Sherlock100 38/100 #28 Children
Title: Everything I needed to know in life, I learned from Sherlock Holmes
Characters: Sherlock and John
Word Count (if fiction): ~800
Rating: PG
Summary: Sherlock teaches preschool.
Warnings: Talk about dead bodies...I mean, it's Sherlock.
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock or John.
My table: http://marill-chan.livejournal.com/4488.html
“I want all of you to sit in straight rows of five. Stop sniveling and sit down!”
John nudged him. “Try again.”
“Hello, little children. I won’t hurt you.”
“Once more, with a little compassion.”
“That was me being compassionate--fine. Hello, friends. Why don’t you come and sit here on the carpet and I will read you a book about a pig.”
Two dozen four and five-year-olds finally approached the tall man in the dark clothing and sat on the floor in front of him, chattering as they did so. Sherlock sat on a red painted stool with confetti glitter glued about its seat and legs. He held a book which he thought so little of he kept his gloves on to read from it. John stood just over his shoulder, not-so-secretly delighted to have a front row seat at the upcoming interaction between Sherlock and the classroom of preschoolers.
Sherlock peeled the book open, disgusted by its mottled stains and decaying edges. He cleared his throat. “There once was a piggy named Edgar.” He turned the page. “He lived in a barn… Pigs don‘t typically live in barns, though,” he mentioned, as an aside. He stared through the book in disbelief at how short the writing was and turned the page.
A brunette with braids raised her hand as if she could plunge it straight through the ceiling if she stretched far enough. “Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes!”
Sherlock looked up at her with only his eyes. “What do you want…Girl From Brook Drive?”
The girl put her hand down. “You didn’t show the pictures.”
Sherlock could barely fathom the request. “I didn’t what?”
“We want to see the pictures!” a little boy in the back chimed in.
Sherlock looked down at the book in front of him, then back at the children. “Really, the illustrations are very poor. I don’t think you’d get anything out of it.”
“Pleeeeaaase,” said a different boy.
Sherlock was going to be sick. He turned the book around and flashed the page at the group of children then went on. “Edgar the piggy had friends big and small.” A quick display of the pictures on that page. “He was friends with all the animals on his farm.” He turned to John for moral support, anguish written throughout his features. John gave him an encouraging nod. Sherlock went on. “Oh how nice it is to have a friend like Edgar!” He was going to kill himself. Stand up on the stool, get a medium-length rope… “Things are certainly better when we all get along.”
Sherlock handed the book to the nearest child in front of him. “There, now you can look at the pictures all you want.” He turned to John. “Is Lestrade not back yet? This is ridiculous! I am not a babysitter for hire!”
John smiled. “Why don’t you teach them something? I’m sure Lestrade will be finished soon and then you’ll have your chance to interview the teacher.”
“Fine,” Sherlock said spitefully. “I will teach them something.” He spun back around on the stool. “Children, listen. Be quiet now, Boy With Galactosemia.” Even if the chatty boy didn’t understand the term, he definitely understood Sherlock’s deadly glare and he quieted.
Sherlock folded his hands in his lap carefully. “Now, I wanted to talk to you all about dental care. It’s very important for you to make regular checkups with the dentist. Can anyone tell me why? …yes, Girl With Pet Terrier?”
The girl stared for a moment. Then, “Because the Tooth Fairy will bring you coins?”
Sherlock consulted John on this. “What is the Tooth Fairy?”
John shrugged in feigned ignorance. “Got me.”
Sherlock sighed. “Erm, no. Not for the Tooth Fairy or for coins. It’s because dental records are the second most important way for identifying your bodies when you’ve been murdered and you’ve been chopped up, or burned up so much that mmph!!” John’s hand clapped over Sherlock’s mouth, cutting off the disturbing images he was provoking.
“Sherlock,” John hissed. “They’re children.” He released Sherlock’s jaws.
Sherlock glared at him and then turned back to the children, who were looking a little traumatized. He smiled his most pleasant smile. Which was creepy to the children. “Would anyone like to see me make a coin seem like it’s disappeared?”
Lestrade poked his head in the door. “Sherlock, I’ll switch with you now, thanks.”
Sherlock had hopped up from the stool in milliseconds. “Never again, Lestrade. I will never be humiliated like that again,” he growled, walking away from the giggling children with confetti glitter stuck to his arse.