Natalie

Mark

Without Sherlock life had been...well, it was hell. Along with the whole 'My Father just died and the entire world now thinks he's a fraud' aspect, I had to go to school. With-out Sherlock there to stop him, John finally enrolled me in a near-by public school (He was my God-Father). And I thought living on the streets were bad. There they may kill you, but at least they'd have a reason.

In High School, I prayed for it all back. I suffered worse in this area from Sherlock dying, I was alone. I was always clever as a kid, but it was always a good thing. It saved my ife on many occasions. But in those four walls, I wasn't clever, I was different. I was a mis-fit in a sea of alike. I was the one they picked on. All the time. They kept calling me names. Freak, weirdo, crazy, liar, idiot, ugly, Anything. I was different from them because I was clever. But I was, as John called Dad, Spectacularly Ignorant. I deleted useless information, such as the planets orbits, or certain famous painters and authors, I couldn't name a single modern actor.

I had no friends, at lunch I would sneak out and meet up with Molly, who'd always see me back to the useless and tedious classes. Usually, I would just crawl into my mind palace and explore the streets of London. Sometimes Father would be there with me. The whole thing was miserable, but mostly bearable. Except that Friday. Two days before my Fifteenth birthday.

We were sitting in History, (a horrid subject, I knew all the important parts) and the professor assigned us a current event project. We had to do a report on something that happened within the last two years. I, clawing at every opportunity to clear his name, choose Father's fake suicide. But unfortunately I wasn't the only one.

We walked in that Friday with our reports and I went second. "Well, my report is on the Murder of Sherlock Holmes." Already a hand was thrown into the air by Audrie, who just loved to bash me at any chance. "He was a genius and could solve some of the most complicated mysteries in minutes." She began to wave her hand, nudging her little posy to join her. "The last foe he faced however, was almost as clever as he was." Seven hands were swaying enthusiastically in the air, but still I ignored them. "A monster by the name of Jim Moriarty threatened the lives of everyone close to Sherlock by assuming a fake identity, 'Rich Brooks' meaning Reichenbach, and telling the Hero that the only way to save they few friends he had was to jump from the rooftop of Saint Bart's. Thus completely destroying his reputation with a forced suicide." I blurted out, and the whole class had their hands in the air by this point. As I opened my mouth to continue, I was so rudely interrupted.

"Actually, Natalie," She began in her high pitched voice, talking to me as if I were a toddler. "Sherlock was a fake and jumped off the hospital because he was stupid and Richard Brooks was a great hero who figured out what he was doing, murdering all those people-"

"He wasn't a murderer, you were just ignorant enough to fall for Moriarty's lies!" I spat, beginning to get angry.

"And Moriarty was just a trick Sherlock made up. He was a character-"

"Jim Moriarty was real!" I yelled, my face getting red.

"No, Natalie, he wasn't." Carla (Audrie's right hand lacky) said, looking at me sympathetically, as if I had just lost my mind.

The class all began talking at once. "He was a fraud, not a hero.", "Nasty murderer." "A Psychopath, just like her." "Did the world a favor by dying." "She's gone mad, he was just a fake!" Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. With tears on the edges of my eyes, I planted my feet firmly on the floor, gripping the picture of Sherlock in that ridiculous Deerstalker. "I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES!" I bellowed, silencing the class. My breath heavy and my face red, I exited the classroom.

I walked down the hallway when the class erupted into their meaningless conversation again. I heard the same usual things drifting down the empty hall. Unsure if it was coming from the room or my own head. I continued walking when the teacher who had sat idly by as twenty idiots insulted my father called my name. I continued walking when the principal did so. I went up to my locker and retrieved my things and began back past the class to exit the building when I heard a voice that made me stop walking. John. Dammit.

I paused in walking but he didn't stop me completely. I marched forward, right for the door when a hand was placed on my shoulder. I knew not to fight with this hand, because while it's owner may hesitate, the hand would snap my shoulder and drag me to the office before I could realize I was no longer on my feet. "John." I told him over my shoulder, the one with his hand. "I refuse to stay here. I learn nothing and I am made fun of constantly. I won't just stand here and take it."

"Look, Natalie, I know it sucks, trust me, I hated High School too. But, you're going to need some education." he tried to reason with me, knowing better than to move the hand.

"John, I could preform an autopsy at eight years old. I solved cases since seven. I made my way on the streets for four years, after being cast out as a toddler." I turned slowly to face him, a few inches taller, but still. "There's nothing they teach me here that's going to help me in life. Just waste my time."

"Give it one more month. Just that. Then, if you still hate it, you can laze around the flat, solving cases before lunch." He gave me a pleading smile. He was trying his best, but John wasn't equipped to parent the child of a genius. I took after my father, and John had a field day trying to parent him. Finally, I agreed. One more month I could handle. Especially since now, I had a marvelous plan for my last day.

I made my way back to class and sat down in my usual seat in the back corner. I sat down and was listening to a quiet girl named Sarah give her report when a note landed on my desk. I looked to the boy beside me. (Mark, a dark haired boy of 6'2", crisp green eyes that shine brilliantly in the sunlight, which just so happened to be hitting them, a gorgeous smile, he was an only child and extremely clever, also very good looking, and rather strong. Also the only one who's hand wasn't in the air earlier.) I unfolded the note carefully.

"I believe you. Jim Moriarty was real. Do you want to hang out some time?

-Mark. "

Underneath his name he wrote his number. I memorized it as I wrote my response.

"221b, Baker Street. 6:00 tonight?

-Nat."

I passed it over, my number underneath my name as well. He sent it back as Sarah sat down.

"Pizza and a movie?"

"It's a date."

And to that, He smiled. And so did I.