Chapter Text
“OUT! Out of my classroom!” shouted a thick, male voice. Non-smoker. Late forties, divorced, and having an affair with one of his colleges. A bad relationship with his only son, who lives with his ex-wife. And, obviously, a teacher. Working at an upper-crust private school for too little pay and too much stress.
“Well, it’s hardly my fault you-“
“I said, out! And next lesson, kindly let me teach the class!” with that, a tall, dark-haired boy was roughly ushered out of the room, to the amusement of his classmates. The door slammed shut behind him, and Sherlock Holmes stormed down the corridor, sulking. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault the man couldn’t preform a simple experiment correctly! Besides, he…
Sherlock’s train of thought trailed off as he noticed the boy standing outside the headmistress’s office. More out of habit than anything else, he began to analyse. On the short side, but confident posture, legs spread apart and knees slightly bent, so he’s used to fighting. Boxing? Possibly, but it’s more likely street-fighting for sport. Short brown hair, eyes-hmm, interesting. Shirt untucked, tie loose. He’s purposely trying to look the rebel. The uniform’s new.
“You ought to tuck in your shirt.” Sherlock called, a smirk on his face. The boy turned, and raised his eyebrows.
“Oh? Why’s that?” His accent was Irish, mostly, but he’d spent some years in America. Any time spent in England hadn’t been enough to lose the accent.
“Because you want to make a good impression…no point in getting a bad reputation before you’ve even started school.” The boy, briefly, looked taken aback. Really, it hadn’t been that hard a deduction. Then the boy smirked.
“Wrong, love. Getting a bad reputation is exactly the point.”
“Don’t call me ‘love’.” Sherlock snapped, and the boy’s grin grew wider. His eyes widened, and his voice took on a hurt tone.
“Aw, don’t you like my little nickname? You never introduced yourself.” Sherlock found himself with a growing dislike for this boy. He opened his mouth to answer just as the door opened and a stately woman with slate-grey hair looked out.
“Right, now, what’s going on? Holmes, what are you doing out of lessons?” Sherlock looked down, sheepishly.
“Mr McKennan kicked me out again, Miss Moffatt.”
“Sherlock Holmes! Go back and apologize for whatever it is you did this time.” She looked at the other boy. “Are you the new student?”
“Yes, mam.”
“Tuck your shirt in, I’ll see you in a minute. Go on, Holmes.” She said, closing the door again. The two boys stood, appraising one another. Glancing at the office door, Sherlock spun on his heel and walked back to the classroom. Behind him, the boy whistled. “See you round, Sherlock!”
“Not if I see you first.”