AU: After John begins to slip into depression whilst studying in his first year at university he finds himself (unwillingly) assigned to a Personal Academic Tutor and, truly, the guy is a total arsehole. What could John possibly gain from William Sherlock Scott Holmes? Rated M for language and the possibility of sex in later chapters!
Sadly, I own absolutely nothing. Well, maybe the storyline. But that's it. Using 'William' at the moment for Sherlock but this will no doubt change as our two boys get closer. Anyhoo, R&R and I'll love you forevermore!
Chapter One
"I'm concerned about you, John," the red-headed woman on the opposing side of the desk to him sighed, ruffling through the papers she held in her stubby, ringed fingers, "and I'm not the only one. All of your class tutors -"
"I know."
She took her glasses off, closing her eyes and pinching the top of her nose before opening her eyes and gazing at the twenty-three year old wearily. "Do you? Because the John Watson I know doesn't get below fifty percent on an essay. The John Watson I personally interviewed for a place on this course doesn't get below fifty and seem completely unperturbed." Slowly she put the papers down, taking in his form carefully. "If something is going on, John, you need to tell us. We can't help you if -"
"I know," he cut across again, his mottled blue-brown eyes flicking up to meet her steady gaze before dropping back to stare at the desk in front of them. "I'm sorry."
Joanne Harvey sighed once more, leaning back in her chair, fingers idly playing with her wire-rimmed glasses. "I'm not sure what you're apologising for. Could you maybe expand on that?"
"Is this a therapy session?" His tone was curt, a cutting and sarcastic enquiry; instantly he regretted it, seeing her eyebrows raise high behind her fringe and the tightening of her jaw. He raised his hands out in surrender, or perhaps more likely in defence. "I'm sorry. For that. And for the bad marks. I know... I know it's not what you expect from me."
With the experienced stare of a woman who had been teaching young, intelligent minds for the last twenty years, Joanne's mind started to tick as she looked him over. His hair, usually at least combed, was longer, sticking up all over the place. His clothes – a rumpled pale blue shirt and faded jeans – looked as if they had been slept in, perhaps even unwashed for a few days. His eyes were half-ringed by dark circles, skin pale, and if she were a betting sort of woman she would have bet her pearl earrings that he hadn't been eating properly. It seemed she had been missing something for the last few weeks.
"John."
He did not look up at her, but he tilted his chin up slightly to indicate that he was listening.
"John, would you like to talk to someone?"
A brief, humourless smile fled across his lips and disappeared as quickly as it had come. "I'm talking to you now."
"No," she said gently, leaning forward and steepling her fingers in front of her, resting her chin lightly on top of her fingertips. "I mean talk to someone who... might be able to help you."
Finally he looked up, staring at her incredulously. "Are you telling me to speak to a... I don't know, a therapist? A counsellor?"
"No," she repeated herself, keeping the same frustratingly even tone, "no, I'm not telling you to do anything. It's completely your decision. I've just found in the past that when students, highly intelligent young students such as yourself, are struggling with the workload sometimes talking to someone can really make a difference."
John's expression was flat, his tone even more so. "I'm not struggling with the workload. The workload is bearable."
The way he phrased it spoke volumes to her well-versed ear. "Then what isn't bearable, John? What are you struggling with if it's not the workload?"
John's lips separated for a moment, seemingly considering his answer – alas, another humourless smile twitched at the corners of his mouth; he shook his head slowly, placing his palms flat on the desk as he pushed himself up. "No, y'know... I don't think I want to have this conversation."
Joanne stayed seated, wanting to allow him to have the upper hand here. "With me, or with anyone?"
"With anyone," he pushed out through his tight smile, forcing his eyes to stay on hers. "I mean you no disrespect, Joanne, as I know you're just doing your job and you have my best interests at heart –I do know that. But I can't. I just... I can't. I'm sorry." He laughed slightly, a dull ring falling from his throat. "Apparently I'm sorry about a lot of things today."
Now she stood, putting her glasses back on and looking down at him with a mixture of sympathy and steeliness, an odd combination that made John's stomach tense. "I understand that you don't want to explain things to me, John, but I simply cannot fathom the idea that you care so little about your degree that you're unwilling to give me something to work with. I'm your personal tutor and so yes, you're right that it's my job to make sure you don't fail, but more importantly it's in my interest that you find a way around this academic block you seem to be facing! Believe it or not I do care about your future, and unless you give me something that I can take back to your seminar leaders I just don't know if I'm going to be able to help you get a concession for your most recent work."
Taking in a few measured breaths, John took a careful step backwards. "I'm sorry."
"John -"
"I'll work harder. I'll get it done. I'll bring my marks up."
Joanne walked around the desk, slow and calm as she spread her fingers out wide in front of her as if in some sort of attempt to keep him from bolting from the office as he so clearly wanted to do. "That's good. I'm glad you want to do that. But I think we're both overlooking something here, and I really think that if you -"
"Look, I'm sorry to do this, but I've actually got a study session to get to," he interrupted, glancing behind him at the door as if he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. "With some of my flatmates, you know."
She was not fooled. "At least consider -"
"I'm terribly late," he mumbled, taking two steps back, hand stretched out behind him towards the door – in this motion she caught a flash of his upbringing, his inability to be impolite and turn his back on a person ranked above him regardless of how cornered or stressed he was clearly feeling. "I really must go, I am sorry."
"But..." She sighed, allowing him to win this one. "All right. You can go. But please John, just remember that we're here to help you, not judge you. If you need extra support, you need only say."
So desperate to escape this situation as he was, Johns head began to nod, words falling out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"Yeah, extra support, sounds like a good idea – look, I really have to go but thanks Joanne, thanks again, and sorry, sorry..."
He slid out of the door without turning his back for a single moment, closing the door quietly after him and speeding off so quickly that his shoes squeaked audibly on the flooring all the way down the hallway. Joanne stayed standing for a few moments, listening until the squeaking had dissipated, her mind instantly cranking into gear and turning over the possibilities. What she wanted to do in response to her growing concern was to contact the university counselling service and put through a recommendation that he be contacted – after all, he had agreed (albeit hastily and probably with no intention of actually seeking support) to the idea of help – but she was well aware that if she did this she would no doubt push him away; young John Watson was clearly someone who did not want to face up to whatever he was going through, and she would not be responsible for making it worse.
Academic support on the other hand was her forte, and it was well within her rights as his personal tutor to arrange something. If she could find someone to help him with his studies, to support him in his workload, perhaps he would find the clarity to deal with whatever else was going on in his life – at least, that was what she would tell herself. She couldn't just do nothing. He was one of the brightest students she had come across in years.
A small smile formed on her lips. Well. Apart from him. Speaking of which...
Walking back around to the other side of her desk, Joanne sat down heavily on her desk chair and pulled her laptop towards her. With diligent fingers and John's downcast face in her mind, she opened up Microsoft Outlook and began typing a new email.
X
He did not need a counsellor to tell him what was wrong.
The days were darker. There had been no trigger, no real warning signs; one day he had been fine, studying in the library as usual, calling up Mike from his student flat on campus to make arrangements for their bi-weekly piss-up, looking at girls with a distant, shy interest... and then he had woken up the next day. Nothing much had changed – he still got out of bed, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, but there was something slightly off about it, something he couldn't put his finger on. He'd got his things together for his seminar, notebooks and pens, but as he'd gone to pull his bedroom door open he'd found himself hesitating for no apparent reason; his mind still felt fuzzy, furred at the edges, and at first he simply considered the idea that perhaps he hadn't slept well enough or that he was coming down with something. Turning his head, he looked to his rumpled bed and felt the first strange dullness start to seep through his veins – he didn't want to go to class today. Perhaps he should have a bit of a nap instead, especially if his head wasn't all there.
So he had dumped notebook and bag down by the side of his desk and shucked off his trainers, shuffling over to the bed and crawling back into it. He didn't sleep – instead he found himself staring up at the ceiling with his mind beginning to spin a mile a minute, none of his thoughts really taking hold so that he could at least think about something... but his mind felt full regardless. He tried to think about the course material that they would be covering today, the material that he would miss – something to do with genes – but it was all a bit difficult to focus on, so John gave up on that. Instead he let his mind attempt to latch on to his and Mike's big night out tomorrow, thinking of how he would finally get to speak to that girl he'd seen constantly around campus, Mary something... and yet that didn't hold either. The thought just whirled itself away with the others, blurring into a dull sort of grey mess as it span in the recesses of his mind and leaving him simply staring at nothing, thinking of nothing.
He was probably just tired.
So he slept. He slept through the missed lecture and seminar, slept through two missed calls from Mike, woke up once and saw the darkening sky and decided that he may as well sleep some more. When he had finally awoken properly at 3am, he laid in bed for a further hour, staring at the ceiling and wondering what form of illness this odd feeling would take – perhaps the flu. It would explain why his body was still tired despite excessive sleep and explain his lack of concentration. But he'd try to go to his seminar tomorrow, of that he was certain. He couldn't miss two days in a row.
Yet here he was now, two months later and more than a few handfuls of missed seminars and lectures littering the ground beneath his dragging feet. His marks were dipping considerably, his attendance more so – he had not spoken to Mike in two weeks, dodging his calls, unable to force himself to even attempt to be sociable. He had gritted his teeth through phone calls from his parents, forcing himself to lie about how university was going, about how his essays were being written far in advance and that his personal tutor couldn't be more pleased with him; his mother had lapped it up eagerly, so proud of her son. She had sent him letters from his grandparents, gently pushing with loving words to encourage him to write back – and usually he would. Usually it would take little to no effort to write out a little letter to any member of his family with updates from his life at university. They were all impressed, especially considering how his sister Harry was spending her life at the moment. When he really thought about it – and thinking wasn't really in his repertoire these days – the way that he was currently spending his time would probably still be considered better than drowning in alcohol and women, which pretty much summed up Harry's life.
Instead, John was drowning in nothing.
Major depressive disorder – that was what it was called. Though he wasn't what you'd call knowledgeable about mental health issues, he knew enough to be certain that what had been taking over his life since term started was depression. It was... embarrassing. A weakness. He knew that it ran in his family, knew it was something that would have probably visited him in an unwelcome appearance at some point during his life but the fact that it was now, during his first year of university... then again, at least it was this first year, his pre-medical year. After having left school with three A Levels and none of them in a science (and having taken a year out to travel, the ultimate gap year stereotype), he was now required to take an initial year covering all three sciences and, should he fail, he'd also fail to continue to the actual five-year medical course. If he let this... this thing take over his life as he had so far, he would never become a doctor. He'd never be what he wanted to be, dreamed of being.
His depressive habits hadn't changed much since those first few days of it settling into his system. He still slept too much. He hadn't really been eating right, mostly because he was loathe to leave his room for too long lest he see someone who would try to talk to him and end up wondering why they had sought him out when he was clearly no more interesting than a slipper. His thoughts primarily consisted of either not much of anything at all, a messy mulch, or the constant thought of what a failure he was turning out to be. Maybe if there had been some sort of situation that had set it off, maybe if a relative had died or he'd been rejected by a woman or even if his self-esteem had taken a plummet he could have blamed it on that and dealt with the issue at the base of it, but the cold, hard fact remained that there was nothing that had set the depression off. It had just... appeared. It had taken the foundations from beneath the usually grounded and sensible young man and turned him into a walking, barely-talking shadow of his former self.
He stared at this version of himself now, eyes flat and emotionless as he stared into the mirror that hung, slightly crooked, over his sink. His eyes had seemingly lost their colour, any strong hints of brown or blue all melding together in some sort of dull grey; his light brown hair, though now washed after forcing himself to have a shower (which he had rather desperately needed) was messed up and sticking up on one side after having dozed off with it still damp; his clothes were crinkled, his iron sitting unused to one side of his desk for the last four weeks. He'd managed to go about his life almost as normal for the first month, still doing his work, missing some seminars and lectures but essentially eating somewhat normally (though at ridiculous times of the morning depending on when he woke up) and still making the effort to at least look like a human being – when this had changed, he hadn't really noticed. It had just become part of his new routine. Not bothering... yes, that was his new routine. He had no idea how to change that. He wouldn't see a counsellor – damn Joanne for even suggesting it, damn her – and he wouldn't talk to anyone, wouldn't lean on anyone, he could deal with this alone...
~Bing~
The noise was muffled, the jumper he had thrown over his laptop three days ago almost completely hiding the sound but yes, there it was, the sound of yet another e-mail cluttering his already crammed university email inbox... John felt himself exhale, his body turning slowly to go over to the old machine. He hadn't checked his emails for days, knowing there would be more messages from his tutors who were trying so hard to be understanding whilst at the same time clearly losing patience with him and his lack of attendance; he hadn't even told them his suspicions of what was going on with his head, he didn't dare. The minute he admitted it to them they'd force him to do something about it and he wasn't ready for that. Not at all.
Pushing the sweatshirt unceremoniously off of the laptop and onto the floor, he sat on the edge of his desk chair and moved his mouse erratically, reawakening the screen and slowly lighting up until he could see the page in front of him.
Hello, John Watson. You have 17 new emails.
Huh. Seventeen. He'd probably slept through most of them. Sighing, he moved his mouse over the ones which said things such as 'LONDON UNIVERSITY OF SCIENCES STUDENT UNION MEMBERS, HALF PRICE DRINKS TONIGHT' and 'Attendance Concerns' and instantly deleted them, knowing that whatever was in them was of no bother to him – after his conversation with Joanne yesterday he was almost certain that she would have spoken to his seminar leaders already, though what she could have possibly said was a mystery to him. Like everything these days, he didn't particularly care what was said.
He started scrolling through the rest, eyes barely scanning the contents, deleting each one as he went – finally he went to delete one final email, the most recent, when suddenly his eyes caught the subject heading and he felt his stomach tense, though in frustration, anger or embarrassment he was completely unsure.
John swallowed hard, forcing himself to read:
To: Watson, J
From: Holmes, W
Date: April 17th 2013 – 9:52pm
Subject: Academic Tutor (Joanne Harvey recommendation)
John,
Having been given your name by Joanne Harvey at the London University of Sciences it is now my duty to inform you that I have been assigned to you as a Personal Academic Tutor (though for the sake of time I will now refer to myself as your 'PAT' when necessary). I have been instructed to assure you of my willingness to help you within the realms of academia and am to make myself available to you at any time should you need assistance with your general course content and subsequent essay submissions.
Please note that though the phrase 'any time' was in fact used by Jo Harvey, I would prefer that you only contact me between the hours of 6am to 6pm on weekdays, though in special circumstances I would also allow contact during the same hours on a weekend. Please also be aware that, as your PAT, I am merely an accessory to your learning and will not consider 'special circumstances' to be anything other than academic emergencies.
Please e-mail me presently to arrange an initial meeting to further discuss your requirements.
Sincerely,
William Holmes
John's jaw tightened, left hand curling into a ball as he let the words blur to nothing; so Joanne had gone and arranged help for him, had she? Hadn't he expressly said that he didn't want help? I mean, sure, he'd quickly spouted something in his panic about having extra support but he'd thought she had meant with her or with his seminar leaders, not with some middle-aged twat he didn't even know! This William Holmes, this obviously stuck-up, jumped-up PAT or whatever, he was nothing to John, even more of a nothing than everything else in his life – it was none of his business how John was doing in his course! The frustration was overwhelming, an odd sort of relief after the last two months of emptiness – John almost felt as if he could wrap his arms around it, a real and solid emotion for the first time in what felt like an endless space of time.
But then he remembered why he was frustrated.
Hesitating for a few moments, trying to force himself to remember how to communicate without simply repeating 'I know' and 'I'm sorry' over and over, he hit the reply button with perhaps a little more force than necessary and slowly started typing out a response to the unwelcome stranger.
William,
Please don't consider me rude, however I didn't ask Joanne Harvey to set me up with a personal academic tutor and I don't particularly think I need one. I recommend you find someone who actually needs help, as I'm sure there are many students who would benefit from your 'services' more than me.
Thanks.
John.
Not bothering to close the laptop, John quickly left the room to nip to the toilet, determined not to potentially bump into anyone who would try and initiate a conversation with him. He waited a few moments after washing his hands, listening out to ensure that nobody was lingering in the hallway before pulling open the door and hurrying back into his dark room, locking the door behind him and glancing at the screen of his laptop before readying himself to collapse onto his bed.
Hello, John Watson. You have 1 new email.
Eyes narrowing, he forced himself to sit opposite the computer once more and squinted at the too-bright screen, gaze zeroing in on the sender and feeling his brow crease. Holmes, W. It was ten o'clock on a Friday night, what the hell was this guy doing on his university email account? At least John had an excuse, he had no life at the moment to speak of, but this guy probably had a wife, kids, some sort of life outside of being a tutor!
John opened the email, perched on the edge of his seat.
To: Watson, J
From: Holmes, W
Date: April 17th 2013 – 10:06pm
Subject: RE: Academic Tutor (Joanne Harvey recommendation)
John,
It was my understanding that you are currently struggling with your studies. My recommendation is that you do indeed take the opportunity of using my services, should you wish to complete your pre-medical year and go on to medical training.
Please contact me to discuss your needs.
Sincerely,
William Holmes
John gritted his teeth. Who was this guy, making assumptions about someone he knew nothing about?
William,
I don't want your help. I don't need anything from you. I will be telling Joanne exactly the same thing.
John.
Barely three minutes later he had received another response.
To: Watson, J jhw19 .uk
From: Holmes, W wssh58 .uk
Date: April 17th 2013 – 10:11pm
Subject: RE: Academic Tutor (Joanne Harvey recommendation)
John,
I can only deduce from your email that you are defensive about your current shortfalls in your academic performance. Please be assured that your shortfalls are merely a response to your underwhelming brain capabilities and that you are one of nearly all in the same situation at our university. It is nothing to be ashamed of.
Please contact me to discuss how much support you require.
Sincerely,
William Holmes
"Prick," John surmised, hardly believing what he was reading. "What an utter prick."
William,
Let me spell it out for you in simple terms: fuck off. I do not require ANYTHING from you. I can only imagine that your giant, over-fed brain is too crammed full of how much you adore yourself to comprehend that to even get into this university I had to complete not only an hour-long interview but also three exams, all of which I passed with merit. Take your planet-sized ego, shove it up your arse and leave me alone.
John.
Five minutes on:
To: Watson, J
From: Holmes, W
Date: April 17th 2013 – 10:22pm
Subject: RE: Academic Tutor (Joanne Harvey recommendation)
John,
I see that I have somehow offended you. That was not my intention. Though I of course have a far superior brain to your own, I am in no way insinuating that you are unintelligent and hope that you accept my apology both for offending you and for ignoring your request that I 'fuck off'. Joanne was most complimentary about you in her recommendation and I am assured that you are more than up to the task of improving your academic standings. Please be assured that I am your best chance of doing so.
Should you wish for me to, as you put it, 'fuck off', please simply refrain from answering this e-mail, however if you wish to perhaps discuss properly the kind of support I can offer you then I ask that you forward on a time in the near future that you are available.
Once again, my sincerest apologies.
Sincerely,
William Holmes
"Well, we both know I'm not going to reply," John muttered, leaning back in his chair and staring at the screen, fingers drumming idly on the desk. "Superior brain – Jesus Christ. I'll give you a superior brain..."
He continued to mutter like this for a few minutes, fingers starting to drum faster and faster on the desk as he considered what an utter arsehole this William Holmes was. He re-read the email, laughing without humour and shaking his head several times before he finally stood up and turned away from the laptop. Falling backwards onto the bed, John stared up at the ceiling and felt the last remaining dregs of frustration begin to ebb from his system, an almost physical sensation of it leaving his body tingling through his fingertips until he was once again left with the nothingness.
It had been so nice to feel something.
Within two minutes he was already back at the laptop.
William,
5:30pm tomorrow suits me. Just tell me when and where.
John.