TITLE: Wrong Turn
CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter Three/A Study in Beekeeping
RATING: T (violence/language)
A/N: Surprise, surprise. Bullies. I feel very cliche right now. But, oh well. My story. *sticks tongue out*
Chapter Three: A Study in Beekeeping
John staggered and then turned quickly, a strong hand seizing his collar before he could even raise his fists.
"Excuse us, we got business with the freak." A red moppy haired boy with a sharp uniform and an even sharper accent sliced the words off his tongue.
John was none too kindly shoved aside and promptly ignored as the trio of teenagers descended upon the younger student. Harry attempted to subtly slink away, but the apparent leader of the hungry pack caught her wrist.
"Wait. Stay awhile. You must be new." He smiled and it reminded John of a serpent. "I don't know you, and I know all the pretty girls here."
"Well, you aren't going to know me," Harry spat.
"I like a challenge," the posh caveman grunted.
"And I'm sure she likes boys with far less cliché lines," the dark haired boy rolled his eyes. "Actually, I don't think she likes boys at all."
Harry stiffened, studiously avoiding her brother's sudden gaze that had snapped to attention at the remark.
"Did I say you could speak, Holmes?" The ringleader rounded on him.
"I don't know, did you?" Holmes shrugged. "If your brain is too small to even remember what you did or didn't say, I do worry for you."
"I'd be worried about yourself right now, Holmes," the brainless side of beef retorted.
"What is it this time?" Holmes sighed. "Father hit you too hard last night?"
"What'd you say?" The mammoth plucked Holmes up by his uniform collar and slammed him against the wall.
"Now you can't remember what I said," Holmes managed to shake his head in mock pity, despite his current position.
"Shut up! I told you to have my paper done by yesterday," he growled.
"And I told you there was no possible way I could write it that would believably make myself sound as stupid as you."
"You -"
"Besides, you know my conditions. I only do others' work that I find interesting, and only for the right price."
Harry had managed to slip by the goons and retreat to her brother's side. John should have grabbed her right then and turned tail. Ran away. He should have never made that wrong turn.
But it was three against one. No matter who this strange kid was, that wasn't fair.
Not to mention how John's knuckles were itching for a fight. He wanted the adrenaline. The excitement.
And the pain.
So, when John whispered for Harry to run and then proceeded to step forward, it probably wasn't the most intelligent decision he had ever made. But it was his decision. He wasn't turning around, or making any wrong turns for that matter. He was barreling straight forward.
Right into the ringleader's side.
John's old rugby skills flared to life happily after so long in disuse. He completed his tackle, leading with his good shoulder and vaguely noticing Holmes sliding suddenly to the ground now that the hold on his collar was broken. The other two goons were on him after only a moment of surprised hesitation. One managed to grip his left shoulder and John howled, seeing shattered glass and blood, so much blood.
There was a fist against his lip and then another crashing into his stomach.
His leg gave out at that and he toppled forward, knees hitting the concrete.
"Let him go."
John glanced up through blurry eyes at the pale stranger, who seemed to be holding something in his closed fist.
"Well, now, who's savin' who, here?" The leader laughed.
"I never needed saving," Holmes spat the words with so much distaste one would think they were acidic on his tongue.
John managed to roll his eyes.
"Are you two friends?" The belligerent boy cackled.
"I don't have friends," the pair answered in unison, Holmes disdainfully, John defiantly.
"Right match you are," he chuckled. "You two poofs together?"
"I don't even know him," John hissed.
"Well, you will," he answered balefully. "Come on, lads. I say we lock these two lovebirds in the caretaker's closet. Give 'em some time to get to know each other properly."
"Please," Holmes scoffed. "You're going to lock us in a closet. How juvenille."
John was glaring at the boy in what he hoped to be a look of "shut the bloody hell up you moron". He liked a fight. He even liked the pain. But he didn't exactly fancy being put in hospital. Not when he'd have to pay the bill.
"'Course that's after we beat your faces in."
"Is it now?" Holmes challenged, eyes flicking for a breath of a moment to meet John's.
Before John could nod his understanding, Holmes threw the contents of his fist into the ringleader's eyes. The boy hollered and began hastily slapping at his own face. Seizing the distraction, John shot his good leg out underneath the two detaining him at the same time he shot his elbows sharply backwards. The pair collapsed in a tangled and grunting heap.
John was stunned speechless when the arrogant and antagonistic stranger reached out a helpful hand. John hesitated only a beat before taking it and allowing the boy to haul him upright. Holmes threw his bag over his shoulder and John's arm over the other.
"Come along, John!"
The two sprinted down the side of the building and then inside. They didn't stop until they were both leaning against the wall of the boy's washroom.
"That was the most ridiculous thing, I have ever done," John half panted, half laughed. "What did you throw at him?"
"A week of a now wasted experiment," Holmes grumbled, flipping a small contained over in his hand.
"What?" John furrowed his eyebrow.
"I was studying bee culture," Holmes sighed spectacularly.
"You threw a bee at him?" John gaped, shocked, and maybe, no, definitely not, impressed, nor amused.
"Not just any bee, John," he rolled his eyes. "The Queen. I was examining the segregation of the Queen. Keeping her apart from her hive."
"You have a hive?" John asked, partly incredulous, partly curious.
"Yes," he answered, as if it were an obvious answer and all teenage boys did. "How else am I to conduct a controlled experiment?"
"Wait," John chuckled. "You keep bee in your bag?"
"Not anymore," he pouted. "She was perfectly safe. As was I. I kept her close to monitor her behavior."
"So you just happened to have a bee cage or whatever you use in your bag?"
"Well, I wasn't going to put her in my pocket."
"Anything else living in there?" John eyed the backpack suspiciously.
"Just a poisonous spider and some deadly mold."
John blanched.
"A joke," Holmes frowned. "Isn't that what people do? Joke? Though the bit about the mold is true. Keep your hands out of the front pocket."