The Tables Are Turned (Sherlock x OC)

Chapter 3

"Bored!" Sherlock shouted, flopping onto his bed.

I flopped down onto the bed beside him.

"You just need a case," I said. "Just wait until you graduate, you'll be the first ever 'Consulting Detective!'"

"'Consulting Detective?'" Sherlock questioned.

"Yeah, the police come to you when a case is out of their depth--"

"--Which is always--"

"And you solve it for them."

"Hmm..." Sherlock thought. "Not bad. I like it."

"Of course you would," a voice came scornfully from the doorway.

We both sat up quickly, and to my disgust, I saw Mycroft standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Checking on you two of course. What does it look like I'm doing?" Mycroft said haughtily.

"It looks like Mummy made you come over before you take the rest of your precious suits to your penthouse," Sherlock said.

"Humph. Obviously I told her I couldn't stay long, what with the Queen's..."

He trailed off as he saw we were both paying attention.

"Well," he said, smirking, "you don't need to know about that now do you?"

Sherlock and I glared at him.

"Well you've stopped in, congrats, leave now, we're dreadfully busy," Sherlock said, and I grabbed my violin, playing extremely loud and screechy.

Needless to say, Mycroft left quickly.

We both flopped down on Sherlock's bed again.

"Don't listen to him, Sherlock. I hacked the school database and you scored a higher IQ than him, that's why he's all bitter," I said, but I stopped when I saw Sherlock had retreated into what I liked to call his "mind palace." Sherlock didn't exactly appreciate the nickname.

I retreated into my own "mind palace," and after a few hours, I fell asleep. Through my sleep, I faintly detected someone carrying me to my own room.

=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~

The next morning I woke up to find Sherlock shaking me awake. Exhausted, I rolled over to find the clock at 5 in the morning.

"Why'd you wake me up so early?" I moaned in protest.

"I woke up and you weren't next to me," he said.

"So?" I said, still a bit sleepy from having just woken up. "You carried me to bed last night."

He gave me a questioning and worried look. "No I didn't."

I furrowed my brow. "I'm assuming your parents didn't?"

"No," he said. "They didn't really like being woken up so early either."

"I wonder why..." I muttered.

"Mycroft obviously wouldn't've, as he's halfway across London, in his penthouse."

I saw where he was going with this. "So someone snuck into your room and carried me to my room. How'd they know what room I was in? How'd they know what room was mine?"

"That's what I thought," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "From now on you're sleeping in my room."

"What?" I protested. "Where will you sleep?"

"You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the floor," Sherlock said.

"Sher, you have hardwood floors," I said. "You're not sleeping on the floor."

"We can share the bed then," Sherlock said. "It's a King, so there's enough room for the both of us. I mean, only if you're fine with it," he said quickly, then looked away awkwardly.

"Of course," I said, blushing.

Sherlock left and I got dressed quickly, scarfed down some toast, and we went down to the bus stop together.

When we got to school, Sherlock never left my side. Suddenly he grabbed my wrist, entwining his fingers with mine. I looked up at him and was surprised to find his face encased in a dark and stoney anger.

"They're looking at you wrong," he said.

I looked around, and found all the boys staring lustfully at my, um, upper body area. Perverts.

"They always look at me like this," I said reassuringly.

His hand tightened around mine. "It's wrong," he spat through gritted teeth. "They're practically raping you with their eyes."

"You've just never noticed it before," I said. "It's always been like this."

"How do you stand it?" He said irritatedly.

"Ummm..." I trailed off, uncertain.

"It still bothers you," he said. His annoyance turned into pure anger in the blink of an eye.

"A little, yeah," I admitted. "Please, just don't do anything about it, there's nothing you can do."

He nodded sharply yet reluctantly, but still didn't let go of my hand. He pulled me into homeroom, where the real Miss Cline was waiting. I quickly deduced her, and found her 54 years of age, has no children, but owns two Siamese cats which are two years old, prefers to teach while sitting down due to some hip pain she attained, and had not yet fully recovered from her cold, but found our substitute inadequate and wanted to teach us herself.

We both sat down at the front of the classroom as the rest of the class began filing in. Miss Cline wrote her name on the whiteboard, then turned around to greet the class.

Her eyes narrowed on Sherlock and I, and I immediately knew she didn't like us.

"You two," she snapped in a nasally voice. "I don't allow couples to sit next to each other in class. Move."

"No!" We both protested.

"We're not--"

"She's not--"

"We're not together!" I exclaimed.

"I don't allow different sex friendships in my class either. Now you: change seats with Ella!" She said, pointing at me.

I stood up and grabbed my bag, walking to the back of the classroom, where -- lucky me! -- Ella's seat was next to Richard Brooks.

I sat down there and he immediately smirked at me. If looks could kill...

I suffered through Richard's endless flirting and advances, which I ignored readily. Finally homeroom ended, and I leaped out of my seat, meeting Sherlock in the hallway, and throwing a dirty look at Richard on my way out.

"Thank goodness class is over," I sighed, bobbing up and down at Sherlock's shoulder as we weaved through the crowd to get to our next class. "I don't think I could have stood that Richard Brooks any longer!"

He scowled. "I don't like him," he stated stubbornly. "He rubs me the wrong way. He's constantly bedding girls, yet he seems to have his eye set firmly on you."

"It's a good thing you'll always be there to protect me, then," I said cheerfully, resting my head on his shoulder.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, and when we finally got home I was exhausted.

"You should go to bed," Sherlock recommended.

"Nah," I teased. "If I'm asleep, who's there to make sure you go to bed?"

He grinned sheepishly.

"I guess you're right," he admitted. "Come on, we can solve a case to relax."

I sat next to him on his bed, and leaned on him to inspect the case file he opened up. It was about a murder; a man had been stabbed 32 times in the chest, and the family thought the llama did it.

Thankfully, Sherlock had removed the photos for later inspection by himself. We hadn't even finished reading the case file when I fell asleep.