Like a Fairytale

The Karate Kid

Sherlock looked around nervously for any teachers that would tell him off, slipping through a small space between the wall and the stairs into a small little notch. It was just large enough for him to stretch out his long legs but small enough that he wouldn't be easily spotted. Sherlock had adapted the space for his own personal needs, supplied with extra pencils and textbooks. Other kids had obviously been down here before, there were numerous choice words about teachers, but they were old, long retired before Sherlock was able to experience the horribleness. He took out his lunch, his eyes already adjusting to the sudden change in lighting, from bright artificial lights to the dark cobweb filled nook. He didn't eat much, never did, he only sipped at his water and ate half of his bagel, which Mrs. Hudson, the house keeper, had covered in lox and onions. Sherlock liked the food of course, he wasn't too picky when it came to meals, but he was never really hungry. His record of no food was about six days, and his record of no sleep was only five, but afterwards he had gotten a very bad head cold and actually had to skip a day of school. So Sherlock made sure to get an hour or two sleep a night, bare minimum of course, but usually he just wasn't up to sleeping. Most nights he couldn't get that annoying blonde out of his head, he would lie in his bed, daydreaming about what would actually happen if he and John actually kissed one time. Of course that was impossible, but sometimes it was more fun to imagine things that you knew would never happen. Sherlock helped fuel his obsession by using his artistic skills, which might be a bit creepy of course, but he had several drawings of John pinned up on the back of his closet door, as well as clippings from news articles which had John's picture on it. Sherlock had no shame; it wasn't like he would actually get to speak to John, much less end up marrying him. The only conversations they had was spewing insults at one another, and if Sherlock ended up winning John would resort to the next best thing, violence. What a lovely relationship they had. When the bell rung Sherlock packed up his things and slipped out into the hallway before anyone could spot him, going up to third period with a frown on his face. He shared both third and fourth period with John, which was both good and bad at the same time. The good thing was, in third block, math, John sat in the row in front of him, so whenever he needed an answer he'd simply steal Sherlock's already completed paper and copy off of it. John was the only one Sherlock let copy, John claimed it was because Sherlock was scared of refusing, if only his pea brain was able to figure things out. In reality if John ever found out Sherlock's entire life would be ruined, not only would he be the psychopath freak they'd stack gay right on top of his titles, which would bring a fresh wave of torment. But he had managed to hide it ever since kindergarten and nothing would change now. As expected John grabbed Sherlock's paper in a quick snatch, making Sherlock look up with boredom, expecting this every lesson.
"It's no wonder you're failing this class." Sherlock muttered.
"I have priorities, and math shouldn't be one of them as long as I have the Freak to do my work for me." John debated, scribbling down the answers.
"One of these days I shouldn't let you copy, what then?" Sherlock pointed out.
"You'll never do that, you're too scared of me." John debated.
"I must say, a four foot hedgehog is quite terrifying." Sherlock agreed with a small smile.
"I could rip this paper in half and there would be nothing you could do about it." John threatened, holding up Sherlock's completed paper in his hand.
"Oh please no, not those four minutes of work! Please, if you did that I'd never let you copy off of me again." Sherlock muttered, unimpressed by John's threat. John frowned, but returned Sherlock's paper unharmed.
"You're lucky you're smart, or I would've pushed you in front of the subway ages ago." John decided, checking that he had all the answers done and going back to talking to his real friends. But Sherlock smiled to himself, that had almost been a full conversation, and John had called him smart. The same thing happened in history, where John sat a couple of seat away from Sherlock, but was still able to get the football player, Anderson, who sat next to Sherlock, to get his paper. Anderson was by far the most intimating person Sherlock had ever met; he was the biggest player on the team, always fouled for kicking out people's legs, once he sent a boy to the hospital because he dislocated his knee with a 'misplaced' kick. And still Sherlock held the paper away from him, John could only directly steal his answers from him, and he certainly wasn't going to aid in helping Anderson get above a thirty percent in the overall grade.
"Give it here Freak, or I swear I will bash your head into this desk." Anderson growled, one of his missing teeth letting some spit fly out of his mouth. Sherlock wiped it off of his desk with the corner of his backpack, what a disgusting boy...
"Just like the last twelve years? It's no miracle I still have more brain cells than you, and I've gotten my head 'bashed in' millions of times." Sherlock pointed out. Anderson brandished his pencil threateningly, as if he were actually going to use it against him.
"I swear, you better watch your back coming home today, I'll get you good." Anderson decided, and to emphasize that he planted a powerful punch in Sherlock's forearm, adding yet another bruise apparently. It actually did hurt, but Sherlock wouldn't give him that satisfaction, so he merely smiled and went back to reading his book. Sherlock knew Anderson simply hated not getting what he wanted, he merely had to spit talk and even the teachers would lay down their answers to him, but Sherlock was the only one in the school that wouldn't fall prey to his large size. Sure he was intimidating, but he'd get the torment anyway, so who even cared? Sherlock went back to his book, resisting the temptation to message his now slightly throbbing arm. Only a little bit more school to go, he could do this. When the final bell finally rung, like the sound of angels singing, he grabbed his things and made a beeline for his locker, walking as quickly as he could, not forgetting Anderson's threat. Sherlock wasn't really in the mood for getting beaten up in an alley, so he shot out the door of the school; backpack slung over one shoulder, and kicked it into high gear. The streets were full once more, with very official looking business people, with children playing in the streets, and even some tourists flashing their cameras everywhere.
"And if you look there, that is the Holmes family's youngest son, Sherlock!" said a tour guide excitedly, pointing to Sherlock, who crossed the street to avoid that flashing cameras. He wouldn't say he was famous of course, but people knew his name and would pay for a picture of him smiling for once.
"Well look at that, you can't even walk down the street without the tourists laughing at the Freak." said a gruff voice to the back of him. Sherlock swung around, knowing full well that there weren't many pedestrians to protect him this time. Anderson, John, Greg, and Mike were all standing behind him, with a few people that tagged along, like Mary and a girl named Sara, purely for the entertainment.
"Oh just leave me alone." Sherlock mumbled, but he was walking backwards just in case one of them attacked. Sherlock new he couldn't hold off the four of them, and God knows he's tried, but there were several bruises and some scars that told him it was impossible.
"I'm surprised the cameras didn't break to be honest." Anderson shrugged.
"Because you were in the background." Sherlock agreed, definitely not his best comeback, but anything to deflect Anderson's childlike insults. Anderson flexed one of his massive arms threateningly, just to show Sherlock how much a real punch to the face would hurt, as if he didn't already know.
"Well then, you lovely ladies have a nice day." Sherlock decided, and with that he turned on his heel and sprinted down the sidewalk. Obviously he wouldn't get away with it, these guys could run almost twice as fast as he could, and John, being one of the fastest and nimblest on the football team, was soon running at Sherlock's pocket. Unlike him, John didn't have a backpack or anything to weigh him down, but that also meant he didn't have a makeshift mace. When Anderson was gaining ground, Sherlock swung his bag off of his shoulder and hit him hard in the back of the head, sending the bully spiraling forward and temporarily out of action. Three blocks to go until he got home. John was still relatively close, but Sherlock was weaving in and out of tourists and carts to avoid them. He shoved Greg into a trash can as quick as he could, so that he couldn't bring him down as well, but still he didn't hurt John. That was a mistake though, because with a pump of his arms and a little determination, Joh n stuck his foot underneath Sherlock's legs, making him trip over the air and fall palms first into the cement. The men and women wandering around stepped around with a frown, as if commenting on the kids these days, and kept walking, like all the caring city folks did. Sherlock tried to get up but his hands were shredded, dotted with little pebbles and stinging as the wind hit the open wounds.
"And down he goes." John decided, pinning Sherlock down easily with his foot placed heavily on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock tried to struggle, even though this boy was exceptionally attractive Anderson certainly was not, and he was sure he'd be pretty mad when he caught up. Hopefully Greg had cracked his head on the side of a taxi cab, but unfortunately it didn't take long for the other three to catch up, unharmed if not a little bit wobbly.
"Oh you freak, you'll pay for this, get him John." Greg decided.
"I'm not touching that." John debated, leaving his foot on Sherlock but not looking happy about touching him any farther.
"Oh come now John, I just showed this morning, I should smell like roses." Sherlock pointed out, not able to keep a taunting smile off of his face.
"Could you be anymore gay?" Mike demanded. Sherlock knew the answer to that was yes, but he didn't dare answer anything considering his lifelong crush was pinning him to the city sidewalk.
"Anderson, get him." Greg decided after a while. They didn't even have to look around to find the nearest alley way, they knew them all by heart and Sherlock had been beaten up in at least all of them twice. Anderson bent down, picking up Sherlock by one of his arms and slinging him easily over his shoulder like a fireman. Now Sherlock kicked, hit him in the back, but it didn't seem to do anything. He felt Anderson start to walk, and knew it was a lost cause, but never the less he tried to flip over and maybe twist his neck or something, but was thrown down by Mike before he could do any damage. Of course the civilians didn't see anything abusive going on as the small parade of jock losers walked into the nearest alley way. Sherlock didn't even have to open his eyes to know where they were, the stink of garbage was enough to tell him. Anderson threw Sherlock down on the pavement, scratching up his already bleeding hands more, and making his head smash into a bag of garbage that didn't feel very solid.
"Alright freak, you're going to pay for History class." Anderson decided.
"Oh please," Sherlock crawled up to a sitting position, "I doubt you know what you had for breakfast." Anderson growled, not very differently from a dog, but didn't answer. Obviously he did forget. Mike planted a kick into Sherlock's shoulder, making him fall back with an explosion of pain. He tried to drag himself to his feet again, but they wouldn't let that happen, pushing him back down but with their feet, as if scared to touch him with their hands.
"Now now freak, where do you think you're going?" Greg asked.
"If I'm going to bloody pay, then you better hurry up, I've got to get home in time for dinner." Sherlock decided. Anderson pulled Sherlock to his feet by the front of his shirt, making him wince as the fabric stretched, and punching him hard in the side of the head, making the world seem all fuzzy and wobbly. And still he didn't let go, and Sherlock suffered many punches to the head and kicks to the lower back, making him worry about their muddy shoes. Soon he felt close to faint as yet another one of Anderson's punches hit his nose, making blood start dripping from it, all over the ground and the front of his clothes.
"That's enough; we can't have him pass out on us." Mike decided. Anderson let Sherlock drop into a heap at his feet, kicking him over one last time before the four of them walked out of the alley. But John lingered at the entrance while the others forged on laughing. It was something Sherlock had never seen in his eyes, almost worry, looking at Sherlock for merely three seconds of very tense eye contact. But then he walked away, back to rejoin his friends. Sherlock sighed; using a trash can to pull himself shakily to his feet, wiping his nose on his hand. Now he was basically a zombie, bleeding from both his hands and his nose, but he walked all the way home. The Holmes's family home wasn't what you'd expect in a city, for one it had a yard and a porch. IT stretched up four stories, wide enough to look like it was simply shipped from the suburbs, but the city had grown around it and no one dare disturb the Holmes' property. Sherlock walked up the cobblestone sidewalk, opening the door and dashing up the steps before anyone could see him.