Chapter Text
When John Watson passes through the school doors on the first Monday of the New Year, he doesn’t feel any different. He hasn’t become any better looking, or any more intelligent; nothing has happened to him. And so with a resigned sigh, he makes his way down the hall.
If he feels more gazes from other students in the hallway, he pays them no mind.
He doesn’t realize that everything has changed until he meets up with Mike, an old friend from lower sixth form who has switched up his schedule, two weeks after school’s begun again.
“You have no clue,” Mike says slowly, as students begin to pile into their shared A-Levels Biology classroom.
“What are you going on about?” John sets his backpack down on to his seat and concentrates on taking out his books.
“Not a scratch on you,” Mike mutters to himself in amazement as he grabs John by the shoulders and twirls him around slowly. “You haven’t received any threatening notes? I thought at the least you would get some nasty death glares… But you’re in such a chipper mood…”
“What are you going on about mate?” John asks, confused as he shakes off the chubby man’s hands and takes his seat.
Mike shakes his head, not paying attention to the teacher as the bell rings. “It’s nothing… Well, you’ll find out soon enough.”
A month after New Year’s Day, John is approached by a group of boys.
He doesn’t notice that they’re behind him until he hears an annoyed cough.
“Huh?” John turns his head to find Andy, informally known as Anderson, impatiently hovering near the philosophy bookshelf along with a group of his cronies.
John snatches his reading glasses from off the tip of his nose and shuts the medical journal with a thud before responding to their presence. “And what brings you here, gentlemen?”
“You know why we’re here.” Anderson spits.
John honestly hasn’t the faintest why Anderson, resident gangster, and his group of junkies are hiding in the shadows of the school library during lunch, but he has a feeling that he does not want to know.
“I honestly don’t, but you’re free to tell me.” John stands to full height. He may be relatively short for his age, but his muscular strength, largely developed from years of rugby, has not diminished one bit. He could take them. All of them.
It seems that Anderson knows this too. “You better watch your back, Watson. I’m only here to send a message.”
Anderson turns away but before he can disappear from view, John intervenes. “From who?”
“From lover boy,” he says nastily before escaping out the library entrance.
John remains standing for a minute before packing up his things and leaving.
The next morning, John passes Anderson in the hall on his way to World History.
Black bruises pepper his face.
Unsurprisingly, John aces his bio test the following week. His teachers praise him for surpassing all the other students, but they also comment that it’s no surprise, seeing as he’s been candidate for valedictorian for quite a while.
He walks out into the hallway after a particularly pride-boosting conversation with his Calculus teacher.
He’s surprised to find Greg Lestrade, his classmate from Psychology class and comrade on the Student Council Committee, waiting for him.
"Greg, wha-"
“Be careful with your decisions, John," the brunette says before walking in the direction opposite from the school exit.
John cocks his head slightly before following after him.
A seed of an idea has grown in his head and he follows simply because the other boy's trail may lead him to something interesting.
It takes John seconds to realize that by the route Greg's taking, he'll reach the old boys' locker room soon.
John shivers, and knows he's right. The abandoned boys' locker room is the source of endless gossip in their school simply because it's the heart of Scotland Yard, resident gangster organization.
"I just saw him," Greg says as John runs to catch the door from closing after him.
No reply, but John can feel the hefty breathing of at least four other occupants.
John doesn't dare peek into the room, but he presses his ear against the slightly open door crack.
"I've done what you asked," Greg's voice doesn't sound the least bit afraid, although John himself revels in the feeling. "So has Anderson. Are you ready to face him yourself? Or must I send your childish messages for you?" John is surprised to find that Greg is not only void of fear, but also full of irritation.
John doesn't understand. What is Greg, his second in command during student council meetings, doing consorting with possible criminals? And why are they talking about John, of all the harmless people attending St. Bart's Boarding School?
"Well done, Lestrade," John stops breathing for a few seconds as his heart beats erratically in his chest. "I may still have a use for you though."
Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock fucking Holmes is out to get him. Sherlock Holmes with his dark clothing that breaks the school dress code entirely, pale skin and deep voice that the girls on the cheerleading squad squeal about, mile long legs and muscled torso that the theatre kids voice their envy of, and cool, mesmerizing eyes that John faintly remembers catching once.
John swallows loudly and exhales his breath silently.
"For God's sake, Sherlock-" Greg begins.
John closes the door inaudibly before taking off at a run.
He's dead. Completely, utterly dead. He had thought that maybe it was one of Anderson's group that was set against him. John knows he'd be able to talk his way out of that one. But Sherlock Holmes?
Needless to say, the guy is a district-wide legend. He can tell your life story just by looking at you and has the ability to make you bow down to his will no matter what he demands. John cannot just spew a load of bullshit in order to save his skin.
But he has no other choice.
He admires Greg's tenacity to save him, but John doesn't think he'll survive this battle without permanent scarring, lasting mental trauma, or life-long embarrassment. He's heard the stories about guys who betrayed or landed on the bad side of Sherlock Holmes.
John shakes his head as he makes his way home. Tomorrow is Doomsday, he can feel it.
Oddly enough, although his mind cowers in fear, his body sings with adrenaline and excitement.