Prologue:

John walked out of his flat at around 6:35 am. It was a cool morning in London, and John had to get to his new job. He sighed and wrapped his arms around his jumper in an effort to conserve body heat. He slightly regretted his new career. Kindergarten. He was a kindergarten teacher, which was, in his opinion, one of the worst careers in the world, right up there with elephant dung shovellers and politicians. He hailed a cab and climbed in.
"Baker Street Kindergarten." he told the cabby.
The cabby turned to look at him, his eyes filled with pity. "I'll drop you off a block away from there. I ain't goin' any nearer than I have too." he said.
John nodded, worry creeping up in the back of his mind.
'Dear God - What have I gotten myself into?' he thought to himself.

The building could have been a school... oh wait... it was. It was shabby and crusty and dusty and had an ill feeling of foreboding emanating around it. Suddenly, a woman ran out, screaming about 'crayons' apparently. John pushed the worry back from his mind and walked in.

It was a nice little institute, the floors were polished and buffed so that you could see your reflection in there. A woman with her dark auburn hair in a tight bun looked up at him. "My name is Evensley Ainley, may I help you?" she asked, eyeing him over a pair of spectacles.
"I'm... Um... I'm the new teacher for classroom 221B... I was wondering where it is." John said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.
The front desk woman flashed him a look of pity. "Down the hall, third door on your left." she said.
John nodded. "Thank you." he said.
"Good luck. You'll need it."

At about 9:43 am, the children started arriving. First was a young boy, about six, in a pinstriped suit with an umbrella on his arm. Following behind him was a younger lad with messy black curls and a permanent scowl on his face.
"My name's Mycroft. Umbrella Cake Mycroft Holmes." Mycroft said, formally taking John's hand and shaking it with his own. "This is my little brother, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. More often known as Sherlock."
Sherlock stuck his tongue out at John.
"Sherlock, show some manners." Mycroft said firmly to his younger brother.
Sherlock grumbled an obscene word (that no kindergartner should know), and walked over to John and kicked him in the right leg.
"$#!^!!!!" John exclaimed, hopping on his left leg. "That bloody hurt!"
Suddenly, Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Blood? Did you say blood?!" he asked eagerly. "C'mon then John! The Game is on! We'll find who was the source of the Bloody hurt!"
"You will call me Mr. Watson." John said pointedly.

Suddenly, Three other kids walked in the room, escorted by Molly Hooper.
"Introduce yourselves." she told them. "Go on."
A silver-haired little boy walked up to John first, a water gun in his hand. "My name is Greg Lestrade! I want to be a police man! BANG! BANG!" he shouted, squirting John with the water gun.
Next was a little black girl with frizzy hair. "My name's Sally Donovan, and if you make me angry, I'll kick your arse!!!" she said, showing him her tiny meaty fists.
"Language Sally!" Molly sighed. Sherlock deduced that Donovan must use swear words a lot, by the exasperated tone that Molly spoke with. Sally walked off to go play coppers with Lestrade. The last of the three was a young boy with dark brown hair and his finger up his nose.
"Ma nam iz Philip Anderson." he said, shaking John's hand with his bogey-encrusted one. "Nas ta met you." he said, before walking off.

A few minutes later, Anderson, Donovan, and Lestrade were on the floor playing coppers. Lestrade was shooting Donovan, who cursed loudly as she got sprayed with water. Anderson, on the other hand, was slicing open a burgundy coloured rabbit with an... xacto knife?
John looked at Anderson and did a double take. Yes, he wasn't seeing things. Anderson really was cutting open a bunny with a really sharp and dangerous object. John swooped over him and grabbed the knife from the five year old's bogey-encrusted fingers.

"Anderson! Don't use xacto knives! They're dangerous and deadly and you could die!" John exclaimed, throwing the knife in a locked cabinet that also contained Sherlock's gun, Mycroft's sword that was hidden in his umbrella, and Donovan's phone which he confiscated when he found her watching gay hentai.

He sighed, "Well, it can't get much worse, can it?" he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose with his left hand. John spoke too soon.
If there was any kid worse than these evil, bogey-encrusted goblins, it was him...

Jim Moriarty.

Jim was a innocent looking boy with the mind of an evil criminal mastermind. On a first glance, you'd be like 'aw precious,' then you'd do a double take and realize he had a bloody knife in his right hand and a can of beer in his left. Ah yes, Jim Moriarty was no saint. It just so happened that on this day, the first day of the school year, Moriarty had found it fit to down an entire bottle of Guinness before attending.

"The name's Moriarty," he slurred, "Jim Moriarty." he gave a hiccup and fell forward on his face, snoring deeply.

"Okay." John said awkwardly, "Right, okay. So, who wants to do show and tell?" he asked.

The kids went into hysterics. Sherlock wanted to go first, but so did Donovan. The two got into a very heated argument that resulted in Donovan hitting him over the head with a plastic cricket bat. John had to call sweet Mrs. Hudson from room 221a to help assist him in pulling the two apart. Donovan was sentenced to five minutes in the corner for physical assault, and Sherlock was given an ice pack.

Seeing that Donovan would be spending a little time in the corner, John only saw it fit that Sherlock should start show and tell, and it was one of the worst mistakes he'd ever made.

Sherlock walked into the center of the ring of chairs with a large lump, about the size of a football (soccer ball for you Americans out there), under his coat. "M-my name's Sherlock." he said, slightly nervous. "and I brought Billy for my show and tell." He pulled out a human skull. Like a real - mother******ing human skull.

You could hear Mycroft face-palm from his chair. "Oh God - Sherlock! Mummy told you not to bring him." he groaned.

Sherlock ignored his words and spoke a little louder, glaring daggers at his brother. "Billy is my oldest friend, and I personally don't care what that old cowpat tells me." Sherlock spat at his brother. Billy blushed.

Mycroft rose from his seat, his eyes blazing with fury. "Mummy is not a cowpat." he said, with visible effort of trying to keep calm. "You two just don't see eye-to-eye."

John looked at the two bickering brothers, having no clue how to stop the two. Then he thought about the gun and the sword. 'Thank God those two didn't have those at the moment.' He had heard the saying once, from his dad. 'Those who live by the sword, get shot by those who don't.' He smiled inwardly, 'At least I did something right.' he thought to himself.

Right at the moment, it woke up. Moriarty pushed himself up from where he collapsed. John supposed it had smelled chaos and wanted in, like Peeves the Poltergeist from Harry Potter.

A mental image flashed in John's brain. Moriarty cackling and floating around in midair, egging the two Holmes brothers on. "When there's strife and when there's trouble, call on Moriarty, he'll make it double!"

Moriarty, at this moment, was throwing chalk at the brothers, and was indeed, egging them on.

Mr: Watson's Class of Monsters:

"And that's what happened." John said, taking a swig of ale.
"Damn. That sounds pretty bad, mate." Mike Stamford said, laughing nervously. John rolled his eyes.
"You wouldn't believe half of what I've got to say." the blonde said.
"Try me."
"Little Jim Moriarty came to school drunk, Sherlock had a gun and a skull named Billy, Sally Donovan knows more curse words than most twenty year old men, and Philip Anderson was performing an autopsy on a stuffed rabbit. And I'm getting a new little monster today that has a homicidal tendency." John sighed.
Mike blinked at him owlishly. "You're kidding!" he gasped.
"No I'm not. Little Sebastian Moran has a record. He nearly killed his teacher with a blunt pencil."
"Nothing you can't handle, right mate?" Mike said, clapping him on the back.

The next day, a Tuesday in fact, John took a cab to the kindergarten, the cabby dropped him off a block away. As he walked into the classroom to get everything in order, Sherlock jumped out of his hiding place dressed up in a dragon costume, smoking a.... What the ****** was a kindergartner doing with a cigarette?!
"Sherlock, where the hell did you get that?!" John exclaimed, yanking the stick of death out of his mouth. Sherlock gasped.
"John! You're a POTTY MOUTH!!!" he exclaimed.
"You've said worse! And it's Mr. Watson to you." John scolded.
Sherlock didn't seem to hear him as he was dancing around the room singing, "POTTY MOUTH, POTTY MOUTH, MOTHER******ING POTTY MOUTH!!!"
Mycroft walked up to John and tugged on his sleeve.
"Do excuse my younger brother." he said. "Sherlock has no consideration for manners. Mummy disdained." Mycroft pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
"Oi! No smoking in 221b!" John said, nicking Mycroft's fag.
"You can't do that! I'll have you arrested you know! I hold a minor position in the British Government!"
"He is the British Government." Sherlock whispered into John's ear.... wait... how the ****** did he even get up there?
John turned to see Sherlock flying. Like literately flying in his dragon costume.
"What the?!!!!"
"I am Smaug the Destroyer!" Sherlock bellowed, "I am fire, I am death!"
"Yeah, sure you are, oh Smaug the Unassessably Wealthy." John said, rolling his eyes.
"Do you think flattery will save you?!!!"

An hour later, the kids.... goblins... started to arrive. First was Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan, as usual.
They were pretty easy to take care of, as they would always go off to play 'Scotland Yard.'
Next came in Irene Adler, Jeff Hope, and Henry Knight, who had been absent the day before.
Then came Moriarty, who proceeded to hang all the LEGO minifigures from the ceiling. How he got up there, John didn't want to know.
Finally in came little Sebastian Moran, carrying a SNIPER RIFLE ON HIS BACK???!!!! Why the front desk lady didn't confiscate it was beyond him.

Little Sebby and Jim hooked instantly. Soon they were talking about who they wanted to murder and their favourite poisons. (Moriarty's was Sodium Cyanide) Mycroft kept a close eye on them, he hid behind the building blocks.
"What are you doing?" John asked, startling the older Holmes brother.
"Shhh!!!" Mycroft hissed, "I'm putting them on Level Five Surveillance!"
"Okay..... Right...." John said awkwardly.
Suddenly, a screech echoed across the room.

"COME BACK HERE THIEF!!!!" Sherlock bellowed, chasing after poor Henry.
"I'm not a hobbit! I promise!" Knight shrieked.
"Your big ears say differently!" Sherlock said.
"Help! Mr. Watson!!!"
"Oi! Smauglock!" John said, picking up the squirming fire drake. "Stop!"
"NO!"
"I'll play pirates with you." John bargained. On Sherlock's report, it mentioned his love for pirates.
"Pirates?!" Sherlock exclaimed, his eyes as wide as dinner plates.
"Yes pirates."
"I'll do it!" Sherlock exclaimed, wiggling out of his dragon suit.

John didn't know how it happened. One moment he was first mate, the next he was being forced to walk the plank, tied up with jump ropes.
"Can we talk this out?" John asked. He was barefoot and was being forced to jump on a mound of tiny legos.
"Nar! Ye made me tea wrong! Ye be payin' for ye mutinous act, First Mate John!"
"It's Mr. Watson! And it was a cup of water!"
"Argh! Now ye be lying to your captain! Send him to Davy Jones' locker, Second Mate Gavin!"
"It's Greg!" the silver-haired five year old said, poking John in the back.
"Whatever! Push the traitor off the plank!" Sherlock bellowed.
Greg rolled his eyes and poked John in the buttocks with his foam sword, sending the teacher into the merciless waves of the sea of LEGOs.
"ARGHHHH!!!! ******!!! DAMMIT!!!"