Chapter Text
The car park of Baker High was echoing with the sound of students shouting and car and motorcycle engines roaring. Kids poured out of the buses and assaulted the front of the school in a great wave of nerds, bulls, cubes, good girls, bad girls and greasers. The kids who were lucky enough to have cars idled by them talking to friends and basking in the envious glances cast their way. They were staying outside as long as was possible, despite the cool, early Spring chill in the air. The largest group lingering in the lot was a mob of greasers hanging around a couple of hot-rods. Their leather jackets proclaimed them all to be members of the Baker High Irregulars, the toughest gang in the school. It was made up of "Andy" Anderson, a slime they only kept around because he was dating Sally Donovan, a tough girl who had survived being one of the only black kids in the school by being especially vicious, a quality that endeared her to the irregulars. Then there was Mike, Clara, Jimmy Moriarty, and Bill Wiggins- a tenth year the group had adopted as a kind of apprentice. The second-in-command of the group, Greg Lestrade, sat in the back of his black Chevy flip-top, smoking a cigarette while lazily running his fingers over the flame detailing on the side of the car.
"When's he gonna get here?!" whined Andy, running a comb through his over-greased hair for the thousandth time. Everyone rolled there eyes.
“He'll get here when he gets here, Andy-boy!" Jimmy spat, flicking his cigarette at the group idiot.
Greg grinned, ignoring Andy's angry curse. "I'll be surprised if he shows at all. Apparently he went on a hell of a bender over the weekend, must have a real hangover."
Mike Stamford shook his head. "He's gonna get himself killed if he keeps going like this. I mean, I'm all for good booze and Fat City, but the coke...."
"Oh ice it Mikey, Sherlock knows what he's doin'!" Clara spoke of their leader reverently, accepting everything he said and did as law.
"Well he better hurry up, the bell for homeroom rang ages ago, and I certainly don't need another detention-"
"SHUT THE HELL UP ANDY!" Several people shouted at him. No one liked Anderson, he always spoke in a nasal, whining tone, and acted like a square little ankle-biter. Donovan was the only one who wasn't glaring at him, but she didn't stick up for him either. She was just happy Sherlock had let him into the group, after the first time Andy had challenged him, she was certain that the Boss would kill him, as well as kick him out of the gang. She shivered, and lit a cigarette - she didn't like the gang-leader. He was a Brit, and she didn't trust foreigners, and Sherlock gave her the creeps. He was too cold, too smart, and he didn't care about violence. He didn't care about anything or anyone either. She was distracted by Anderson's shouting at Bill (Bill the only one smaller than him- so he was the only one he could pick on) "Drop Dead TWICE you little nosebleed!"
Bill simply rose an eyebrow - "What, and look like you?"
Andy was about to respond when he was interrupted by the roar of an engine, as a sleek black motorcycle burned rubber into the car park. It growled smoothly into the space next to Greg's car as the Irregulars greeted it's rider with hoots and hollers.
"Hep entrance, Sherlock!"
"Where the hell've ya been?!"
"Can I kill Anderson Boss? Just a little bit?!"
"Bout damn time you got here!"
The leader of the gang swung one long leg over the bike as he cut the engine. He turned to face his loyal gang, who were elbowing each other to light the cigarette dangling between his grinning, cupids-bow lips. Jimmy won the battle, and leaned in conspiratorially as Sherlock cupped his lighter in his hands. "I'm serious Boss, Andy is such a pain in the ass! He would not stop whining while we waited for you. Pleeease, Big Daddy's had enough now! At least let me give 'im a good pounding." Sherlock grinned a wolfs grin as Jimmy peered coyly at him through his eyelashes. Only Jim would use violence as a way to flirt. Blowing out a stream of smoke he asked in a deep, british tone. “You willing to deal with Donovan? Her antics last time bored me to tears.” Jimmy nodded eagerly. "Alright then," he turned away with a dark chuckle "have at him." The others followed him as he swaggered towards the school, ignoring Andy's shrieks and Donovan's shouts as Jimmy dragged her boyfriend behind the sports equipment shed. Sherlock Holmes sighed, rubbing his temple with long, thin fingers - today was going to be very dull indeed.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlock sat at the corner table of the Cantine, waiting for the rest of the gang to show up. He sighed for the hundredth time that day. Why was everything such a drag?! The classes were stupid, the people were stupid, Sherlock himself felt as though he were growing more stupid, simply by being here.
This American school thing had been interesting at first - understanding the slang, tackling school social politics, all of it had been a challenge. A very, very easy one. He had risen through the societal ranks in less than a month. He had so quickly tired of the phrase "Oooh your English aren't you, I can tell by your accent!" He was too smart to endure the Bulls, to violent to fit in with the nerds, and far to interesting to be a mere cube. He had alienated people quickly with his deductions and criticism, and so easily formed his gang out of the people he didn't drive away. He was amused by the irregulars- they were a rag-tag group who were fiercely (childishly) loyal, and would fight to the death to look out for him. He didn't even need to fight any more. The first couple of months he was in the Principals office almost daily for beating some nosebleed who had called him a square for getting good grades, or had the guts - more likely the stupidity - to jump him. Mummy had been beside herself, realizing this would be a repeat of every other school Sherlock had attended, and Mycroft had actually threatened him. "Make Mummy cry one more time little brother and you'll have your face in the dirt!" That had surprised him. Mycroft was usually far too lazy to be violent, and he was much too fat to pose any real danger to his light and strong brother - but he clearly had meant his threat. So now he let the Irregulars fight his battles for him, tedious though it was. Occasionally he participated in the taunting of some poor cube who got in his way - his cruel, bored deductions were enough to reduce most of the students to tears. He glanced up as Sally and Andy approached the table, carrying their lunches. Anderson looked like he'd hit by a train but- glancing back and forth between them, Sherlock saw things - Sally's rumpled skirt, hair re-pinned into place, freshly applied lip-stick, Andersons hair flecked red with paint, a grey smudge of pencil lead on his nose, and that asinine look of self-satisfaction...
"Shagging in the Art supply closet again." He stated simply, picking at his lunch with distaste. Of course Andy began to bluster "WE weren't, we did NOT-"
" Yes . You did." Sherlock turned away from the red faces to talk to Greg, who had just sat down. "Anything new today?"
Greg ran a hand through his prematurely grey streaked hair -All grey by thirty Sherlock judged. - "Well, there are couple of new cubes -"
"I Know." Said Sherlock
"A Brother and a sister-"
"I know."
"Named Watson-"
"I know"
"Just moved into town-"
"I know."
"From England like you-"
"I know."
THEN DAMN IT SHERLOCK!! If you Know everything why'd you ask me?!" Greg crossed his arms and huffed through his nose angrily.
"I have some questions."
Greg rolled his eyes."Of course you do."
Sherlock ignored him and continued. "I've seen the girl - Harriet Watson, 12th year, bit too fond of alcohol, homosexual - oh don't stare open mouthed like that it's obvious!- Friendly, out going, would have some fun with Clara - you should introduce them - hates her parents, has no ambition, is extremely protective of her little brother. Sherlock slowed and emphasized the last four syllables. "I haven't seen him. What's he like?
Greg shrugged, still glassy eyed from Sherlock's sudden revelations. Homosexual? Harriet Watson...? He supposed he could see it. He didn't mind it - after all Clara had been open with him from the start as to her tastes. But he was disappointed, Harriet was sassy little fuzzy duck, who hadn't been afraid of the Greasers' big leather jacket and bad reputation. He had thought that maybe....
"LESTRADE!"
Greg startled- "What?What? What d'ya say Sherlock?!"
"Tell me about the brother"
"Oh, yeah, sorry." Greg shrugged uninterested. "Seems a bit of a square, probably a Jock or a Bull - said he played that Rugby game at his old school. Popular with girls, but they just fall over themselves for that dumb English accent -" he glanced suddenly up at Sherlock - "S-sorry Sherlock, just jealous I guess. The girls don't don't even care what you Brit's are sayin' so long as you keep talking." Sherlock rolled his eyes and flicked his thin fingers in annoyance "Keep going, more data."
"Kay, so he seems smart, nice guy, managed to draw Molly Hooper out of her shell, and you know how hard that is. It's interesting, he didn't dig Sebastian and his lot - y'know the squeaky clean squares. He dresses like them - button up shirts, pressed slacks, hair parted on the side - but he really isn't like them. He picked one with Seb in English for going at Molly about a mistake she made while reading. Seems a pretty keen guy. Somethin' up with his leg... but whatever. Not Our kinda guy huh Sherlock?"
"What's wrong?"
Greag blinked - "What?"
"What's wrong with his leg?"
Oh, I dunno. He just limps a bit when no one's lookin."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, pulling on his leather jacket. He had Chemistry with John Watson next period - he'd snuck a look at his schedule in the office earlier. He'd have to get there early to make sure John Watson sat next to him. It was a full class, and everyone was so terrified of Sherlock he was sure he could get his way.
He grinned as he dumped his lunch on Lestrade's tray, ignoring his angry "Hey!".
Finally something interesting. Perhaps this day wouldn't be so dull after all.