SCHOOLDAYS
Because, once upon a time, Sherlock was in school with the Littleston boys.
Hoping to get to the chemistry lab before the professor left for lunch, Sherlock breezed around the corner. He wanted to check his experiment on alkaloids and blood stains and he only had half an hour before his next class. Not that he cared about anything as mundane as being on time to a class, but he'd been sternly informed that any more tardiness would result in losing lab privilege. It simply wasn't worth the risk. The chemistry lab was the only thing interesting in the entire school.
He was in such a rush, he didn't see the younger boy until he'd knocked him down, books flying. He blinked at the boy. "You should really watch where you're going."
"Me? You're the one who came around the corner at a hundred miles an hour," the child protested. He struggled to sit up and looked at the books and papers strewn around him. He stifled a curse and reached for the nearest book.
Sherlock watched for a moment, noting the stiffness as the boy moved. His face looked tight, too, as if he were in a bad mood. He probably was, considered Sherlock, as the thought occurred that he should probably apologize. That seemed extreme, though. The collision had been the boy's fault as much as his, but still … he had landed rather hard on the pavement and his possessions were scattered fairly widely.
Nodding to himself, he bent down and helped collect the papers. "You need a better bag," he said helpfully.
He was surprised with the boy snapped, "I need berks like you to watch where you're going. Why aren't you in the dining hall like everybody else?"
Sherlock blinked, feeling even less inclined to help. People tried to tell him that he was rude? He glanced down at the fistful of papers and blinked again as the boy tore them out of his hand.
"Give me those. They're mine!"
"Really?" Sherlock couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice. He didn't think much of his fellow students to begin with, but this child was a particularly nasty specimen. "You're doing very advanced work for your age, then. That looked like the answers to a 6th form exam."
The boy was shoving his papers back into his bag. "You don't know what you're talking about. Just … leave me alone."
Sherlock sat back on his heels, watching the boy's face. Curious. "Why would it matter that I wasn't in the dining hall? Ah. Because I was heading toward the classrooms, and you were doing something there you didn't want seen. Like, say, stealing answers to an exam? Why?"
"It's none of your business." The boy struggled to his feet, clutching his overflowing bag to his chest as if he expected Sherlock to take it away. "Just leave me alone."
"But why would you be stealing answers to tests you're not even taking? Oh, of course. You're selling them. You want to be popular with the older boys—or, no, you're just tired of being picked on and think this will win you favor. Except it won't help, because it won't alleviate the sheer noxiousness of your personality, which is the reason you bully the younger students in your turn."
"I said, leave me alone!" The boy looked frantically from side to side, wanting to escape, but apparently afraid to leave Sherlock with the knowledge of the stolen exam.
Another voice rang down the hallway, followed by hurrying footsteps. "Hey! What are you doing to my brother?"
"Geoffrey." The younger boy turned in relief, though Sherlock caught a gleam of mischief (?) in his eyes as he whined, "Make him stop."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Really? Hiding behind your big brother? Pathetic."
That was definitely mischief Sherlock saw in the small boy's eyes as he cried, "Geoffrey, he knocked me over! And I wasn't doing anything but walking, honest!"
Geoffrey skidded to a stop, placing himself between Sherlock and his brother. "What are you doing, picking on him? Don't you have better things to do?"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows in the casual way he was learning infuriated people. "In fact, I do. I was on the way to the chemistry lab when your brother and I ran into each other—literally." He looked down at the younger boy, taking advantage of his height. "You might want to ask him what he was doing in the classrooms during lunch, and why he's got copies of exams in his bag, but that's really your concern. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got an experiment to check on."
He swept past the two boys, sparing a triumphant look at the younger boy as his brother rounded on him. "Andy, what were you doing? You know what the headmaster said!"
"But, Geoffrey," Andy's voice whined down the hallway, "It's the only way I can stop them picking on me."
Sherlock smiled to himself as he rounded the last corner, already thinking ahead to his experiment. He couldn't wait until this term was over and he wouldn't have to be bothered by those annoying first years any longer. Though that one seemed less savory than most—clearly manipulative, self-serving, and eager to hide behind his big brother.
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