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Slamming his bedroom door as hard as he could, Sherlock paced the length of the room several times before collapsing onto his bed. He was fuming, he’d never been so angry in his entire life. Why were Mummy and Daddy being so unreasonable? Why were they doing this to him? What did he ever do to deserve being treated like this? They were supposed to love him and support him, instead they were destroying his future. He didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve any of this.
He must have been stewing for close to an hour before there was a soft knocking at his door.
“Sherlock? Sherlock, Sweetie, open the door. Come on, let us in.” came his mummy’s voice, soft and soothing, as if she hadn’t just betrayed him.
“Why should I?” Sherlock called back.
“One, because your mother asked you nicely.” Oh wonderful, his daddy was there too. “Two, because we need to talk about this. And three, you know the rules of this house, locked doors mean no doors.”
They wouldn’t dare take his door away. They’d done enough to him, they wouldn’t add to his suffering like that. Still, it was a risk Sherlock wasn’t about to take, so without a word, he unlocked his door and retreated back to his bed. He could hear his parents come in, but he resolutely ignored them. If they were going to ignore his wishes, then they deserved to be ignored themselves. Not even when his bed dipped and he felt Mummy’s hand on his shoulder, did he turn around.
“Come on, Honey. We know you’re upset, and it may not seem like it now, but you have to trust us. We only have what’s best for you in mind.”
“Best?!” Sherlock snapped, finally turning around. He never was good at ignoring Mummy. “How is this best?”
“Careful with that tone, Son” His daddy admonished. “It’s best because you’re only six years old, and four years is way too big of a leap at this age. One year is enough.”
“And before you say anything, we said the same thing to Mycroft when we had this same conversation with him,” added his mummy.
This same conversation with Mycroft? But he wasn’t anything like Mycroft, Mycroft was an idiot. Skipping ahead one year was probably all Mycroft could handle, but Sherlock knew that he could handle more. Even the idiots at the school agreed. Why else would they suggest he jump all the way up to grade five?
“But I know I can do it. I know I can! It’s just my… it’s just my… only my transport is six! I could probably teach grade five if I wanted to.”
“We have no doubt you could” his mummy said, rubbing soothing circles into his back. She was just trying to placate him. It wasn’t going to work, no matter how good it felt.
“But that’s the point,” she continued, “you’re already going to be so much smarter than all the other kids, you don’t want to rub it in and make it harder by being four or five years younger than them too.”
“Why should that matter?” Sherlock asked. Why should it matter if his genius made some people uncomfortable? He was a genius after all, and people were just going to have to get used to it. He wasn’t going to change for anyone.
“Because it will only separate you further, and probably keep you from making friends. Don’t you want to make friends with the other boys and girls?”
“No one’s going to want to be my friend anyway. No one wanted to last year when we were the same age, and no one a year older will either.” Sherlock muttered. “Not that I want any anyway.” And he didn’t, he didn’t need any friends.
His mummy let out a sad sounding sigh. “We all need friends, Sweetie,” she said, leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll leave you alone now, but it will be fine, we promise.”
Once the door clicked shut behind his parents, Sherlock finally let out a long, and shaky breath. It was stupid for him to sacrifice all his potential all for friends he knew he was never going to make. Well, there was still a month before school was due to start, he had plenty of time to change Mummy and Daddy’s minds.
~***~
“Ok everyone, I want you all to give a warm welcome to a new student to your grade, William Holmes.”
“Sherlock,” Sherlock corrected quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
As it turned out, he was not able to change his parents’ minds, and so one week after everyone else, Sherlock officially started his new school year.
“What was that, Honey?”
“Nothing.”
“Alright, well as I was saying, William thought grade two looked way more fun, so he decided to skip right on up to join us!” the cheery teacher continued, turning back to the class. She seemed nice enough, she kind of reminded him of his mummy the way she smiled at him. “Is there anything you want to tell us about yourself, William?”
“Not really,” Sherlock mumbled. Everyone looked so much bigger than him, and all he really wanted to do was disappear into the background and get on with everything.
“That’s ok. Why don’t you go take your seat next to John over there, he’ll be your classroom buddy for the week and he’s going to help get you settled in with us. John, raise your hand for me please.”
A blond boy in the third row with a broad smile on his face raised his hand and eagerly pointed to an empty desk to his right.
“Hi, I’m John!” The boy said when Sherlock sat down, and Sherlock, remembering his mummy’s urgings of ‘just try to give everyone a chance’, merely nodded instead of saying ‘obviously’ like he wanted to.
“You’re so lucky you got to skip a grade,” John continued, keeping his voice low while the teacher told them to get out their maths workbooks, and started explaining their lesson for the day – double digit addition and subtraction, Sherlock could do that in his sleep, “now you don’t have to have a year of Mr. Sedgeway. He was a nightmare.”
As much as he hated it, and as much as he didn’t want to interact, that piqued Sherlock’s interest. “Why?” he asked quietly, refusing to meet John’s eye and instead looked more at his chin. “What did he do?”
“Lots of stuff. He’d laugh at us when we got something wrong, but not in a fun nice way. I think he was making fun. And one time, I accidentally tore my homework. I tapped it back together real careful, and it looked good as new, but he wouldn’t take it and threw it in the bin. Oh, and he never lets anyone go to the bathroom during class, even when it’s an emergency!”
Sherlock swallowed down a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “That’s not… he sounds bad.” Given how careless he knew he could be with his possessions – tears, spills, dirt stains – Sherlock could only imagine how Mr. Sedgeway would have treated him. But he wouldn’t have to worry about that, would he? They wouldn’t force him back into grade one if he didn’t fit in, would they?
“Yeah,” John nodded enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the sudden jolt of fear that shot through Sherlock. “And he also always had spit in the corners of his mouth. It was super gross!”
A small smile tugged at Sherlock’s lips and he let slip a quiet giggle as he watched John shiver at memories of Mr. Sedgeway and spitty mouths.
“Miss. Sissons is so much better,” John continued, glancing up at where she was writing on the whiteboard. “My sister, Harry, had her two years ago. She said on the last day of every month, Miss. Sissons brings in cupcakes for the whole class to celebrate that month’s birthdays.”
“That’s… that’s nice of her.”
“It is! I can’t wait until the first birthdays!” John really liked to talk, Sherlock thought. Well, that wouldn’t last long, it was only a matter of time before he’d realize what kind of person Sherlock was, and would want nothing more to do with the freaky little kid who knew too much for his own good. Still, it was kind of nice having someone be nice to him for the time being.
“If we finish the lesson early, then we can have some free talk time before play break, but right now the rules of carrying deserve our full attention, class,” came Miss. Sissons’ voice, bringing Sherlock back into the present.
Right, maths. It was time to prove to everyone that Sherlock belonged here, or more accurately, that he belonged several classes ahead.
“So do you have any nicknames, like Will, or Billy, or do you just go by William?” John asked. There were still a few minutes left before play break and John had already finished showing Sherlock around the classroom and explaining the classroom rules, so they were back in their desks while the rest of the class sat around and waited for the bell. “Sometimes my sister calls me Johnny, but I hate it. I just like being called John.”
“Sherlock,” Sherlock replied, once again looking at John’s chin instead of his eyes. “Only my Nanna calls me William anymore, everyone else calls me Sherlock.”
“Sherlock,” John said slowly, as if testing the name, testing how it sounded. “Why do they call you Sherlock?”
“It’s my middle name.”
“That’s cool. I like it. I wish I had a cool middle name like Sherlock. I hate mine.”
Feeling ridiculously brave, Sherlock chanced a look at John and saw him grinning at him. The other kids last year had made fun of his name, calling it freaky and weird just like Sherlock himself, but not John. John was being honest.
“What’s… What’s your middle name?” he asked.
“Do you promise not to laugh or tell anyone else?” John said, his face turning deadly serious.
Sherlock nodded. Who would he tell anyway?
“Fine…” John whispered, “it’s Hamish.”
“That’s not a bad name,” Sherlock said, giggling to himself all the same. “It’s just the Scottish version of James.”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“I probably read it,” Sherlock shrugged, “I’m smart, I remember things.”
“Well yeah, you skipped a grade, obviously you’re smart. Even I could figure that out.”
John was still smiling, he wasn’t annoyed. He was laughing even, teasing but in a nice way. Why wasn’t he fed up by now? Last year it only took the other kids ten minutes to make Sherlock an outsider.
“So why do you hate Hamish?” Sherlock asked, pushing his otherness to the back of his mind.
“Ok, I don’t really hate it, it’s just kinda boring.” John replied. “It was my great-great-great-granddad or something’s name, and now all the first boys in our family have it as a middle name.”
“Sherlock was my great-great-great uncle’s name.”
“Really?”
Sherlock nodded.
“So we were both kinda named after old-timey relatives. That’s so cool!”
Fortunately Sherlock was spared having to come up with any sort of reply, because the bell finally sounded for play break, and the rest class was up and scrambling towards the door. Still a bit shaken by how much he was sharing with the classroom buddy he’d known all of an hour and a half, Sherlock slumped back in his seat and let out a deep breath. John was so open and honest and friendly, that talking to him was easy, which was all the more confusing. He normally hated talking to normal people, especially normal kids his age, or near his age as the case may be.
“Aren’t you coming?”
John hadn’t left with the other kids, he was standing in the doorway that led to the playground, looking back. Was he waiting for Sherlock?
“Coming where?” Sherlock didn’t want to assume.
“To the playground, obviously. I’ll even let you pick what we play.”
John was inviting him to play? Nobody ever wanted to play with him.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, you’ve already done what Miss Sissons told you to do. Wouldn’t you rather continue the football game with your friends anyway?”
“What? I’m not doing it because I have to, I’m doing it because I want to. Besides, I can play football with them again if I wanted to… Wait,” John paused, his brow furrowing, but the smile on his face remained in place. “How did you know about our pick-up football game?”
“I didn’t know, I noticed.” John continued to stare questioningly, so Sherlock continued. “It’s your shoes.”
“My shoes?”
“They’re new, you probably got them for the start of school.” Sherlock began. “They’re new, but they already have a few days’ worth of grass stains, particularly on the inside of your left foot, probably from where you kick the ball. And there’s an odd number of kids going out on the field right now. You usually play with them.” Well, so much for trying to fit in.
John was silent for a few moments, just looking at Sherlock, until finally his mouth opened and a breath came rushing out. “That was amazing, all from some grass stains! And my shoes are new, my mummy took Harry and me shopping the day before school started.”
Now it was Sherlock’s turn to stare. Only his mummy and daddy ever called him amazing, or said what he did was amazing. No one… no one ever thought he was amazing.
“That’s… That’s not what other people usually say to me.”
“Oh… What do they usually say?”
“They tell me to shut up, and then sometimes, usually, they push me.”
John looked genuinely surprised by this, surprised that other people were put off by Sherlock’s… well, Sherlock-ness.
“Then they’re stupid, because that was really cool.” He said, and this time, Sherlock smiled. “Now come on, we’re wasting time”
Maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad after all, only skipping ahead to grade two.
“So what do you want to do? We can be cops and robbers, or army men, or maybe treasure hunters!” John said, already running towards the playground.
“Can we play pirates?” It had been so long since anyone had played pirates with him, Mummy and Daddy were usually too busy, and Mycroft always got bored halfway through
“Yeah! You can be the Dread Pirate Holmes, scourge of the Seven Seas!”
“Ok!”
“And I’ll be Captain Watson, of the Royal Navy. I’ve dedicated my life to bringing you in.”
“But then I end up recruiting you to my crew.” Sherlock added, climbing to the very top of the play structure.
“Yeah, and then there’s no stopping us. We own the oceans!”
Grade two was going to be brilliant.
“…And so I believe I owe my parents both an apology for throwing that temper tantrum, and a sincere thank you,” Sherlock said, looking out into the small group of friends and family, and finding his parents smiling back at him. “Had you not refused to give into my childish demands twenty years ago, had you allowed me to skip ahead the several grades like I wanted, had you not put your feet down and insisted I only go ahead the one, I don’t believe we would be where we are today. If I had gotten my way, who knows when or more likely even if, I’d ever have met the man standing next to me today, my classroom buddy, my best friend, my partner in crime, and now most importantly, my new husband, John Watson. Mum, Dad, thank you. Thank you for knowing what was best for me, and in doing so, leading me to John. I can never thank you enough.”
Sherlock’s mum blew her son and new son-in-law a kiss, and his dad continued to smile while those around them clapped.
“Alright,” Sherlock continued once the clapping had subsided, “I think I’ve talked enough. Now, I believe I owe my new husband a dance.”
“You’re absolutely ridiculous, you know that?” John said, pulling Sherlock close as the music began.
Sherlock’s eyes shut briefly as he relished the feeling of John’s hand in his, John’s arm wrapped around his waist. “Mmmm, so I’ve been told,” he hummed. “What have I done to make me ridiculous this time?”
“You worrying that we’d never have met if we hadn’t been put in the same class. Of course we would have met. Of course we’d be right here,” murmured John, his hold on Sherlock’s waist momentarily tightening, “dancing to this song you wrote for us, that you wrote for our wedding.”
“You sound so sure.”
“I am,” John laughed. “Hillbrook wasn’t that big of a school. At some point, we would have met.”
“Not if I had gone ahead as far as I wanted.” Sherlock countered “Our free time wouldn’t have overlapped; our lunches wouldn’t have overlapped. And we probably would have only had two or three overlapping years before I would have gone off to secondary school. Remember, we were the ones who made sure our parents sent us to the same one. We could have very well ended up at different schools. Then there was university! If we hadn’t met by university, then I can’t imagine how we would have met. We were in completely separate cities then, our lives on completely different paths.”
Even though it never happened, even though he had been in John’s class, and they had become friends, just the thought of not having John in his life, the thought of never getting the chance to fall in love with him, made Sherlock feel cold. John’s friendship and love shaped so much of the man Sherlock had become, Sherlock didn’t even know who he’d be without John. He didn’t want to know.
John shook his head, and still chuckling, pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. “What did I say, absolutely ridiculous. Whether I was seven, seventeen, twenty-seven, or thirty-seven years old, I would have found you. Nothing on Earth could possibly keep you away from me. The two of us against the rest of the world, it’s destiny, remember? You and me, we’re destiny.”
Sherlock felt his eyes prickle as John recited some of Sherlock’s own vows back to him. “Yeah, we are,” he whispered, and pulled John back into a much longer, much deeper kiss, their dance becoming nothing more than a gentle sway. “But I’m glad it was seven, and not thirty-seven.”
“Me too, Husband. Me too.”
Letting his eyes close once again, Sherlock smiled as John – his husband, John – held him in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by everyone they loved and loved them. What did he do to deserve this? What did he ever do in his entire life to deserve to be this happy?
Sherlock did know one thing was for sure, though; only skipping one grade was the best thing to ever happen to him. No, scratch that, it was the second best. John Watson… John Watson was the very best, his best friend, his true love.