Classroom 223-a Sherlock fanfiction

Chapter 3 (Rosie's POV)

Being the granddaughter of the head of the British Government does give you some privileges. I attend one of the top private schools in Britain, 'Westcharter Academy', it has an extremely high reputation and is a brilliant school, however, that does not stop the students from being posh snobs. Well, what can you expect from a school like this? None of the students really like me, they think I'm weird, which is strange seeing as I have quite a top notch family and probably have the highest IQ of the school. My Dad, ex-army doctor, my other Dad AKA Sherlock, the worlds only consulting detective and my uncle, the cake obsessed leader of the British Government. My mother Mary Watson, however, I know nothing about. I only know that an unfortunate event lead to her death while I was still an infant. Dad has never had the courage to speak of her and Sherlock wants nothing to do with it, so that sucks.

I have chemistry last and then this new maths tutor Dad has signed me up to which I am really excited about if I say so myself. The bell screeches, letting us know that it's the end of lesson 4. I pack up my stationary and jumble it all into my bag, open the door and join the ecstasy of students filing out from lessons. Sprinting down the hallway and trying to avoid as many students as I can, I reach my personal storage unit. It has all my necessary chemistry equipment inside. The hall is now dead silent as everybody has gone to class and I'm isolated, crap I'm late. A bunch of footsteps can be heard from behind me, on edge, I turn around and see the last person I want to see. Carly. Great. "Hey look, it's little miss Watson." She snarls, glaring at me venomously as she and her group prowl around me. My heart hammers so fast in my chest I feel as if it's going to shoot straight out of me. I can't deal with her right now. "Carly, just leave me alone please. You're not worth my time or brain space." I let the words escape from my mouth in a nervous heap, not daring to look into her malevolent eyes. "Oh what's that? Aw look girls, she's shaking. I think maybe we should put a little sense into her." Her gang nod in agreement and before I can react, Carly forcefully slams me into the locker, sending my books and equipment smashing onto the ground. Her grip stays firm on my collar as she snarls, "Don't mess with me you pathetic little bitch." With one strong push, she shoves me hard onto the ground and I feel the shards of glass from my broken lab equipment pierce my back. I fight back an internal scream of pain. A sharp pain hits the side of my rib cage as one of Carly's gang members kick my side. Another kick, and another. A overwhelming pain on my cheek as I'm striked by Carly. My body yells in excruciating pain from all different sides and I feel the tears cascade down my cheeks. I am utterly defenceless until I hear a deafening roar from the other end of the corridor. I think it's a teacher. "WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOUR'E DOING! GET OUT NOW! STOP IT!" It's the sound of a man, somebody I don't recognise. I see the look of horror on Carly's face as she and her gang scuttle away in absolute terror. The figure approaches me but I can't make out who it is from my blurred vision caused by the tons of tears that have escaped. "Hello? I'm Mr Woodbridge. I am specialised in first aid. Don't worry you're safe. Hang on, can you move?" Mr Woodbridge says soothingly as he places a hand on by back and heaves me off the ground.

I am sat on the first aid bench, holding an ice cold pack to my bruised cheek, feeling the cold water drip down my face. Every inch of my body is swelled up and in a pain which is so alarmingly overwhelming. I need Dad. I need Sherlock. Mr Woodbridge is sat opposite me filling out a medical form about my injuries. He has tried calling up both my parents but they're too busy, so right now I guess I'm in the care of him until I go home. Now that my eyes have cleared from my salty tears, I can now make a proper observation on Mr Woodbridge. He has sparkling sapphire eyes, strawberry blonde stuck up hair and a sharp face with a pair of black glasses. However, all I can deduce so far, from what Sherlock has taught me, is that he is from London which I can tell by his accent. Also he is around his late 30s at a guess. "Oh, um hang on. Ah, yes. You're Rosie Watson, my new maths tutor student who starts today. I mean of course, I understand if you can't." He tells me with sympathy. Oh, my maths tutor, I think it'll help take my mind of the events today. "No. I'll be able to but I'm going to have to stay in here." I say, a slight croak in my voice. Mr Woodbridge looks concerned and thinks about it for a moment. "Are you sure?"
"Certain."