes' tranquil expression. "Yes, sir."

Holmes turned away and moved on to the next pair of students, now wishing even more fervently that this was the last class of the day. Finally, some decent entertainment...

The word had spread like wildfire: the new fencing teacher is going to teach Rob Greene a lesson. Well, John and James could hardly miss that. They arrived at the end of last period, right as Edward was wrapping up the lesson, and teens kept filing into the gym. Nobody wanted to miss a showdown like this.

"Remember to practice what you have learned," Edward was saying; "those who do not will not progress to guard positions next lesson." The bell rang. "Class dismissed." He turned to Rob with a questioning look, giving the young idiot a chance to back out. (John didn't particularly care for Rob—the boy had absolutely no respect for the past and, in fact, had argued with him in class about how history had no relevance to the present whatsoever! Just thinking about it still got John steamed!)

The boy grinned cockily. "Want a performance, Mr. Vernet? Show the rest of the kids some real stuff?"

Oh, dear heavens, the poor young fool had no idea what he was doing to himself. Edward was a brilliant swordsman.

The swordsman in question nodded calmly at a set of gear laid out on one of the lowest bleachers. "Certainly, Mr. Greene—when you are ready."

Rob nodded and suited up, then picked up the foil and twirled it around. Edward donned his mask, assumed a ready position, saluted with his foil, and waited.

The rest of the gym fell completely silent.

Rob opened with a lunge, which Edward parried easily. It took John only a minute to figure out Rob's style—he was fighting like he was Anakin Skywalker. But Anakin had the Force on his side and a blade of light in his hand... and Rob had gear and steel and very little common sense.

Edward, on the other hand, was the calm in the eye of the storm. While Rob was doing his level best just to score a hit, Edward barely moved from his position, parrying every thrust and cut with ease, and landing hits with surgical precision. From all appearances, the boy was quickly losing his temper, too—his moves were getting sloppy.

Something tugged at the back of John's mind, something on the verge of remembrance...

Someone huge and snarling bearing down with a mighty blade on his smaller opponent...

Edward lashed out like a serpent, knocked the foil out of Rob's hand, and caught it. John blinked at the abruptness of it, but he couldn't help grinning. "Well, bravo," he murmured.

"Enough," Edward said firmly. He removed his mask, tucked it under his sword arm, and extended his other hand. "A commendable effort, Mr. Greene—I should not be averse to crossing blades with you again, once you have attended a few more classes."

Rob's cheeks were flaming as he peeled off his mask and nodded sullenly, turning to put his gear away and not taking the offered hand. Edward simply removed his own gear and collected Rob's, checking it over before putting it away like the methodically precise person he was. To someone as slapdash in his methods as John was, his friend's precision was rather endearing.

He turned with James to the students, one of whom had been recording the duel on her phone. Well, that was going to go viral pretty quickly. "I hope you've all learned a valuable lesson from this?" James said mock-sternly, eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, don't mess with Mr. Vernet," said one girl who was wide-eyed but grinning. A few quiet laughs rose from the teens around her.

James chuckled, rising to his feet. "Correct, well done! Off with you, now, and a safe journey home." They left the bleachers and approached Edward once Rob stalked out. "Nicely handled, old boy—I'm impressed."

Edward arched his trademark innocent eyebrow, the one that said that he was snickering inside. "Really, James, you have seen me with a blade before now."

James smirked. "I meant the way you deflated our young friend's ego. That's going to take him a while to live down."

John grinned. "It was brilliant. I loved it. And, with any luck, he's right."

Edward smiled blandly. "Dear me, how... convenient."

Beth slid wearily onto a bench in the cafeteria and set her tray down, sighing. "I hate Chemistry..." She wasn't bad at math, but higher math combined with higher science was just... rough. Why couldn't you take two years of high school biology in a row, she wanted to know?

Chloe slid in next to her. They were the same age, though in different grades thanks to Beth's obsessive academic perfectionism, and they'd been best friends since they were little. "You think you've got it bad—I've got Mr. Ferguson for Geometry this year!"

Beth grimaced in sympathy: Mr. Ferguson was one of those teachers you just never wanted to be stuck with. "My poor baby. Why can't we have really good teachers like Mr. Walker in the classes we struggle with?"

Her friend's brown eyes lit up. "You've got him, too?"

Beth nodded happily. "Uh-huh! Isn't he great? I mean, he has got to be one of the nicest teachers I have ever had." He was just a genuinely sweet man...

Chloe hummed in agreement, the look in her eyes a million miles away. "And he's cuuute!"

Beth rolled her eyes for the sake of appearances (Chloe had known about her no-crushing-on-teachers policy for a long time) and grinned. "That, too. All of our new, one-hundred-percent British teachers are awfully good-looking, I have to admit."

Chloe nodded and sighed happily. "And I've got Mr. Smith for History!"

Beth nodded back. "Me, too. And the new fencing instructor, who's pretty… um… pretty. Yup." (So much for that no crushing policy. Two years of high school standards... gone in the blink of a large grey eye...)

Chloe hummed noncommittally.

Then Beth caught sight of Mr. Vernet winding his way through the cafeteria with Mr. Walker. "Oh, look! There he is with Mr. Walker..." Or Watson? She really had no idea what to call the pair in her head... but seeing them together like that...

"Yeah, I don't know," Chloe said slowly. "I kinda get the feeling he doesn't actually like kids all that much. I mean, have you ever seen him crack a smile?"

Beth tilted her head, fighting back the urge to defend Mr. Vernet. She didn't even know the man, for crying out loud... "Mm... sort of. It wasn't a big grin or anything..." She was still watching him, and something that Mr. Walker said seemed to make the instructor in question try and fail to hold back a smile. That smile completely transformed his face—he was radiant. And she was staring and she couldn't help herself.

Chloe waved a hand in front of her face, making her blink and shake herself, snapping around to face Chloe. "Hello? Earth to Beth?"

"Sorry, what?" Then Beth realised... Chloe was using that tone, that amused tone, the one that never boded well for her...

And no more it did this time. Chloe gave a faint snicker. "Jaw off the floor, honey!"

Beth turned away with a groan. "Good grief..." Woe was her. It was bad enough that she had three mystery teachers, but she also had to be crushing one and enduring her best friend's teasing on top of it!

Chloe covered her mouth and began to giggle in earnest. "Dang, girl, you've got it bad!"

"I do not! He's cute, that's all!"

Chloe gave her a Look. "Mm-hmm."

Beth sighed. Against her better judgment, her gaze slid back to Mr. Vernet. She wasn't sure that thinking a teacher was zedding gorgeous was actually grounds for "having it bad," but... "I think he does like kids," she mused aloud after a few moments. "I think... he just doesn't have much patience, is all."

Chloe nodded. "Gotta wonder how long he'll last here."

"He'll make it." She couldn't help saying that with conviction—she just knew it. She just knew that her mystery teacher was not the kind to go down without a fight. "I overheard one of the seniors saying that he's the best fencing instructor the school has had in ages." He was certainly the best that Beth had ever had—you had to call the competence of a fencing instructor into question when you learned more from Star Wars documentaries than you did from said teacher.

Chloe gave a mild snort. "Has he met Rob yet?

Beth turned to her, eyes wide. "You mean you haven't heard?!"

As Watson predicted, every student at Milton High School had seen or heard about the one-sided fencing match within 48 hours, the cellphone video having 'gone viral', according to John – which, the doctor had to admit, was an extremely apt term. The remainder of the school week was mercifully uneventful, Robert and his entourage wisely keeping a low profile for the time being. Watson judged it would take the young idiot at least a week to try turning the incident to his advantage – most likely by claiming to be the only one brave enough to have taken on such a deadly opponent...

On Saturday, John insisted that they celebrate Holmes's 'victory' properly by going to see the now infamous pirate movie. Watson was agreeable, they were all in need of a night out; the two of them then swiftly overcame Holmes' reluctance, pointing out that he would have a much easier job teaching if he knew exactly which bad habits his students were having to unlearn in class.

John bounced on his heels in the popcorn line, grinning broadly. "I'm so excited! I haven't been to a pirate movie in forever!"

Watson couldn't help smiling himself, his friend's enthusiasm was infectious. "Well, if nothing else, it'll put an end to all the rave reviews and blow-by-blow accounts I've been getting. I'm seriously considering changing the next lesson module to Treasure Island for all my classes – at least I know they'll read it!"

John snickered. "I should get my classes to read up on the real deal and then see what they think about pirates. I do love me a good pirate film as much as the next person, but, zed, the real ones were just evil!" He shuddered, but brightened as he reached the head of the line, grabbing a handful of popcorn as soon as he'd paid and cramming it into his mouth.

Watson frowned as his speculation on how many pirates the Doctor had actually met on his travels was interrupted by the shocking display of table manners, exceeded solely by the youngest Irregulars. However, Holmes rejoined them from the ticket line just then, and he decided to let it go. "Right, shall we?"

John's eyes widened, quickly finishing his mouthful and thrusting the tub of popcorn at Watson. "Gotta get a Coke, you guys go on."

Holmes waited until John was out of earshot at the soda fountain before grumbling, "Where's a plasmavore when you need one?"

Watson gave him a Look. "Holmes, really —that's a little harsh."

The detective rolled his eyes. "You haven't had to deal with amateur swashbucklers all week," arching a classic eyebrow, "and I'm certain I don't have to remind you of what happened the last time we visited the cinema..."

Watson shuddered at the memory – tracking a blood-sucking alien through the Paris catacombs had seemed almost a lark by comparison. "No, you don't, but still..." He watched John chatting in line with a vaguely familiar-looking teen, possibly one of his students. "He's almost like a child now—is a child, really, compared to his Time Lord self..."

Holmes' nod was decidedly wistful, and Watson knew what his friend was thinking: neither of them had ever seen the Doctor so happy before, so lighthearted. With his mind shielded from all those centuries of regret, the Time Lord was absolutely thriving in his newfound humanity, to the point where both his friends were starting to wish that this masquerade didn't have to end at all, regardless of necessity.

"It's going to be hard, isn't it?" Watson said quietly.

"Yes, it is..." Holmes murmured back, sounding equally somber.

Watson could only nod mutely – there was a lump in his throat.

"Well, come on!" John came bounding back over to them, clutching a large soda cup. "We're going to miss the trailers!"

Monday morning, Watson and John were breakfasting in the kitchen of their shared flat. Watson couldn't help noticing that his colleague seemed oddly subdued – John would usually be humming with barely-contained energy of a morning, impatient to discover what the new day had in store. This morning, however, he'd barely said a word since emerging, staring down into his coffee cup with the same faraway expression as a clairvoyant with a crystal ball.

Eventually, John did look up, glancing thoughtfully over at Watson. "James... do you ever dream that you're a different person? Like, a wildly different person?"

Watson couldn't help tensing slightly, but concealed it by opening the nearest cupboard. "Mm, sometimes – doesn't everyone?"

"I suppose, but..." John frowned in bemusement, "it keeps happening. I keep dreaming I'm this man called 'the Doctor'... an alien." He grinned weakly. "Two hearts and time travel and everything."

Watson forced himself to return the grin. "Hmm, sounds like someone's been watching too many late-night movies!" He gazed at John in fond exasperation, shaking his head. "You're as human as the rest of us, John, and a teacher to boot – you need your sleep!"

"I've been sleeping! And..." John set down his cup and picked a slim book up off the counter behind him. "D'you know, I've got a journal almost filled up with it all, pictures and everything? I swear I've never seen these things before in my life!"

Deeply apprehensive, Watson moved to John's side, trying to look as if he were merely curious.

John looked more than a little nervous himself, but opened the journal seemingly at random and handed it to Watson. "Look at this stuff."

The rough yet unmistakable drawing of a Dalek in the centre of the scrawl-filled page made Watson shiver involuntarily, the memories of that incident still regrettably fresh for him. On the opposite page, an elegant chain of concentric and interlinking circles stirred his thoughts anew – where had he seen this type of design before? He blinked; for a moment, it had looked like the image was trying to rearrange itself on the paper...

The anxiety in John's voice brought him back to the present: "Sometimes... sometimes, I think I'm going crazy or something."

Uncertain of exactly how to answer that, Watson settled for an impressed whistle. "My word... You've got quite a talent there, John – I wish I could draw like that!"

John smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've always been able to draw like that. At least, I... think I have..."

Watson glanced at his watch, eyes widening at the time, although grateful for the distraction. "Sorry, John, you'll have to show me the rest later." He passed the book back and called down the hallway, "Edward, are you still in the bathroom?"

"Obviously..." came Holmes' voice from behind the closed door, sounding decidedly annoyed.

Watson sighed – the detective could spend hours before a mirror in any century, it seemed. "Fine, but if you're not ready in five minutes, we're leaving without you!"

Beth's weekend had been terrible. There hadn't been very much homework to do, but the mystery of who her English teachers actually were had been driving her crazy. Just her luck that, as she was coming in from the parking lot, she ended up walking a few yards behind said teachers.

Then she saw something drop out of Mr. Smith's coat pocket. "Hey," she called, but there was already so much din from the other students that he couldn't hear her. She reached the object and stared down at it—it was an honest-to-goodness pocket watch. She bent down and picked it up, studying it. Oh, it was beautiful. The casing looked like bronze or brass... and it had the oddest circular design on it...

She blinked. Something in her head was... twinging... she shivered at the sensation. Standing, she opened the watch...

"Shh, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

She gasped, nearly dropping the watch. The voice... it was Mr. Smith's and it was coming from the watch (which was glowing golden now) and it was in her head.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Beth, I promise, it's okay, you're okay, I just need a little help..."

Stop that! Get out of my head!

"Get to someplace private, and I'll show you who I am."

Get out of my head.

She felt something like a mental sigh, and then her mind's eye saw a perfect picture of her mystery teachers... Only Mr. Vernet and Mr. Walker were dressed significantly differently...

"They're who you suspect they are, Beth. I travel with them, and they're brilliant."

That's not possible.

"We travel in time. I'm a Time Lord. I'm the Doctor."

Stop, please.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I need you."

Then she saw so much. She saw a man who changed his face and faced down monsters and ran through time and space. She saw a girl who meant so much to him, a girl who was lost to him but who would never give up, a girl who created herself... She saw a Victorian detective and doctor deciding to join that man, saw them running together, best of friends and yet bearing bonds forged in terrible fires...

When at last she returned to herself, crying silently, she was twenty minutes late for English.

She didn't know how she was going to manage to get through any class just now, much less one with Dr. John H. Watson.

Author's note from Ria:

My favourite scene in the whole story – the duel, Holmes basically obtaining satisfaction from a bully on behalf of everyone he's ever picked on. Makes you wonder what his own school days were like...

I hate watching all the bullying in the original DW episodes, despite the realism for Edwardian times – especially since the human Doctor actually encourages it at one point! Honestly, I'm amazed Joan Redfern gave him the time of day after that...

Author's note from Sky:

Ditto that! I really love exploring human!Ten here—I basically approach the character as being all the Doctor's joy with none of his accompanying grief. "Human Nature" and "Family of Blood" are excellent episodes, but I think they totally sold John Smith short, as he was hardly sympathetic. Yes, the differences between him and the Doctor needed to be highlighted, and he was a product of his time, but then... so are Holmes and Watson. The reason I cried over John Smith was because of his romance with Joan, not because I liked the character himself. *sigh* Anywho... stay tuned, 'cos stuff is about to go down!

(And if we're really, really good, we can get this thing wrapped up in time to post our 50th Anniversary special! ...we're probably not that good, but keep your fingers crossed!)