Fic: The Baker Street Nativity (13/23)

[swissmarg]

banner by frodosweetstuff

Title: The Baker Street Nativity (On AO3)
Author: swissmarg
Beta reader: ruth0007
Rating: NC-17
Word count: This chapter: 3,750 words
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Summary: Fusion with Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong?

See chapter 1 for more extended notes, disclaimers, and acknowledgments.

Chapter Thirteen - The Unwelcome Visitors

"All right, we're going to have a little warmup." John was standing up on the stage in the assembly hall, with the pupils arrayed on the floor below. He kept talking, something about how important it was to warm up one's mind and body both blah blah blah. Sherlock tuned it out.

Despite his warning to Sherlock to wear 'dancing shoes', John was dressed in the same style as always: loafers, a pair of loose-fitting trousers, a button-down shirt, and, today, a gray cardigan. Boring. Yet perfect. No one else would look twice at him. No one else would think there was such an interesting person underneath the bland exterior. Although Sherlock did wonder how John would look tomorrow night. He'd found out from Lestrade that it was a black tie affair. No cardigans and brown loafers this time.

Sherlock leaned against the wall, feigning boredom. Mostly. He expected it was going to get interesting any moment.

"Mr Holmes, come join us, please." John's raised voice drew Sherlock's attention.

"I don't dance."

"Afraid you won't be able to keep up?"

"Stalling?" Sherlock shot back.

John gave him a look that was half amused, half irritated. "Just copy what I do," he told the children. He leaned down and switched on the tape player he'd brought with him. A brassy, unnecessarily cheerful tune started playing, and John started moving.

He didn't really seem to have any sort of plan or routine, just waving his hands and shuffling his feet and wiggling his hips as the mood struck. It was a bit pathetic, really. Sherlock could have outdanced him on one foot. But he was having fun, and so were the children. From where he was standing, Sherlock could see the huge smiles on each one of their little faces. And they were all following and stepping more or less in time with the music, even the less coordinated amongst them.

John was acting as if this were a deadly serious business, all the while coming up with sillier and sillier things for the children to do. Sherlock found himself unable to stop himself from chuckling and nodding his head in time with the music.

John was in the middle of doing a move which it looked like he'd picked up from the pigeons on Trafalgar Square when something outside caught Sherlock's attention. The large windows looked out onto the school yard, which was empty at the moment. On the other side of the yard, however, a series of little maroon-and-gold beret-topped heads were peering over the fence edging the property. Sherlock made a beeline for the window. As he watched, a line of children in Blackwood School uniforms came around the fence onto the tarmac surface.

"What's going on?"

Sherlock hadn't even noticed that John had stopped the music and was now standing beside him.

"Spies," Sherlock muttered. "What in the world can he be thinking?"

"Who?" John looked out at the group of some twenty children, now arranging themselves in the school yard in what looked like some sort of military formation. "Hold on, is that-"

The last figure came around the fence and took its place behind the row of Blackwood students.

"Jim Moriarty?" John blurted out.

Without responding, Sherlock pushed his way back out through the children who were now crowding up to the windows to get a better look.

"Sherlock, what- Wait!" John called after him.

Sherlock didn't. He headed for the door, his mind whirling. Moriarty here: why? Obviously something to do with the Nativity. More specifically, the filming.

"What's going on? What does he want?" John asked, nearly having to jog in order to keep up.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." Sherlock flung open the glass door leading outside and strode across to the invading group.

"What do you want, Moriarty?" he shouted.

"Is that how you greet visitors, Mr Holmes? We're just here to pay a courtesy visit. Returning the favour, so to speak. You got a little preview of what we're going to do in our Nativity, I thought it only fair we had a look at yours." Moriarty looked past Sherlock at John. "You could use some work on your pelvic thrusts."

"You disgusting little worm-" John growled, taking a step forward.

Moriarty grimaced. "Dr Watson, please." He put his hands over the ears of the child closest to him and whispered, "Little pitchers."

"All right, venisti vidisti vexavisti. You've had your peep, now shove off." As Sherlock spoke, he heard the scuffing of shoes, whispers and giggles as his class gathered behind him.

Moriarty closed his eyes and shook his head, an exaggeratedly pained expression on his face. "Manners. Is it so difficult to MIND YOUR MANNERS!" he screamed, popping his eyes open as wide as they would go.

John darted forward (protective reflex, trying to put himself between the two groups) but Sherlock held out a hand to stop him, warning, "John." Moriarty was on a hair trigger. He was just looking for an excuse to blow.

"Oh, well done, Sherlock. You have trained him well." Moriarty was breathing fast and shallow, his eyes boring into Sherlock's. If Sherlock didn't know better, he'd have said he was high. But Moriarty didn't use. He was happier in the role of the facilitator. The controller.

"He hasn't trained me," John said, low and dark.

"I think you'll find he has," Moriarty said, still not taking his eyes off of Sherlock. As he spoke, he came closer and closer. "You're dancing to his tune. They all do. He's the pied piper, only he doesn't want anyone to follow him. Do you? Always running away, Sherlock. You ran away from your family... you ran away from the conservatory... You ran away from me." Moriarty was so close now that the front of his coat brushed against Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock flinched. John's hand was between them in a fraction of a second, pushing against Moriarty's shoulder.

"That's enough."

Sherlock was so startled at the weight of the threat behind the command that he blinked away from Moriarty to look at John.

"I really don't think you should have done that, doctor," Moriarty said as he swung his gaze slowly over to John.

"You've had your fun. Now back off." John still had his hand up, warding Moriarty off. Sherlock wanted to tell John to leave it. Moriarty was no real threat. But the way John had said 'he hasn't trained me' made him keep silent.

"No. No, no, no." Moriarty shook his head, but kept his eyes now locked on John like a wolf on its prey. "You see, I haven't even begun to have fun yet." He looked John over as if sizing him up and finding him lacking. Then without any warning, he lunged and snapped his teeth loudly, snarling.

Sherlock saw that he never meant to make contact; his body was pulling back practically as soon as he began to move. But John had already reacted, using Moriarty's momentum against him to deflect him to one side, then kicking his feet out from under him. He had Moriarty face-down on the ground with a knee in his kidneys and his arm pulled awkwardly up behind his back before Sherlock could draw a breath to shout a warning.

And then all hell broke loose. Seeing their leader thrown to the ground seemed to be the trigger that set off the Blackwood students. With almighty shrieks, they jumped on John, clawing and scratching and trying to dislodge him. And the Baker Street students, of course, weren't about to stand by and let their favourite teacher (Sherlock had no problem admitting it) be attacked.

Within a matter of seconds, the school yard was full of hair-pulling, shin-kicking, epithet-hurling furies, trying to come to their teachers' aid. And John and Moriarty were at the bottom of the pile. Sherlock shouted - not that his own pupils had ever been much impressed by that; he was under no illusions how little impact it would have on Moriarty's - and pulled the screeching brats back as fast as he could. But he could only hold onto two of them at a time, and as soon as he let go to grab another pair, the first two leapt into the fray again.

It didn't even occur to him to go for help until he saw Lestrade bearing down on them, followed by Stamford, Anderson, and half the rest of the staff. Perfect.

%%%%%%

"What the actual fuck was that?" Lestrade demanded a good twenty minutes later in his office.

John and Sherlock were sitting in front of Lestrade's desk with him looming over them, his hands on his hips and his suit rumpled beyond all repair. John was in even worse shape, but he didn't seem unhappy about it at all.

"Courtesy visit, apparently," Sherlock muttered.

Beside him, John gulped down a snort. Sherlock couldn't look at him for fear of losing his composure completely.

Lestrade didn't appear to be quite as amused. "No, that was- Fuck me, Sherlock, that was the last straw. You turned me school yard into a bloody turf war."

"To be fair, it was Moriarty who-" John broke in.

Lestrade pointed at him. "Shut up. Jesus." He withdrew his hand, only to run it wearily over his face. "Sorry, John. What were you thinking, though? It's a primary school, not the DMZ."

"Won't happen again." John's voice was clipped and flat.

"Too right it won't. You- the pair of you-" Lestrade waggled a finger back and forth between them. "You've dragged this school and your own arses through the mire. If it wasn't for this whole movie business, you'd be off these premises immediately without a job, and without a reference. And you are damn lucky the kids thought they were just rehearsing a scene for the play. Although it would be the first Nativity to feature a school yard rumble," he added under his breath.

Sherlock stared stonily at a fine, dark splatter on the side of Lestrade's desk (blood, approximately four days old, from a child, sneezed through a bloody mouth, likely lost tooth). It was ironic: the lie he'd concocted had led directly to the very situation he'd wanted to protect them from. John had a black mark on his record now, regardless of whether Sherlock took the blame for the filming hoax.

"Greg, this was not Sherlock's fault," John said, low and firm. "I take full responsibility. If anyone's leaving, it will be me."

"Jesus, John, no, didn't you hear me? You have to stay. We've had some big pledges come in because of the interest from Whitehall. We can't shift responsibility to another staff member at this point. Look, I know you weren't exactly enthusiastic about this project from the beginning, but there's a lot more riding on it now. Blackwood School's music director showing up and whatever that was out there" - Lestrade thrust a hand toward the door - "is a case in point. I have the board and the press breathing down my neck. This project has to come together, and no one else knows what's going on beside you. So please, please, for the love of God, do not screw this up any more." Lestrade turned away in disgust. "And now get out, go on, back to your classroom. And for fuck's sake, keep away from Moriarty," he muttered as he started to shuffle through papers on his desk. "Man's a psychopath."

"Sorry about that," John offered once they were out in the hall.

"No, not at all," Sherlock protested. "You were magnificent."

"You- What?" John whipped his head around to peer up at Sherlock.

"Assessed the situation completely wrong, but still: fantastic. I'll be running that scene on loop whenever I need a pick-me-up."

John laughed, not quite sure whether Sherlock was kidding or not. "You're mad."

"That's never been conclusively proven, although many have tried."

John snorted again. "I'll bet."

Sherlock smiled. "For future reference, the way to handle Moriarty is to let him burn himself out. He likes to talk, but he'll never actually start anything himself. He's a button-pusher. Always trying to figure out what will get the best reaction."

"Seems he found mine," John said ruefully.

Sherlock paused, one hand on the door to the classroom, considering: accusing John of being a sycophant - denigrating his sexual prowess - or rubbing Sherlock's shortcomings in his face... One of those had primed John for the attack even before Moriarty's feint. The question was: which one?

%%%%%

At the end of the school day, Sherlock took a little extra time gathering his things in the classroom, hoping - expecting, actually - that John would come back in after seeing the kids off. When five minutes turned into fifteen and he still hadn't turned up, Sherlock berated himself for acting foolish and headed for the door.

As he passed through the hall, he heard John's voice drift in through an open window. He backtracked, stopping when he saw John and Molly Hooper sitting outside at the wooden picnic table where some teachers sat and smoked during their breaks.

"I think he's doing it for the best," John was saying, "because if it does happen, it's going to be brilliant."

"But it's not. It's not happening, is it?" Molly's querulous voice replied.

Sherlock's stomach dropped. John had told her about the movie. Or lack thereof. Of course, he would have. He'd said he was involving her in the project. He was an honourable person, and therefore he'd have to tell her the truth before she got in too deep. It could be her job riding on this as well. Would be. Sherlock understood, of course he did, why John had told her. That didn't stop it from feeling like a betrayal, like John had taken something that the two of them had created together and tossed it out into the street for it to crack open and be sullied by the world. Never mind that what they had created was a web of lies. It had been between them, and now he'd let Molly Hooper in on it, and Sherlock was the one left on the outside looking in.

"It might happen," John said stoutly.

"How?"

Sherlock pushed the door open and stepped outside. "Yes, John. How?" He wouldn't have laid even odds on his hands not shaking if he were to hold them up for inspection just then.

John turned perceptibly paler. "I was just... chatting with Molly."

"Hi," she said in her typical tentative manner.

Sherlock ignored her, instead answering John. "Yes, I see that." He settled himself on the bench opposite them. "Go on. I would so like to hear how this thing might happen that is, in fact, not happening." There was no need to explain himself. They all knew what they were talking about. He folded his hands tightly on the table in front of him. He desperately wished he had a cigarette. The miasma of nicotine permeating the wooden furniture didn't help.

John stared at Sherlock, then looked down at the table. His mouth was a thin line, his jaw clenched.

"Why did you lie, Sherlock?" Molly asked, as if it were incomprehensible that he should ever do such a thing. "About Whitehall and the play?"

"I wasn't the one-" he started automatically, not even looking at her, still focused on John, but he was interrupted.

"No, you did lie." John's voice was flat, and he was still staring at the table. "I was mistaken, and you knew that but you didn't say anything." He raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's. "I'm as culpable as you now, but I'm not the one who wilfully started it. I'll protect you, you know I will, but I want you to be honest to yourself and me, at least."

Sherlock wanted to come back with a cutting remark, something about how he didn't owe John anything, how he knew more about honesty than John did with his suppressed trauma and his psychosomatic limp. His own body was lying to him, for God's sake!

"It doesn't matter." Molly's voice cut into Sherlock's thoughts, uncharacteristically no-nonsense. "What matters is what we're going to do about it now."

"Do?" Sherlock screwed up his face as if she'd just proposed he let the children take turns throwing his violin off the school roof. "There's nothing to do. Eventually we'll be caught out, and we'll all be out of a job. You too, now that you know - which you can thank John for, by the way. The only thing we can do is prolong the inevitable."

"That's bullshit. I know you're cleverer than that." Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her. He'd never heard her either contradict him, or use any word stronger than 'poo'.

"Then maybe you've got a winning idea!" Sherlock said.

John broke in, "You've got to get Mycroft to somehow... return your calls or speak to you."

"Yes." Molly nodded enthusiastically.

"I think we should make a - what do you call it. Like a screen test," John proposed. "We should film what we've done, film some of the rehearsals-"

"The best bits!" Molly agreed.

"The best bits," Sherlock repeated dryly. "Of these children."

"Yes!"

"That will encompass all of approximately four seconds. There are no best bits."

"Oh, come on, Sherlock!" John sounded honestly irritated. "Jesus, you'd think you want this to fail.

Let's just get something, whatever we can, and film it, send it to Whitehall c/o Mycroft-"

"It's got to be worth a try," Molly put in.

Sherlock stood up abruptly. "This is a waste of time," he said, slashing a hand through the air. "There is not going to be any film. There is very likely not even going to be any play."

John looked up at him with a hard glint in his eye. "You know, I don't understand why this has to be so hard. Yes, we've screwed some things up - both of us. But the kids haven't, they've been working hard, and we have some really promising, really good material. I honestly don't see any reason why we can't put on a perfectly nice play and really show what these kids can do. And what you can do, for that matter. Does this have something to do with Moriarty?" he asked suddenly.

"Who's Moriarty?" Molly whispered.

Both Sherlock and John ignored her.

"It does, doesn't it?" John pushed. "You're afraid this won't be as good as whatever he's putting on, so you're quitting now before it comes to the test."

"This has nothing to do with Moriarty!" Sherlock spat. "I am perfectly capable of 'screwing things up', as you so eloquently put it, without any help from him. Or anyone, for that matter."

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" John's shouts followed Sherlock as he stormed away toward the street.

Sherlock cursed to himself when he realised he was doing exactly what Moriarty had accused him of the day before. He was running away - quite literally - from … from what? This wasn't like the Royal College. There, he'd failed the exams and Mycroft had forced him into rehab. There had been no question of him returning. But he hadn't set out to fail there... had he?

An argument could be made, he supposed, that the running away began when he pushed the first needle full of seven-percent solution into his veins (carefully titrated to give him more control over the effects). Maybe he had been under a great deal of pressure to succeed, living as he had in the shadow of Mycroft the Magnificent. Maybe he had been afraid he wouldn't live up to his family's expectations - although to be perfectly honest, maybe they had only been his own expectations. He'd known he would never be a world-class violinst; Moriarty's taunt about Perlman was an astute dig. And so what would the point have been of completing the course of study? Viewed in that way, it could be that he'd set himself up to fail spectacularly. At least in that, he'd made sure of being the best.

What about now? What was he running away from? It wasn't the play; that was laughable. It would have no effect on his or anyone else's life if the play went on. Anyway, it looked like John and Molly would make sure it proceeded even if he wasn't involved. He didn't think John was right about it being all about competing with Moriarty, either. Even if he walked away from any further involvement in the play right now, his name was already attached to it. He'd be the target of I-told-you-sos when the reviews came out, no matter what, a fact that he was already resigned to.

As he walked, the muscle activity facilitated the dissipation of his anger. When he became aware of where he was, he slotted into a route he'd taken many times with Gladstone. The predictable order of lamp posts, rubbish bins, and newsstands helped him impose order on his own thoughts. And when he did, he was startled to recognise that he was repeating the same pattern of behaviour over and over.

He stopped in the middle of the pavement, momentarily stunned at the simplicity of the solution. It was so obvious now: the back and forth, the approaches and retreats. The closer they came to each other, the more Sherlock felt for John, the further their connection deepened - the more abrupt and vehement his withdrawals became.

He was doing the emotional equivalent of injecting poison into their relationship with his behaviour. He had already decided he was going to fail at being a friend - or anything else - to John. That was also why he was holding back from acting on his - and John's - physical impulses and inclinations. He was trying to protect himself from the inevitable loss. A self-fulfilling prophecy. Obvious.

His phone buzzed.

Text from John Watson

sorry about moriarty didnt mean it

Relief flooded through Sherlock's body. Not at the content of the text - that was irrelevant - but at the fact that John wasn't giving up on him yet. He took a deep breath and started typing in his response. He was going to have to start acting as if he wanted this to work.

Forgotten. I'll bring a camera tomorrow. -SH

%%%%%%

Chapter end note: To see some of Martin Freeman's actual badass dance moves from Nativity, check out this post: http://swissmissing.tumblr.com/post/66354218623/martin-freeman-dancing-in-nativity-posted-as-a.

The Latin quote that Sherlock says is supposed to be a play on the famous 'veni vidi vici' and means 'You came, you saw, you annoyed'.

Also: Next chapter: First kiss! Thank you all for being so patient. :)

%%%%%%

Go to chapter 14

Comments

[labellecreation.livejournal.com]

OOps, don't mess with John Watson!

Lol, soon as you said Sherlock could outdance John it reminded me of this video. xx https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jE4eWaa-gfI&

[swissmarg]

Oh. My. That's completely perfect! I am totally going to do a DVD extras when this is finished posting, and that video is going in it! With credit to you for finding it, of course. Still grinning!

[rifleman-s.livejournal.com]

”"Assessed the situation completely wrong, but still: fantastic. I'll be running that scene on loop whenever I need a pick-me-up."”

Wonderful banter between them there.

”He stopped in the middle of the pavement, momentarily stunned at the simplicity of the solution. It was so obvious now: the back and forth, the approaches and retreats. The closer they came to each other, the more Sherlock felt for John, the further their connection deepened - the more abrupt and vehement his withdrawals became.”

A whole chapter of realisation for Sherlock. Which can only be good for both of them, the children and the play!

[swissmarg]

Yes, it's certainly a turning point. Thanks for the comment!

[frodosweetstuff.livejournal.com]

*snorfle* Sherlock could have outdanced him on one foot. :DDDD

Yay for that showdown with Moriarty!!! That was such a great idea - the little shitstirrer would turn up and try to mess up things for Sherlock. I love how John stepped in and had him on the ground in seconds. :D

This part was my favourite of this chapter:
"No, not at all," Sherlock protested. "You were magnificent."
"You- What?" John whipped his head around to peer up at Sherlock.
"Assessed the situation completely wrong, but still: fantastic. I'll be running that scene on loop whenever I need a pick-me-up."
John laughed, not quite sure whether Sherlock was kidding or not. "You're mad."
"That's never been conclusively proven, although many have tried."
John snorted again.

*giggles muchly* That's just perfect and so very them - and I needed the laughs because all that about Sherlock running away and the self-fulfilling prophecy really made me quite sad. Sherlock is indeed quite good so far at sabotaging what he wants and has with John. *sniffles* But yay for John sending that text! :D

Thank you!! Another excellent chapter! :)

[swissmarg]

Thanks. That whole scene with the rival school's 'visit' was from the movie, complete with the assistant knocking the music director down and the kids getting in on it. So it fit here perfectly.