London. A great city, a beautiful place.

And so warped.

No one knew exactly how London had fallen into tangled webs of hierarchy. A cruel system amongst the living. Whence your social status mattered.

If you are a Noble, you could do anything you want. Anything, really. You have the highest political position, the wealth, the society. London falls into The Nobles hands, where they played the rest of Londoner like puppets. Toys, nothing worth more.

Then, there is The Commoner.

The Commoner society is also divided into two, The Middle Class and The Poor.

In Middle Class, you could still afford a roof. Some blankets and warm clothes, and even food. Yet, you have to work really hard to earn those, for life isn't easy. And you have to compete with others to afford things.

But then, the same can't be said for The Poor.

They live in the sides of the streets. Wearing thin clothes and seldom eat. Day by day, every hour, a Poor dies. Whether from pneumonia, other sicknesses, malnourished, or even..

Murdered.

Their lives are nearly worthless to the Nobles, it seems.

And then,

there is John H. Watson.

John isn't something you can say, memorable.

He is a simple guy. A Commoner. Yet with the love of study, hard-working, and bit of luck, he managed to enroll in one of London's most prestigious academy.

Linston Boys Academy.

As a scholarship student, John depended so much of his studies for his living.

If he got anything below B+, he would need to afford his dorm himself. Broke any rules, and he'll beed to pay for his education fees. Any troubles against teachers and students, and he's out.

It seems like the Academy are just looking for more reputation, by giving out 'scholarships' they'll look kinder, and much more trustable that it truly is. And then, kick out the said scholarship students with prissy reasons.

It is by great chance John managed to went through it all. A few more months and he would graduate, along with his other fellow scholarship students whom also managed to get through.

And yet, that doesn't mean John had it easy. No.

He had to balance his studies, his broken family, his drunken sister, and not to mention..

Bullies.

Being a Commoner, he didn't really expect a warm greeting in a place full of Nobles. So he's not really surprised when the verbal abuse starts, and then shoving, and then hitting.

His roommate, Greg Lestrade, urged him to fight back, yet John only smiled and shook his head.

No.

He would not risk being kicked out of the Academy.

And so he endures it. Everyday. Every given moment.

He was really grateful when these days came.

Weekends.

The Nobles went to their respective homes, probably feasting or partying, with their equally rich friends and/or attending high class society gatherings. Leaving the Academy nearly deserted. Save for few teachers.

And that's when John and his fellow scholarship students thrive.

They are allowed to leave school grounds at weekends, so John took those rare moments for evening strolls, to get fresh air and clean his mind.

With his walking cane in one hand, he walked down the streets, giving out greetings at few passerbies. Stopping at given times at market stalls to buy an apple or two.

Today however, John had chosen to explore the opposite streets. He founded a park then, which made the corner of his lips curled up.

Clusters of small flower gardens scattered about the park. They are still green, yet John knew once spring came, the flowers would bloom and turn the park into a harmonious colourful place.

Pigeons flew pass by him as children ran around the park. Seeming to play tag as the adults sat on nearby benches, reading newspapers or simply watching the children.

It was really lively.

John then sat down on a nearby bench, his cane leaning on his knees.

He sighed in content and watched the children. Screaming, running, without a care in the world. Laughing.

How he wished he could feel the sane joy.

John didn't know what to feel when the doctor told him and his mother that he would limp on his legs for the rest of his lives. It was just a fever at the beginning. A small simple fever.

The doctor diagnosed that he had overworked himself to the point of exhaustion, thus straining his muscles too much. He said John couldn't return back to his normal state, not untill he went over a therapy, one that of course, his family could not afford.

That night his father was more than furious. He drank himself into stupor and slapped his mother. His sister Harry,-short for Harriet-, was not even helping by trashtalking him, saying now that he is useless.

John blinked back tears threathening to spill from his eyes.

Deep down he felt utterly exhausted. His sister's words rang through his ears, driving him mad.

'You are a Commoner. Now that you are limp, what use of you to this place? Nothing. You are nothing John, nothing but a limp twat.'

John sighed and gripped his cane tightly. Inwardly screaming at his mind to shut up.

He hated it.

He then stood up, breathing in a large amount of air as he stretched. The sun begun setting in the horizon, leaving bright orange and purple streaks at the sky.

So much for clearing his mind.

He headed to his dorm then. His walking cane clicking against the stone pavement as he walked.

Before he could even reach the Academy grounds however, pair of hands snaked onto his coat and yanked him towards an alley.

John staggered before falling to the ground with a loud thump. Wincing as he searched around for his cane, to find none.

"Well what do we have 'ere."
John looked up and groaned.

Of course, who else would it be. The very people he'd hoped to avoid in weekends so badly.

Channing and his friends.

John's bullies.

Errrmmm... my muse came in, haha *sweatdrops*

Idk I just really REALLY love 1800s-1900s era London and wanted to write a story about it. So naturally, as I tweaked around, Sherlock came in.

And dang, now it's getting hard to make the damned muse leave.

So uh yeah, enjoy. Settle down and grab your seats 'cus Sherlock's coming up in da NEXT CHAP.

See ya potatoes.