These Days

What a Bad Job

When finally the school day was over Mr. Holmes led the kids out to the lobby in their straight lines, all of them so short he could almost step on them. They were talking about the drug deal shooting again, and explaining to the kids in the other lines about why you couldn't feel a bullet in the head. The teachers were giving him sour looks as he perched on the banister and let them talk, waiting for the busses to finally cart them all away. Okay, so maybe Sherlock wouldn't get the staff of the year award, or parent favorite award, or any award at all, but still he pitied the kids in the other teacher's classes who were taught behind the large thick curtain that blocked reality from their view. Sherlock was, as far as he knew, one of the only three male teachers in the school, which he also found a little bit annoying. In most people's cases that would've been thrilling, all these women to choose from, but he thought that was appalling. All of the women got on his nerves and he was sure no one liked him anyway. Of course there were those select few that just couldn't keep their eyes off of him, the younger ones, but most of the teachers would scowl at his name and never look him in the eyes, as if ashamed to work in the same building as he did. Finally the big yellow busses pulled up, and he let the ones riding the bus run free to find their ride home. Meanwhile the kids who were being picked up stayed behind, sitting on the stairs and showing each other their pictures or toys while they waited for their no good rich parents to remember to pick them up. Or the family butler in the sleek black car. Sherlock couldn't help but notice Hamish was one of the few who stayed behind, as usual of course, but there was that small spark of hope that maybe it would be Mr. Watson who came to pick him up.
"Hey Mr. Holmes?" Hamish asked after a while of being lost in his own thoughts.
"Yes Hamish?" Sherlock sighed, not liking to be interrupted.
"Is there any more math papers I could be doing?" he asked hopefully.
"I gave your father a whole packet of them, you could ask him." Sherlock pointed out.
"He already did two with me." Hamish agreed.
"Oh good, that's good, how are you liking them?" Sherlock asked.
"They're really fun." Hamish decided.
"Good. How does your father like them?" he asked.
"Oh, he really doesn't do them, but he helps me and he says that I'm doing a really good job." Hamish said proudly. Sherlock had the sudden image of Mr. Watson and Hamish sitting at a polished marble table and working on the addition while sipping fancy bubbly soda or something. Sherlock never really cared about their family's money, but he could definitely see Hamish living in some palace or something, by the polite way he acted.
"Well you are doing a good job. And make sure to tell him that if he ever needs strategies to teach you with that I'm always here to help." Sherlock insisted. He didn't know why he added that, because what adult needed help teaching one plus one? It sounded desperate and whiney, a poor excuse to talk to Mr. Watson again.
"I will!" Hamish agreed. Sherlock nodded, and then followed some of the kids outside to sit on the bench, leaving what remained of his class on the stairs for the other teachers to take care of. At least here he'd make sure they wouldn't be kidnapped or something. Sherlock breathed in the last of the summer air, watching the damp green grass sway slightly in the wind, hearing the geese start to fly off south, see the first of the fall leaves start to turn orange, it was nice a relaxing. Sherlock hated being cooped up in that school, and whenever he had the opportunity he would sit outside and enjoy the solitude of it. And of course he was sitting outside to enjoy nature; it had nothing to do with the red van that was now rolling down the line of parents. Sherlock pretended not to watch it come, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that it was Mr. Watson at the wheel, who was watching the doors with anticipation. Hamish came waddling out, his backpack slung over his shoulder.
"Bye Mr. Holmes!" he called when he saw Sherlock sitting on the bench.
"Have a nice night Hamish." Sherlock sighed. Hamish crawled into the red van, and for a moment Mr. Watson looked around, as if looking for someone else he was leaving at the school. Sherlock was fairly sure he didn't have any children, and for a moment he was wondering what else he was looking for. Maybe he was picking Archie up since Hamish and he seemed like friends. But no, the door closed, and for a moment John's eyes found Sherlock sitting on the bench. Sherlock waved with arms that felt like lead and Mr. Watson just tilted his head in reply, but Sherlock was sure that meant something more than not looking at all. The van drove off and Sherlock sat there alone once more, something inside him feeling like it was fluttering, he was probably just hungry, it didn't mean anything. Finally, when all the kids were gone and all his grading and work was over he headed home in his own black car, definitely not living up to any Rose Grove standards, but it was working enough to get him home. He finally pulled up to the curb of his apartment, set on a cute little street on the outskirts of town and got out, towing his large bag of papers and pens out of the car and locking the door. He took out his set of keys and unlocked the door, walking inside and being greeted with a smile by Mrs. Hudson, his landlady. She was more than that though; she was pretty much his second mother. They were the best of friends, closer than some families really, and the only person in the place that would rent to a struggling young teacher.
"Hello dear!" she said happily.
"Hi." Sherlock muttered.
"Everything okay?" she asked, sounding concerned.
"I hate my job." Sherlock groaned.
"I told you being a teacher really wasn't something you'd enjoy." Mrs. Hudson pointed out.
"They need to be taught the right way, so I'll sacrifice my momentary happiness for an acceptable civilization." Sherlock decided.
"Always a positive fellow aren't you?" Mrs. Hudson sighed. The landlady was much older than Sherlock, around sixty or seventy, Sherlock never really asked, and she was wearing her flower print apron. Sherlock never really saw her doing anything but cooking, she seemed to be up all night baking cookies or working all day to perfect some sort of casserole. Not that he was complaining though, it was an awful lot of food for one lady, so usually, being the only tenant in the house, he was invited down to dinner or was treated with tea and freshly made biscuits in the morning.
"How was your day though, minus the children?" she asked.
"Miserable as well." Sherlock said.
"Oh well, you're home now and I just roasted a whole ham." She sighed.
"Might you need help eating that?" Sherlock asked hopefully.
"Well yes, I suppose I will." Mrs. Hudson decided.
"Brilliant." Sherlock said with a smile. "I'll be down in a moment."
"Take your time sweetie, the broth is still cooking." Mrs. Hudson called as Sherlock raced up the stairs to his apartment, opening up the door. Sherlock's apartment wasn't very big, enough for one person of course, and trashed to the point where you'd think he was hiding an entire orphanage under the floorboards. There were all sorts of papers lying around, microscopes and random experiments he was preforming. Sherlock loved science, it had always been his passion, and someday he would love to be a college science professor or something, but for now he was just going to settle for the elementary school rubbish he was forced into. Sherlock dropped his bag on the floor and sank into his black leather chair, staring into the empty fireplace and sighing. There was an empty plaid chair in front of him, it had always been empty and it always will be empty, but that never really bothered him. There didn't seem to be anyone fitting enough to occupy that chair, be his companion or anything more. Sherlock had never really had a relationship before, he had never really found the women in his school or work the slightest bit attractive, just annoying and whiny. They were not unlike the children really. Mrs. Hudson was constantly on the prowl of course, handing out his phone number to girls she thought were fitting enough for him, not to Sherlock's notice of course. One time there had been a girl that had actually come to the flat, he had no idea who she was of course, but in some men's eyes she would've been pretty. He had opened the door and the moment she introduced herself Sherlock had slammed the door in her face and started screaming at Mrs. Hudson to, quote, take out the trash that had come to visit. Mrs. Hudson stopped inviting them over on blind dates, but he would occasionally get phone calls from numbers he didn't recognize, so he blocked them. In a couple of minutes he went down to Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, which was filled with beautiful aromas of food she was cooking, and she had made quite a feast. There was a large ham on the table with roasted potatoes, carrots with dill, and a loaf of bread.
"Mrs. Hudson there is only two of us, what do you think you're doing?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"I thought maybe I could pack you some for lunch or something, I'm sure it'll be gone eventually." She decided, sounding a bit concerned never the less.
"I'm sure it'll be fine, not to worry, smells amazing." Sherlock decided, seeing that the table was already set so he sat in his chair, looking hungrily at the sizzling ham in front of him.
"So have you been getting more used to kids by now?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she sat down at the head of the table, starting to cut the ham in large chunks for the both of them to enjoy.
"No, of course not." Sherlock sighed.
"I hope they like you more than you like them." Mrs. Hudson said.
"They adore me for some reason; honestly I can't tell what they find so exciting." Sherlock admitted.
"Well they find your dislike amusing I think, they probably think it's a big joke." Mrs. Hudson suggested.
"I hate them." Sherlock sighed.
"You have to be making some friends though, right? Other staff?" Mrs. Hudson asked hopefully.
"What, oh, um, no not really. They don't like me all that much." Sherlock sighed.
"Well that's rubbish, you're an amazing person and you deserve more friends." Mrs. Hudson decided.
"I don't want friends, I don't want girlfriends, I just like it where I am, perfectly happy alone." Sherlock insisted.
"Well, you've got me." Mrs. Hudson pointed out.
"You don't count." Sherlock sighed.
"No, I suppose not." Mrs. Hudson sighed. They finished up as much of their dinner as they could, but there was still more than half the ham still there. Sherlock had a sneaking suspicion that there would be a ham sandwich with his name on it for lunch the next day. Of course he wasn't complaining, school lunches were rubbish and all the teachers sat together and gossiped. So usually Sherlock would pack a lunch and eat in his classroom or, if possible, outside where no one would bother him. He quite liked being alone, a strange a rare sense of solitude not always available in his job. So Sherlock went back up to his apartment, sitting in his chair and sipping some brandy and watching the logs deteriorate to the roaring flame in the fireplace, enjoying the heat while it lasted.