These Days

Help That Doesn't Help

Now he really felt alone, alone with an army of children accusing him of something that he had absolutely done. Sherlock quickly slipped out of the supply closet, knowing that if someone saw him away from his class he would have no good excuse except for the truth. So he went back into the classroom, which was as quiet as he had hoped he had left it, and gazed into the sea of suspicious children.
"Don't give me that look." Sherlock snapped, and the kids just looked very confused about what look they were giving him. There actually wasn't anything wrong, they just looked very confused, as if he were going to tell them the whole story or see if he would bring the subject up once again. Hamish was silent for once, looking at Archie out of the corner of his eye to see how he was reacting.
"Now, back to spelling." Sherlock decided.       

        "Are you bleeding?" Molly asked as they were standing to wait for the busses. Sherlock looked down at his hand, and sighed. So he had broken the marker.
"White board marker burst." Sherlock muttered.
"Oh, well that's unfortunate. I hope you're not attached to that shirt." Molly joked. Sherlock sighed. He was sitting on the railing of the stairs, but he couldn't relax or even be bored. His foot was tapping, his heart was pumping and every couple of seconds he'd look over at Hamish and Archie to make sure they weren't looking back. How could this have happened, how could they be so stupid as to let a wondering child catch them in the act? Any child would have been better than Hamish though, because he had the potential power to go blabbing to his mother, and that would bring all the two of them had built crashing down. Sherlock wondered what would happen if their little affair was caught, would he lose his job, would John get a divorce, would one of them be locked away, or even both? Sherlock couldn't go to prison, there were too many people, too bad of food, and back talking simply wasn't tolerated. He'd die there. Sherlock didn't even know if having an affair was illegal or not, but he wasn't going to risk it anyway. This whole thing could never reach the light, it simply couldn't. Guilt seemed to be eating him up inside though, if Mary did find out, Sherlock would be the one responsible for all of it. Even if John had initiated the first kiss, he was the one that was letting it happen, without him there would be no affair. But he couldn't end the whole thing, could he? The two of them felt like this was definitely the right move to make, so why did he feel so horribly about it?
"Sherlock are you okay?" Molly asked again, seeing how tense Sherlock was.
"I'm fine, just, a little bit caught up." Sherlock lied.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Molly asked.
"No, there's nothing...it's personal." Sherlock decided. Molly just smiled, as if she knew exactly what Sherlock was going through. That was probably the biggest misconception she's had, other than of course thinking Sherlock would ask her for help in the first place.
"Well, if you have relationship troubles I'm always here to help, I've had my fair share of bad dates and I know a bit about the feminine side of things." Molly offered.
"No, you can't help." Sherlock snapped. Well, she probably could a little bit, considering she dated men as well, but Sherlock definitely didn't trust her enough for her to be a relationship counselor.
"I suspected not." Molly sighed. Sherlock tensed even more when he saw the red van pull up, driven by a very white faced John. The doors were open and the two of them made very long distance eye contact. John looked a lot more fearful than Sherlock felt, probably because if Mary figured out he was the one that had to deal with her first.
"Bye Mr. Holmes!" Hamish called.
"Bye Hamish." Sherlock mumbled, happy Hamish didn't announce to the whole lobby about the wedding that was never happening. Once the place cleared of children, Sherlock quickly packed his bag and rushed home, as if suspecting someone would come knocking down his door, demanding to know the truth. He hung up his bag and coat and was halfway up the stairs before Mrs. Hudson's voice stopped him.
"Oh Sherlock, good. I just made a very large casserole and was hoping you could help me with it." she called up.
"I'll be down at four thirty!" Sherlock decided, knowing that wasn't too far away anyway.
"Okay dear, thank you." Mrs. Hudson decided. Sherlock continued up the steps to his flat, dropping himself into his chair and pouring a rather large glass of whiskey. He hated to feel so helpless, there was honestly only one thing he could do to ensure their long term security, but he didn't want to. For the first time in his life he felt love, something his heart had never felt before. He felt love himself and he felt loved back, so why did it seem like the world was turning against both of them? Only Sherlock Holmes' luck to have a first relationship end him up in jail. What would John say? Surely if Sherlock tried to break up with him John would protest, charm and sweet talk him into changing his mind. Blindfold Sherlock with love and promises to make sure he couldn't see the outside world of hate and suspicion. But John wasn't doing this to be mean, or to try to set Sherlock up in anyway, he was also in the hole as much as Sherlock was, together. But John would never want to end something so pure, something so right. But it was also so painfully wrong. At four thirty Sherlock descended down the stairs and took a seat at Mrs. Hudson's table, which was carrying a very large pan of steaming casserole, green beans, and homemade rolls.
"Why do you make so much food?" Sherlock asked. Mrs. Hudson simply smiled; taking off the oven mitts she was wearing and sitting down across from him.
"Are you complaining dear?" She asked.
"No, course not." Sherlock assured, but he couldn't smile back. It felt like a million pounds were weighing down his every move, that everyone's eyes were fixed on him, watching every move he made.
"You look a bit worried, is everything okay?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"If anyone else asks if I'm okay today I'm going to slap them." Sherlock decided.
"That's a bit harsh dear, but honestly I don't think you'll see anyone else today, so I'm left to be your therapist." She pointed out.
"I'm fine, fine, never better." Sherlock lied.
"You don't look fine." Mrs. Hudson defended.
"That's my normal face. If I look miserable and suicidal."
"Don't go saying that Sherlock, if I find one piece of evidence that you'll go down that road..." Mrs. Hudson warned.
"Yes, I know, you'll kill me yourself." Sherlock finished.
"Too right you are." Mrs. Hudson agreed with a guilty smile. They ate their food in silence, Sherlock still having a mental clash in his head. He wasn't all that hungry, and even though he ate a polite amount of food he could tell that Mrs. Hudson was slightly worried about him. Sherlock skipped desert, now getting a splitting headache. Whether it be lack of sleep, guilt, or the amount of alcohol he had already drank he couldn't be sure, but he knew that he had to do something to contain these negative feelings. But what, he couldn't tell. So Sherlock changed into his pajamas already, the comfortable fabric much more ideal than the dress clothes he hid behind when he was in school. He had to tell someone, he needed guidance right now. Sherlock was so utterly torn between telling someone about this problem and keeping it all cooped in, but honestly he couldn't hold it in anymore. He had to do something about this whole Hamish ordeal, but he didn't know what. He needed a professional opinion, someone who has been in the world of love and emotions long before he was even born. He hated to admit it, but he needed to talk to Mrs. Hudson.