"Good evening, I'm Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson's student from St. Bart's. I don't know you, you don't know me, so that's a perfectly good start because I'll be unable to judge you for anything other than the fact that you're being an utter, what's that parlance, yes... 'dick' to your all-suffering brother. And apart from the countless boring facts that I've accumulated about you since the past forty five minutes."
-Sherlock's intervention speech to Harry
Chapter got long. Sorry for that. On the bright side, I can sit on the laptop for more hours! :)
"So, professor," Sherlock started, as they made it to the main road, "What made you take a stroll in the parking on such a fine evening?"
John sighed. He thought Holmes became a little serious after starting his car with such urgency. He had even been on his way to send his biggest thanks to God, but no! Holmes was never serious. That was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs.
"I was just saying goodbye to a friend-!"
"You were stalking me," he stated peremptorily, "You were definitely stalking me."
John looked away, trying to fight the blush rising in his cheeks. He didn't even understand why he was blushing. He didn't even know that Holmes had a car, why would he stalk him in the parking? If he had to stalk him, he would go to the... no, damn it! He was not going to think about stalking Holmes. He stole a fleeting glance at him, and looked away almost at once.
"Eyes on the road, Mr. Holmes," was all he could manage.
Sherlock stopped smiling as he almost ran into a pet dog straying away from its owner into the road. He resolutely avoided asking Dr. Watson about what the text was about, although he was very sure that it was something more related to his brother than his girlfriend, maybe his alcohol addiction problem, although why John didn't admit that he had a brother was beyond him at the moment.
If only humans had made a device that could measure awkwardness/discomfort on a scale from 0-100, Sherlock would've been very glad to use it for an experiment right now.
Dr. Watson had been very silent since then, looking around at the interiors of the small car. Yes, small. Mycroft had forced Sherlock to earn the amount for himself. All Sherlock needed to do was steal one of his credit cards and go to a dealer and get a car that could accommodate his long legs well enough. By some chance of fate, Mycroft welcomed him with a lemonade and a smug smile plastered on his face when he reached there, and bought the one car that was the cheapest, the worst and the most compact and the most uncomfortable model available, just to teach him a lesson.
Ah, brothers! The things they did to both teacher and student.
Molly had laughed her head off when she had seen his car for the first time, and had taunted Sherlock for a week. He loathed to admit it, but her second-hand car was much better. And then he started to wonder why he was thinking about such a mundane topic as cars.
Of course, he reminded himself the web article on Cosmopolitan that he had read very carefully, as if it were his research thesis. He was going to experience a desire to seek his crush's approval from time-to-time as he found himself wondering what Dr. Watson was thinking about the car.
Dr. Watson looked around, as if acquainting himself with the interiors, as if he would be travelling in it a lot in near future.
"Nice car," said he awkwardly after those cursed two minutes, causing Sherlock to almost bite his tongue in annoyance. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Dr. Watson, whose legs fitted well enough in the front seat, who looked around guiltily for that having come out of his mouth. Sherlock pressed harder on the accelerator, and then let go again, realising that he was letting his annoyance at his pathetic excuse of a brother get to him again.
The awkwardness reached a new level when Dr. Watson decided to fiddle with the radio. He flicked through the channels, moving from the one where nuclear policy was being discussed to where a heavy riff was playing. Dr. Watson decided that he liked it and set it to that, as Sherlock merely tried not to laugh out loud when he realised what song it was. He had heard that one when Molly had once requested him to go around Greg's auto shop and it had been playing there.
"...I've got it bad, got it bad, got it bad. I'm hot for teacher!"
Dr. Watson's eyes widened as he realised that Van Halen's 'Hot For The Teacher' was playing. He quickly stole a glance at Sherlock, who was merely smiling to himself as if he were guilty of it, and changed the station again.
"...Oh teacher I need you like a little child..." Sherlock almost burst into laughter at the other song that he identified as Elton John's, "You got something in you to drive a schoolboy wild... You give me education in the lovesick blues... Help me get straight come out and say..."
" 'Get straight', huh?" Sherlock joked, despite the seriousness of the situation they were driving towards, "How appropriate!"
"Do you know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?" He countered back.
"Touché," said he, while trying his best not to laugh at Dr. Watson's discomfort.
And Dr. Watson changed the station again, his cheeks colouring furiously. Sherlock wondered whether Mycroft knew that he was in his car with Dr. Watson, and if he had paid off the RJs at the radio stations to play only student/teacher songs.
"...Highway to hell. I'm on a highway to hell!..."
Dr. Watson leaned back, a little more at ease. AC/DC always saved the day for him. Sherlock's jaw muscles clenched in frustration. He really liked making him uncomfortable, and the radio wasn't being helpful anymore.
"... And I'm goin' down... Woo, Brian that intensity!" the radio blared on, "anyway, tell me if you've heard of Rufus Wainwright. Because the next song is a little slow and piano-ish, requested by Anna..."
Sherlock listened on. Judging by the name of the artist, and 'slow', this one sounded promising. Dr. Watson was looking out of the window at the rest of the suburban London rushing past them.
"...Yeah, this one song makes me feel shafted since my art teacher growing up was a smock-and-clog wearing female. Anyway listeners, hold on 'cause this one's a good one!"
And before Dr. Watson could do anything, the slow mundane piano began with. Sherlock would've changed it himself, had they not announced something about 'art teacher'. Maybe Mycroft had done that. Paid off some Anna-something to request for such a song. Or maybe that was Anthea or whatever she bothered to call herself.
"... There I was in uniform... lookin' at the art teacher... I was just a girl... then Never have I loved since then..."
This time, Sherlock couldn't keep it in. He burst out laughing.
"...He was not that much older than I was... He had taken our class to the Metropolitan Museum... He asked us what our favourite work of art was... But never could I tell it was him..."
Yeah. Mycroft had definitely done that.
Dr. Watson finally gave up and switched it off, pretending to be busy in the blank papers that he hurriedly fished out of his bag.
"That is very wrong," Sherlock remarked, trying to sound very puzzled while his voice almost vibrated with amusement, "I did tell my teacher that I-"
"Shut up, Mr. Holmes!" he exclaimed, putting a finger up to silence him just as he was in the middle of forming the next word. Sherlock merely smiled and looked away, fixing his attention on the traffic. They swept past his flat, and Sherlock pointed at the door bearing the brass letters '221B', showing it to Dr. Watson, "That's where I live."
John didn't reply. Because if he did, he would surely ask Sherlock why he was telling him this and Sherlock would start off again.
After sometime, Sherlock pulled up in front of the building that Dr. Watson indicated him to. Just as he got out, Sherlock followed him, locking the car behind him.
"Where are you coming?"
Sherlock looked at him as if the answer was obvious, "I'm accompanying you."
John's cheeks reddened slightly more as he looked down at his shoes, embarrassed at letting any student, and of all his students, letting Holmes witness such a chaotic scene in his family, "I didn't invite you."
"I went ahead and invited myself," said he, with a self-satisfied and very ill-timed smirk on his face.
"No, you're not. You don't even know my sister!" John exclaimed, as he entered the building and as Sherlock entered after him. They kept on arguing that Sherlock needed to leave, and that he had invited himself as they walked in on Clara and Jeanette, along with some other people that Sherlock assumed were related to John's brother. They stared at the newcomers weirdly, wondering who the lanky boy accompanying John was.
"Jeanette?" John began incredulously, "What're you doing here?"
But Jeanette's eyes were fixed on Sherlock and his unkempt curls, and she looked like she was wondering why John had brought a young and unnamed boy to an intervention. Clara held a sheet of paper in her hand, and gave one to John, "Read this. I'm so, so sorry John. I know we had planned it for the next week and I know it's such short notice-"
"It's okay, really... Where's Harry?" John asked, forgetting Sherlock's or Jeanette's presence in the room.
"Ben is with her. He's the one who found her in a drunk tank two days ago," and then she burst into tears, sobbing into the affectionate shoulder that John instantly provided her, "They're c-coming over here now."
John had never felt any guiltier. Sherlock had occupied so much of his thoughts since the past week that he hadn't had the time to ask Clara about Harry. He glanced up at Jeanette, only to find her mouthing to him as if asking him who the boy was. And then he turned around to see Sherlock inspecting the room carefully, as if cataloguing every detail. John wiped Clara's tears away gently and set her down on the sofa, before turning his attention to him.
"Right, ahem, this is Sherlock Holmes, and I, erm..." John tried to find an excuse for Sherlock's presence, "He thought-"
He almost flinched when Sherlock's piercing gaze settled on Jeanette, as if searching in her what made John choose her over him, apart from the fact that she was a female and not his student.
"Oh," Jeanette smiled challengingly, interrupting John, "So, this is your... favourite student, isn't he? Mister Holmes."
John wheeled around at her in confusion, at which she rolled her eyes, smiling at his perplexed face, "Oh, come on! The one who you text all the time and the one with whom you stay on the phone for hours, and whose paper you spend a lot time correcting although he never writes much, right? Anyway," she extended her hand to Sherlock, who was smirking at her almost appreciatively, "pleasure to meet you at last."
"Hi," he fixed her with a stare from top to bottom while shaking her hand. She was an interesting woman, almost with a tendency to cheat on her steady, he deduced by the way she had looked at him for the first two seconds. He knew that there was no point pretending that he didn't know about her, "you must be John's girlfriend."
John tried not to cower at the palpable tension in the room. Jeanette's smile grew wider and colder as she heard him calling his professor 'John', "Yes, John's girlfriend. Jeanette."
They looked like they were having an internal tug-of-war with John in between. Clara continued to snivel, and blow her nose. John came between them, almost as a physical barrier, looking angry and extremely embarrassed and covering it up very admirably at the same time, "You were eavesdropping on me?"
She sniggered, "Please! You're always so loud when you say that, 'No, Mr. Holmes! You're my student' and all that stuff. I think even our neighbours know about it. To tell you the truth, I thought Holmes was a girl, and you know... I thought you called her 'Mister'' Holmes by mistake."
John felt his cheeks flushing with colour and shame, and subsequently, anger, "Regardless, you couldn't have told me to keep my voice down! No, you had to sneak your way in and listen to whatever conversations I have with my students!" John swallowed before lying to her, "He needs help, okay? He's not exactly a very good student."
Sherlock looked appalled at that, and he found with mouth wide open in horror upon listening to it. However, Clara decided that they were here for something more important, "Quit bickering away like old people!" she squeaked, "We're here for Harry's intervention, not for couples' counselling! I don't care if you've got a student here, John. Please help me out here, and please calm down. We need Harry to get better, don't we?"
John and Sherlock exchanged looks, in which John pleaded him to go away, and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes.
"Why don't you guys take a seat? We can't have people moving once it begins."
Jeanette settled down on the sofa and read through her lines. John wanted to sit away from her. He felt angry that his privacy was being compromised. To his surprise, Sherlock settled down right beside her, being a lot more friendly than he thought he would be with Jeanette of all people. He saw her lean towards him and whisper to him, although he couldn't make out what.
"Interesting, don't you think?" Jeanette whispered in Sherlock's ears as her eyes scanned the text in front of her. Sherlock quirked his eyebrow at her, "What?"
"You know, John has qualms with me being here, whereas he himself escorted you in here. You must be a very... interesting student."
"I think me chose me because I've been to many interventions."
"Is that so? I wonder why... So," her eyebrows went straight up in the air, "he told you that this was an intervention, and that too of his sister's? Definitely an interesting student."
Sherlock smiled sweetly at her, "I wish I could say the same for you, but then I'd be lying."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Whatever befits the quietude of your dull mind and the tragic circumstances around which your existence revolves."
John, sitting at a distance, hoped that they were talking about something... this should never have had happened. Sherlock should never have had met Jeanette. But they did look like they were having a very pleasant conversation. John knew what happened whenever Jeanette was involved in a conversation that was even remotely pleasant. Clara stood up and began.
"Okay, Ben's on his way back with Harry right now. Obviously, she has no idea this is coming, so things might get a little... intense. But, no matter what happens, remember: this is all about Harry getting better, okay? She's going to deny it, but it's our last resort... So, erm... Tim," she turned to one of Harry's friends, "You're going to start because Harry hates you the least," she gave a nervous laugh and Sherlock frowned at that, "and then me, and then Jeanette, Alfie and... erm, John... you'll be last because-"
"Yeah, I know," said he, stealing a glance at Sherlock, wishing for some miracle that could transport Sherlock away from there. Sherlock frowned. Clara was not even acknowledging his presence.
Jeanette regained the smile on her face admirably as Clara finished, everyone waiting for Clara's brother to arrive with Harry, "What are you talking about?"
Sherlock wanted to tell her about her ex-boyfriend, whose name started with 'P' and was a seaman, and who had been a complete and utter dick to her. Or about the fact that she was pregnant and she was trying to hide that fact from John and was undergoing an illegal abortion procedure. But before he could start, a woman arrived in the hallway accompanied by a man, probably that B-person that the sobbing woman was talking about.
"Hey, Clara I-"
Sherlock frowned up at her. She indeed was a woman. Harry was John's sister? He was wrong. John was right. Of course he was right. He was his... her brother. She had to be his sister, because she had John's eyes and his kind smile, although it didn't look kind on her; it bordered on haughty. She was an attractive blonde, was a little taller than John, with streaks of purple in her hair, and like him, she also had a habit of unconsciously licking her lower lip. Apart from that, she was an alcoholic, homosexual, promiscuous, worked in software, and obviously way richer than John was. That Clara woman was probably her girlfriend... or wife.
Everyone, all the seven people in the sitting room tried to look friendly and turned their attention to Harry as she arrived, looking suspiciously at the gathering. Sherlock frowned at that. This intervention was a failure, he could already tell.
"Hey, everyone," said she, putting her purse down, "Hey Tim, how was Miami?"
Sherlock frowned at the person called Tim. He didn't look like he had been to Miami recently. Why was he missing things all of a sudden? Tim looked around, confused, and then replied slowly, "It was great but... it was a year ago, Harry."
She frowned, "What's going on?" She looked around at the room, her eyes observing every familiar detail: Clara's nervous smile, John's tired eyes, Jeanette's curious face, and a stranger sitting beside her, watching her with a bored expression on his face.
"Who the hell are you?" She pointed at Sherlock. John tried not to flinch at the harshness with which the words were delivered towards him. Everyone turned to John for further information other than the fact that he was a student of John's and that his name was Sherlock Holmes. Before Sherlock could say anything, Clara turned her attention to her, sitting right across the vacant seat reserved for Harry, "Um... why don't you take a seat, sweetie? We just want to talk to you for a sec."
She narrowed her eyes and then heaved an all-suffering sigh, "Come on! An intervention? Really? Don't be so lame."
She tried to turn around but Ben didn't allow her to get out, "Harriet, you-"
"I'm not Harriet!" she squealed, "Let me go. I don't want any of this nonsense!"
"Please Harry," Clara didn't leave her place, "We want you to get better, and we're only doing this because we love you."
Sherlock tried not to roll his eyes. That's not a way an intervention should start, because there's no way in hell an alcoholic would buy it. But, to his surprise, Harry sat down on the only vacant place left for her, right between Tim and another woman, and spoke, "Fine, get on with it. And then give me a can of cold beer when you're done."
Clara tried not to sigh at that as she nodded to Tim to start. He hesitated for some time, before looking at his own copy, "Harry, you're not well. You know that, don't you-?"
"Oh, please! I don't even drink!"
"Harry," Clara took the lead when she saw that Tim wasn't working, "Ben found you in a drunk tank, isn't that correct?"
"It was only a few shots!" she protested, "I'm keeping it under control, you know it!"
"Yes, you are, sweetie, but it clearly isn't working. A few shots doesn't end anyone up in a drunk tank. Everybody has been stressed and disturbed by this. We were supposed to go over for a lovely dinner with John and Jeanette, remember? And then... you're clearly upsetting all of us."
Sherlock stole a glance at Jeanette. From what he could gather, she didn't seem upset about that at all.
"And that's why we're all here to tell you about a very good place called-"
"OMG!" Harry exclaimed, faking a yawn, "Could you pass me some sleeping pills, Ben? This is like, really boring!"
Sherlock agreed with her completely. This was a complete disaster. Jeanette took over from Harry, reading directly from her sheet, while reaching out to hold her hand, "Harry, we all want you to get better and enjoy life as much as possible. We're all concerned about you."
"Aw gee, let me know if I bleeding notice."
"Harry, drinking is a vice, you know that," she almost looked as if she were a primary schoolteacher, "It causes stroke, cirrhosis-"
"You've got the spelling wrong in your transcript," Sherlock whispered in her ear, unnoticed by everyone as Jeanette continued, trying her best not to grit her teeth in annoyance, "And several other harmful medical-"
"Yeah, go on!" Harry taunted, "Cancer, fibrosis, inflammations, hepatitis, fucking steatosis... got all from my little bro there," she indicated at John, who was watching her helplessly. Sherlock had never seen John this broken, and he somehow felt that he had to do something as Harry carried on, "Did you know that drinking moderate amounts of alcohol may protect healthy adults from developing coronary heart disease? Didn't you? I fucking did!"
Jeanette looked beaten, and another one of Harry's friends took on. Sherlock tried his best not to sigh at their incompetence. This was clearly not helping Harry. They were averse to humiliating her, or using some sort of strong language, and they were simply repeating things, not really confronting her. They had to put down ultimatums in front of her, something that worked on everyone, no... something that worked on everyone except Sherlock himself.
Finally, John's turn came as Harry listened to everyone with a sneer on her face, as if she were fantasising about another pint sometime later, "Harry, you remember when we were kids, you said that you would never hurt me, you promised me that? Well, that's what you're doing to me now. I want you to get better, just glance over at this," he passed her the brochure for the rehab that they had planned for her, "for mum's sake. Just think, she would never have wanted to see you like this, right? And dad too, right?"
At 'dad's' mention, Harry seemed to soften a bit. She looked away for the first time, suppressing the treacherous tears which were forming in her eyes.
"Do you want a repeat of that, Harry, what Dad did to himself?... In some years, maybe you guys will adopt kids, and then it's gonna be horrible for you, sis-"
"Don't you dare fucking threaten me with dad and kids, John!" she murmured angrily from under her breath, "You don't control my life. I'm happy the way I am!"
"But you're hurting Clara!" said John, "I mean, look at her... See, I know you find it really hard to believe right now but the only reason why I'm doing... we're all doing this is because we love you and we're willing to do whatever it takes to set you on the right track, even if we have to humiliate you like this, it's sorely for your own good and it was as hard for me to do this as it was for you. And if I didn't care for you that much, I wouldn't be doing this for you. I promise, that if you agree to this, we'll drive you there-"
"Are you fucking done?" she snarled, "Is that it, anyone else want to point their fingers at me?" She suddenly turned to Sherlock, who was the only one who had not spoken anything till then, "You wanna say something? Who the fucking hell are you anyway?"
John instantly shut his mouth. The moment he had been dreading had come along. Sherlock cast an eye at his teacher, and then smiled sweetly at her, "Yes, I do. Firstly, Harriet-"
"My name's Harry, fucking stupid!"
"Harriet it is," Sherlock emphasized, and Harry slumped back into the couch angrily, "Firstly, I would like to advise you to not use an extra meaningless word like' fucking' before everything you say. It does not change the meaning at all, and does not create a theatrical effect, if that's what your sole objective is."
John buried his face in his palms. Sherlock was in his 'full insults' mode. This was such a bad idea. This wasn't even his idea. Clara stared at him, completely appalled. Harry scowled, and Sherlock seemed pleased with himself to get some sort of reaction from her, even if it was negative, "What the fuck?"
"Good evening, I'm Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson's student from St. Bart's. I don't know you, you don't know me, so that's a perfectly good start because I'll be unable to judge you for anything other than the fact that you're being an utter, what's that parlance, yes... 'dick' to your all-suffering brother. And apart from the countless boring facts that I've accumulated about you since the past forty five minutes.
"I know exactly what you're going to do after this little useless session ends," he continued nonchalantly, "You're going to roll your eyes at everyone, go to your room, crash into bed, wait for everyone to leave and then you're going to storm past your wife, go out for a drink, maybe two, or just a hundred, get completely inebriated and then you're going to crash into a taxi who'll refuse you, and then you're going to hop into next car which happens to come in your direction and who'll offer you a free lift to home. Of course, you won't know that these people are going to sexually assault you, which will be a million times worse for you since you're not attracted to men at all. After they're done with you, they'll leave you in some abandoned house, leave you to die. One pathway."
Everyone looked horrified at Sherlock's speech. This was way worse than what anybody had expected to come out of his mouth. Jeanette simply shook her head, and tried to pull Sherlock down and stop him from talking but he paid no attention to her.
"Second pathway: you're going to return completely drunk, and Clara will scream at you, because she had staged the intervention for you just this evening. She'll leave you, three weeks later she'll send you her attorney's letter claiming that she wants a divorce. You two will split up, and you'll get to drink more. You'll start sleeping with other women, Clara will do the same thing too. Both times, win-win."
Harry was stoically keeping her tears in her eyes, as her voice came out almost broken and tearful, "Win-win?!"
He launched into his rapid-fire once again, "First case: you get to go to the imaginary place that my Mummy and the Bible calls hell. It's described as burning with everlasting flames. How? Must be some combustible material, perhaps fuel? Alcohol is a perfectly good fuel with a very high calorific value. So there's going to be a lot of alcohol once you reach there. Plus, what are the chances that you won't get to share it with your daddy dear in there? Maybe watch some telly with him, order some takeout in there?"
"Mr. Holmes," John began threateningly, this time anger slowly seeping into his voice at his frustrating sister and his impossible student, but Sherlock overrode him, "Second case: You get to keep alcohol, plus you get to sleep with other women. Your wife will get a break out of taking care of pathetic you and get to sleep with others-"
"Get out!" she growled, her voice becoming animalistic, while angry tears leaked out of her eyes, "Fucking get out!"
"Might want to reconsider about inserting the completely meaningless 'fucking'," Sherlock began, before he was dragged out of the room by John. An angry... no, a very, very angry John.
"Why do you have to spoil everything?" he tried his best not to shout at Sherlock, who looked infuriatingly confused as to why John was treating him like that. He had only helped her by confronting her in such a headstrong manner, "John?!"
"Don't you ever dare call me John!" he hissed, "Do you have any idea what you just did to my sister? Now she's only going to go and have some more only to forget your words! You know, I-I thought, I thought you could be serious, for a moment there, I actually thought you could help... Never mind, I don't know why I'm telling you any of this, you're just an insensitive prick, that's what you are!" And before he could open his mouth to say something in his defence, John stormed away inside, clearly to console the sobs that were coming from his sister.
Sherlock felt his stomach dropping when he heard that. He had only tried to help, how could John call him insensitive? Did he not care about him? Had he not shown that enough already? He was willing to sit through the boring intervention, he was willing to confront his sister even though he didn't even know her, he was willing to go through his own bad and suppressed and hurtful memories of the interventions that his parents had staged for him, that Mycroft had forced him into, of all his life before uni. He went through that, because that's what you were supposed to do, isn't it? He had read that in one of those articles that you have to sacrifice things for the people you care about. You've got to go through pain for people you care about.
How could John call him insensitive?
Caring is not an advantage.
He swallowed, and blocked his ears out from the familiar mellow, soothing tenor voice that belonged only to John, and walked out of there. He knew Harry was going to get better, because if that had worked on him, it surely would work on any other lesser mortal. He closed the door of the car behind him, gulped down some water after having spoken so much, and drove out of there, trying to suppress the dull throbbing in his chest.
He remembered the damned thank-you speech that he had to help Molly with. His fingers reached out to text her, asking her to meet him in his flat in twenty minutes.
Harry had locked herself into her room following Sherlock's offending speech. Clara had continuously banged on the door tearfully, and had barricaded anyone from confronting Harry when she came out, that is, even if she did. She forbade John and Ben from breaking the door open, which would only cause Harry to go into a rage.
They all backed away into the sitting room when they heard Harry opening the door, waiting for the verdict, although they knew what was going to happen. They were all surprised to hear only soft sobs, and no tantrums. John heard the soothing tones which obviously belonged to Clara, and after sometime, she came out, "She's willing."
John's mouth fell open. Harry was willing to go into rehab? After all that shit?! The rest of the intervention had made no effect on her...
And suddenly, Clara moved across the room and clasped John's hands, thanking him tearfully. John only caught a name, 'Holmes'. Sherlock... she was thanking him for bringing Sherlock along, as only his words had made her want to deflect the otherwise inevitable future, wanting to deflect the break in Clara and her marriage. Only his harsh words had unexpectedly made an effect on her. Of course, they would. Harry never responded to tender words.
"Oh Lord," John groaned, instantly regretting his words to Holmes, and he rushed out of there, into the street as Jeanette watched him incredulously, seeing her boyfriend run away from her to a boy he hadn't even known for three months and the one he already trusted like he had trusted no one. John hated himself, he truly hated himself. He always pushed Holmes away, even when he was trying to help, even when Holmes was the one who made his life bearable. He was gone. His car wasn't there.
"Oh no, Sherlock... Taxi!"
He banged his head painfully on the door as he hurried to get into the cab, "Damn it!"
"Where?"
John remembered it. Holmes had shown him where he lived, when they were coming to Clara's house, "Baker street. Make it fast."
Songlist:
Van Halen-Hot for Teacher
Elton John- Teacher I Need You
AC/DC-Highway To Hell
Rufus Wainwright-Art Teacher (I didn't know about this one, I just googled it out :P)