Sherlock was bored.
So very bored.
His professor was rambling on about something to do with stars, which Sherlock had no interest in whatsoever.
He was gazing out the nearby window, looking at one particular tree that caught his attention.
A cherry blossom.
A beautiful, grey cherry blossom.
Oh, how he wished he could see it's true colour.
He began to picture himself sitting under that very tree, watching the clouds float by and gently morphing into something completely different.
He stored this image in his mind palace, inside the room labelled To use when bored.
"Holmes!" his professor called from the front of class, anger bubbling inside up inside him.
"What?" Sherlock spat across the room, annoyed that he had been so rudely interrupted by his child-hating professor.
"I said" he said while gliding across the wooden floor, "turn to page 394" his face filled with anger and rage.
"Of course, sir. I would be more than happy to" Sherlock said, his words dripping in sarcasm.
His professor inched even closer to him, that his greasy black locks were almost touching Sherlock's porcelain skin.
"Watch it, Holmes" he warned, his eye twitching with irritation and annoyance, before slowly walking back to behind his desk.
Idiot.
Sherlock could run him if he wanted to. He already deduced that he had had an unhappy childhood, divorced parents, bullied at school, and had suffered loss.
He could make him crumble in the middle of that class if he wanted to.
His mind started giving him highly amusing ways of blackmailing him with the word 'lily', but that cherry blossom had caught his eye.
He began to daydream of lying down in the light grey grass, the dew dampening his jet black curls, and the white clouds littering the grey sky.
And that's how he stayed until the eardrum-piercing screech of the bell woke him from his trance.