A thorn by any other name would hurt just as deep, or whatever the saying is.
~~~
Greg Lestrade would say Sherlock Holmes was always the smartest in the room. Whether at 221B or Scotland Yard, no ordinary person ever came close to compete with his...
You watch as he scoots closer, elbows on the table as you stammer over some words, putting down your cup. "Yes, how did you know?"
"I went to Brighton," his eyes gleamed, and while his memories there were never so lovely, the idea of possibly having bumped into you was comforting. "Which means you were in the year below,"
"I was, but I think I'd remember a boy called Sherlock," your muscles relax.
"You'd also probably remember a boy being strung up on the flag pole during lunch one year," he says bashfully. "William," he then adds, "William Sherlock Scott Holmes,"
The memory hit you like the very last waves against a beach shore. It took you back further than you'd care to go, but it almost felt nice to think about the days you hadn't a care in the world. "William? Scott? Sherlock Holmes, how dare you keep such key information from me??" you clap your hands together. "Oh, I think I know which boys did that to you,"
"Yes, and while I don't believe in karma... they did get what was coming to them a few weeks later," he remembered the relief he felt after the news. It was the start to the last of his torment.
"Will-" a group of boys go up to a young Sherlock, the cafeteria going silent once they enter. Bruises plastered their sorry faces as one of them held a tissue to their nose, blood coating it a little. "Sherlock, I mean," the lead boy corrects himself. "I just want to say sorry about... everything, the flag pole thing, the sink incident, the-"
"I think he gets it," one of his friends nudged, making him look back and nod.
"Anyways, we all want to say sorry, and we won't ever bother you again. Ever." they all nod in agreement before quickly hurrying away.
At that moment, you couldn't believe it. Was it all coincidental? You place both hands to your face, stifling a laugh, "oh, sorry, sorry," you hide your laugh a little better, "it's just... oh god, Sherlock, I was the one that did that,"
He leans back, absolutely gobsmacked at the words leaving your mouth. "You?"
"Me," you laugh at last, a few looking your way. "I heard what happened, and they had been bothering this other boy when it happened. I was just so sick of their stupid, nonsensical bullying," while you shouldn't feel so proud, you had to be a little glad that you took the action you did.
"Come on, Jamesy," the lead boy kicked Moriarty to the ground, his group following suit. Left and right, their kicks came at lightning speed without hesitation. The occasional punch was given while two other boys emptied Jim's bag into a bucket of dirty water.
The winter air made some papers fly away, ending up against the shed they had taken Jim behind. His hair was tussled, eyes bruised, and lips bleeding; he could hardly speak, let alone shout for help. Until you arrived, of course. He looks at you for a second, saying a quiet help while the lead boy throws his bag down against him, textbooks still inside.
"Hey!" You shout, crossing your arms with a scowl. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Run along, little girl. We're dealing with this little shit," one of the boys snickers.
"First, don't call me little girl," you place your bag and lunch down. "Second, I asked you a question, so you better fucking answer it,"
They all stop, looking up in disbelief and amusement. One boy scoffs, walking over, "Or what?" he mocks.
"Or this," you kick upwards, right between his legs. His knees buckle, a cry of pain leaving him as his friends abandon a bloody and bruised Jim, instead attending to their friend and, soon, you.
"You're going to regret that," the lead boy raised his fist, which you quickly deflected, grabbing it with a twist and pulling until he fell to the ground. His arm was grabbed by his other, "get her!" he yells to his friends.
All of the scramble to grab you, none succeeding as a kick to here and there, had sent them to the ground or backing up. One boy received a nasty punch to the nose, blood trickling down his skin until it laced his lips, while another ran for an escape, which you quickly stopped by throwing a bit of wood in his path, causing him to trip and scrape his knee against the gravel ground.
"They never learn," you roll your eyes, watching all of them writhe on the ground in pain. "You all deserve much worse for the shit you've been pulling all these years, so let me clarify." Walking to the lead boy, you place your foot against his chest, "you will apologise to every single person you've ever bullied, or I'll make sure you never walk these halls without a bruise on that stupid face of yours," pushing down and stepping over him, you walk to Jim who was collecting his things.
"Please, I didn't-" he moves away, only for you to help him with his other papers. "Thanks..."
"No worries," you smile, helping him up despite his slight limp. "Call this mercy, boys," you look back, "boo!" they all scramble like ants, grabbing their things and running for their lives. Grinning ear to ear, you sit Jim down on an empty crate and bring your bag over. "Here,"
Jim watches as you hand him your lunch. "What's this?"
"Lunch, they seemed to have... ruined yours," you glance to the squished sandwich currently being eaten by birds. "Here, let me check," in your bag, out of pure habit, you had a first-aid kit handy. "Never know what could happen," you explain, cleaning the visible wounds on his face and arms. "I'm Y/n, by the way,"
"Jim, Jim Moriarty," he replies, finally smiling for the first time in a while.
Your memories fade off as you look at Sherlock's contemplating look, the silence taken over being nothing but silence. There was no awkwardness, no need to make small talk. It was just quiet. It was just nice.
"Thank you, Y/n. You have no idea how much that meant to me," Sherlock says at last, taking one of your hands gently. "Truly."
"Don't worry. Plus, it was kind of funny to see them run away from me for the rest of the time they were there," you squeeze his hand softly.
~~~
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