My Class Is Weird (Sherlock, DW, Merlin and lots of other things: fanfic)

Following the musical script - part 1

As it turned out, Mr O’Donoghue was an amazing teacher and when Clara watched him walk into the lesson she practically melted.

“Oh my god, isn’t he just gorgeous?” She whispered to me in a high pitched, girly voice.

Mr O’Donoghue was fairly tall and dressed stylishly. His hair was dark and cut short and his eyes twinkled with enthusiasm and passion for his subject. He also had an Irish accent, which Clara described as heart melting.

“Right class,” Mr O’Donoghue said, clapping his hands as he addressed the whole room, “I think we’ll do some practical work today.”

Half the class celebrated, the other half of the class looked like they were about to commit suicide.

Mr O’Donoghue’s face fell, “Aw, come on guys.” He encouraged, “I’ll let you pick your own songs to play.”

This seemed to make some people happier.

“Do we have to preform?” Amy called out.

Mr O’Donoghue frowned then sighed, “Not if you don’t want too.” Then he sparked up again.

“I have an idea!” He announced, “Pick a song and, as long as you look like you are working, I don’t mind what you do. But as soon as someone messes around, I’ll have you each stood at the front of the class singing Summer Nights from Grease . . . in pairs!” He threatened. I think it was safe to say that no one wanted to do that.

“So it’s a relaxed, chill out lesson then,” Mr O’Donoghue smiled, something that made Clara melt all over again just when I thought she’d gotten a grip.

Everyone charged into groups and to the keyboards and began searching for songs on the internet that could be easily translated from notation to the right keys to press.

I wondered over to where Mr O’Donoghue was sat at the teachers keyboard, one earphone on and one off so he could hear the class as well as what he was playing. He looked to be composing a song as he kept stopping and scribbling a few notes down before resuming playing again.

“Sir?” I asked, feeling bad about interrupting. He looked at me then smiled and I wondered if Clara would have passed out had she been me at this moment.

“Hello!” He said cheerfully, “You must be the new girl, Rosie? Yes, Rosie. What’s wrong?”

I pursed my lips, “Uh, well nothing’s wrong, sir. I just thought I ought to introduce myself.” I admitted.

Mr O’Donoghue considered this then smiled, “How polite of you. Well Rosie Walker, I’m Danny O’Donoghue, but for professional reasons you need to call me Mr O’Donoghue.”

I smiled at him, “Yeah, I gathered.”

“So,” He began, removing the headphones completely, “Do you play an instrument?”