***Beware spoilers in the tags! You have been warned.
***New tags: Sherlock meets the bullies, And gives them a piece of his mind, Una Stubbs-Hudson, Mrs. Hudson's daughter, Mrs. Hudson is a professor and most certainly not your housekeeper dear, John is a force to be reckoned with, Sherlock apparently likes reckoning,
***UPDATE: This chapter is still in rough, unedited form. However, many of you commented that the dialogue was a bit hard to follow this chapter. I have always had a hard time writing dialogue fluidly while still making it clear who is speaking, so I appreciate the feedback. I've tried to edit and fix it up a bit, please tell me if you think it's helped or if you're still confused. Thanks!
"Sherlock…" John was feeling dazed; he was completely off kilter from the news of the previous night. (News? It felt more like a prophecy of doom, but he thought that he was probably just being dramatic. Probably. He'd never relied more heavily on his cane until now.) All he knew for certain was that he wanted to keep Harry as close to him as he possibly could for as much of the time as he could. He wouldn't let her become endangered again, not because of Him. (Not because of anyone.)
But he'd zoned out, (bad mistake, somehow Harry'd slipped out of his line of sight and he spent a few panicked seconds before he located her with her latest girlfriend, Una), and Sherlock was giving him a look that could almost be construed as worried, (if Sherlock hadn't informed him of his lack of emotions the previous week, he would've assumed it was.) He realized that he'd missed something that Sherlock had said. Cringing, he looked up at him, smiling weakly, apologetically.
"Sorry, you lost me for a bit there. What was that?" John said, trying to withstand Sherlock's piercing glare, his intelligence barely contained behind the windows to the soul that we usually just call eyes, eyes that glinted with perception.
"Something's happened," Sherlock declared. "What is it?" John sort of wanted to applaud for him for his deduction; (he also sort of wanted to cry, but that wasn't happening either), the kid was so bloody brilliant all of the time. How could he stand it?
"How could you possibly know about that?" John wasn't sure he wanted to know. Sherlock smirked, (and he did that an awful lot, John was beginning to realize, much more than he smiled.)
"It was quite obvious, actually. Besides your evident distractedness and the state of your clothes and hair, (somehow worse than before, a feat, even for you), your eyes told me all I needed to know."
"My eyes?" John decided to play along, fishing for some time to waste as the doors were opened and they were allowed into the school. There was only fifteen minutes until class began and he had his first hour three flights above Sherlock's.
"Yes, do keep up I hate repeating myself. Your eyes are shadowed from lack of sleep, probably due to nightmares, some sort of traumatic memory, I'd assume. But you've only recently started having the nightmares again, because last night was the first night you've gone without sleep."
He pulled his cane up to catch Sherlock, helping him regain his balance when John came to a full stop in the middle of the crowded hallway and wheeled on him, nearly causing their collision as Sherlock stepped forward and then tried to stop too quickly. After pausing for a second to make sure Sherlock had regained his balance, he had to ask.
"The nightmares. Explain. Now." And Sherlock's grin was like a Cheshire cat, too knowing and manipulative to be thought honest.
"Not until you tell me what's happened," he retorted, looking smugly triumphant. John sighed. It wasn't like it'd be a secret for long, not with Harriet Watson as his sister. She'd be telling Una because she never hid things from her if she could help it, (except her drinking habits), and Una was a notorious gossip, after her mother, Mrs. Hudson, the English professor.
"Alright, fine, I'll tell but don't go spreading this around. I don't need the extra attention," John told him, thinking of the dramatics of the bus crowd. "Really, really don't." Sherlock just gave him a look.
"That was the furthest thing from my mind. Besides, who'd I tell? I'm new here, and you've met me, how many friends do you think I'm likely to make?" John smiled.
"Well, you'd be surprised. There're actually quite a few people of the decent sort around here, if you care to get to know them. But anyways, I said I'd tell you. Come with me to the cloakroom, we can talk there. It's a bit more private, a better place for spilling secrets than in the middle of a crowded hallway."
"Lead the way. Will you be okay letting her out of sight? Your sister, I mean."
"I don't even know why I'm still amazed every time you do that. But yeah, you're right, that's my sister Harry, short for Harriet. She's a year older than me. And we're in the school now, she should be okay." John cast one last look her way as she and Una wandered out of sight before shaking it off and making his way determinedly toward the twelfth year's cloakroom.
"You aren't denying worrying about her… fascinating." Sherlock practically hissed the words. John simply shook his head.
"There's no point. I haven't ever lied to you Sherlock. I've sometimes concealed some things, because they were personal and I don't know you well enough to tell you them. But I haven't ever lied. You're too clever to lie to." They were almost there and John took a deep breath, leaning heavily on his cane.
"Here we are. I'm not going to skate around this; I've always been a bit blunt myself."
"You are rather straightforward for someone so interesting," Sherlock agreed.
"Huh. Thanks, Sherlock. I think… Anyways, to say it plainly, my dad, well, he's just been released from jail on parole. Care to guess my relationship with him?" Sherlock inclined his head slightly.
"I'd already deduced that you aren't close to him, nor do you live with him but jail- oh. He was abusive?" Sherlock said it more as a statement than a question.
"No was about it. Unless he underwent some sort of mad personality transplant while in jail, he's still the same cruel bastard as when he got in." Sherlock winced in sympathy.
"I… see. So where do you live? Not at an institution, but not with family either. Mother's deceased then. Foster care?"
"Yeah. That's how I ended up at this school; we're living with one of the professors, Mrs. Hudson," and going by John's fond smile at the mere mention of the woman, this was a big improvement on previous affairs.
"Oh," Sherlock said, a bit at a loss for words. He'd never met a foster kid before, and he'd lived his whole life privileged and well-provided for. It felt a bit awkward, conveying his sympathy,especially when he'd never even try normally. But John was trusting him, a rare enough occurence, and one that felt surprisingly good. He was willing to make some effort for John; the teen had given him a lot in their short acquaintance already. (If he only knew how.)
Just as he was about to attempt to make some vaguely sympathetic comment and hope for the best, a group of five rambunctious and obnoxiously noisy teens burst into the previously empty-except-for-them cloakroom, ruining the mood. John immediately stiffened, his stance becoming fight-ready, his body automatically placing itself in front of Sherlock, shielding him from the threat.
"Sally, Anderson," he grudgingly acknowledged, ignoring the others in favor of speaking to a ratty teen with an unattractive spread of stubble and the curly haired black girl hanging onto him like a limpet. "What do you guys want now? I'm hardly in the mood for your idiocy."
Sherlock couldn't help but smile at this; it was something he himself would say, yet it was John saying it.
"What are you smiling at, freak?" The girl, Sally, had a voice that cut like a knife, slicing deep. He struggled to maintain his facade, his face hardening like marble. John placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head slightly in warning. He held his cane like a weapon, spinning it casually in the other hand.
"Anderson, you know how this goes. You don't touch new kids without getting through me first," he was pretty much growling out the words, his voice low and intimidating. Anderson balked at first, but then seemed to realize that he had the advantage of numbers. A look of pure, insufferable smugness crossed his face and Sherlock realized all at once that he hated this guy. Absolutely loathed him, and he barely knew him. (How strange.)
"John, you may be tough, but even you can't take down all four of us at once," Anderson sneered, making Sally frown.
"You mean all five," she shot back.
"Huh?"
"There are five of us. Did you forget to count yourself?" she questioned.
"No, don't be stupid, you're obviously not fighting. You're a girl." Anderson's sexism only assured Sherlock that his hatred was well-founded. Sally looked unhappy, but didn't say anymore. John, however, wasn't finished.
"Anderson, you'll leave Sherlock out of this or you'll regret it. I may be out numbered, but I can still cause you a lot of pain. You know I won't hesitate. You know I won't stop until I can't move. You really think you'll get out of this unscathed?" Anderson seemed to consider John's speech for a moment. A moment too long, unfortunately, because at that exact point in time, Sherlock's patience (never big, but especially thin after a week of waiting) ran out.
"Don't bother John; he clearly doesn't have enough competence to figure even that out." Anderson blinked, then blinked again.
"Excuse me?!"
"If you insist, although you hardly deserve it. Only decent people deserve common courtesies, and you're hardly decent are you, Anderson, what with your bullying and your cheating on Sally every other day. You're disgusting."
"WHAT?! How dare you!" Anderson squeaked, flustered. Sally pulled away from him, looking agitated.
"I swear, Sal, it's not true, he's lying, it's a trick to get us to doubt each other!"
"Of course it's true, just look at your neck! Those love bites are nowhere near the size nor shape of Sally's mouth. Vulgar, anyways, to show your neck with those things on your skin. Ever heard of a scarf? And also notice the perfume, it's definitely not one of Sally's, she doesn't buy expensive perfumes, so also the other woman's. I'd say, an older lady, maybe in her mid-twenties? That's a rather large age gap, don't you think? What would that pampering father of yours say, if he knew his perfect little son was a bully and an unfaithful idiot who torments new kids and can't even stay honest about his relationships. You're even using these other boys, these so called "friends," to appear more intimidating. Dear me-"
And that was when Anderson's fist connected with Sherlock's cheekbone, knocking him backwards onto the ground where he stayed, in a slight shock, for a few precious seconds as the scene before him rapidly unfolded.
It all happened so quickly, one minute Sherlock was speaking, then he was on the floor and John was tackling Anderson. The other kids hesitated to join in, their minds still on what Sherlock had said about Anderson using them. Sally had already slipped away, her eyes filled with tears. That moment's hesitation gave John just what he needed; he was in his element, no one could stop him now even if they tried. He slammed Anderson to the ground with enough force to rattle the coats on their hangers, held his cane against his throat to restrain him, and punched him, hard, in the gut. Once, twice, three times. Then, seeing that Anderson wasn't going anywhere, he rounded on the three other boys.
"Get out of here," he snarled, pointing his cane at them like a sword. They instantly complied.
Sherlock's first lesson at his new school was that John could be plenty scary when he wanted to be, even in his jumper and while carrying a cane. Mess with John Watson, and you regretted it. That was lesson two. (Sherlock had always been a fast learner.)
***A/N:
Here's an extra long chapter just for you amazing people who have been asking for it. Sorry for all the cliffies, and for the slowness updating tonight (I wasat a 50th wedding aniversary dinner at my fav Italian resturant for my grandparents.) I love you all for sticking with me despite this. Keep reading and reviewing and I'll keep up the chapter posting. Next chapter may or may not include a trip to Sherlock's house, the first mentions of Moriarty, and an official meeting of Mrs. Hudson and Mummy Holmes. Teasers FTW:P
