Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who or any of the marvelous characters in them.
His flat was bare and dull. That was the way he liked it, ever since he left 221B. Any emotional attachment to a building was just ridiculous. He needed space to think, space to concentrate, space to…grade papers.
He sighed as he slapped down yet another idiotic essay on chemiluminescence. No one knew what they were talking about. He wished he could fail them all.
But Molly had been very clear. "Blend in. Be a normal teacher. You had teachers once, just…do what they did." If he wanted to remain hidden, he had to be…nice.
He rolled his eyes and abandoned the papers, going to his computer instead.
John had another blog post up. Already? The man needed to find a hobby. Of course, before Sherlock left, life had been plenty busy for John...
Trying not to think about it, he expanded the entry and read.
23 December
Lestrade has just told me he wants me to help him on a case. I'm in shock. I can't solve a case on my own! I tried to tell him I'm no Sherlock, but he insists. He thinks my flat mate's observation skills must have rubbed off on me somehow. Molly says she's sure I can do it. But I don't know if I can return to that life ever again.
In other news, my heart goes out to the families of those involved in yesterday's incident.
-John
Sherlock's heart pounded with excitement. What had happened yesterday? After some quick Googling he found an article that intrigued him. His eyes scanned the text rapidly.
Four teens kidnapped from different high schools in the middle of the day…no security camera footage showed anyone entering the building…no connection between the teens had been found yet…
Sherlock pounded his fist on the table. This was his kind of case. He would go to work in a heartbeat if he wasn't stuck in this damn town posing as a teacher. Why did he have to be a teacher anyway? Couldn't Molly have found any other job more exciting than marking worksheets with a red pen and calling role?
He turned off his computer and stared at the black screen. He could solve it anyway. With a bit of research, some good disguise….no. Molly said to stay under the radar. But he could always send anonymous tips…
He shook his head and stood up to pace the sitting room. Just as he was starting to think and the gears started to turn in his head, however, the phone rang. Glaring, e crossed the room and answered it.
"Yes."
"Oh, hello Mr. Baker!"
Sherlock's voice softened. One of the only teachers he respected.
"What is it, Mr. Smith? I'm a bit busy."
"Oh, of course. I was just going to ask if by chance you were going to that faculty party tonight."
"I didn't know there was a party tonight."
"Oh. Well…there was an email sent out…"
"I didn't open it."
"Ah. Yes, I usually ignore those as well. Anyway, I wondered if you could come, because, well, I'll be honest Sam, I really don't want to go on my own. And I've sort of been pressured to go by Ms. Bailey, and…"
"Sure."
"Oh, really?"
Sherlock frowned. Why had he said yes? He hated parties. Especially when there were going to be boring, stupid people there. And most of the Ivy Contemporary staff were extremely boring and stupid. Maybe it was because he needed something to take his mind off of the Four Kidnapped Teens. Molly would have been proud of him.
"What time is the party."
"9:30. I have to say, I'm very surprised its so late, the staff don't seem like a partying type-
"Yes. I'll see you there." Sherlock hung up. Then, after a few minutes of arguing with himself, he opened his text inbox. He composed a quick message and sent it to the only person he could still talk to.
Seconds later, he received a reply-
Good for you. I love parties. When you're done, let's have dinner.
-IA
… … … … … … … … … … … …
Sherlock cringed as he crossed the threshold of the school. The Christmas music they had playing was incredibly obnoxious. Already he was dreading this party.
A few people approached him and said hello, and he managed to fake a smile and nod. At last, after wading through a crowd of teachers dressed in tacky holiday clothes, he spotted John Smith leaning against the dessert table.
John's face brightened and he gestured for Sherlock to join him.
"Evening, John." Sherlock said, and then felt a pang in his stomach. Frowning, he dismissed it and helped himself to a pear tart. He offered one to Mr. Smith, who shook his head rapidly.
"Hate pears." John folded his arms over his vest and button-down and stared into the sea of teachers. They smiled and laughed, but none of them looked like they were really having a good time.
Before he could stop himself, Sherlock blurted, "Did you hear about the teenagers?"
John Smith raised an eyebrow. "The teen-? No, I don't know what you're talking about."
"There were four teens kidnapped yesterday from different high schools at the same time. No connection to each other, no security cam footage." It occurred to Sherlock that he sounded too fascinated with the subject, too happy, but he didn't care.
"Oh, that's awful." John Smith replied. An appropriate, human response, Sherlock knew. But he noticed that John had a keen look in his eye.
"No connections, you said?"
"Mhm." Sherlock stared at Mr. Smith as the physics professor scratched his head. After looking into the distance with a strange expression, John blinked and smiled. "Well, let's not let it ruin the party, hmm?" And then he reached forward to welcome his lady friend, Ms. Bailey.
Nora Bailey was attractive, Sherlock supposed. But she was just a normal, dull astronomy teacher, who knew nothing of importance. John Smith seemed to like her, however, so Sherlock tolerated her presence.
"Evening John. Sam." She nodded at Sherlock, who nodded back. John offered her a drink, and then walked away to pour it.
Nora smiled awkwardly at Sherlock. "Having a good holiday season?"
"Not really."
"Oh. Uh…sorry."
Sherlock looked at her. Maybe he sounded too bitter. Not normal enough. He smiled vapidly and said, "Oh, no, it's brilliant." Then he went back to staring straight ahead.
John returned with drinks for all of them, and they stood awkwardly around the dessert table. Principal Winters came up at one point, drunk out of her mind, and tried to get Sherlock under the mistletoe. Thankfully, Mr. Smith coaxed her into dancing with him, and Sherlock snuck out the back door.
He walked through the cold streets away from the school, pulling his black coat tighter around him. When he whistled for a cab and one pulled up to the curb, he hesitated. He hadn't really trusted cabbies, ever since….
He shook his head, annoyed with himself, and got inside.
"Blackpool." He said tersely, and reclined his head against the glass window. The cab drove away from Ivy Contemporary, and he stared at the night sky until his eyes watered.
