Chapter Text
DUH DUH DUH DUH DUH DUH.. [that’s my typing of the iPhone default alarm sound]
15 year old Sherlock Scott Holmes awoke in his bed with a jolt, recalled some sort of odd dream, and smashed his arm uselessly around on his bedside table before eventually managing to grab his phone. Upon seeing the time, 05:30, he sighed, turned the alarm off, and went back to sleep.
“just 5 more minutes..” he mumbled sleepily, before dropping off the edge again into the blackness of sleep.
DUH DUH DUH DUH DUH DUH..
“OH ACTUALLY FUCK OFF…” Sherlock sat up properly this time, and propped himself against his pillow, checking his phone again. Fuck. It was 07:00. He was going to be LATE and he needed a SHOWER.
Somehow he had slept through his 8 other alarms.
“aaaAAAAAAAAAAA.” He half asleeply chucked himself out of bed and stumbled limply to his doorframe, where he was then hit with a sudden oncoming wave of lightheadedness and darkness filling his vision. Fucking stupid iron deficiency.
He somehow managed to grab onto the doorframe, but didn’t really have much control over his floaty feeling limbs, and so ended up sliding uselessly down the doorframe onto his carpet, where he lay for a couple seconds contemplating life as his vision slowly returned.
He didn’t even want to go to stupid school. All the stupid people were so annoying and mean and ungrateful and rude and disrespectful and- “AAAAUAUUAGHHH.” He checked his watch, which he’d forgotten to take off before bed (he went to sleep in yesterday’s clothes). It was now 07:08. He had to leave for school at 07:48.
What a fucking terrible number, 07:48.
He peeled himself off the floor, making sure to get up more slowly this time, and dragged himself downstairs, staggering towards the kitchen.
As he poured some yogurt into a bowl and started eating it, (he wasn’t usually one to eat breakfast, but he now had to take iron tablets that SERIOUSLY didn’t go well on an empty stomach he supposed he had to have SOMETHING), Sherlock continued thinking passively about how much he HATED the number 48.
Firstly, 48 was 4x12. He HATED the number 2 because it was ugly and pink and curvy (this might have been related to gender dysphoria), and also because it was an even number. 4 is 2 squared, which is 2 2s. Disgusting. Then you have 12, which is a lovely wonderful beautiful magical amazing 3, times a manky old 2. Ew. 48 was also 6x8, both 6 AND 8 being manky 2s mixed with lovely 3s, and 3 shouldn’t have to share a side with a 2. 6=3x2, and 8=2x2x2, or 2 cubed.
Sherlock shook his head vigorously. He was still half asleep, although the food had At least woken him up enough to walk properly, and was getting distracted. He chucked his yogurt bowl lazily in the general direction of the sink, took a swig of water and an iron supplement, and skulked up the stairs towards 𝓣𝓱𝓮 shower.
He sighed. As he’d woken up so late, both his parents were at work, and his brother was away at boarding school, so he was home alone.
Grabbing a towel off the rail and strategically placing it on the floor so he wouldn’t slip upon exiting the shower, he locked the bathroom door and undressed, looking in the mirror and running a hand through his dark curly hair. He stepped into the shower, showered, and stepped out 13 minutes later. After getting dressed in his terrible itchy school uniform, he went back downstairs.
“Why the fuck do I have to go to school today???” He whined to nobody in particular, and started shoving random things from the fridge into a Tupperware pot. He ended up with one falafel, some ham, five tomatoes and some cucumber. Vaguely satisfied with his packed lunch he hurled it back into the fridge, then checked his watch again.
07:38. HE HAD 10 MINUTES TO: pack his bag, put shoes on, find his notebook, find a pen, brush his hair, and leave the house.
Sherlock fumbled around in his school bag, pulling out 5 books and a mouldy apple from the week before. “eughhghghgh…” he put 4 new books in, English, maths, German, and history. It was going to be a shit day.
He sprinted around the house looking for his notebook, and after finding it stuffed that in his bag too.
Looking in the mirror, he remembered that he’d left his comb in his mother’s car. sighing heavily, he resorted to combing it with his fingers.
He stuffed his feet into his posh polished leather shoes, chucked his bag on his back, and began tiredly walking the 2 miles to school.
Sherlock had a good combination of long legs and a habit of being late, which gave him a long stride and a fast pace. He was still kind of half asleep, and had probably forgotten something, but that was a later sherlock problem.
He had nothing to THINK ABOUT. No current projects, no things meaningful enough to apply his brain to.
He attacked the ground with his feet as he walked, glaring at every imbecile who gave him a concerned look, probably because he was scowling and kicking little pebbles.
The sky was blazing into his poor poor eyes as he walked. He thought about different properties of different metals, and language devices and the way the tarmac was melting on the road.
Eventually he arrived in Hell. Well, school. Resentfully, he made his way through the gates and into the building where he was to spend the next torturous 7 hours of his life.
He had a habit of opening doors in the corridors by wedging his heel into the edge of the door after somebody else had come through, which always made him feel very superior in his techniques of door opening.
[[I’ll finish this later]]