This took me a while but it has become an extra long chapter!

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Trigger warning: Physical abuse

Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock, Not mine.

On Friday afternoon class 3B made their first exam for Mr Holmes. Everybody had been extremely nervous and studied deep into the night, scared of his high expectations.

People kept shifting in their seats, sweating and mumbling to themselves while they scribbled down answers or simply stared at their blank answer paper.

Sherlock sat at his desk and watched the classroom with his all-observing eyes. The pupils had by now understood, that anything they did in this class would be noticed immediately, irrespective of whether Holmes was looking in their direction. Therefore, none of them dared to cheat, which made for a very boring exercise for Sherlock's brain.

As he sat silently at the front of the room, Sherlock decided to deduce his pupils. It was the perfect moment, because they were not paying attention to him and he could observe them in a stressful situation, too occupied to repress unwanted facial expressions, ticks, and insecurities.

He noticed how some pupils did not appear stressed at all, and he determined the causes for it. Emma, who sat slouched in her chair and was playing carelessly with her pen, didn't care about her marks and therefore the exam didn't bother her. Harry had been stressed when he started, but realised that he couldn't answer the questions. He was leaning forward on the desk, his face buried in his crossed arms. Dave was grinning at the exam paper, high off his mind.

Sherlock made mental notes to talk to them, however dreadful the prospect.

His gaze drifted to Olivia, who was squinting her eyes at the paper, rubbing her eyes while she read the questions. She looked particularly tired today and he wondered what had kept her awake last night. It didn't bode well for her test score.

Olivia had trouble concentrating on the questions, but was relatively sure about her answers. She wrote down whatever she could remember from Mr Holmes' examples in her notes, and hoped for the best.

She finished a bit earlier than her friends and decided to sneak off before anyone could ask her to come and hang out with them somewhere.

She got up to put the exam on Mr Holmes' desk. When she got there, he all but snatched it out of her hands to place on the pile in front of him. Sometimes Olivia was convinced that somebody with such impatience could not be a good teacher. However, there were moments in class when he explained complex theories with so much conviction and clarity that he wrapped each and every one of them around his finger, ready to soak up more knowledge.

She flung her bag over her shoulder, completely oblivious to the blue-eyed gaze that followed her to the door.

Studying for the exam had taken up all of her time this week, and last night her father had been extremely hard to deal with. He'd gotten upset because he was out of beer, and she had to take him to the shop in the middle of the night to and get some. Olivia would rather have gone alone, but they would have asked for her identification. Her father had been talking loudly and bumped into almost everything in the narrow isles of the 24 hour shop. At the counter she had had to enter his pin number because he'd forgotten. The elderly man at the cash register had frowned in disgust as she supported her mumbling father to the exit. It had been extremely embarrassing and when they got home it was already 1 am.

Olivia felt her limbs become heavy as the rush of adrenaline from the exam left her body. She walked through the echoing hallways to 221, hoping to catch some hours of sleep before they would close off the building for the weekend. She closed the door behind her, drew the curtains, and laid herself down on a couch. The cushions were old, but soft and deep, and it took only two minutes for her now relaxed mind to sink into a deep sleep.

Sherlock had the exams marked within an hour after the last depressed pupil had left the room, curious to see if anything had stuck in their heads. As it turned out, most of 3B had passed the exam, although many answers were so poorly structured that Sherlock had urges to use curse words in his feedback.

When he was finished he went to see if John was still in his office. Sherlock would be proud to show him the positive results, even though he'd never admit to it.

As he approached, he saw that John was speaking angrily to someone on the phone. When he finished the call the headmaster slammed a fist into his desk in fury.

"How the fuck did this happen?" John stood up and ran a hand through his short hair.

Sherlock looked at him and waited expectantly for an explanation.

"The board has decided not to expel Eric Walker. They ignored my advice and all evidence that the kid is a danger to the other pupils. They just don't understand that I am responsible for solving this mess. I have to put Eric back into a classroom with his bloody victim! God, I wouldn't be surprised if Peter moves to a different school. He's a good student! He deserves some peace. I tell you, someone is pulling strings here. I can't fucking believe it."

"Want me to find out who's doing the pulling?" Sherlock asked. A quick phone call to these board members would do the trick.

"Ah no, Sherlock. I have to solve this mess. Better not get involved. I'm afraid we'll have to accept it, but one incident and I'll show him the door again."

While John stayed in his office to call Peter's parents, Sherlock offered to check if the building was empty before they locked up and left.

As he walked through the school, it was dark and quiet, aside from the sound of his polished shoes on the floor. It felt strange for the space that was normally so alive with young people, to be so silent. The dark corridors reminded him of the time he almost swallowed a possibly lethal pill from the cabbie years ago. I was the first time John had saved his life and the first time he'd heard the name Moriarty pass someone's lips. The professor who had beat him. The one who had conveniently made use of Sherlock's inside demons, luring him into addiction and self-destruction. The chase seemed so far away now, but he couldn't help think about it every day, knowing that the man was alive and walking around freely.

It made his jaw clench and his fingers itch.

Sherlock found Olivia in the darkened storage room, curled up on the couch and fast asleep. He approached her carefully, so as not to startle her. She was resting on her side, facing the room, knees drawn up towards her chest, one hand underneath her head and one lying against her collarbone. Her face had a pained expression and he saw her eyebrows move from time to time, but her breath was deep and slow.

Her innocence caused the anger he'd felt from his memory of Moriarty to fade away instantly. He was doing better now. He hadn't used in months, and was actually learning to connect to people.

"Olivia."

"Olivia, wake up."

Olivia felt a warm hand on her shoulder, gently rocking her out of her sleep. She desperately didn't want to wake up from that peaceful world, and buried her face in the warm cushion with an agitated moan.

"Come on, open your eyes."

When the realization struck her that it was not Mr Watson's voice calling her, she tensed instantly. Turning her head back to its original position, she saw professor Holmes through her eyelashes, sitting on the coffee table next to her. He was leaning slightly forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The room was still dark and there was nobody else with him.

Still in a drowsy state, her brain linked the sound of his voice to that of a cello as the deep tones vibrated through her head.

Slowly she focused and could make out words.

"You will have to get up at some point, or do you want to spend the night here?" His tone was impatient but a little amused.

She stretched her limbs with a yawn and opened her eyes properly to find him curiously observing her. She was too sleepy to really care what he saw, though. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, not knowing whether she should be embarrassed or not.

Seeing that she was slightly more conscious, Sherlock stood up and held out a hand. Olivia grasped it to be pulled up, but she did not offer any resistance and when she got to her feet, softly bumped into his chest. Her head lolled and landed against the soft fabric of his shirt. His arm found its way around her shoulders to steady her. Her nose picked up the smell of soap, chalk, and cigarettes. It felt so comfortable and warm that she closed her eyes and almost fell back asleep as she stood there.

When he spoke she could feel the vibrations of his chest against her ear.

"Olivia."

She mumbled something about a cello Sherlock couldn't understand. He looked down and saw her eyes close again.

A strange sensation took hold of him. The fact that she didn't feel the need to wake up convinced him that she felt quite comfortable in his arms. He felt pride at winning at least part of her trust. What was strange was that he noticed he didn't mind her closeness. There was none of that itchy agitation he felt when most people touched him. No sudden need to walk away. He actually had to suppress the urge to press her against him tighter.

Instead, he smiled.

"Seriously, I'm not carrying you."

She sighed and lifted her head up from his chest to balance herself on her feet.

"Good."

Sherlock took hold of her arm to make sure she wouldn't stumble, and they walked downstairs.

John had just finished his call when they passed his office. He saw Olivia with messy hair, looking a bit dazed, and knew all too well where Sherlock had found her. Usually it was him who woke her up before he left for home. He noticed that it happened more often these days, compared to before the holidays, and made a mental note to try and reach her father again.

"Thanks, Sherlock. Olivia, is everything alright?" he asked as he locked the door to his office.

"Yes, fine," she said as she stifled another yawn.

"Good to know. Now go and get your coat. I'm locking up. Do you need a ride home?"

Olivia's eyes opened a bit wider and she froze for a moment. Then she said, "No thank you, I like walking. Its not far."

She turned around to get her coat, regrettably leaving the warmth of Mr Holmes' side.

"Should we tell her about Eric?" Sherlock wondered when she was gone.

"Peter didn't take it too well. It might be better to prepare her before she's confronted with the boys on Monday", John agreed.

However, before they could warn Olivia about anything, they heard the door at the front entrance shut and saw the girl wrapped up in her coat walking quickly towards the gate, into the windy street.

"Too late", Sherlock said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I'll take that ride, though."

Olivia spent most of that Saturday in bed. Normally she would get up around 9 am, shower, make some breakfast, do the dishes, tidy up the house, do the laundry, buy as many groceries she could carry to last the week, and cook dinner. Sundays she tried to reserve for homework as much as she could.

But today she just needed sleep. The week's events had been more tiring than ever, with too many things to worry about and too many things to be excited about.

She cocooned in her sheets and closed herself off from the outside world. The warm, soft fabric reminded her of her professor. Even though she had been half asleep, she could remember his steady breathing, the warmth of his body around her, and his calm voice that had hummed gently to her. She blushed at the thought that she might have said things to him in her sleep. She was not even sure.

Mr Holmes was still a complete mystery. Very often he was strict and harsh to his pupils, annoyed about every mistake they made and making very clear that their brain cells were nothing more than sawdust compared to his. In those moments he was like an eagle spreading its wings, high in the air, aiming for defenceless –and often actually trembling- prey.

At other times he seemed to enjoy their company, smiling when they tried to counter his arguments in class, or making jokes (usually at the expense of Mr Anderson, which nobody minded). It was only a few times that she had seen him act truly kind and gentle, and that was when he was alone with her. It made her want to trust him.

However, she wondered if his kindness was genuine, or if it was just because he was supposed to keep an eye on her, especially now he was her mentor. She didn't want to lie to herself and create a false sense of safety. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he would tell on her if he got too close to the truth.

Still, she felt a thrill when she thought about his gaze on her legs when he had come to get his furniture. It was that certain look men sometimes have when a woman catches their attention. That look she recognized from her dad when her mother had worn one of those tempting dresses for her evening job. Her mother's dresses were never very short or very tight, but they had shown her figure. She was a folk singer, so she fitted her clothes to that genre, often wearing earthy colours or flowery prints. She'd looked beautiful in whatever she wore, but her dad had always seemed to touch and kiss her more when she put on a dress like that.

Anthony got the same look when she smiled at him, or just before he kissed her cheek, which happened quite often now. His stares excited her and raised her curiosity about what would happen if she kissed him properly.

Nevertheless, when that tall man with those scrutinizing eyes had looked at her in that way, it had sent a shiver down her spine that instantly hardened her nipples. It had never happened to her before, and when he'd asked her to stay in his office half an hour later, she hadn't felt it again.

She ultimately decided it would probably not be wise to consider her teacher in such a sexual light, and that Anthony was a much safer and uncomplicated person to focus her attentions on.

She dozed in bed like this for hours, while she heard her father stumble about downstairs, having to take care of his own breakfast, trying to find his shoes, going to the corner shop, coming back with several bottles, switching on the telly.

Sometime in the afternoon Olivia felt her stomach start to grumble and decided it was time to get up. She tiptoed to the bathroom and carefully locked the door. Earlier that week, her father had suddenly appeared in the doorway while she was showering. He had stared at her, completely transfixed. Immediately she'd had tried to cover herself and yelled at him to go away, but it had taken him a while to realise that he was doing something inappropriate. He'd looked embarrassed, apologised, and hurriedly left.

Her dad didn't mention his transgression later, but she noticed that he was embarrassed so decided not to confront him. She did feel entitled to a bit of privacy, so reminded herself to always lock the bathroom door from then on.

On Monday she felt a little bit more energised from all the sleep se had had, and walked to school with a very quiet Peter. His shoulders were slumped and he didn't take his eyes off his feet. After some probing on her part he told her that Mr Watson had called to say that Eric had not been expelled and that all of the boys who attacked him would be back at school today. He was visibly afraid.

Olivia couldn't believe it. Mr Watson had basically promised not to let Eric come back to school when she had talked to him. Immediately, many questions popped up in her mind. Would they be in their class again? Had Eric learned anything from his suspension, or only that he could actually get away with terrorising his peers? Would he go after Peter the moment he saw him? She knew Peter was worrying about the same things.

When they arrived at school, Ms Donovan, Peter's mentor, approached them and asked him to come with her for a chat. He gladly did, because it meant postponing his confrontation with Eric.

Olivia was met by a chaste kiss on the cheek from Anthony. He looked handsome as ever and they held hands as they walked to class. As they walked through the hallways, she figured that all their classmates would think that she was his girlfriend by now. It wasn't actually clear to her if that was the case, but she didn't mind the thought.

As they entered the classroom she immediately spotted Billy and Eric sitting in the front row. Billy looked at his desk and seemed to try to disappear in his seat. Eric eyed her with a smug, arrogant expression, indicating that nothing had changed about his attitude. Her eyes flicked from Billy, to Eric, to Mr Holmes, who was sitting behind his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, sporting a positively murderous expression.

Sherlock felt disgusted that he couldn't simply refuse to teach specimens like Eric Walker, and couldn't bear to watch Olivia's face as she noticed Peter's assaulter.

He'd been able to turn his anger over the board's decision into something productive this weekend. He had asked John for the key to the school and moved some stuff into his new office. Most of it was things he didn't really need at school, but which made it feel like it was his office and helped him think. In other words, his office now was a tiny version of 221B Baker Street's sitting room, including books, rug, armchair, and skull.

The activity had also given him some inspiration for a new experiment, prompting him to call Molly on Sunday. It had taken a long phone conversation and many promises to persuade her to give him a severed arm. Molly Hooper had moved on and was not as love-struck with him as she used to be, but she still had weak spots.

Another long weekend survived.

Olivia didn't realise that that she had been holding Anthony's hand the whole time, until she let go of it as she got to her desk. She sat down next to Rose, who was staring at the back of Eric's head and had a similarly hateful expression on her face as Mr Holmes.

The class started with him handing them back their marked exams. Nobody had expected him to have them marked this quickly, and the room tensed immediately as people prepared themselves for a disappointment. Mr Holmes passed the tables, dropping the sheets of paper without saying a word. As they read their results one by one, the tension eased a bit, because most people had passed.

Olivia was satisfied with her B mark, but after reading his comments she was less so. Almost every answer had grammatical or structural corrections that didn't all count for the result, but made the whole thing look like a failure. He wrote things like "Absolutely ridiculous", "WRONG", and "Have you even read the question??"

Lucy, sitting in front of her, chuckled. She showed her a comment that simply said: "BORING".

However, all four of them had passed, and Rose even got an A-, the highest mark in the class.

The rest of the time was spent asking questions about the exam. Some pupils tried to get Sherlock to change his mind about their mark by arguing for the brilliance of their theories, which only made him grumpier. Towards the end of the class he even threatened to lower their mark if they didn't stop bothering him with nonsense.

"Keep the noise to a minimum when you leave" he snapped at them when time was up. He was about to ask Billy Mitchell to stay behind to have a chat about his absences, but noticed that the boy had already sprinted out the door. Sherlock resolved to approach him at a later time.

After class, Olivia, Peter and Rose were at the lockers to exchange their science books for English, when Billy came up to them. He was hesitant, fumbling with his hands and not looking them in the eye. They waited for him to start talking, which he was hardly able to do.

"Hi. Ehm… I… I just… I didn't mean to… I'm sorry for…" he mumbled. "…didn't want anyone to get hurt… I'm sorry." He glanced up to see their reaction and was relieved to see neutral faces instead of hateful ones.

"Thanks," Peter said.

"Maybe it's better not to listen to everything Eric says," Rose suggested with an edge to her voice.

Olivia saw the boy panic a little.

"At least you're sorry," she said to him.

He nodded remorsefully. "I am. I swear."

As he said it, Eric's loud voice disturbed their conversation and Billy visibly winced.

"What the fuck are you doing, talking to these fags?"

Eric was walking towards them with broadened shoulders and an intimidatingly angry face. He resembled a big aggressive dog watching a cat. When he reached them he gave Billy a hard punch in the shoulder. The smaller boy was almost blown to the ground and whimpered in pain.

"Don't ever talk to them again. Or I'll tell your dad you're one of them, got it?"

Billy quickly nodded and didn't dare look at any of them as he followed his best friend around the corner.

The next day it became clear exactly what kind of impossible position Billy was in.

Olivia and Rose were hurrying to their maths class on the first floor, when they saw Eric kicking a door, which was shaking in its hinges. It was the broom closet next to the boys' toilets.

"You are so dead Mitchell!" He kept kicking and hitting the door with flat hands, causing a racket. "Do you always screw over your friends? Do you think you're dad will keep you alive when he hears what I have to say? Might as well tell him that his son is a fucking gay, too!"

As there continued to be no answer to his abuse, Eric gave one last kick against the door and stormed off in the direction of the stairs.

Olivia and Rose approached the broom closet and knocked softly. The only thing that betrayed Billy's presence behind it was the sob he wasn't able to silence. Olivia tried to sound as gentle as possible when she spoke.

"Billy?"

Silence.

"Are you alright?"

No response.

"This is Olivia and Rose, can we come in? Eric's left."

After a while, the door opened slightly. Billy had removed the broom from under the door handle, which he had put there to barricade himself against the raging Eric. He was sitting on the floor, cross-legged with his back against the wall.

He didn't look up but Olivia could see he was crying. She stepped into the small, dark space to sit down next to him while Rose stayed at the door. It smelled of dust and detergents.

"Why is Eric so angry with you?" she asked.

When Billy spoke his voice sounded choked.

"He found out I said some things in my… my statement for Mr W-Watson about him and Holmes."

"Well… was it true?"

"What?" He rubbed his red eyes with the palms of his hands.

"What you said, was it the truth?"

"Yes."

"Then you shouldn't be in any trouble. You can go and talk to Mr Watson if you like. He's nice."

Billy shook his head furiously.

"No! You don't get it. Our fathers are friends. They told us what we were supposed to say to Mr Watson."

"They told you to lie?"

Billy nodded and Olivia didn't know what to say. It was unbelievable to her that a parent would tell you to lie about something so important. She lied for her dad, but he never told her to do so. It was silent for a little while.

"If Eric tells my dad all those things, he'll kill me."

Olivia frowned, again not able to believe that a parent could do such a thing.

"I'm sure he won't."

She saw him look away and shake his head.

"You don't know that."

"What do you mean?"

Billy buried his face in his hands and whispered something that made the hairs on Olivia's neck rise.

Sherlock was at his desk, marking essays written by class 5A. Not the brainiest of groups, as it became apparent. It exasperated him to think that all these people would be released into society soon. He would recommend 24-hour supervision, based on what they'd written. His comments were getting ruder as he worked his way through the pile. He was relieved to hear someone knock at his door, hoping to be provided with some distraction.

He was surprised to see Rose appear in the doorway. She looked relieved to find him in his office.

"Miss Edeson."

"Sir, could you help? We ehm… we found Billy Mitchell in a broom closet. I think he needs help. You're his mentor, so I thought-"

"Does he need a doctor?" Sherlock interrupted while getting up.

"No, just… something's wrong… with his dad."

As Rose took him to the aforementioned broom closet, she gave him a short recap of what had happened.

Sherlock had gone through Mr Burke's notes on Billy. He had recorded an increasing number of absences of the boy. Burke had not, however, asked Billy about it, called his parents, or raised the issue with John, which gave cause for concern.

He regretted not talking to Billy yesterday. The boy had moved with difficulty and he could tell there was something wrong with him. He shouldn't have let him go that easily.

When he opened the door to the closet, he saw Olivia sitting next to Billy on the floor, squeezed in between lots of cleaning supplies. She was sitting with her knees drawn up, stroking his arm as his shoulders shook from crying.

Olivia saw Mr Holmes' tall, silhouetted frame appear as the light fell in. She expected him to tell them to get up and come to his office, but he surprised her once again.

"May I come in?" he asked.

Billy didn't respond, and Olivia didn't think it was up to her to answer. Sherlock didn't wait and stepped inside to sit down opposite them, folding his legs in the tiny space that was still available between Billy, Olivia and the cleaning supplies. He felt ridiculously big for the closet, but guessed that in this self-created safe place, it would be easier to get Billy to talk than it would be in his office.

He let his eyes get accustomed to the dark and observed that Billy was not the only one crying. Olivia too, had tears running down her face.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, not able to disguise his surprise.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I Feel sad for Billy."

Sherlock nodded. He knew people did that sometimes; cry for other people's pain. He figured you'd be crying all the time if you let yourself feel so much. Still, he knew he needed to try and imagine what Billy must be thinking if he wanted to get through to him.

"Billy".

Billy looked up, and saw that the person calling his name was not the angry man who had been scowling at him in class yesterday, but the face of someone who was genuinely interested in why he was crying.

"You know that Mr Burke was fired, and that I will be your mentor from now on."

Billy swallowed and nodded.

"I would like to know what's upsetting you."

The boy looked at a bucket that was standing in the corner, avoiding Holmes' gaze.

Sherlock could see from Olivia's face that Billy had told her something, but it would be wrong to ask her to speak for him.

"Olivia. You and Rose should go to your class. If they ask why you're late, refer them to me."

She nodded and got up, careful not to step on anyone as she made her way to the door. She was well aware of the battle that Billy was fighting right now. He had been trying to cover up the evidence for God knows how long that it would be extremely hard to give it up so suddenly. He desperately wanted help but was afraid of what would happen to his family.

As they made their way to maths Olivia hoped that Mr Holmes would treat Billy just as kindly as he treated her when she was alone with him.

"Can you tell me why you don't come to school very often?"

"I get ill," the boy squeaked in the semi-dark.

"Yes, most of the times you were absent your mother has called in sick for you. But you're not really ill, are you?"

Sherlock saw how the boy dreaded what was coming. Everything about his body language confirmed his previous suspicions.

"Look, Billy, I think I know… what is happening to you. I know you are in pain right at this moment."

Billy looked as if he was about to bolt for the door.

"You don't have to tell me everything. I just need to know for certain who it is… Your dad right?"

Sherlock tilted his head and traced a finger through the dust on the floor, trying to ease the tension.

"I-I can't…." Billy couldn't get the words out, and Sherlock saw tears form in his eyes again. He knew he needed to be careful.

"You must be frightened of him, which I understand. Can you tell me how often it happens?"

"W-weekends… mostly." Billy shut his eyes tightly, hugging his knees with his arms, wishing he could stop time so this wouldn't have to happen. He wanted to speak, but his father's hands had silenced him.

Sherlock rested the back of his head against the cold wall.

"Does your mother know about what he does?"

"Y-yes butsh-she…you can't-… he will…h-hurt her."

"I understand. So he hurts the both of you?"

Billy was crying properly now, scared to death. Not able to answer his question.

For a while it was silent in the room; only Billy's hitched breath breaking the silence once in a while. Sherlock watched the dust particles dance in the narrow beam of light that came through the crack in the door. He tried to think of a way to get the information he needed.

"Can I see your right arm?" he finally asked.

The boy looked up at him again, and for a moment Sherlock expected him to run. But it turned out to have been the right question.

Billy slowly unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt, and started rolling up his sleeve. It turned out that it was easier for him to show than tell.

Underneath the white fabric, his skin was torn in several places, he had bruises on his wrists and two marks which, as far as Sherlock could see in the low lighting, had the shape of cigar burns. He didn't want to imagine what the rest of the boy's body looked like, and cursed himself for not deducing this the first time Billy had walked into class with that limp.

His mind started racing. The next step was to make sure more people knew about this. Gather evidence. He needed to get him out of this closet.

"That looks painful, Billy. I think it would be good if Mrs Watson looked at those cuts for you."

Billy looked hesitant. "Are you going to tell anyone?"

"I have to, Billy. And even if I didn't have to… we will make sure this doesn't happen again."

"No you can't! Please don't. My dad won't stop. Ever." The boy was practically begging him and Sherlock felt a strange sadness spread in his stomach.

"Of course we can make him stop. And stop him from hurting your mum, too. We should do that, don't you think?"

Deep down, Billy knew that this was the only right thing to do, and for the first time there was a grownup offering to help him out. While part of his brain was screaming no, he nodded yes to Sherlock, who promptly helped him up.

He brought Billy to Mary's office before he could change his mind. She took him into the exam room and was extremely gentle with him.

While she started to examine the boy's arms, Sherlock left and went to find John, who basically lost it when he heard.

"I've talked to that man multiple times! He even came to the last soccer tournament to fucking cheer for the boy. I bloody never noticed a thing! How did… I can't… Jesus Christ." John ranted while he paced his office.

"It's another case in which Burke failed John, not you. You can't know everything about everyone. People lie. All the time."

John wanted to see Billy, so they went back to Mary's office. They stepped in just as she was finished the examination. She told the boy to get dressed and wait in the exam room for a moment. When she came into the office her calm exterior faded and she looked as if she was about to cry.

"How bad is it?" John asked. His voice strained a bit.

"Oh John, he-… his whole body is covered in bruises and burns. His father has been using hard objects to beat him with. We should take him to hospital."

Again, Sherlock felt his own sadness for the boy in his stomach, but tried to concentrate on his hatred for Mr Mitchell instead.

He turned to John.

"You have to call Lestrade. They will need to take pictures of his injuries. He can't go home either, not until they've arrested the father." He rattled to him as he was preparing to leave.

"Sherlock-…" John tried.

"You should ask him if you can reach his mother somewhere without her husband knowing. I will go to their house and confront the man."

John stopped and grabbed Sherlock's arm to get his full attention.

"Sherlock, no. I need to handle this and you need to stay here. You will have to trust the police to arrest him. You've done brilliantly, thank you, but this is where it ends for now. I appreciate you wanting to help, I really do."

He paused and looked him in the eye.

"I do get the feeling that part of you just wants to run into danger. I'm not letting you take that risk. You're doing really well here, and I need you to keep doing that."

Sherlock was ready to snap something rude back and storm out, but realised his friend was partly right, so he controlled himself and just nodded.

"Good, I'll call in to let you know what's going on. You have two other classes to teach. Also, I need you to take over and show a new staff member around, if you don't mind. Finally found a theatre teacher. His name's Richard Brook and he'll be here at 4 pm."

Thank you for reading! More chapters coming soon.