His Majesty, The Queen

A Break From The Colonists

Sherlock trudged slowly, as his legs felt much like iron and his head was too big for his shoulders. The hallway spun if he went too fast, and the wafting smell of lunch from downstairs was enough to make his stomach turn angrily. Oh this was a meeting set for disaster, though what choice did Sherlock have? Especially now that his original friend group was compromised he would certainly need a backup companion, someone to talk to when things got rough. Who knows, maybe Professor Trevor could even become his navigator through his complicated love life? Perhaps the man knew a bit about relationships, straight ones of course, but relationships all the same. He may know how to fix the mess Sherlock had gotten himself into, that is if Sherlock told it to him with an alias name. He couldn't just go around admitting to what happened last night; certainly he had to keep all of that a secret until he was sure what was happening inside of his heart. He didn't want to admit it to himself just yet, and to say it out loud would spoil everything. It would solidify it, and even if only another ear heard it he would forever label himself as damaged, an outcast at best. No, Professor Trevor could not know every detail of Sherlock's shocking misbehavior, though he may be able to help with the facts Sherlock could offer. When at last Sherlock reached the classroom he found the door open, but the room empty. He walked inside a bit apprehensively, checking his watch once more and seeing that it was a minute to one, certainly any respectful host would have been here by now? Sherlock sighed, looking about and seeing no sign of tea or any sort of accommodations. Perhaps Professor Trevor had forgotten? Sherlock sighed, seating himself on top of one of the desks and watching as the clock changed farther and farther away from one o'clock. For a moment he began to hope that perhaps he could go back to bed, fresh enough not to be disgusted with himself yet tired enough to pass out for the rest of the day. Oh he thanked his past self for having finished his assigned homework on Saturday, for he was sure just one glance at a textbook would cause his headache to start up even worse, making all productivity nearly impossible for the day. It was five after one when the door opened, and Professor Trevor appeared looking quite apologetic. Sherlock jumped off of the desk, trying to make himself look a little more patient than he was beginning to feel.
"Sherlock, I am so sorry. I think I forgot to specify, but I had set up in my office instead." the professor admitted, looking rather winded as if he had ran all the way here after realizing the mix up. Sherlock's heart lightened, knowing at least that he hadn't been stood up for their little tea party. He smiled just as apologetically, feeling just a little bit better about their situation.
"That makes more sense; honestly it's my fault for not checking both locations." He admitted.
"You know where my office is?" Professor Trevor wondered, to which Sherlock thought for a moment, realizing at last that he didn't have a clue.
"Oh well...no I guess I don't." he admitted at last. "So that plan wouldn't have worked anyway."
"Good! Well, I mean it's good that I came and found you. Come on then, this way." Professor Trevor insisted, beckoning Sherlock to follow as he started off down the hallway into the less academic section of the building. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to say as they walked, and so as to avoid any awkward conversation he just opted to stay quiet. The Professor seemed equally silent, and so together they walked until at last they reached a slightly open door, one that had been tucked away towards the end of the hallway and looked so small from the outside it may have been a broom cupboard before it had been converted for the newest professor.
"Here we are, home sweet home." Professor Trevor announced, starting his way into the dingy little office and smiling a bit awkwardly. The entire place had been personalized, with so much distinguished taste that Sherlock was immediately impressed. The first and most welcomed decoration was a gigantic Union Jack flag, hung on the far wall of the office and looking down upon two of its escaped residents. Sherlock smiled upon it, impressed that the Professor would have enough guts to hang such a thing in an American school. The rest of the office was scattered about, with bookshelves crammed up against the wall and a small desk towards the back corner. Upon a small circular table was a pot of tea, a very nice pot decorated with blue flowers, and two cups and saucers. The table was also host to a small plate of biscuits, though their little metal plate was hanging dangerously off the edge as there was hardly any room for them. Evidently Professor Trevor had made rather a big deal about this meeting, for the office (even at such a state) seemed to be cleaned. The desk was organized, the books on the shelves were rearranged and stood up properly, even the plush carpet appeared to be swept. Sherlock was almost going to insist that the Professor didn't have to go through so much trouble just for his sake, though he hesitated, deciding perhaps Professor Trevor just liked the idea of having guests. And so he quieted, smiling towards the flag once more and using it for their first conversation starter of the day.
"I like your flag." Sherlock admitted, to which Professor Trevor smiled proudly, looking towards the Union Jack with a prideful look in his eyes. As if he loved that flag more than anything, as it represented home.
"Just a touch of the familiar, to lift my spirits when these colonists get on my nerves." He admitted with a little chuckle, sinking into his desk chair and gesturing for Sherlock to take a little wooden chair which had been set up next to the tea. Sherlock obeyed, sitting down rather stiffly and thinking just how uncomfortable this chair was. Certainly its purpose was to accommodate students that came to visit the Professor about homework questions, though the chair itself was enough of a deterrent for any real visitations. Even as he sat the room spun, and he had to blink a couple of times before he felt stable enough to force out a sentence.
"Why are you here in America, if you seem to love England so much?" Sherlock wondered, spitting out that question before he realized just how personal it really was. Well just leave it to Sherlock to make everything awkward right off the bat. The Professor's face softened, though his eyes glazed over as if he was reminiscing about better days. He sighed, shaking his head at last before shrugging his shoulders in something of defeat.
"The Government and I had a little disagreement, that is all." he admitted at last.
"The Government?" Sherlock exclaimed, now completely disregarding what might be considered a personal question. Certainly Professor Trevor couldn't have admitted to such a thing and not expected such a reaction.
"Oh nothing too bad, not to worry. No radical agenda, no rule breaking. They merely...well they tried to change me. I had enough of it, and so I fled. They don't follow up on such cases, generally." The Professor admitted with a little shrug.
"Wow." Sherlock muttered, racking his brain now for things the English government would try to interfere on, things which were inexcusable and therefore meddled with. He couldn't think of a single one, except perhaps diseases. Though Professor Trevor seemed to be in good enough health, and so it couldn't be things like the plague or tuberculosis. Perhaps mind control, then? Or genetic testing?
"And you are here, you mentioned, to flee the war?" the Professor wondered, getting up now and pouring out two cups of tea before it grew cold. Sherlock smiled as he received his cup, though he still wasn't sure if he wanted to try his luck with any fluids. He didn't know if his stomach could handle anything right now, being in such a destroyed state as it was. Nevertheless he took a polite sip, enjoying the aroma of the familiar tea.
"It was my father's choice, really. My mother died when I was young and I was rather sheltered all my life. As soon as war broke out he couldn't risk me being in London during the bombings, and he certainly didn't want me in Europe when I turned eighteen. This was the only move he thought to make." Sherlock admitted quietly, shaking his head in his own self-loathing and setting his tea down on the table once more. The single sip he had taken seemed to settle well, though he simply didn't feel like holding the cup and the saucer for much longer. He was disgusted with himself, admittedly.
"It's nice to know that he cares so much about you. It should be a compliment." Professor Trevor offered, though he sounded as though he was just being sympathetic, as all adults attempted to be.
"Oh I don't want to get all emotional about it, but it's hard. Sometimes I think he doesn't trust me to fend for myself, as if he still sees me as a child." Sherlock grumbled.
"Take what you can get; surely that's the best policy. It won't be long until the whole world is at war, with massive casualties on all sides. Be thankful that you won't lose your life to something as petty as masculine disputes." Trevor insisted, shivering in distaste as he sipped at his tea daintily.
"Masculine disputes? What an odd way to phrase it." Sherlock commented, to which Professor Trevor merely shrugged, as if he was prepared to defend his statement.
"What else might you describe it as? Men are too rash to be left in power these days; they make terrible decisions and solve problems only with violence. Hitler, well he's a prime example of a man with hideous beliefs and outrageous resources with which to follow through with them. All wars start with man's pettiness, and are ended by what people call heroics." The Professor insisted, his eyebrows furrowed in distaste. Sherlock nodded, having to agree to such a statement after it had been spelled out rather well.
"You seem to have a strong dislike of men." He decided at last. Trevor simply chuckled, shaking his head as if that statement alone was very amusing to him.
"Oh no, quite the contrary. Man as a whole is not so bad; it's those select few who use their privileges to their own advantage that get on my nerves." He assured with a little smile, sipping at his tea innocently before setting it down onto his desk and reaching for a biscuit. He offered Sherlock one as well, though the boy had to shake his head. He didn't want to offer an explanation as to his lack of appetite, and thankfully the Professor did not ask.
"Did you fight in the first world war?" Sherlock wondered, to which the Professor began to chuckle a little bit doubtfully.
"Did I fight? How old do you think I am, Sherlock?" the man laughed, to which Sherlock held up his hands in defense. Oh hopefully he hadn't insulted the man, for he seemed to be young but Sherlock really couldn't remember the exact dates of the First World War. Surely it ended around the time the Professor had been old enough to fight?
"I'm not sure! I really don't know!" he defended at last, though the Professor seemed merely amused rather than offended by his little comment.
"In your defense I suppose I do look rather mature, but no. No I was not nearly old enough to fight, merely ten when the war ended." Professor Trevor admitted. "My father had fought, however. And lost his life in the process."
"Oh...oh I'm sorry." Sherlock muttered, finding himself at a loss for anything to say. That was a terribly tragic memory to have to resurface, even worse after Sherlock had been whining about his own security. Surely the Professor had spent his days wishing that his father had been offered the same sort of safety Sherlock had been taking for granted.
"I never got along with my father, I admit it. Though I had wished to end it with him on better terms. All the same, living with my mother was just fine. We got along splendidly, and my sister and I became virtually inseparable. We made it through, that was all that mattered." The man assured, his eyes glassing over once again as he stared through and instead saw memories of his past. A slight smile made its way onto his lips, though he wiped it off almost as soon as it dared take hold.
"I'm happy to hear that." Sherlock said with a little smile. "I just live with my father and my brother, and they're both fighting right now. I hate to think of what could happen..."
"Don't consider the worst case scenario. It's never good for one's appetite." The professor insisted.
"Oh I haven't got one of those anyway." Sherlock admitted, though instinctively he reached for his tea cup and took another long sip. This one, while it tasted wonderfully, made his stomach churn a bit too much for his liking, and at the fear of throwing up onto this poor man's decorative rug he set his cup down once again.
"I imagine your little...festivities, were exciting?" the man presumed.
"I shouldn't speak of it." Sherlock insisted, holding up his hands in defense. "Greg told me you'd kick us all out of school."
"Certainly not, Sherlock. I'm merely...well I'm merely inquiring as to how you are fitting in." The professor insisted, nodding his head with a knowing little smile. Surely he had no intentions of using the information against them; he was merely making polite conversation.
"Oh, well if you must know, the night had some ups and downs. I rather made a fool out of myself." He admitted quietly, to which Trevor chuckled.
"Certainly not?" he laughed.
"Oh yes. Yes it was...well let's just say I will not be going back to that house. Never again." Sherlock muttered, shaking his head with something of a stoic, traumatized expression. All the while the Professor smiled, well how could he have known to what caliber of idiot Sherlock had managed? No, he would never understand and frankly Sherlock didn't want to admit to anything just yet. He knew that he was sitting across from the one man who could potentially help him, though at the moment he was not yet bold enough to admit to anything.
"Nothing too illegal, I hope?" he presumed.
"Only the most common of underage felonies." Sherlock admitted with a shrug.
"We've all been there. Anyone who punishes drinking is a hypocrite, that's for sure." The man assured. "Though, being the mature adult I am, I do advise against such behavior."
"I've learned my lesson, don't you worry." Sherlock assured, holding his hands up defensively all the while the Professor nodded his head thankfully.
"Good to hear it. Sometimes you need a good rattling to realize what's worth it anymore." Professor Trevor admitted, though for a moment he looked rather forlorn, as if his very own words had just managed to tear a hole within himself.
"No, no that's the last of it for me." Sherlock admitted quietly, and that was a legitimate declaration. He was afraid of alcohol these days, not only because of the way it made him feel afterwards but the way if made him feel during. That sort of carelessness could get him into trouble, even more trouble than he had already caused! Now that his heart declared itself conflicted, well who knows how much damage he could cause with that liquid courage flowing through his veins? He could accidentally make a reputation for himself; he could accidentally go too far. One occasion might be laughable, yet if he approached John once more with such intentions, well surely he would face much greater consequences. For one he would lose the only friends he had ever made, and secondly he could be kicked out of the school entirely. Certainly Moran would not appreciate a homosexual walking his halls!
"When do you turn eighteen, Sherlock?" Professor Trevor wondered.
"The end of November." Sherlock admitted. "Not long, when you think about it."
"Will you stay here, or will you enlist?" the man wondered, sipping at his tea as innocently as he could manage. Sherlock looked at him rather curiously, not realizing of course that he had such power at that age.
"I wasn't sure you could? I thought it was just the draft that you had to fear." he admitted quietly.
"Do you really think our entire military of made up of those who don't want to be there?" Trevor laughed. "You can do whatever you want once you turn eighteen. You're an adult after that."
"Well I'd...I'd have to think about it really. Perhaps if it's still peaceful here I'd wait until the school year was over, and then go and serve my country." He admitted at last, nodding his head in reception to his own great plan. Well certainly he couldn't abandon his education for the sake of the military, no matter how badly he wanted to fight! And to think of his father's reaction, if ever he discovered that Sherlock had left and join the army without his consent. He would be killed not by a German bullet, but by a British one! It all didn't sound intelligent, no matter how anxious he was to join.
"That's a smart decision." Professor Trevor agreed. "Remember that war is short term, and education is forever."
"You say that as if you face the same dilemma. Are you willing to fight, go back and enlist?" Sherlock wondered, bouncing the same question off of his host so as to gauge his opinion in the matter. The man hesitated for a little while, as if considering how much he wanted to admit to such an audience. At last he shook his head sadly, poking at his cup in the saucer but not actually drinking from it.
"I am ineligible, unfortunately." He admitted at last.
"Oh, oh well I suppose you're right. Well then for the American army, once they join in?" Sherlock suggested eagerly, to which the man continued to shake his head.
"My issue is not...well it is not country depending. My medical records follow me wherever I go." The man admitted sadly.
"So you're sick?" Sherlock whispered, his heart falling a bit heavier into his chest. Though he couldn't see anything physically wrong with the man, well he seemed to be in perfect health! It was a curious thing, really. Perhaps it was something that Sherlock could not see, a disease that lay beneath the skin and could strike at any time?
"Not necessarily." The man muttered, though he didn't seem to be much in the mood for discussing it. He sipped his tea to avoid elaborating, and at last set his drained cup down in its saucer and smiled. Sherlock managed a smile back, though from the professor's sense of finality he sensed that their time together was nearing the end. It had been just under an hour of meaningful conversation, though Sherlock could only imagine how busy the Professor was at a moment like this. Certainly he had papers to grade, lessons to plan, and tests to make. Sherlock's presence was becoming more and more of a nuisance the longer he sat there, surely.
"Well um, I suppose I should get going. Sorry I didn't drink much tea, but my stomach is still a little bit unresponsive." Sherlock admitted nervously, getting to his feet and setting his cup rather guiltily back onto the little table he had found it.
"Not to worry Sherlock, it's better to learn the hard way than to never learn at all." the Professor assured, setting his empty cup back onto his desk and going over to the door, as if with the intention of walking Sherlock out.
"Thank you for having me, Professor. It was a lovely time, good to talk to someone who's not terribly immature." Sherlock admitted a bit guiltily, all the while the man merely chuckled.
"I can't imagine who you have in mind as an alternative." He joked, though of course Sherlock's choice of friends was a rather obvious choice. Those boys were pitifully foolish, and while they were good in small doses sometimes they proved downright infuriating after a long while. Professor Trevor was a realist, which was a very nice change. He offered a version of reality some refused to see, as they learned more towards positive and negative lenses.
"I'll see you...well I suppose Tuesday? These class schedules are very confusing." He admitted at last, though with something of an unsure frown.
"You get used to it. It's rather nice to not have to see the same boring faces every day of the week." Professor Trevor admitted.
"And you're speaking from experience, I'm sure." Sherlock muttered.
"As a student, certainly." The man agreed. "Thank you for your visit, Sherlock. We should do it again sometime, when we have something else to discuss other than this dreadful war."
"Perhaps in a couple of years then?" Sherlock agreed a bit pessimistically.
"Oh I hope in just a week. It can't end soon enough." Professor Trevor insisted with a shiver, shaking his head with his own repulsion.
"Certainly, you're right. Well then, best of luck throughout your day." Sherlock muttered, and with that he gave a rather awkward nod of farewell before disappearing down the hallway, before he could say anything else unintelligent. He heard the door close behind him, and with that he sped down towards his room, his head swarming now with so many questions about that man's life and history. So many questions he would be at a loss to answer, if only he didn't have a direct correspondent who might know all the inner workings of the British military and their selectivity. Yes, this called for a letter to Mycroft.