Chapter Text
“Ok. New school, new life.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“You'll make new friends, you'll meet new teachers. They will barely know you, so you don't have to worry.”
“I don't worry about them knowing me. I worry about them believing they know me just ‘cause of my last name.”
“Zoe, don't talk with a mouth full of corn flakes.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“And don't blame yourself because of your last name. If they have an IQ level lower than zero, it's not your fault.”
“Dear, don't–”
“Oh, come on! Listen to me, Zoe. You know I'm right.”
“I do, Dad.”
Zoe mixed her corn flakes with the spoon. She wasn't sure about what her parents had told her. They weren't used to teenagers’ wickedness anymore.
“Uhm, I'll go. I have to wear the uniform.” she mumbled.
“Sure, sweetie.” Papa always had a more gentle way to behave than Dad. But Dad was also a sociopath. Everyone had better behaviour than him. That's why she was grateful that that morning Papa would accompany her at the new school. Dad had something important to do with Molly.
The journey to the school was quiet. Usually, Papa would have started speaking, telling her that she would have to control her behaviour and try not to be rude with her peers, but not today. Zoe liked her new, simple school uniform with the white shirt, the dark-red tie, the dark-red skirt and the dark-blue jacket. Ruining her little joy about it with a sermon would have been a sacrilege.
“Have a nice day, sweetie. Remember to call your sister when you leave here.” “I'll do. Don't worry.” Her father gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Oi, Zoe. Remember, you're smarter than them. Don't care about their opinion, if it's stupid. Ok?” She nodded. “Good. Bye bye.” “Bye, Papa.” As she got out of the car, the usual feeling rose in her stomach. That day would be a terrible day.
The first hours were good. No one talked to her, and she didn't talk to anyone. During lunch, she felt like the first day in the St. Dorothea Grammar School would be a nice day. But then, a bunch of girls had to ruin everything.
“Hey. Are you Zoe? Zoe Holmes-Watson?”
Zoe started to feel her stomach rising to her mouth.
“Yeah. I suppose.”
“Oh my God. You're Sherlock Holmes' daughter for real!”
“Uhm, yes. Also John Watson's–”
“You must be as smart as your dad, right? It's in your genes.”
“Actually, I'm adopt–”
“Have you ever read one of your father's cases and thought you solved it?”
“No, I–”
“Would you help me to find my pen? I think Adam stole it, but I'm not–”
“STOP!” Zoe finally screamed. The whole canteen turned to stare at her. The girls were freezed. She cleared his throat, before speaking underneath her breath.
“Can you please fuckin’ leave me alone?”
The girls left trembling.
“You kicked their stupid asses, didn't you?” a feminine voice said right behind her. Right after, a black-haired and charming good-looking girl sat next to her.
“Hi. I'm Kirsten. Nice to meet you, Zoe. Want some lemonade? I got it from the vendin’ machines a momet ago.”
“Uhm. Yeah, of course. Thank you.”
Kirsten poured some lemonade into her glass, then she poured a bit into hers.
“I wish you hadn't the worst impression of this place at all. Well, I had it too, so I won't blame you.”
Zoe liked this girl. She was doing small talk without asking about her life and her father.
“Not at all, I suppose. Just those girls...”
“Umpf, Daisy and her buch of dickheads. You saved yourself from a storm. Better for you.”
Then Kirsten looked around her like she was looking for someone. Then she stared Zoe.
“Listen, I'm not really popular around there. If you don't want to waste your only chance to get into a group, I'll leave without giving you the fault...”
Zoe stared back at her. “You really think I'm that kind of person?”
Kirsten frowned. “I–”
“You offered me a lemonade. That's the kindest thing anyone had done for me in the last four schools I've been. So no, I already got my chance and I'll use it for you.”
Kirsten smiled, and Zoe smiled back at her.
Had she just done a madness? Maybe. Did she regret it? Absolutely not.
They had Physics and Arts together. During the rest of the day, they never talked about families, genes and geniuses. During Arts, for the first time someone - except the teacher - noticed her drawings.
“You're a fuckin’ artist, goddammit. I love it!”
“Thank you, Kirsty. I appreciate that.”
“All that I can do is listening to music. How useless can any other hobby be?”
“Well, have you ever tried making music yourself?”
For the first time in a few hours, Kirsten blushed.
“Erm, yes, I did. But I don't think I'm that good.”
“If you've never had another public than yourself, how can you be that sure?”
She blushed even more.
“Mrs Roberts thinks I'm amazing.” Mrs Roberts was the Music teacher.
“See? Believe more in yourself.”
At the end of the day she had a best friend.
After she left school, she phoned her sister. Actually, Rosamund Watson wasn’t biologically her sister, but they felt sisterhood even without sharing the same genes; she was her Papa’s first marriage’s daughter, but Mary Watson died when she was barely one year old, so her parents raised her like she was daughter of both. Everyone called her Rosie. She was the baddest girl she ever knew. She was studying Law at university, and now she was doing a stage in a big firm.
“ Hello, lil sis. How are you doing? ” Rosie was in the Tube: the noise of the rails was horrible.
“Hi, Rosie. I'm fine. You?”
“ Eh, good. My boss was such a dickhead today. What about you? Did you make any new friends at the St. Dot? ”
Zoe hated when the people's first question about new schools was ‘Did you make any friends?’. She preferred the great Sherlock Holmes when doing questions. ‘Did they tell you about rigor mortis ? About explosives? No? Aw, then forget all they told you’. Then Papa would come and tell her to not listen to her Dad, because he didn't even know the solar system.
“Ew. I prefer when Dad is doing the questions.”
“ Oh, you do? Well, did they teach you about how many people Jeffrey Dahmer killed? No? Aw, such useless school these days. ” They laughed, amused. Rosie was the best at imitating their Dad.
“ So? ”
“Erm. Actually, one.”
“ Oh my fuckin’ God! What's her name? His? Their? Is this person even real? ”
“Shut up, idiot!” she said. Rosie laughed.
“Her name is Kirsten. She didn't ask about Dad. She's funny. She sings and plays the guitar. She's kind of marginalized. A bit like me.”
“ Aw, Zoe. If you like this girl, I already love her. ” The approval of her sister was what Zoe needed at that moment.
“ If she's a music fan, I hope she'll take you to a disco. You're almost seventeen and you've never been further than Piccadilly Circus. ”
“I don't like crowds.”
“ Well, Piccadilly Circus is crowded. Oh, yes sir, one moment. Sorry, I have to go. ”
“Don't you worry. Thanks for the talk.”
“ You're welcome. Call me whenever you like. ”
Zoe loved her sister. She was more than a sister: Rosie was her best friend at all. And maybe one day she would feel like that with Kirsty too.
“Hey, sweetie. How did school go?”
“Did they–”
“Sherlock, not now.”
“No Dad. No C4 lesson today.” Zoe said ironically. Her father was wearing protection glasses. Maybe he was analyzing some toes. Who knew. She pulled off the backpack on the floor of the 221B, near her Papa's armchair.
“I made a friend today.”
“Oh, Zoe! What good news!”
“Name?”
“Erm, Kirsten.”
“Did you check her?”
“No weapons on her and in her backpack.”
“Uhm. Good.”
John gazed at his husband perplexed. Then she looked at his daughter again.
“Don't worry about that now. I'm so happy for you. It's so hard for you to make friends.”
The pride in her father's voice made Zoe feel delighted.
“Yeah. She's really good.”
“If you want to study at her or our place anytime, just tell us. She'll be welcomed.”
“Thank you, Papa.” She would love that too.
“Go to study, if you have to. Want a cuppa?”
“Earl Grey, two sugar cubes.”
“Me too.” Dad murmured. Papa chuckled.
“My God. You two are the same.”
Zoe went up the stairs to her room, the one which ages ago was his Papa's, almost the most high one. When she was about fifteen, she would have liked to live in the 221C with Rosie, but her parents decided that having her in their house wouldn't be a problem, meaning that they still couldn't let their only-seventeen-little-princess go. But she liked her room, even if it was the simplest room that a teenager had ever had. She just had two posters from the British Museum, a bunch of her drawings and a little collection of photos on the same wall. The walls were still grey, the sheet was blue and the desk was simply wood-coloured. She just started doing Physics, a subject where she was the worst, when someone knocked on the door.
“Come in.” She thought it was her Papa. Surprisingly, it was her Dad.
“Hello.” he said, with two mugs in his hands.
“Uh, hey. What's up?”
“Just wanted to drink my tea without your father bothering me.” he answered. Zoe chuckled.
“Papa never bothers you.”
“He does. A lot. Since we met, I suppose.” Uhuh. He was mentioning the day they met. That meant he was going to say something philosophical. She put her pen down and turned at him, sitting in her bed.
“So?”
“Y'know, I remember when I met my first friend. His name was Victor. I called him Redbeard.”
“He was the one who Aunt Eurus...”
“Yeah. Him.”
There were a few moments of silence.
“You were close?” Zoe asked.
“Yes, I think. The truth is I don't remember a lot about us. For some years, I thought Redbeard was a dog.”
“You're telling me that Rosie is going to drown Kirsten? Wicked.” Dad started chuckling.
“No. But I hadn't had any other friend but your father after him.” he murmured. “You and I are really similar. I don't want you to be isolated just because your friendship with this girl may end at some point.”
“I would not.”
“Oh, you would. That's why I'm telling you.”
“I don't think I would forget that Kirsty is an actual person.”
“I was five, ok? I wasn't really smart at five.”
“Oh my God. Sherlock Holmes was not smart? Impossible.”
“Stop it.”
Her phone started ringing. It was Uncle Greg. Then her Dad's started too. It was Aunt Molly.
“I think we have some important calls. See you at dinner.”
“Bye.”
Then she took the call.
Greg Lestrade was her godfather. He usually called every time he thought it was a good moment to phone someone. Even at three AM.
“ Hi, pookie. How are you? ”
“Hi. Fine. You?”
“ The usual, y'know. Was the school good? I can't pick you out of the problems a fifth time .”
Ugh, problems. They ran after her like lionesses with their prey.
“Good. I made a friend.”
“ Really? Mycroft, have you heard this? ”
“ Yes, Gregory. ”
“ My name is Greg. How many times... ”
She remembered when Rosie and she discovered that Uncle Mycroft and Greg were dating. It wasn't a good discovery.
“Do you need something?” she asked. “I was doing homework.”
“ Just wanted to know if everything's ok. What's this girl's name, by the way? ”
“Kirsten.”
“ Good to know. Well, bye. ”
“Yes. Bye.”
Goddammit. She couldn't do Physics in peace. She sighed, then she took the pen and started her homework.