Chapter Text
It was a rare sunny day in London. More people than usual were out and about, the birds sang, and the parks were full. On a park bench sat a man with sandy blonde hair with his sore leg stretched out in front of him. Next to said man sat another, with small spectacles resting on his nose.
"It's not easy living on an army pension in London, Mike. I mean, I could barely afford my degree while I was studying; and the schools here already have English teachers.", John shook his head and let out a sigh. If he didn't find a job soon he would end up on the streets, or worse, with Harry.
Mike chuckled as he sipped at his coffee, "Well, aren't you lucky that I bumped into you today. I hear Baskerville High is looking for an English teacher"
John had never heard of it before, it didn't sound like a school that would be situated somewhere in London. "Baskerville High?", asked John, "Never heard of it."
"Yeah, you wouldn't have. It's the sort of school that knows about you rather than you it. It sits a little outside of London."
"How do you know about it then?"
"A friend works there; his brother is also the principle and we chat a little sometimes. Said that if I find anyone smart enough for the job I should let him know."
John perked up at that. "You could put in a good word for me?", he asked, excitement in his voice.
Mike looked at him incredulously, "Of course, that's why I brought it up, mate."
John rolled his eyes and decided to ignore the sarcasm, "Mike, this is great, I could kiss you right now."
Mike pulled a face and laughed as he said, "I rather you not, a simple thanks will do."
"Thanks, Mike, you're an angle."
Mike rolled his eyes before becoming serious, "I should warn you though, I heard that the reason why there is an opening is because the last teacher ran away, literally. Apparently Sherlock, he's the friend I mentioned, kept doing weird experiments in the English class, who knows why he can't do it in his own class since he is the science teacher."
"Why don't they just fire the bloke?", asked John with a frown on his face.
"He's a bloody good teacher, that's why. And a huge pain in the ass.", Mike said the last bit under his breath as he shook his head, though, the side of his mouth was lightly turned up in a small smile.
John shrugged, "I'll risk it. Besides, I've been to war, I don't think some silly experiments could chase me away that easily."
***
"Good morning, Mr. Watson. Mr. Holmes will be with you shortly." , greeted the woman kindly, gesturing to a blue couch against the wall.
John wiped the misty morning rain from his coat as he took an uneven step into the front office and noticed the walls covered in numerous pictures from modern to black and white to various awards framed high up on the walls. A black and white picture of the students standing outside the school smiled at him, at the bottom corner was written 1865. He walked to the couch and took a seat, stretching out his stiff leg and setting an old briefcase down at his feet. Nothing but his resumé was in it. Honestly, he felt silly bringing the briefcase at all. It's just, the school seemed so posh and old, John thought that it would make him look a little less poor if he had it. Even though it was basically empty.
John tapped his fingers to no particular beat as his gazed roamed around the room. More pictures, another couch next to the door, a small table in the middle of the room with a bunch a magazines John was to nervous to read the titles of, with a white vase set at the center with a fake sunflower in it. The woman, Anthea McAllister, said the name plate on her desk (all very business-like), sat busily typing on the computer in front of her. She sat up straight and caried an air of a professionalism but seemed more like she was gathering intelligence for the government. She seemed pretty as well.
John was about to ask her a question along the lines of, 'So, you come here often?' when Mr. Holmes' office door burst open, hitting the wall with a bang, giving John a sense to dive down and take cover. A tall, slender man in black dress trousers and jacket stormed out in a huff; he all but stomped out of the front office causing his mop of black curls to bounce on his head. John was a bit dumbstruck by the scene, his mouth slightly agape and his hand over is chest. He willed his heartbeat to slow down. Mr. Holmes appeared at his door and cleared his throat.
"Mr. Watson, do come in.", he gave a tight-lipped smile.
John stood up and hobbled into Mr. Holmes' office, briefcase in hand. Taking slow steadying breaths. He hoped that his reaction to the door slamming wasn't terribly obvious. If it was, Mr. Holmes said nothing about it.
The office was neat and well organized, it was also so clean that John hardly noticed a speck of dust on any service or floating through the air. The desk was made of some other dark wood, probably Walnut or Mahogany, and every piece of paper to a single paper clip was meticulously placed on it. An umbrella (that looked like it cost enough to buy the entire building John lived in) leaned against a bookshelf. Behind the desk where Mr. Holmes sat was a small window where John could see that the misty rain had turned into a hard drizzle. Mr. Holmes himself was dressed just as immaculate as his office; his air slicked back.
As they both sat down in the plush seats at his desk, Mr. Holmes said; with his eyes briefly shut and an air of annoyance about him, "Apologies for my brother, he can be such a child sometimes."
"No worries.", said John, chuckling awkwardly, "My sister can be just as dramatic sometimes." and depressing, but only when she's right pissed, thought John to himself.
Mr. Holmes had a knowing look in his eyes, like he heard exactly what he did not say out loud about his sister. John had a feeling that he know the briefcase only carried a single piece of paper and years of dust inside.
John cleared his throat and placed the briefcase on his lap, he opened it and took out the piece of paper and handed it over to Mr. Holmes. He stared at John as if he was noticing every fine detail about him. Feeling a bit self-conscious, the briefcase was sat down. John sat with his back straight and wiped his hands over his thighs; Mr. Holmes looked down at the resumé. His eyes flew across the page. He set the paper down and leaned back in his chair. "Interesting resumé you have here, Mr. Watson. I see you were medically discharged. Shot in the left shoulder, correct? Although, your therapist is incorrect about your limp. "
John shifted in his chair, "That's not on the resumé." And John can't remember saying anything about his being shot or his limp while being here. "How do you know about that?" John tried to keep his face stoic.
With a forced smile, he said, "Oh, just a guess." He looked back at the resumé then back at John. "It is an interesting resumé, though. You are well over qualified but this school is in desperate need of some proper English teaching. I'm willing to hire you immediately, since all the other interviewees were all rather...disappointing. If you are willing, you can start as soon as Monday; I'll have someone show you around of course."
The tension in John's shoulder's only slackened marginally but he felt weirdly transparent. The man was strange; he put John on edge. And yet, John really needed the job. He nodded, "Great, I will start Monday then."
They shook hands, but, before John could get up Mr. Holmes asked, "I'm assuming that Mr. Stamford told you the reason why this position is open?"
"Yeah, the science teacher did some weird experiments in the English class, right?."
"Yes, unfortunately. I did have a word with him, though, I can't promise that that will keep him from doing the odd experiment in your particular class."
"Why don't you just fire him?"
"He's a good man, and great at his work.", he let out a sigh and said, "And due to some circumstances I won't mention, it is important that I keep an eye on him. Even though he is a grown man, he might blow himself up with his silly little experiments if I leave him be."
John chuckled and left the office, waving lightly at Anthea who was too busy at her computer to notice or, perhaps, completely ignored him as he left.
This job better be worth it, he thought to himself.
***
Early Monday morning, John stood at the threshold of the staffroom feeling like a new kid with no friends, which he sort of was. He was supposed to meet a man called Lestrade here, but, he didn't quite know what the man looked like. The staffroom looked like it was taken out of Buckingham Palace. The dark carpet was pristine, three beautiful, shiny round tables, one occupied by a woman with a small face and a tight ponytail who seemed to be marking some homework, while at another table sat a man with a black woman standing over him, deep in conversation, though, the man didn't seem to be listening, rather, he eyes seemed to be locked on something else. She hit him against the head when she noticed.
The staffroom led into a smaller room that seemed to be a sort of kitchen. A man walked out rubbing furiously at his striped pink and dark blue tie, grumbling under his breathe as the dark stain didn't go away. The man's short hair was grey, John assumed it happened prematurely since he looked about to be in his mid- to late-thirties. He noticed John and walked up to him as he stuffed the wrinkled tissue he was using in his pocket. He smiled and held out his hand, "You must be the new English teacher, Mr. Watson, if I'm remembering correctly. I'm Greg."
Greg had a gravely voice and a strange friendliness to him. John shook his hand and said, "Yeah, that's me; call me John."
He nodded and gave a friendly smile, "Righ', John", he looked at his watch, "It's still a bit early. I'm sure you would like some tea or coffee before you go to your classroom."
"Oh, yeah, I'd love a cuppa right about now.", said John, already tasting the tea since he couldn't make some this morning due to his haste in gathering the necessary papers for today. The papers that now filled out his old briefcase.
They made their way to the kitchen. Just as unnecessarily fancy as the staffroom. The tiled flooring was freshly cleaned; casting a mirror of Greg and John. Counters lined the right wall with cupboards above them. On the counters was a fancy kettle and microwave, at the end was a double sink with a fridge next to it in the corner, one of those fancy ones that had double doors with a hot and cold water dispenser as well as an ice dispenser. John made a comment about it that made Greg chuckle. The cupboards above were made of wood; John guessed that cups and plates were in them. When Greg opened the cupboard John had guessed correct, but he sighed when he noticed that the cups were placed higher than the small plates and bowls.
While they went about making tea, John asked Greg what he was teaching.
"Math.", he answered. He shook his head as he smiled down at the tea he was making, "The only thing I was ever really good at in school. That and rugby. No offence, but English was one of the subjects I despised in school, especially when we worked on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Most dramatic story I've ever read that seemed bloody stupid."
Johns mouth fell open as he looked at Greg, completely appalled. Romeo and Juliet was one of the plays that got him sucked into the rest of Shakespeare's plays. Greg clicked his tongue and shrugged his shoulders when John retorted, "I would have said no offence taken but now I am definitely taking full offence!"
The tea was made and Greg was about to say something when he was interrupted by the woman and man John saw earlier walk into the kitchen. The woman stood in front of John while he leaned back against the counter; the man stood to the side slightly behind the woman. She crossed her arms as she looked John up and down, "Well, you must be the new teacher then.", She said, "I would introduce myself but I don't think you'll stick around long enough for it to matter."
John raised his eyebrows; wasn't she just the loveliest person on Earth, "That's quite a rude thing to say to someone you don't know."
She rolled her eyes and continued, completely unbothered, "Yes, well, it's true. With the Psychopath's mad experiments, you'll run away soon enough."
Next to John, Greg sighed and rubbed at his forehead, as if he had a headache, "Sally, for the thousandth time, it's unprofessional to slander other staff, especially behind said person's back and to new staff. You'll end up being the one to chase John away if you keep going on like this. And if Sherlock heard you calling him a psychopath, he'd yell both your ears off right now for calling him that."
The man behind the woman, Sally, spoke up, "Yeah, you're right. Feak suits him better, I think.", he quipped.
Greg shook his had and put down his cup, "Come on John, I should show you to your class before the bell rings.", said Greg as he walked to the door.
John put his cup down and as he walked past Sally and the off-putting man, he said, "I think I can tell for myself who the actual psychopaths are.", and so he followed Greg out the kitchen, hearing the man scoff behind him as he went. As they walked down the hall, passing numerous students in blue uniform standing at their lockers or slumping on their way to their form for registration, Greg looked at John briefly before saying, "Sorry about that, those two can be really ill-mannered sometimes. Honestly, I don't know why they still work here."
John forced out a chuckle and waved a hand as if to swat at a fly, "It's...fine. I mean, it was extremely impolite.", John thought for a second before saying, "I could report them, I suppose."
Greg shook his, "No, you don't have to do that, they might make your time here difficult. I'll talk to Myc--uh, the headmaster -- about those two."
John frowned at him, that was weird, he thought, but he left it and thanked Greg instead while also letting him know that he is no damsel and that next time John will deal with them.
"Yeah, of course.". He went serious and said, a bit hesitantly, "Look, Sherlock, the, uh, science teacher, he does do some experiments in the class you'll be in. It won't be much of a bother to you! He usually does them after school, and most of the time their experiments he prepares for his classes."
John nodded, "Can't be that bad, I've seen some stuff in my time, and I've gone through a lot, I won't quit because of him any time soon." He thought for a moment before asking, "Should I be worried that this Sherlock might actually be a psychopath?"
"Of course not, it would be the stupidest thing in the world to have a psycho teach a bunch of teenagers. A right disaster that would end up being. He's just a bit, uh, quirky, I suppose. No, that doesn't sound right. He's strange, I'll give you that but he can be friendly on occasion."
They went up a floor and ended up at classroom 21. Greg chased away a couple snogging across from the class as the bell rang.
He wished John luck and ran off to his class that was on the ground floor. John went in and sat down his briefcase on the table, opening it up and taking out a handful of papers. Tenth years chattily walked in and sat at their desks, some greeted John while others just walked past him. He closed his briefcase and smiled to himself, glad to be away from the battlefield and stood in a classroom where he felt he rather belonged.
***
Greg let out a loud yawn as he climbed the stairs up to the third floor. It had been a long day for him. He barely got in any sleep the night before, to busy trying to convince his...ex wife...to sign the divorce papers. Funny how he hasn't seen her for months 'cause she ran off with some other guy and now she's claiming that she is still in love with him and wants to work on their marriage. That was a month a go. Greg is trying to move on, he really is, considering that he has his eye on someone. And he has been over his ex for about over a year because Sherlock had deduced then that his wife was cheating on him.
He knocked on Sherlocks door and entered when he heard a small pop and a loud 'come in'.
Sherlock was stood at one of the desks over some other experiment of his. Smoke was coming out of a tube with foamy blue liquid inside.
Greg walked to Sherlock's desk and leaned against it; a good distance away from where Sherlock was working, just incase something decided to splatter all over the place, which happened once. Man, Greg really liked that jacket.
"I take it your meeting with Mycroft this morning didn't go as planned?", asked Greg.
Sherlock ripped of his safety goggles and slapped them on the table, a look of 'what do you think, you idiot' on his face.
Greg scratched at his scruff, "I said that it wouldn't--"
"Yes, I know what you so unhelpfully said Lestrade.", barked Sherlock. "He wouldn't listen to me when I requested he switch my class with the tenth year English class."
"I don't understand why you can't do all your experiments in here. For goodness sake, you're doing it right now!", Greg pointed out with exasperation.
"This is different, and the English class has the perfect environment for more important experiments! It's always too hot or too cold in this bloody room."
Not knowing what else to say, Greg just rubbed at the developing headache in his forehead. Then he got a thought. "Why don't you go and talk with the new teacher?", ventured Greg.
"And what help will that do?", asked Sherlock bemused.
"Oh my god.", groaned Greg, "You can ask him if you can do some experiments in his class. Maybe he'll let you do them after school. At least then he'll know about it and won't run off when he finds a frog in his desk drawer or acid on a desk, although, try to avoid doing the last one."
Sherlock threw his hands in the air in annoyance, "How was I to know that she had a phobia for frogs!"
Greg pointed an accusing finger at Sherlock, "You knew, that's why you put it there. One of your silly plans to get Mycroft to switch your classes."
Sherlock said nothing but grumbled under his breath as he went about cleaning up the tubes and putting them away.
"Will you at least think about talking to the new teacher?", asked Greg.
Sherlock stopped and thought for a second before answering, "No."
Greg let out a groan and rubbed his hands over his face as he heard Sherlock leave and stomp down the hall. Why do I bother making all this my problem, he wondered.